Now this, is unstable

Since seeing my doc last week, I’ve been living high on the promise of ‘normal’ and a bright future. For once, I had a good, successful weekend. I was content. I began a bit of DIY. As much as sciatica would permit me. I even finally returned to my routine of cooking some precooked meals on Sunday. I haven’t done this since August. I’ve had insomnia/disturbed sleep for the past week. I stopped counting the hours I have slept days ago. But still, I was doing good. Today, also good. Engaging with people at work, telling jokes. But somewhere between 4.30pm and 5pm, the drive home, something changed and I felt the familiar weight of depression sink down on me. A simple thought triggered it. There was no fact to this thought. I acknowledge it is an assumption about my future. But I had it and the result was clear. But this is the alarming thing about the extremes of bipolar. I didn’t just stop at depression and dwell there. I high-dived from ‘good’ straight through depression and crash-landed into suicidal thoughts. I locked my front door and followed my familiar pattern (excluding last week), I went straight to bed. There are tv shows I enjoy and since enjoyment is vital, I set my alarm for 8pm. It was a struggled to get up. I struggled to eat something. Normally when I’m depressed I comfort eat. Before last week, though, I’ve been too depressed to eat. So its back. The loose-a-lot diet of depression. But weight loss is weight loss so who am I to complain. I just can’t believe how quick the change was. I mean, I do believe it because sometimes its exactly how it happens. But mostly its a slow decline. As much as I wanted to believe the whole ‘normal’ schpeel, I just don’t. I’m limited, I’m disabled, I’m deficient. I don’t believe I have much of a future. I’m sad beyond words. I’m tired. Moan, moan, self pity, moan. Let’s adopt some distraction *sigh*


The stuff of nightmares

Ever since I left my ex-husband-the-alcoholic in December 2011, I have regularly been plagued by what I call my screaming dreams.

I’m awoken from vivid nightmares in frightening ways – with my fist pounding the buggery out of my bed, or attempting to strangle my lamp whilst beating it against the wall. I’ll sit bolt upright and gasp for air as if I’m being suffocated, or panting like a runner. My own screams or shouts of Noooooooooo! or other such jibbery-jabbery wake me up. I’m sweaty, soaked through my jim-jams, and the nighmares seem every bit as real as I’m sitting here right now.

Monsters in my head

Monsters in my head


Yesterday, I woke up to the sound of my own voice whispering in the silence of the night ….as the tears ran down Haydens face, it would be another hour before they found his dead body... uh, creepy or what? In that dream, ‘Hayden’ was a baby in a crib, and someone was walking away from him.

Once my divorce was finalised last Sept 2014, the screaming dreams abruptly stopped. Just last week I had 2 immensely happy dreams Then on Friday, driving home from work, I passed my ex going in the opposite direction. Seeing him triggered four recurring screaming dreams over the course of Friday and Saturday.

Google told me these nightmares indicate issues of abandonment, and mean…… either my issues still need working on (ya think!), or they have healed and are being released (wtf, is release supposed to be so frightening?). Yet another suggestion was “instead of feeling abandoned, I need to live my life with abandon”. Interesting twist I suppose.

The return of these nightmares doesn’t scare me as much as the fact that it only took a three second glance at him whizzing by in traffic, to ressurect them.


it’s been a while, since i’ve been around
I can’t explain, just been overwhelmed
by life and blogs, and things between
friendships, fathers, a future unseen

sleepless by night, so tired by day
insomnia called me, and there I have stayed
no rest for the wicked, or so they say
I must be a sinner, for here I decay










stepped into the real world, a change of pace
take heed my warning, don’t make this mistake…..
an interesting venture, but not to repeat
for this bipolar who wants her own peace

