Good morning. Compared with yesterday, it is a good morning - I had 8 hours' sleep, so my ravell'd sleeve of care has been slightly knitted up. I had a sound treatment yesterday - tuning forks and bowls - and I'm sure that helped. Bryan cleared my chakras by using his forks - I twitched a lot during it, which apparently means the energy is shifting and I felt calm and energised afterwards. He suggested having a quiet time before I went to bed - to light a candle and incense and to meditate on rest. My concentration is utterly shot, so that was difficult; my dark thoughts kept rushing in and telling me to kill myself, but I persevered and managed to stay on an even keel. I slept from midnight to 0800, and I shall be finding a time to be quiet again this evening.
I was expecting Home Treatment to ring at 0900, but they didn't. I was amazed at my response - anger and hurt that I had been forgotten and my self esteem took another dive. Naturally, that wasn't the case - they had left me in case I was sleeping, so I felt silly. It's astonishing how these cock ups become conspiracies when one's mind is wrongly attuned - I am quick to feel pain and hurt and eager to embrace defeat. HT are coming at 1800, but I can phone during the day at any time. They have been marvellous in their support. I was offered a chance to go to the Recovery House in Weymouth, where I would be safer, but I'll see how I get on - I don't really want to leave my house at the moment as it provides a sanctuary, and I have a chance to write during the night.
My friend Jane's son Angus is in hospital with cellulitis - a result of a rugby wound - so he's on IV antibiotics, and they're talking about draining the leg surgically. Never rains but it pours. My thoughts are with you Jane, and Angus.
I had a visitor this morning - an elderly man whom I know fairly well as he's a keen fly fisherman, like me. A friend of his has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder and she's having trouble coming to terms with it. Would I talk to her about the illness? Of course, I said yes, although the thought of it at the moment is overwhelming. I was actually rather surprised at the request = the man concerned is not someone who I had thought might understand about mental illness, but it just shows you how wrong you can be about people. Lesson to self.
My voices are bad today, as are the thoughts of suicide. It's so hard to fight them, even though I"m not as tired as I was. I just want it to stop - I don't want to die, but I want some peace from it all. Merrily is coming at 1230 to have soup and mushrooms on toast - the mushrooms were brought round by my elderly friend. Maybe a distraction will help.
I spent 16 years in the RAF defending the Free World , then got bunged out unceremoniously for being bipolar. I and was subsequently diagnosed with PTSD. Funny old world, isn't it?