Been slow for a few days. And completely lost today. I checked my wall posts on Facebook earlier and found the last time I was down was about a month ago, so I’m not complaining.

I watched Family Guy last night, vaguely aware that I watched it the last time I was down. It is funny. Loved the bit where Chris is pulled into the A-ha animated video for Take On Me. (Served Morten Harket in Gateways – now Sommerfield – in Bordon when I worked on the checkouts there many years ago.)

I digress. The point I was making was that the last time I was down I said on Facebook that I was watching Family Guy. The following day I said I was lost. It’s only now that I have evidence of the patterns in my cycling. Facebook is useful at times.

Trying desperately to break these patterns, in a vain attempt to get some sort of routine and stability. A cure? The Lamotigine has been great. My downs are not as pronounced – I don’t get suicidal thoughts anymore – and my ups are not as manic as previously either. I tend to be stabler for longer. If you can call it that.

But I still find it hard. I still have lows and highs, just not as pronounced and not as rapid. My psychologist is trying to help. I’m having Coginative Behaivoral Therapy now. (CBT) Been on the waiting list for over a year.

Notice the patten, and change it. And yeah I can notice the patterns. Changing them is hard though.

He has asked me to set up a daily routine. Getting up and going to bed at the same time each night as a start.

Yeah, right. Easier said than done.

I’m supposed to get up, spend an hour or so having breakfast etc, then work for the day, then spend at least 4 hrs winding down before going to bed for 7-8 hrs sleep. As I say, easier said than done.

I’ve spent my whole life cycling between periods of hyperactivity and little sleep through to no activity with lots of sleep. A whole pattern in itself. Already finding that even though I’m on the Lamotrigine, there is still this cycle, just not as pronounced.

I think I’m repeating myself.

Whilst I can see that stability and routine are what is needed – I only have to look at Richard for this: you could almost set the clocks by his daily routines – I can’t do it. Not even short bursts.

And working isn’t helping really. Doing ad-hoc work in corporate hospitality isn’t really doing me any good, in terms of routine etc.

But I do so love it, and I’d never be able to hold down a full time job, even if i could get one, which with a CV as empty as mine would be nigh on impossible anyway.

I have been asleep all afternoon. Not because I wanted to be, but because my brain is so slow and I’ve been so lost I haven’t been able to do anything else. Consequently, I doubt I’ll be sleeping much tonight.

And tomorrow I’ll be spending the afternoon and evening helping to manage a wedding. I’ll get home and into bed at about 2.30am.

And then, two and half hours later, I’ll be up again in order to get to Coventry for an 8am briefing. Coventry City are playing QPR on Saturday and I help run the 1883 Restaurant overlooking the pitch on the 3rd floor of the Ricoh Arena. I manage about 15-20 young people who do all the waiting etc and it is so much fun for me. I excel at it, even if I do say so myself.

I fell into it, and am glad I did. I desperately need the money, and working ad-hoc suits me well. I can do it even if I don’t feel so good. Used to it now, so I feel safe even if I am down. It doesn’t panic me. And the Lamotrigine helps of course. And yes, oddly enough it kind of fits my cycling. Even exacerbates it, maybe? But what am I to do? I need the money. I have to live.

So there you go. A crappy post, because I’m not sure if I’m making any sense, and I don’t care anyway.

Not at the moment.

My confidence has gone again.

I hate this.

–

Hi Paul. Sorry I haven’t replied to your email yet. Off on holiday to the Isle of Wight for a few days next week. Promised to take Rich ages ago and we need a break to spend some quality time together. I’ll try and email you back after that.

Oh and Jon, thanks mate. You know why. Have fun in Turkey and we’ll catch up in Wetherspoons when you get back.

Oh and one last thing, dear reader, whilst I’m away on the IOW, my beautiful adorable MacBook will also be on holiday – spending a week in the Apple store in Kingston.

The superdrive isn’t so super after all. I tried to burn a disc for the first time last week and discovered that it “can’t calibrate the laser”. It’s having a new one fitted under warranty, and I got a 10% discount off my next purchase for my inconvenience – could do with an iPod – and the nice guys in the store burnt the discs I wanted using another machine.

Well that’s enough blogging for one day. I have my Lunch In Venice rehearsal schedules to plan… At least I’m looking forward to Sunday.

June 1st, and officially the first birthday of my blog.

Mind you, if you go back far enough you’ll see that the first post (titled Four) was actually posted on 19th July 2007.

The whole month of June 2007 was spent going up and down on pretty much a four or five day cycle. My ups were very hypomanic, my downs pretty bad too.

The reason for setting up the blog was (during a very hypo up) to write about my exploits of raising £4,000,000 for charity in 18 months so I could give it all away on my 40th birthday at some massive event at the Palladium with a whole host of celebrities handing out the cheques. (You can laugh, and I do now, but I was deadly serious at the time.)

Of course it was flawed, although I did have some brilliant ideas and I still have the notebook with all of them written in. I wrote a variety of posts about how I was doing and did get some way down the road setting up various projects – including writing to Channel 4 suggesting they make a documentary about me!

After a spell in the ACU at the beginning of July due to a ‘mixed episode’ (up and down at the same time – not nice) and being totally worn out physically and very ‘ill’ mentally, I spent a few weeks recuperating then changed all of Junes’ posts to ‘Private’ so the rest of the world couldn’t read them.

I decided I would continue with the blog, but just use it as a record of my life, and I am pleased I have. It’s been an education for me. Hope you’re enjoying it too.

So there you have it. Happy 1st Birthday Blog. May there be many more to come!

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Get the picture?

Yep. Sorry, one of those utterly boring posts about being depressed. Mind you, you don’t have to read it. I’m writing it for my benefit, so sod off if you don’t want to read it. I don’t care.

No, really I don’t.

I was in bed for over an hour but couldn’t sleep. Not surprising; been sleeping (well dozing actually) most of the week, on and off.

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After a ten day up – about as good as it gets – I went done again on Tuesday and have done sod all since.

Not that I haven’t wanted to do anything or needed to in fact, just that I haven’t been able to. I’ve had a passive week, rather than an active week. A passive, ‘I’ll watch the shopping channel cause I can’t be arsed to get up and find something else to watch’ week rather than an active ‘I’ve got stuff to write, places to go, people to see, work to prepare, homework to do, a life to live’ week.

Shit happens.

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Want to know the some total of Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. No really, it’s mega exciting! You’ll be bowled over at how exciting my week was!