I went on a diet and lost some weight
then put it back on, now I’m out of shape
I started a club, that meets in a pub
to give singles a nudge to stay in touch
went to a concert, a dream come true
had to leave early, it was all too new

romantic puddle







I’ve acquired a boyfriend, who would’ve guessed
he’s kind, and he’s calm, with a nice hairy chest
he thinks i’m an angel, it’s early days yet
but the hard part is over, bipolar’s addressed
he hasn’t run screaming, so hope for the best
that he’ll be outstanding from all of the rest

my shrink closed up shop without telling me
betrayed and abandoned is how I now feel
my new doc’s a man, with an outrageous fee
he’d better be worth it, have to wait and see

been booked off from work for a week of rest
bipolar insomnia must be addressed
Clozapine™ might make me drool, like a fool
but I’m getting some sleep, so its all super cool

after this rest, I’m recharged, all nouveau
tomorrow a date, with my brand new beau
I’ll get back on my diet, so no more gateau
back to work monday, and on with the show

Routine is the answer

I’m told bipolar responds well to routine. Go to bed the same time every night. Wake up the same time every morning. Structuring the day with tasks, and repeating the same or a similar structure everyday, and voila! You have routine, and bipolar is happy.

I’m fortunate because my job has structure and routine. I do the same, but slightly different, thing every day. All within the time constraints of deadlines. This makes for a happy bipolar worker.

Evenings, I have a routine of shower, cook dinner (finally I’m cooking and not just eating cereal), eat, watch tv/internet/read. Then off to bed makes for a happy bipolar girl.

Weekends are a challenge. You see, I am of the firm belief that weekends were made for sleeping. I’m a happy and content recluse so I don’t WANT to go out. I don’t want to go and walk on the beach, or have a coffee, or go shopping, or go watch a movie. I love nothing more than wearing pajamas Friday night to Monday morning and sleeping for about 50 hours.

Sounds like bliss. Yes, sign me up please….. But lately I’ve become aware of a pattern. Mondays are my most difficult days to get through. Okay, obviously, because they’re Mondays. By the natural order of the universe, they just are the shittiest day of the week. But what I feel is more than a disgruntlement with the first day of the week. I’m seriously depressed. As in I want to go home, I’m weepy, my mind traverses the halls of suicide options and I fail to see the hope in anything. The day is endless and I get through it by telling myself I can dive into bed the moment I get home.

It would appear that I need routine in my weekends. Not the routine that says, ok, I’ll sleep from 11am ’til 4pm, have dinner and jump back into bed at 8pm. I need to get up. Go out. Take that walk on the bloody beach. Drink that silly cup of coffee. Browse around the shops. But I draw the line at movies (no cigarette break).

I know it will help to alleviate that Monday Depression. The logical, responsible part of me knows I will only benefit from routine on the weekends. The stubborn part of me says…… well, you don’t really want to know…. totally inappropriate language!

So I’m not making any promises. But if I do venture from my lair this weekend, I will snap a few photographs. As proof. And then I’ll let you know how Monday went.

Heigh-Ho, Heigh-Ho, it’s off to court I go

Welcome to my Pity Party. Jump in, the water’s warm.


Right. So, I’m officially depressed. That much has been established. What’s triggered this state of chocolate-eating, serial sleeping, mindless weeping, attention deficit, quietly creeping melancholy? Isn’t it usually a man’s fault? In this case yes, it’s my soon-to-be ex-husband’s fault.


Well technically, he’s not ex-husband yet. Long story short, I left our 15 year marriage because he is an alcoholic. I filed for divorce, and instead of us splitting everything in a fair manner, he has chosen to sue me in an effort to leave me with nothing. The divorce has been ongoing for almost three years. The three day trial is booked for court 10-12 September 2014.


As time draws near I am becoming more frightened. Not nervous. I have bipolar remember, no half measures. So I am bloody frightened! I will testify. I will be cross-examined. The stability of my future rests on those three days. I don’t know how well I will hold up under those conditions. On an average day I shake blatantly, even my head wobbles! I get confused, I forget, I can’t get words out, I can’t remember words, my mouth goes so dry I’ll probably need a 2 litre water bottle with me. I am petrified.


The closer the dates draw near, the more stress fractures are beginning to show in my fortitude and in my game face. So let sleep enfold me and shield me from anxiety. Let me weep some more for my lost marriage and family. Please forgive my lack of focus because right now, my mind falls only on those 3 critical days in September, when my life will forever be changed.