Day Twelve

I’ve been suffering from a wholly unfamiliar inertia. Today is the first day I have managed to fight off the desire to bury myself in the oblivion of sleep. As a general rule I suffer with the complete inability to do nothing. An agitated, non-psychotic, type of mania, which eventually it spills over into a full blown episode.

That isn’t to say I’ve done nothing. I’ve read Dear NHS, The Guardian online editionand Why I Am No Longer Talking To White People About Race. Tidied up a bit. Got a latte from the deli by the castle and finally roused myself to go for a short walk around town.

I do have a project. It’s to save up some money so that I’m not continually swerving around in the financial emergency zone. But that doesn’t involve doing anything. In fact, it involves not doing something. Not spending money I can’t afford to spend.

The thing is that I have very little in the way of support. The sort of support that makes you feel you have a net in life. In reality, I have never had this support, even when I’ve had a partner, or my family were alive. I just didn’t realise. In fact, when they were about I had the opposite of support — sustained psychological attacks. Yet I was completely unable to get free of them; my mother mainly. I had a childlike attachment to malignant parenting, and I continued to re-enact that trauma in my adult relationships, in one form or another.

At least I am free of that now.

I suppose that in a way, living on that psychological edge, it gave me a sort of manic energy to keep racing about in circles. Doing stuff that didn’t fulfil me or make me happy, to the tune of a constant emptiness. I’ve never really known anything else, and then the battering of alcoholism and hospital admissions.

So, right now my life is relatively peaceful. Maybe it’s quite normal to go through stretches of time where one simply doesn’t know what to do.

Yesterday my Care-Co Ordinator Sarah rang me up and we’ve arranged to meet on Friday. I think I’m going to broach the subject of reducing my anti-depressant to see if that relieves my listlessness and addiction to going to sleep. I’m not sure what she’ll have to say about that.

I wish the swimming pool were open because then I feel I would have something worthwhile to do.

Published by unipolar2

I’m a writer living in Wales

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