• Tuesday – wrote a post about my meeting with my psychiatrist on Monday afternoon, but gave up half way through and never got round to posting it. Went for a lie down instead.
• Wednesday – finally at about 11pm, having done sweet FA all day managed to write an email and send it. An important one that should have been done at the beginning of the week. Who knows if they got it in time or not.
• Thursday – renewed my library books online and half managed my homework for my Nuffield writers group, then caught the latest possible train to Southampton (I won’t mention the very eerie moment when I realised how bloody fast those trains go through Woking station on platform two when they don’t stop on their way to waterloo – oh and how I know now exactly what time they do. Frightens the shit out of me!)
• Friday – Took Rich and his parents on a planned trip to Osterley Park in Isleworth, Middlesex (National Trust). Whoopee. Took me all morning to wake up enough to get there and then wore myself out walking about and had to sit on my own listening to my echo (4 seconds – count them, its a long time for an echo) in the stone-summer-house-thingy-do-da-wotsit while Rich and co had a walk round the gardens. I love big old houses and this was a particularly good example – just a shit that I felt so depressed and couldn’t enjoy it. Rich and his parents did, so that was okay I guess.
• Saturday – er, fuck all actually, though I did manage to tape the six episodes of ‘Whose Line Is It Anyway?’ on FiveUS.

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So that was my week. Add to that rather a lot of sleeping (dozing), hardly any eating, and few frustrating tears. Yes, I cry when I’m down too. No particular reason, other than being sad… for no particular reason.

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Apart from Richard’s parents, I haven’t spoken to or seen anybody I really know since Monday. (Though I suppose I should include those people in my Nuffield writing group since I see them for two hours every fortnight, though not socially since it’s like going to a class in college.)

I spent Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday in the house mostly wandering from the bedroom to the kitchen and back to the bedroom again. And nobody has called or emailed or texted. Mind you, I haven’t called or emailed or texted them either.

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I keep telling myself it ain’t that bad. Keep saying I’ll go back up again and all will be well – for a few days anyway. And if I’m honest I live for that. But when I’m down it’s hard: Fucking hell actually, but unless you have experienced a depressive episode where you strongly believe the only way out is – well you know – you wont know what the fuck I’m talking about.

And do I care a shit anyway?

Nope.

My blog; I can write what I like.

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Thank God for Richard.

My rock.

You see, Rich is one of those people who stays at about a 5 all the time. Rarely he’ll go up to a 6 and even more rarely down to a 4 but that’s about it.

I’ve only ever seen him cry once in the twelve and a half years we’ve been together and that was when I was so high I hadn’t slept for a week and had actually worked out a way to spend the rest of our life living it up in luxurious hotels all over the world.

I was showing him my driving licence and my passport and told him that was the only two things I would ever need. I had worked the whole thing out from start to finish and had spent 48 hours planning every minute detail.

I scared the shit out of him and he broke down in tears because he’d thought he’d lost the real me for good. I still remember the look on his face and never want to see it again.

Being manic like that is actually worse than being morbidly depressed because when you are manic you can hurt a heck of a lot of people without realising what you are doing.

Driving very fast in a BMW, cause you think you’re superman and no harm can come to you, is one of those experiences I wish I had never had. I dread to think how many pile ups I could have caused.

When depressed you can only (really) hurt yourself (and your loved ones.)

Luckily for me, I don’t get to a manic 10 (full blown mania) on that wonderful scale. I only go from 0 to a 7/8 (called hypomania) hence my diagnosis of Bipolar Type II. (Type I means going from 0 to 10) The mania I did experience was brought on by a particular type of anti-depressant which had a rather alarming effect.

So what goes wrong with BiPolar?

• Crying – You cry with joy when you are manic: The slightest emotional moment will set you off. And you’ll cry lots when you’re depressed too. I’ve often just sat alone in the chair in the sitting room with tears rolling down my cheeks for absolutely no reason at all other than feeling totally helpless and lost.
• Sleeping – Not when you’re manic: Sleep? I haven’t got time for sleep! I have all this thinking and planning and stuff to do. How am I going to save the planet from destruction if I have to sleep? And then far too much when you’re depressed – though its actually just dozing and not proper sleep. Bored out of your skull – Oh, I’ll just go and have a lie down then I don’t have to think about how depressing my life is. That way I can go to sleep and just dream about killing myself instead of having to actually do it.
• Eating – not much when you are manic. No time – you’re brain’s too busy thinking and what do you need food for anyway, when did you last see Superman have something to eat? And, not surprisingly, when you’re depressed too because you have no appetite and preparing food is such hard work.
• Thinking – When you are manic loads and loads. The thoughts come so fast they trip over themselves but then they slow right down and almost stop when you are depressed, leaving only one thought and I don’t need to tell you what that one is.
• Oh, and sex? – Yep. You’ve guessed it, none when you are depressed. What the hell is sex? and then you want it loads and loads when you are manic: you want it with anyone and anything and all at the same time, all the time – if only you could get it!

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Okay, so I go up and down. Up and down with no actual time to be normal. I’m either on the way up to a 7/8, up at 7/8, on the way down to 1/0, or down at 1/0.

Don’t actually get a period of stability where I’m at a 5 for any length of time. (A day maybe?) Now, if I did have a 5 for any length of time and I had at least four episodes (an episode being an up or a down) in any twelve month period I’d be classed as a rapid-cycler – and I don’t mean riding a bike very fast.

Oh, but, I’m up and down every bloody month!

Which means I’m an ultra-rapid-cycler. (Could be worse: could be an ultra-ultra-rapid-cycler – up and down in 48 hours or less.)

Now I’ve completely bored the pants off of you, I’ll shut up. (Can’t think why you’re still reading – I did warn you!)

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Actually, I hadn’t intended this to be a lesson on being bipolar, but hey, what the fuck, I feel better for having had a rant, and it’s my blog, so there.

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Shit really.

Should be in bed and asleep but it’s gone half two on Sunday morning and I’m typing away because I’m lonely and lost and feeling like crap.

Should be feeling great since I’m back at Riverside Youth Theatre tomorrow.

Should be thinking: Hey this is great! I get to do the thing I love most in the world. (Second only to Richard.) I get to work with young people who want to experience and enjoy theatre and acting and stuff!

In fact I should be more happy than usual because for the next six Sunday’s yours truly is running a workshop on Improvisation; something I’ve loved since I learnt it a school.

Except that I’m depressed and feel like I want to curl up in a heap and hide away in the corner of a dark room somewhere because I’m convinced I’m utterly useless.

What’s worse is that I should have planned my four hour workshop for the 20 or so young actors tomorrow (actually 11 hours time), but apart from writing three lines on a piece of paper on Wednesday, I’ve haven’t been able to do a thing.

All week I’ve been telling myself:I’ll feel better tomorrow; I’ll be back up again and I’ll have the energy, motivation and brain power I need to work it all out.

