I made my annual Christmas escape to Butlins exactly as I have for the previous eight Christmasses since my husband died. It is a safe place, a home-from-home sort of place for me. It’s a place where I do very little; enjoy food someone else has cooked, on plates someone else has washed and am entertained by lovely talented people who are paid to entertain. I was accompanied on this year’s retreat by my son, aged 16 and my father aged 81. As much as I love them both, spending too much time with either of them is exhausting, and put them together, well! The teenager was, on the whole wonderful company, it was the octogenarian who stressed me out! To be fair, he nearly didn’t come with us, in the preceding weeks he had said he didn’t really want to, but I hated the idea of him home alone at Christmas, so I talked him round. I spent most of the break wondering why, as everything was wrong for him, and he took every possible opportunity to let us know. I was so fed up with it, but was fighting hard to keep the smile on, for the boy, and for my own sanity. Being the mediator and the matriarch of the family is a role I neither wanted nor have ever felt comfortable with, but it seems to be the legacy of losing my mother. Now I’m supposed to adult, to make important decisions, the implications of which are complicated and far reaching. Me! I can’t even decide what to have for breakfast. That’s if I even make it out of bed for breakfast. 

Since returning home almost a week ago getting up has been a particular issue. The first couple of days I slept. Just slept, and barely ate enough to prevent me vomiting when I took my meds. I was beyond exhausted. The next day I managed to get up by the afternoon to touch base with my support worker at Mind. I did a lot of crying. And I mean a lot of crying on her. My mood was so incredibly low. I cursed myself for thinking escaping Christmas meant I could somehow avoid the difficult emotions that always seem to accompany the season. I laid in bed staring at the ceiling. I had glimpses of suicidal ideation. I tried to reassure myself that this was not an unusual reaction to returning home and that I should just rest if I needed to, and do things I enjoyed if I felt up to it. I’m still sleeping too much, currently waking about 11am, but there’s no point trying to do anything other than go with it.

Because in the meantime, my mood has been very mixed, I have been jokey and giggly in company, and as it felt the need to prove itself present, correct and very much in control, thanks to hypomania I have just joined two dating websites. This is a disaster waiting to happen! I’ve had the sense to put off the guy who wanted to drive down there and then because he wanted to cuddle up with me on my sofa (we’d been messaging each other all of an hour by then and he hadn’t even told me his name!) but I am fearful of what exactly I am capable of doing when this high. The first night I signed up to one of the sites a guy starts chatting with me, and before long we were having a deliciously naughty conversation, and I will be honest, it was only geography that stopped us getting together for the night. My vulnerability, the same vulnerability that threw me into Andy’s arms last year, terrifies me at times. Which brings me to another proof of my hypomania (as if I needed it); I text Andy on New Years Eve. Yes I know, I’m crazy. Thankfully he hasn’t responded as, of course, hypo me didn’t think through the implications of possibly reestablishing contact with him. Not that I really believe he would want to. 

So here I am back on the emotional seesaw of a mixed mood episode, giggly and flirty by night and like the creature from the swamp by day. My sleep is messed up, I cry at the slightest thing, and I am only remembering to eat when I start feeling nauseous. Everything about Christmas and New Year is so incredibly hard. No matter how much I try I can’t seem to fight the reflective thoughts that take me into such a difficult emotional state. I think it’s one of those times when one has to just ride the waves. Ride it out. Let’s face it, I have good reason to be thankful 2016 is done. But at the end of this storm, I’m trusting there is going to be some sunshine ahead.

Wishing you all the very best for 2017.

👼🏼