I’ve had a few reasonable days recently, and also some very weary days. I had a (mostly) lovely weekend, but I then basically slept from early Sunday evening until lunchtime Tuesday. Even lovely days wear me out, although to be fair, Saturday was a lovely but emotional day. A young couple in our church got married. It was a wonderful mix of traditional, up-to-the-minute modern, with touches of off the wall! It summed them up perfectly, young and vibrant, but with traditional Christian values at heart. It was a truly beautiful day.

To be fair, I did have a migraine, which is always very draining in its own right, but I managed to dose myself up enough to get to the evening reception where my son had been asked to take photos. Although I left a little early, having arranged for him to be brought home later, I had got through the day with only one anxiety wobble and no inconsolable sobbing.

Yes, I understand it’s permissable to cry at weddings, but since being widowed I have been known to start bawling and then be unable to stop. Slightly embarrassing to say the least! Considering how very low I was only 2-3 weeks ago, I think I did ok.

I’m not sure where the low came from. As so often in Bipolar, it just seemed to descend on me and engulf me. Added to that I noticed one of my little gerbils was unwell, and I forced myself to get a wash and put some clean clothes on so I could take him to the vet. I admit I am the crazy gerbil lady, but agreed to paying out £100 for him to have surgery to remove a lump from his tummy, which he came through well, only to pass away two days (and more cash) later. I was gutted. I held him as he slipped away, and I thought how I had already administered more end-of-life care than one person should in a lifetime. Not that I begrudge any of those I have nursed, human or animal, patient or family, and as hard as the thought is now, I will no doubt do it again. It was just a particularly bitter pill to swallow when I was already feeling so wretched. RIP little Phillip.

The following week my mood was worse still, and vague thoughts of suicide developed into ideation, planning, all the time becoming clearer, more detailed, more achievable, more desirable. I decided upon the perfect place from which to hang myself, chose a strong leather belt with which to do the deed and at one point I stood in front of the mirror with the belt pulled tight around my neck just to see what that would feel like, how much it would hurt. I guess something at that moment clicked in my head, because I undid the belt and put it out of sight.

When my CPN said he was too busy to see me that week I thought I would lose the plot. I cried solidly for over two hours after I put the phone down on him, and spent the next couple of days back in my pit, just surviving, wondering how on earth I would get through. By the end of that week though, my mood was improving again, and I took the positive action of contacting the local Mind wellbeing centre to see what was involved in accessing their services. In particular, I want to do their self-esteem course, as so many of my problems seem to be laid at the feet of my shockingly low self-regard, esteem and confidence.

My referral for Mind has now been done and I am awaiting an initial assessment date from them. I have received a date for my assessment appointment with RASAC at the beginning of September, and whilst that fills me with dread, I am proud of myself for even getting this far, and am focusing on my holiday next week to take my mind off it for the time being. And talking of my holiday, in conversation yesterday with my son’s social worker, she casually asked if it was possible for him to join my dad and I for a couple of nights of the break (we’d been previously told this wouldn’t be possible). So me, being me said three nights would be better, and given our last couple of weekend contacts have gone so well she has agreed to it. I am seriously not sure who is more excited, me or him! Have contacted the holiday company this morning and everything is set! Yay! 

My final positive at the moment; I haven’t self-harmed now for six months. Half a year I’ve been clean, 26 weeks. I wish I had some strategies to pass on, but I don’t. It’s been painfully hard at times, and just my sheer bloody mindedness that made me not want to let myself, and others down. I do use a Koosh ball to take my aggression out on, digging my nails into it as hard as I can (as I once would have done to my own skin). I still carry a small pocket knife with me as I feel more secure knowing it is there, which seems to make me less likely to want to use it. If it hadn’t been for the support of my CPN I know I wouldn’t have got this far, but he seems to have the knack of getting through to me when no-one else can. I know, in comparison to many, I am extremely lucky in this respect; I have a care coordinator I utterly trust with my craziest and darkest thoughts and feelings and his no nonsense, say-it-as-it-is approach suits me well. He knows I hate feeling patronised, he knows I won’t take any bull, so he doesn’t pull any punches. The therapeutic relationship just seems to work. Even the therapist I saw from the CMHT commented on the effectiveness of it, despite the inability to put his finger on exactly why!

I am aware I am using some of the DBT skills I have learned on courses I have done in the last year and a half. That and the few sessions I had with the therapist (he is currently unable to see me because of temporary increased job commitments) seem to be helping me make small but significant steps forward. I am hoping he will be able to work with me again in the future, but aside from that, when he said he was not able to continue our sessions at present, I was disappointed, a little tearful, but not the sobbing hysterical person I would once have been, unable to cope with the smallest of changes or losses.  

So I guess what I am trying to say is, I’m still up and down, having both good days and bad and very much riding the bipolarcoaster, but I can see pockets of progress and achievement. To even be able to admit that is a positive step for me. I still hope a tweak of my medication may offer me further stability of mood, because the prospect of this being as good as it gets is rather a depressing thought, but generally I am working hard to hold on to the hope that I can and will get through this. Again.

Thanks for reading.

Angel 👼🏼