I know what I should be doing. I love it so much, I could probably do it standing on my head, but I have zero confidence in myself right now and on top of that I’m shit scared of cocking it all up tomorrow. And it sure don’t help when you don’t have a plan to fall back on.

I feel guilty and bad about it.

Other times when I’ve been there and been depressed and done warm-ups and stuff with out any planning, I’ve just winged it and hoped no one noticed. (Did a juggling session once – only cause I couldn’t get the brain working to do anything serious and useful. I had some juggling balls and someone started trying to juggle with them, so I just went on autopilot for an hour and taught most of them to juggle.)

This six week summer workshop was organised a couple of months ago now, and although it’s slightly changed from its original concept, I planned to plan it all this week.

When I eventually wake up it’ll be Sunday again and I’ll have until about 1pm to plan the rest of the afternoon – and planning for me in my current mental state will mean mega stress.

Such a shit when I really do enjoy all this youth theatre stuff.

I’ll do it. I have to. I have to because I want to, and I want to because I love it really. It’s just that when I’m down I can’t get any enjoyment from it.

Oh, I’ll smile and laugh and pretend that I’m really enjoying it and I really want to, but all those happy little chemical things that should be buzzing about in my head and having a really great time will just be sat there screaming Loser!

And to think that three weeks ago I drove all the way to Bognor Regis to get a book out of the library that I couldn’t find anywhere else, just so I could plan a decent workshop.

I should have spent this week delving into it, pulling out the nuggets so I can make sure these young actors have a really great time and develop their improvisational skills.

Instead I’ve done fuck all and it hurts.

I just pray that I can pull something out of the hat tomorrow morning and get something together that won’t make me look like the complete and utterly stupid idiot and worthless please of shit that I feel I am right now.

Ho hum.

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Yep, well that’s about it. Just a done a word count and I’m well over the two and a half thousand mark which means it’s about time I shut the fuck up and went to bed.

God I hate this shit.

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Oh, and that up down up down, round and round stuff?

That’s my life: Up down up down, round and round. I’m stuck on a wooden horse in the fairground going up and down, up and down, and all the while round and round, round and round; never getting anywhere in life.

All around me everyone else is having a great time and I’m just waiting and praying I can get off this sodding not-so-merry-go-round and have a someway decent life like most of the rest of the population.

I’ll reach the big four-oh on December the first. They say life begins at forty. Well I fucking well hope so because if this up down up down, round and round shit is all I’ve got to look forward to, then I won’t be hanging round for another forty, I can assure you!

Oh well, as depressing as this post has been, at least I know I’ll be reading it in a few days time when I’m up again and I can laugh at how stupid it all sounds.

Welcome to my world.

Oh, and if you got this far, thanks for reading. You didn’t have to, but thanks anyway.

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Monday, and time for a post.

You’ve probably gathered I’m up at the moment. And this weekend I’ve been a little ‘hypo’ too if I’m honest. Having two hours sleep Sunday morning didn’t help either – more on that later!

Okay here goes… A long post, but hey, it’s my blog so I can write as much as I want!

Full House Friday

Curtain up was about ten minutes late since FOH were trying to sort tickets – half the audience had been hunting parking spaces. Great show though. Audience not as responsive as the previous night, which is odd since you’d think that more people would mean more laughs or more applause. I did make all my gauze cues and it didn’t get stuck, so I was happy!

After the show ten of us adults went to an Indian just along the street for a lovely meal. The cast normally go for their own meal too, but the Chinese they go to has recently turned into another Indian and they don’t like the food or the price so they skipped that tradition on this show, which was a pity.

Short Haul Saturday

Well, long haul actually, since having gone to bed at about two I was up again at 6.45am with a number of things to do before leaving the house for what was to be a very long day.

After picking up 18 gold helium filled balloons from the shop around the corner, I left at about 10:15 to get to the Fairoaks Airport in Chobham. The events company I do some ad-hoc work for (when I’m well enough) had a variety of events going on that needed management staff, one of which was the FA Cup Final in Wembley. (I did the Portsmouth winning semi-final last month.)

But I couldn’t do Wembley because I knew I’d be unlikely to be back in time. (And after the fiasco last time, wasn’t particularly fussed anyway – the smaller stadiums are much better organised.) Instead I was asked to oversee a 50th Wedding Anniversary being held in the aircraft hanger next to the company’s offices in the airport – the first the company had hosted itself.

As it was, that was just as disorganised as Wembley but the guests had a great time and had no inkling of the chaos behind the scenes.

I had been promised two agency staff to help be, but Nicky (Fin’s mum – she works part-time for the company) wasn’t told about it and by the time she was, the agencies she called said it was too short notice. I ended up texting my friend Jon and Nicky called a friend whose husband had bar experience – and for this function we basically winged it. (Apt, being as we were in an airport!)

Jon, Rob and I had a code word for whenever the shit was really hitting the fan – Grapefruit! It was so funny.

When you understand that we were running this function by preparing afternoon tea for sixty people in the company’s board room with no sink or running water and in order to provide the hot water for the drinks, we had to constantly fill the kettle up from the disabled toilet then you can see why this was just a farce. We had to hunt around for teaspoons, and plates and stuff then find 60 glasses for the toast – oh, and an then wash the dust of them first.

The highlight of the afternoon for me was getting our lunch from the airport cafe where I had the pleasure of meeting Ronnie Corbett (yes, he’d flown short haul!) He was ordering a cup of tea and I did one of those double take things then said hello (I was filling up a flask of hot water from behind the counter having given up on the boiling a kettle idea). Mind you he isn’t the sort of celebrity that you wonder wether it’s them or not. It so obviously was, though I have to admit he did appear to be shorter in real life than on TV. He’s very stocky so he’s big and small at the same time. Very pleasant though.

The function finished about 6.30pm and I literally jumped into the car to get over to Sunbury for the last performance of ‘Into the Woods’. Arriving in my black Wembley suit and red Ricoh Stadium tie did require a lot of explaining since no one had seen me in a suit before, but I quickly changed into my blacks and helped set the stage.

The house was about two thirds full, so not as many as the previous night, but the audience was so much better. They laughed and applauded much more which made the cast feel so much better too.

It was a great show. The golden egg laying hen flew across the stage, and then had a number of us in quiet hysterics back stage when we discovered Jack (Mark) sat on the floor in the wings – his Hen was reading the script!

All to soon the fourth and last performance of the show was over and the curtain call ‘Ever After’ was sung for the last time. Needless to say the audience loved it, and I’m not surprised: the whole cast gave an excellent performance and the energy was clearly evident.

We had a quick clear up and then everyone gathered in the auditorium for the after show ‘thank yous’. The Wolf (Alex D) and Cinderella’s Father (Adam D) took to the stage and gave out a card and present for each of the adult helpers as well as the band and the tech crew. Even Milky White (the cow) got a card and present too!

