Do certain noises bother you to the brink of destruction? It could be neurological and not only psychological.
The technical term for that noise-triggered irritation and rage is misophonia (“hatred of sound”)” – http://www.mentalfloss.com
There are certain sounds that drive me round the bend. They turn me into a deadly, slow-boiling pressure cooker. These particular noises drill a hole right through my head. All other sounds are secondary. It’s all I can hear. I can’t focus. Can’t concentrate. This sound hypersensitivity dials up the anger and my reaction is extreme and out of proportion. I want to scream, throw things, run, pull at my hair – stop, stop, stop, for the love of god just stopppppp!
It’s a precarious situation for me because I struggle with bipolar rage, and this seemingly innocent sound is edging me to the brink of madness. All manner of chaos could ensue. I feel like I’m losing my mind. But I’m not, this madness is very real.
If the sound of a co-worker repeatedly clicking his pen can send you into a flaming furor, take heart: You’re not being hypersensitive” – http://www.mentalfloss.com
Triggers break your sound barrier
The trigger sounds also provoked a clear stress response in people with misophonia” – http://www.mentalfloss.com
My work environment is not ideal. A small department with co-workers in close proximity. There is a constant stream of people, hustle, bustle, loud talking, angry shouting, laughing – one great big disturbance. Tinny music clanging from nearby earphones, sniffing, oh the sniffing…. sneazing, more loud voices, did I mention the loud voices, and the “hello’s” and “goodbye’s” as staff use our office as a common thoroughfare. My coping skill is music. Plug the earphones in and the outside irritants and overstimulation disappears. The tiniest of noises can drive me beserk, but music is always the best medicine.
My body, my muscles ache and my mind is partly numb, still a bit unclear. I went straight to bed after work and slept for a bit before bathing and eating dinner. I’m exhausted as I regain my stability after a particularly nasty four-day spree with hypomania and insomnia. A fixation on lounge curtains lead to my undoing. My thought process and behaviour out of control and irrational, lead to a heated misunderstanding with The Good Guy. Poor fellow was only trying to help and understand. But despite his best efforts, my brain was sick. Unwell. Perceptions warped. Wrong. Extremely wrong. Just like my neurological wiring.
How many times must I say this! It is out of my fucking control. Now drop it. And fuck you
Then I broke up with him. This innocent bystander cut down in the wake of my mania storm.
Its over. I don’t want to see you again. Don’t ever come around. Stay away from me
This said to a gentle human being who was only trying to support me. Trying to learn, to understand as best he can. I’m ashamed. Deeply ashamed. No one deserves to be spoken to like that. No one. And especially not this good guy. I apologised, but that’s never enough. By the time you say you’re sorry its already too late. There is no taking back those nasty words – I’m too embarrassed to print. But he was patient. He didn’t react. He slowly, kindly, waited out the storm. As the hypomania began to lift, he managed to coax me back to a point of reason, of clear thinking. He accepted my apology. He accepted me. What an exceptional person. It guess it also doesn’t hurt that he almost became a psychologist!
Control your mind and you’ll be fine
he said to this insomniac
during a hypomanic attack
lucky for him it was said via ext
or else I’d have broken his neck
Control my mind?
Something that’s never been mine?
A quick trick so simplistic
the mere thought of it makes me sick
he crossed the line this time
I’ve tried to be honest about my illness
that there never is any stillness
or reprieve to be received
the concept is understood
but in practice its’ overlooked
a sarcastic apology defensive
in my raw state it’s offensive
to redirect blame is a shame
“There are hundreds of things I cannot say”, he shouts as I walk away
I can’t argue with that
all I can do is detach
Control your mind he says over and over
but if I could, I’d have the cure for bipolar
Code-Green Advocacy founded by Iggy [https://colormebipolar.wordpress.com] is aimed at fighting stigma specifically in USA. This list of patient’s bill of rights is vital for any person suffering from a mental illness. An informative read. Supporting this blog is supporting yourself and the mental health community at large. Lets join forces in the fight and follow Code-Green Advocacy
Since my dismal annual increase my thoughts have been in a fear-based loop. So I decided to change my current direction of thought. Its one of my coping skills – turn it around. It brings a shift in perspective. So I made a decision to…
… stop being driven by fear and bemoaning what I don’t have, and celebrate what I DO have. To turn it around. And I’m so grateful for the things I do have. I may not eat out at fancy restaurants. I may not fly to Mauritius on holiday, I may not have a wardrobe full of clothes and shoes and a fridge full of fancy foods. But hat I do have are luxuries a large population of South Africans don’t have…..
While most live in real poverty, I have a home with a beautiful view….
….I have running water
….and I have a flushing toilet
I have a washing machine and don’t have to do washing by hand…..
…..I have electricity which gives me lights, a TV to watch, a laptop to write and blog, a fridge with basic, healthy foods like vegetables…..
….. and I have a job and I earn a salary and, because I have a salary, I have a cell phone that can take these photos. Perspective – I am so grateful for all I have. Its more than most.
Last night, out of the blue, thoughts broke free like a horse nearing home. Couldn’t relax. Couldn’t sit back. I began to decorate. Re-organize. Moving this and then that. Then putting it back. This there and that here but it didn’t fit so I tipped the house upside down to find peace in my cracked and mismatched home. Unpacking cupboards and swapping and switching. Stuff. Old curtains out and new curtains in. Swop them around all over again. Change the walls a new colour. Mind ticking over. Big plans. There were ladders and fabric, old clothes for charity, broken pots now layered in dust, old pillows abused covered and back on the bed to be used. My place looks like its been hit by a storm. A hypomania storm? I’m confused, lost my step and my sleep, can’t figure these things out anymore, can’t keep score. What’s real and what’s illness is a difficult business. No trigger. Just suddenly couldn’t keep still. My mind and my body are definitely ill.
A meal between breakfast and lunch is called a brunch. But there is no name for a meal eaten between lunch and dinner. So I’ll call it an early dinner. V and I went out for a treat to restaurant that not only meets our budgeting needs, but serves the best bowl of two-veg – butternut and creamed spinach. Mom always used to say “no dessert unless you’ve eaten all your vegetables”. And I did. Well almost. A full tummy halfway through, I took home this delicious doggie bag. Plenty for proper dinner time.
There are only two ways to cook a cheap cut of meat. Slow-cook a stew or grill it and burn the bejeezzus out of it. I chose the latter. It had a bit of a dry snap to it, but generously salted it hits the spot.
His and hers. Hers and his. Mine is on the right – coffee with cold milk, white sugar and in true OCD form, a neatly wrapped sugar packet with a neat twist. His is on the right – coffee with hot milk, brown sugar and a laid back scrunching of the packet. Two different people,with different experiences, different perspectives and different interests, finding a common appreciation of one another. Him and her. Her and him. Together, enjoying an early autumn dinner out. If only all of life could be as simple as this observation of a moment in time. But that moment was mine and so I am happy.
Woke up with fear in my gut
Wanted to keep my eyes tight shut
Got no money in the bank, it’s a deep and empty tank
Annual increase is laughable
I must look like a sucker to those rich motherfuckers
In their castles on the hill while I work myself ill
So I didn’t do my hair because I don’t care
I didn’t paint my face and not by mistake
its a rebellion
against the reccession that has become my life
of the highs and the lows and the anything goes
the why’s and the woes and the who fuck knows
mired in this uphill treadmill
of going nowhere slowly
headed to the end lonely
I have to say, it’s been a lackluster day