It's six pm and the sun's over the yardarm, so, if I wanted to, I could have a drink. I won't, though - I don't drink, really, and alcohol lowers resistance to thoughts and voices. It also makes one impulsive, and I can't afford to be impulsive at the moment. My last episode of self harm was based on drink and I nearly didn't get over that one. However, that was many years ago, and I hope I've become more resilient since then.
It's nearing the time when I can draw the blinds and shut the world out - I don't feel part of it, so I don't want to look at it. I wish I could drive; that really helps me, but the meds mean I can't. When I"m driving, I have to use my conscious mind, which means that there's no room for thoughts and voices - I'm engaged in the task. There aren't any tasks that I can get involved in at the moment - books and music are out - but writing helps. I find it easier to write down what's happening than I do to articulate it verbally - when I'm talking, I can hear my own voice in my head which disconcerts me. My voice becomes slightly muffled and so doesn't sound like me, which in my present state is rather troubling. I seem to have no points of reference - time is all wrong, the outside world goes on without me and my inner life is a mess.
I've just had a tuna sandwich - I desperately needed protein and haven't had much today, so my body was crying out for tuna. The cats enjoyed the second tin. Daisy came to show off when HT were here, parading herself around the kitchen asking for strokes. The boys stayed upstairs until they heard the tin being opened. On quetiapine, one never feels full, so has to regulate what one eats. I can't do that, so I graze rather than eat a proper meal. Not good. In my view, the best part of a meal is the cigarette afterwards, but that may just be me.
I'm smoking very heavily, especially at night when I'm up and about. Most psychiatric patients smoke, in my experience, and there's a link between tobacco and wellbeing, but I can't remember the reference.
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?