The cast were so appreciative of all the hard work and time the adults gave to putting on the production and it makes it all the more worth while when they make such a big point of saying thank you. Hardly surprising then that some of the adults still help out even though their children who were once members have long since grown up and had children of their own.

I had some lovely comments in my card. One of them was from a member for whom this was his last production – they have to leave when they reach 18. He wrote: “Typical! Just as I have to leave, someone to stay for arrives.” I was also presented with a set of juggling balls, which was just brilliant and very thoughtful. I use juggling balls in my various warm-ups and exercises and my current set was beginning to show signs of significant wear. I was so pleased to get a new set.

Next stop: Clare’s house, (Baker’s Mum) quarter of a mile away for the cast party! Among a host of teenagers dancing, singing, eating and drinking, and jumping and spinning the bottle on the trampoline were a few of the adults having a drink in the kitchen. Great fun.

It wasn’t until a bit later that another teenager made an appearance. Reported to be Clare’s nephew, the depressing looking emo/goth/grunger going by the name of Alistair was noticed by a few wandering about the house, then lounging on the settee reading a magazine, listening to his iPod, eating bread and drinking a beer.

Yours truly, incidentally, was last seen heading in the direction of an upstairs loo. I reappeared half an hour later complaining of a dodgy stomach.

I confess…

Last week Richard brought home a rather cool wig from the Mind (charity) shop. It is black with red streaks and a long fringe. ‘Fantastic’ I thought as I tried it on in front of the full length mirror in the bedroom. And before I knew it I was immediately perfecting that somewhat annoying teenage habit of swishing the head to get the hair out of the eyes, and having one of those brilliant ideas!

In addition to the rather cool wig, add a long sleeved black teeshirt with my sleeves pushed up, a pair of black jeans with half my arse showing, a LowLife ‘Devoid’ belt (Thanks Taddy!), the obligatory white earphone cord disappearing into the pocket and the ‘I couldn’t care a shit about anything – apart from music’ slouch coupled with few choice monosyllabic grunts, and I was 20 years younger!

Okay so I didn’t fool everybody; the adults (though not all of them) guessed straight away, but quite a few of the younger party goers were convinced for while, and it was great fun having an alter ego.

‘Alistair’ was chatted up and asked to dance and it was even suggested he got his own facebook/myspace page!

I eventually left Clare’s house (after doing an early morning Agony Uncle stint) with the sun shinning on crashed out teenagers and finally got home and into bed at 6.45am.

Yep, exactly 24 hours after I’d got up!

Song Free Sunday

And then, just 2 hours later, my ever wonderful Rich, bless him, bought me up a cup of tea.

“What time did you get in?” he asked sitting on the bed. “I heard you get up for the loo about six.”

“Er, no Darling” I mumbled, half awake. “That was me getting home!”

I was back at the Riverside Arts Centre by half ten, and already the raked seating had been dismantled, costumes and props were winging there way back into cupboards, and lights were being de-rigged. I helped Alan and Kevin take the set apart, then moved onto organising a team of cast members to rub out the pencil marks in all the returned scripts. (They were hired.)

That done it was time for lunch. Ellie (one of the show’s directors) had taken a couple of the young people off to Tesco’s and some of the others set up the tables in the hall. And by then I was aware I was still a little hypo.

I then cut up the french sticks as others rolled sliced ham, chunked up the cheese, chopped cucumber and tomatoes and layed out the rest of the ploughmans lunch on a table at one end of the hall. The tables were arranged in two rows with the adults on one and the young people on the other. Convention dictates that the adults help themselves to lunch first, then the young people demolish what’s left. Various boxes of chocolates are then passed round (adults first, naturally) and lunch was then cleared.

And all that was left was the post show debrief in which everyone (about 40 of us) sat on chairs in a huge circle and Ellie invited comments from each of us. We had a round-robin style discussion in which each person was invited to talk about their experience of the production by sharing one bad thing, one good thing, a ‘man of the match’ and any other general comments they wished to give.

It was so good to hear of everybody else’s experience and many commented on the Baker (Adam A) who had taken on his first big part and done a great job, as well as the the two Princes (Tom A and Peter) and their rather brilliant ‘Agony’ songs. Amoungst others, the tech team who provided sound and light were also acknowledged for their work as well as Amy the musical director.

It was me who was last to speak (before Ellie excellently summed everything up) and after highlighting my bad thing (the gauze getting stuck a number of times and my unfortunate lack of concentration during Thursday night’s performance meaning I was late with my cues to lower the gauze – and after me banging on about concentration in my many warm-ups!) I talked about the good points from the show and how brilliant everyone was, and how proud I was to be part of the such a dedicated and truly wonderful team of people.

Unfortunately, there is one slightly embarrassing side-effect of going ‘hypo’; I get incredibly emotional.

Emotion, in its most general definition, is an intense mental state that arises autonomically in the nervous system and evokes either a positive or negative physiological response. When I’m hypomanic (about a 7/8 on my scale of 0-10), this mental state is highly intensified meaning that it’s impossible for me to suppress the visible signs of emotion. Subsequently, there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop the inevitable tears of joy! (I was already welling up with all the positive things being said by the time the discussion got half way round the circle!)

Even when I am ‘up’ and not necessarily hypomanic, a ‘moving’ moment in a movie or TV show can cause the odd tear to trickle down my cheek. (And they say men don’t cry!)

Sadly, however, it was particularly soul destroying for me to be party to a disparaging remark from one of the adults in the coffee bar afterwards and then to hear a small group of the young people alone in the hall (what appeared to me to be) taking the piss after they’d thought I’d left the building.

Ah, what the fuck. I don’t care. Life’s too short. At least my feelings were genuine, even if my Bi-Polarity means I show them in a somewhat (for a man anyway) unconventional way.

Oh well, here I am at the end of a very long post: I drove the 30 minutes home and after eating only half my dinner, I went to bed watching a rather well written Agatha Christie themed Doctor Who and then promptly fell into a very long, deep and happy sleep.

All that remains to be said is that I am very lucky and incredibly proud to be involved in the development of such a talented group of wonderful teenagers and be part of a very caring group of kind, considerate and supportive adults who, as parents and children collectively, make up the Riverside Youth Theatre and, it has to be said, without whom my Sunday afternoons would be completely and utterly worthless.

I know some of you read my blog and you’re all brilliant! (And that includes the Steward! – There you go Ryan, your wish is granted!)

Thanks guys!

PS: I am very pleased to report that Cinderella’s Father (Adam D) did eventually find his fluffy thing!!!!!!

