Time is very difficult to understand - it comes and goes as it pleases and makes no allowances for anyone. When I'm manic, it dashes by at an alarming rate - hours and days fly by and I'm busy busy busy. When I'm depressed, it seems to stand still - minutes take hours to go by and the thought of later is impossible to grasp. I can't think about this afternoon, for example, as there is too much time in between then and now. We use expressions like "Time's winged chariot" and "Time's arrow", but they have a feeling of speed about them and that's not how I feel about it at the moment.
I'm not now going out, apparently - change of plan. Pity - I had a shower and got dressed for it. The nurse is bringing me my meds for the weekend. Merrick brought out a McDonald's for us both to have - sometimes only a burger will do. Then I got dressed - I'm quite disappointed that I'm not going out; I'd psyched myself up to it and was hoping for a change of scene. Maybe tomorrow or over the weekend.
I've realised that feeling more rested doesn't take away the thoughts or the voices. The difference is that I can challenge them a bit better, but they are still with me. My voices say that I am shit and that I should kill myself; that I am no use and that bad things will happen. The thoughts are of suicide and ways of doing it - they rise unbidden into my emotional mind. My logical mind is a bit impaired at the moment, but I try to counteract the thoughts by logic. My mind, that precious thing that makes me what I am, is wounded and I am half a person.
I'm going to do what I did yesterday - take 2mg lorazepam at 6pm and try to wind down before bed time. Then it's the rest of the pills and hopefully, a good sleep.
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?