Having had prescriptions from my GP recently for my Lamotrigine, I’ve discovered some interesting things…

I’m on a dosage of 150mg, and since the drug company makes the tablets in 100mg and 50mg (also 25mg) then I need a couple of boxes of 100mg and a couple of boxes of 50mg.

Are you with me?

Okay, so my GP made a mistake on the 50mg dosage while we were chatting – I’ve had the same GP for 6 years and she is absolutely brillant! She crossed out her mistake, initialled it, and printed off another little green form with the correct 50mg infomation on it, and then stapled the two together.

Now, at the chemists, with a long queue behind me, form duely signed and debit card in hand, the assistant asked the pharmacist if they had Lamotrigine in stock, which they did, and then proceeded to charge me £14.20 for two prescriptions.

Two?

Er, yeah. Two.

You see, I had a one little green form for the100mg tablets and another little green form for the 50mg tablets; and that’s two separate little green forms, which means two separate prescriptions.

Still with me?

And two separate prescriptions means two seperate charges of £7.10. Total: £14.10.

Naturally, having made a bit of a scene at the injustice, I decided, on principal, to return to my GP and get the prescription redone on one little green form.

Job done.

Okay so here we have it. A couple of boxes of 100mg and a couple of boxes of 50mg now both (yes, both) on one little green form.

Needless to say there was no way I was paying twice for the same drug. I made that very clear.

And I mean very clear.

I can now report that my card has been debited with £7.10. Thankfully for me my brilliant GP prescribed four months worth of tablets (the most she is allowed to do on one prescription) and so I won’t be going back to the chemsist anytime soon!

Hi.

Yep, still here.

I’m actually in Southampton at this present moment in time. Southampton Library to be exact. Just joined. (My Hampshire Library Card wasn’t good enough!) I have a couple of hours before I need to be at the Nuffield again and though it was about time I blogged.

I am coming to the end of a really shitty down. At least I hope it’s nearly the end. Been down for 13 days now and to be honest there have been a few times in the last couple of weeks where I’ve been in the unfortunate postion of having to stare at the clouds from that open doorway of my depressing tower block – as mentioned previously. Rather more than I would have liked as this down has been a bad one.

Ironic then that my last up, which lasted for a record breaking 16 days, was the best I’d had in over five years. I’d actually felt I was having a life. It was brilliant. A completely different feeling. A feeling of confidence; of knowing that everything was going to be okay and that I could enjoy the last 6/10’s of my life. (I am going to live ’til a hundred if it kills me!)

Oh well. My brain’s seizing again. Can’t think what I want to say. Maybe I’ll try again tomorrow.

My Ode To Thomas Drew

now let me tell a tale for you
about a boy who knew
that love in life comes only once
his name was thomas drew

at school a girl they called her sue
long hair and well to do
she took his breath away from him
and fell for tommy too

her birthday came a party threw
and with it special brew
he kissed her hand and held her tight
and danced the whole night through

they did the things all lovers do
pubs clubs and movies too
and underage they were of course
but no one ever knew

was sixteen then but not dear sue
arranged a rendevous
and in her room they lay entwined
were both in honey dew

a moment shared could not undo
and now she was but two
her mother came to say goodnight
a sight to misconstrue

she loves you thomas drew
she loves you thomas drew
she loves you still
she always will
she loves you thomas drew

her father freaked he floored tom too
and in a rage he flew
he locked her in the bathroom scared
their passion now taboo

in overdrive his weight he threw
and called his boys in blue
she needed tom she cried for him
a swab found residue

the bastards they did interview
harass and then pursue
hed lost his mind and run away
arrested waterloo

they charged him then for raping sue
her mind in turmoil too
and soon they hauled him off to court
inside denied she grew

the judgement came with much ado
a cell a borstal screw
who beat him up and buggered him
each arm a dark tattoo

ignored him then as he withdrew
his body black and blue
and from his bunk he hanged himself
his check well overdue

she loves you thomas drew
she loves you thomas drew
she loves you still
she always will
she loves you thomas drew

they sold his soul for hell to chew
and all for loving sue
so when the boy was born to her
she named him tommy too

and so his tale ive told for you
my ode is all but through
we love him still we always will
my father thomas drew

Copyright © 2008, PAFoster
All Rights Reserved

Hi Everybody,

All going well here.

Been up and well for 11 days and counting (a record for the last twelve months!) and been very busy too.

I think the Lamotrigine is kicking in. (Now up to 125mg)

First time in ages that I have been able to do all the things I’ve been needing and wanting to do. I have even achieved things that have been sat on my to-do list on my computer since January!

Plenty of things to be blogging about at the moment, just not enough time to do it.

Just got back from doing the weekly food shop (though I admit I spent the hour in the car reading Tony Kusher’s Angels in America for my homework while Richard whizzed round Morrison’s with the green boxes in the trolley!) and have a had a few minutes to blog while Rich is cooking dinner.

Will watch the Gadget Show, then get back to some more writing.

Yes, this week I’m writing like mad. (Another first in ages). I’m on a deadline for next Monday; but that’s another post! More info later. (I can hear Pete cracking the whip!)

Have had this poem/lyric as a draft post for a while now (it was written on March 15th) so thought I’d post it today.

Hope you enjoyed it!

Richard’s calling me for dinner. Adios.

It’s 12.30 am on Tuesday 11th March and I have just renewed my library books online with one click of my dutiful mouse.

Convenient, to say the least.

I have 9 books of playscripts sat here in my office from my last visit to the Performing Arts Library in Dorking a whole six weeks ago – and I haven’t read any of them.

My bookmark, a silver ‘P’ I unwrapped at Christmas a couple of years ago, marks the beginning of Scene Two of Caryl Churchill’s play Owners.

Scene One, I recall was set in a butchers shop where CLEGG, the butcher is chatting to WORSLEY a young man in his early twenties with bandaged wrists. I’ve tried to kill myself six times, says WORSLEY towards the end of the scene. And I’m a willing victim.

Needless to say, that was a little too close for comfort at the time and I’ve not been in a good enough mental state to read any of the other nine library books since.

Saturday night was probably the bottom of my current episode, a long and rather deep one. At least i hope it was.

I have started to write again, so here I go; splurging I think is the technical blogging term.

I’m not really one for splurging I have to admit, but I’m doing this purely for my benefit tonight and not yours, though if you do decide to read on and do get some enjoyment or life enhancing nugget of information from this post then I’ll be happy to consider it a bonus.

I don’t really want to go on about my depressive episode, but as I said this is for my benefit, not yours, so I will. You don’t have to read this.

It’s odd. Tapping away at the keyboard in the small hours is showing me that things are changing again. The fact that I haven’t written anything on this blog for a month is also significant.

It’s not that I haven’t done anything worth blogging about, I have, it’s just that although I have been doing things I would normally enjoy and want to blog about, I haven’t had the pleasure of being able to enjoy anything.

I haven’t had the energy to concentrate for long enough to write anything either. I’ll even confess that I haven’t been able to keep up my mood diary in handwritten form so that I could cheat with my postings like I did last time.

I haven’t been able to do much at all. I could give the excuse that I’ve been really busy, but unless you’d consider being really busy sleeping an excuse then I haven’t been really been really busy either.

Slept rather a lot actually. Far too much.

Today I got up at about 10.30am. Had a smoothie for breakfast, fart arsed about doing nothing in particular (though I did recieve one important phone call that I had to deal with and also managed an important email) had some soup for lunch, then, because I was totally worn out and couldn’t concentrate on anything at all, I went back to sleep for three hours.

When I woke up I had recharged enough to brave the weekly shop at Morrisons, not that I actually did any shopping, you understand. Richard did that, I just wandered around in a daze for an hour and stuck the credit card in the slot thingy while Rich packed the shopping in our green boxes.

Please note, I do not choose to live the life of a zombie. There are plenty things I should, need, and indeed want to be doing. Each and every task piles up, waiting for the day when my brain is alert enough to be able to cope with doing things.

As is often the case, during my hypomanic phases (though sadly not enough and not long enough either recently) I’ll be able to concentrate for many hours at a time and do hundred and one different things in order to catch up with my life.

What I hate most about these excessive down periods is my lack of creativity. Ironic that I have plenty of time to be creative, but simply can’t. The brain just doesn’t work. I get lost in a dark fog and find myself in that room I talked about in my last post.

Incidentally, it was thinking about describing that feeling in a blog post that got my mind off the subject of seriously considering what appears at the time to be the only way out. Thinking about what I was going to write allowed my mind to wander away enough to allow me to go to sleep.

So what have I actually been able to do in the last month?

Well, I had an assessment with the Intensive Group Therapy Team at the ACU (the mental hospital at St Peter’s in Chertsey) having been referred by my Psychiatrist an I’ve since had a letter saying I have a place on the next course that starts on the 17th (Monday).

The programme is for eight weeks and I’ll have to attend three 90 minute sessions each week; Art Therapy on a Monday, Mind Matters on a Tuesday, and Open Space on a Wednesday, as well as a fortnightly meeting with my co-ordinator.

It’s essentially talking group therapy for patients (or ’service users’ as they prefer to call us in the NHS these days) with a variety of mental health issues – I don’t think my group will be confined to those with BiPolar Disorders, and to be honest, talking therapies, whilst I do recognise they have a place, aren’t really going to be of a major benefit to me, and certainly won’t cure my condition, but the sessions I’m sure will help my understanding and at least I can have severe down days with out worrying about what people think about me.

The routine of having to be there for each session will also be helpful.

One thing that I am looking forward to is that by talking about my mental health I’ll be able to help others in the group who aren’t so clued up about their condition.

On the day of my assessment at ACU, I also went to Sunbury in the evening with Richard and a couple of friends and took part in the annual Trivial Pursuits Quiz Night organised by the Riverside Youth Theatre to raise funds.

I am pleased to say that our team, the Methuen Marvels, came 2nd out of 14, so we’ll definately be going next year with the aim of winning!

The following night I helped out Front of House for the Ottershaw Players Farrago – this year was a very adult version of Treasure Island. My contribution was new lyrics for Village Peoples ‘In the Navy’. And I’m not repeating them here! (Though with charater names like Pirate Dan Gleebles, and Roger the Cabin Boy I’m sure you get the picture.)

I managed to take Fin to the cinema during half term, though I confess I’ve completely forgotten what we saw so it was probably crap.

Oh and I did manage to go on auto pilot for a couple of days. I went to the races at Chepstow (working behind the members bar with a polish guy who didn’t know the difference between Guiness and Fosters) and the the next day I was at Wembley again working as manager in the Venue resturant for the Carling Cup match between two football teams that I have forgotten too. (Might even be working there for the Foo Fighters concert in June.)

Managed to go to my Nuffield Theatre Writers group meeting a couple of weeks ago. Though I have to say it was bloody hard work, not least because by this time my brain had slowed down to just about the pace of a snail.

Luckily I’d taken the precaution of buying a railcard and travelled to Southampton by train. Certainly wouldn’t have been able to drive down. (Too many bad thoughts – amazing how the mind gets fixated on ditches and embankments and tress when you’re driving down the motorway during a depressive episode!)

I arrived, but I’d been asleep most of the day, was wearing the same clothes I’d worn all week and couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a shower.

One helpful chap commented on the fact that I hadn’t had a shave and that completely drained the minute amount of confidence I had left in myself. I tried to explain I was BiPolar and was in a very bad down episode and left it at that. I seem to remember someone saying that I had a least made it to the meeting and that was to be commended considering the circumstances, and that helped.

I have managed to go to my Sunday afternoon sessions with the Riverside Youth Theatre in Sunbury. They are doing Sondhiem’s Into The Woods in May and it’s coming on nicely. Admittedly I haven’t been up to my usual capacity with organising workshop activities, but have managed to teach at least half of them how to juggle! A skill which, I am sure, will, at some point in their lives, come in useful.

RYT also entered their production of Richard Harris’ Albert (Stepping Out, Outside Edge) into the Elmbridge One Act Play Festival last week and I helped out back stage. Again, one of those exciting experiences I would normally have really enjoyed, but sadly for me it was all just a blur. The performances were great, and the Ajudicator was positive, though the lava-lamp was having an off day. I know how it was feeling!

I’ve been asked to consider writing a one act play for the 50th Woking Drama Festival in October and can even apply for a small amount of funding. I spent the two evenings I was watching plays at the Elmbridge Festival (I went along on the Wednesday night to see a friend performing in a new play) thinking about how totally useless I am as a writer and that there wouldn’t be any point in even bothering to write one, let alone enter it into the Woking Festival.

I have, somewhat surprising, even come up with an idea for such a play, but constantly keep telling myself its crap. I have managed to write down some notes, so maybe when I’m back up again I can look at it with a much better mental picture and maybe get round to writing it. We’ll see.

Last week I also managed to help Richard with letting his shop. Part of Richards property where we live is a small (250 sq ft) lock-up shop (we live on the three stories behind and above it.) and the last tenants who had been there for ten years vacated it at the beginning of the month.

We put up a ‘to let’ sign and its been my responsibility to field the calls and find a tenant. (Richard hates dealing with that sort of stuff and I enjoy it and its the least I can do to help out since he does most of the other things in our relationship, though I do all the driving because Richard never took his driving test when he was younger and sold the mini he was learning to drive in to buy an antique four poster victorian brass bed.)

It’s not been easy or enjoyable though since it has clashed with my down period. I don’t have the ability to make the calls I need to make, and don’t get to answer the calls I need to answer either. Richard just ends up saying I’m out on business (ie asleep upstairs) and says I’ll call them back.

We have a potential new tenant, a beauty therapist into manicures and pedicures and tanning and waxing and stuff, and I really need to chase things.

I did manage to speak to our solicitor today about issuing a new ten year lease on the shop, but I also need to speak to the old tenant whose claiming he paid a deposit ten years ago, and I can’t do it all at once. It’s things like this that just have to wait until my brain is able to menatlly deal with the concententaion needed to communicate effectively.

As I mentioned earlier, after just one important 15 minute conversation demanding my utmiost concentration and powers of thought today, I was knacked and needed to go back to sleep. Maybe I’ll be better able to deal with things tomorrow.

If you’re still reading, you’ve just learnt that depression isn’t just about being sad or unhappy. The sad (and often suicidal) thoughts come from the frustration of trying to deal with a brain that doesn’t work, one that won’t allow you to do or enjoy the things you normally do and enjoy. There are times when you end up feeling that it is never going to get any better and you just want to end it all purely and simply for the relief of not having to deal with it again. There is (for me anyway) the constant battle of weighing up the short term pain in committing the act with the long term pain of dealing with a brain that doesn’t work properly.

In my analogy of the room that I wrote about in my last post, the key to the locked door being thrown away means that I have developed a system where by I can keep that decision as far away as possible. Though at times like when you’ve been as down as I have for the past month, there is a very fine line.

As I said in my last post; on saturday night I found the key and opened the door. I’m intelligent enough to know that this extreme low period will pass, but there are plenty of other people out there who will not be so fortunate as I am.

I did manage to lock the door again and throw away the key, and to be honest I don’t think I would ever be able to actually step outside, though over the years I have thought about the ‘how’ many, many times.

And although that scares the shit out of you, what really fucking scares the shit out of you is wondering if or when the thinking about the ‘how’ actually stops scaring the fucking shit out of you.

Enough.

If you’re still reading, I’ll move on.

Since I thought of the title of this post (can you remember it?) before I thought of the actual writing I’ve still got to get on to the second word in order to complete the double meaning. Confused?

I’ve said already that I haven’t done much reading, and neither have I written much either. The last time I even looked at Kath and Kin was probably about two months ago.

I find this deeply distressing since I can’t even begin to earn a living in the future if I can’t write a play.

There has been the odd spurt of a scene or two – I managed a couple scenes of a short five scene play as an exercise in writing in words of one syllable. (Incidentally, we haved moved on to the art of writing a good ‘arguement’ in my Nuffield Theatre Writers Group – Stichomythia as the ancient Greeks called it. Which reminds me I still have the homework to do!)

I have though managed a few more lyrics. The attention span needed to write a lyric is a heck of a lot less that writing a play, or a blog post for that matter. I can have an idea, make a note on paper, then type it up and add to it, then review it and re-write it, all over a period of a couple of days with minimal effort each time.

I am even being asked by other people to write for them. I’m up to 9 songs I think at last count, and now write for three musician/songwriters, though I have to admit I have yet to hear any of my creations set to music so I don’t know if they are any good.

Though I did read a couple out at a poetry evening for a recent Woking Writers Circle Meeting – another evening where I definatley wasn’t firing on all four pistons – and the comments were favourable except for one member.

After saying they were good she promptly added that they would only work as poetry because you wouldn’t find the word ‘pedestal’ in a song.

I was floored. The word was pivotal to the meaning of the lyric and my mental state was not helping my feelings of total inadequacy.

It wasn’t until a couple of days later that I heard Diana Ross singing Chain Reaction with the Bee Gees ( You took a mystery and made me want it. You took a pedestal and put me on it.) Sod her I thought thinking of the Writers Circle Member who had dared to cut me down, if its good enough for the Bee Gees, it’s good enough for me!

I am having fun with my lyrics, and though I am usually very happy writing plays, lyric writing has at least meant I have been able to write something creative in the weeks I have been down. Admittedly, most have reflected my mood, though none are autobiographical since all my lyrics are about characters who have a story to tell, in much the same way as those in a play, just that the time taken to tell the story is very much shorter.

I’ve recently been asked to write lyrics for a member of the Riverside Youth Theatre who sings in a ‘metalcore’ band. Apparently not as much shouting as ‘thrashmetal’, or so I have come to understand.

I must admit I have not had the slightest interest in this genre since I’m much more main stream rock/pop (80’s synth driven pop – Erasure to be more specific) but having heard some of the music I could at least, once I got past the shouting and screaming, appreciate the musical and indeed the lyrical content. You need a fair amount of talent to play that stuff.

The pace is much faster and the song structure appears a bit different too. Lyrically the tone is much darker than I’m used too, though there is still a story to be told, just in a darker way. Hey, I can do dark. Been there, bought the tee shirt.

I also appreciate that we are all entitled to our own taste in music and it has been quite an experience researching the lyrics of this genre, something I never would have done had I not been asked to attempt some lyrics for this band.

Anyway, I’ve had a go and sent a lyric off into cyberspace; it remains to be seen what comes of it. At the very least I hope it will inspire somebody to write some music for it. (Yes Taddy, that means you!)

Which brings me to the end of this post. (You’re still reading?!)

Oh except that is to mention the bunnies. Got to mention the bunnies!

Richard’s niece (and her husband and six very young children) all moved further south recently and couldn’t take their pet rabbits with them. They have been in the driveway of Richards parents house for a month or two now, but this week I managed to find new homes for two of them.

The little silver dwarf buck has gone to my friend Nicky’s son Finlay and was subsequently named Smokey, and the half brown half white doe is has now been named Clover and is living it up in Horsell with my friend Amanda’s two children.

It’s great to bring pleasure to others. Just slightly annoying that I haven’t been able to actively enjoy it myself. though I do make every effort to.

I’m off to see my psychiatrist again on Wednesday and report on my medication and my Group Therapy place. I am wondering if the meds are causing some of my tiredness. Who knows? At least I haven’t had a major reaction to them like I did the last lot! Up to 75mg now. Need to be at 150 before they are supposed to be doing anything. here’s hoping.

Oh well, that’s it. Three and half hours and three and a half thousand words later and I have finished my post.

Again, writing it was just for my benefit, but hopefully if you’ve got this far then you’ve got something out of it too.

I’m certainly pleased I have been able to concentrate for three and half hours straight – the first time in over a month – and I have a record of what I have done during this depressive episode too, which is great.

Admittedly I am beginning to wain a little and so have decided I am going to post this now completely un-edited, something I wouldn’t normally do, but what the hell, it is a record of my current mental state and that is why I have written it.

Thanks for reading.

Okay, imagine, if you will, a room.

Now imagine the room has a door, a door that is locked. You know the door is locked for a very good reason since it was you who locked it and you have the key. At least you did have, because you decided it would be in your best interests to throw the key away.

How you doing?

Okay, my guess is you are imagining that this room is a dark and horrible place where you don’t want to be.

Good.

And that you have locked it because you don’t want to go inside.

Still good, but you’re completely missing the point.

Step up that wonderful imagination of yours and imagine that you are not on the outside of the dark room with the door that you locked, with the key you have thrown away…

No… you’re on the inside.

You’re inside this room not through choice, but because your brain isn’t working and has put you in here. You can’t just “pull yourself together” or “play some happy music”.

The room is dark because there are no windows, only the door, which you locked, which means of course for the length of time you’re in this place (and only your brain knows how long that will be) there is only one way out.

But you’ve locked the door; oh and did I mention you threw away the key?

Well, the key you threw away is in the room with you, on the floor, somewhere; but it’s dark and you can’t find it.

But do you really want to find it?

Now this room is relatively small, about six foot square; so, hunting around for the key isn’t going to be that difficult even if it is dark and the air’s running out.

How’s that imagination of yours? Still with me?

The problem is, there’s really nothing else to do but look for the key so you can open the door you locked. Unless of course you spend your time thinking about the bad stuff, or sleeping so you don’t have to think about it.

In fact, it’s really just a matter of time, right? I mean, you will find it, if you really want to, and believe me, half of you wants to find it because what could possibly be worse than suffocating in a cold dark locked room with nothing to do but think about how useless you are stuck in such an awful place?

Okay, if your imagination is half-way decent, and I’m sure it is, you’re probably screaming at me and shouting: Just find the bloody key, you idiot, and why the fuck did you lock the sodding door in the first place?

Well, assuming your imagination is up to it, perhaps you’d care to imagine that this room is actually in a skyscraper, and if there were any windows in this room, then you’d have a great view of the city one hundred and one stories below you.

So, let me recap, for the sake of your sanity, if not for mine….

You are locked in a room, a dark cold room six foot square with no windows and one door, in a skyscraper one hundred and one stories up in the air. The door is locked because you locked it and you have thrown away the key which now lies somewhere on the floor in the darkness.

The air is running out and it’s hell. Real hell. There is nothing to do but think, and think, and think, about how awful it is and whether perhaps you should really be looking for the key.

And when you’ve done all that horrible thinking, and taken up as much time as you can, you pray that you can fall asleep and wake up somewhere else.

Somewhere pleasant, where the sun shines.

When you do fall asleep and wake up in the dark room again for the umpteenth time with nothing but your thoughts, oh and the shiny key, somewhere on the floor, in the darkness, do you start looking for the key?

How many days can you survive in this room before you start looking? (Feeling actually, now I come to think about it!)

A day? A week? How about a whole month maybe… or two?

Are you forgetting that it was you who locked the door in the first place?

Wondering why?

Well, there’s one last thing for your imagination: That door opens with the key you have thrown away hoping that you’ll get out in some other way before you have to start looking for the key; hoping that you never get the opportunity to find it even if you do give in and start looking for it.

You see, you need to imagine the door doesn’t open onto a corridor in the building, imagine the door opens onto the outside of the skyscraper one hundred and one stories up.

Now you know why you locked it.

–

I’ve been in that room for about month now. A few days ago I had to start looking for the key.

And last night I found it.

Welcome to my world. Boy, your imagination is good.

I unlocked the door and opened it. I let the light in so I could see again. I let the air in so I could breath again. I stood there and thought about how beautiful the city looked bathed in sunshine. I could hear the traffic in the streets far below me and watched the birds as they flew past in odd formations.

Then I knew I just had to lock the door again… and throw away the key.

I eventually went to sleep and woke up this morning. Somewhat annoyingly I am still in that room. But at least I have some fresh air now and hopefully my brain will allow me the pleasure of waking up somewhere else before I find myself on my hands and knees in the darkness searching for the key again.

Texts

Doing rather a lot of this now. Never used too. Couldn’t see the point.

I have recently discoved the benefits of predictive text and now have extended conversations with friends over a period of days. I send a text one day, then they reply a couple of days later, then I reply a couple of days after that. Cool.

Some texts make me laugh. I go to great lengths using all my characters in a text to my brother (160 – I have to get my 10p’s worth!), and then he generally sends one back using one word!

Mind you he did manage a few more words on Shrove Tuesday. He wanted to know if I was free for a charity pancake race that evening. Apparently, they had the pancakes and the pans; all they wanted was a tosser!

Drugs

I came back up again Sunday after a 10 day down, so not as long as the last one. I thought it would prehaps be a good idea to contact my GP and was able to see her yesterday.

I haven’t seen her for a while as she has been on maternity leave having had a baby girl. I like my GP, she’s very good; my ten minute appointment lasted a full half an hour!

I have been prescribed some meds by my Psychiatrist and I had to see my GP to pick up the prescription. To be honest, I am really fed up with having been down for long periods recently and so decided I should at least try them; though I do have an aversion to medication as nothing has yet worked for me and one anti-depressant put me in hospital a few years ago when I had an illergic reaction to it.

“I’ve seen your notes,” said my GP yesterday whilst discussing my new medication’s alarmingly similar side-effects. “Did you know you very nearly died?”

My Psychiatrist has prescribed Lamictal (Lamotigine) which is drug used by patients with epilepsy. It isn’t yet licensed for BiPolar Affective Disorder in this country though does appear to have had major success in a few trials.

The drug regulates the build up of sodium in the nerve cells in our brains. Sodium is needed by the nerves to release electrical signals – too much or too little electrical activity and the brain can’t function properly.

It’ll be a while before I can report on any difference these make. I’m only on a 25mg dose and will have to up this to 150mg by increasing the dose 25mg at a time every two weeks. By my calculations this will be in 10 weeks time!

Rock’n'Roll

And finally for today’s post, I’ve discovered a new hobby. Well sort of.

I have a singer/songwriter friend with an electric guitar and I’ve started writing lyrics for him. Great fun.

Because I think in a creative character/storytelling sort of way (useful for a playwright!) I have found it very interesting to channel this into short bursts – ie: using the limited number of words needed in a song to tell a story and develop the character of the story-teller.

I love finding new rhymes and have a penchant for illiteration too. I also have an interest in music (though I don’t play and can’t sing) and would dearly love to own a grand piano, but that’s another post.

Very early days yet as I’ve only written four songs in the last couple of weeks, but we’ll see what comes of it. If it works out I may well publish a few here.