I’m not sure how this evening’s rambling will pan out. Maybe a few words, few sentences. Maybe a full on ramble. I don’t know.

I also don’t know why I feel like I feel at the moment. I just know I’m not right. I’m stupidly tired, yet sleep hasn’t been my friend. Or just intermittently. I’m struggling to get excited about activity, I just want to passively watch television. Something I rarely do in normal circumstances.

My emotions are big, I feel overwhelmed, I’m constantly on the verge of tears. I want to be comforted yet I don’t feel worthy. I feel like I should be hiding away. I can’t believe anyone wants to be around me when I feel so utterly pathetic.

I was recently very unwell physically. My body was plagued with three separate infections, all attacking me concurrently. My immune system was struggling and I needed two courses of antibiotics, overlapping each other over a period of around twelve days. I could just be in a post infection slump.

Also, I’m in love. Would that genuinely adversely affect my mental health? In reality, it could yes. It has brought massive change. And challenges to my beliefs and thinking. As incredible as it is, I don’t tend to cope too well with change. My anxiety has increased. The fact that the difficult emotions tend to be offset by the amazing ones has perhaps masked them. And to be honest, even the best emotions can be exhausting and overwhelming for me. That’s the joys of living with bipolar and EUBPD. Unlike someone whose depression is reactive, in bipolar it’s more chemical. And as such completely defies logic at times.

Being in a relationship where I am cared for when I’m struggling with my health is a new one for me. A relationship where I’m valued, not subject to ridicule or belittling for my mental health issues. Or dropped like a stone when my perceived usefulness is exhausted. It’s all a steep learning curve. When my habit of taking the piss out of myself before anyone else can keeps getting challenged. I guess my life feels a bit upside down currently. But in a good way.

It’s quite hard to be kind to oneself when your life feels compromised and you just feel pathetic and needy. But of course it is the time when we must be the kindest. And allow those closest to us to be kind too.

I think for me, plenty of rest, lots of self care things, and time with the one I love. Always being mindful that I can access mental health support if things deteriorate.

Thanks for reading 👼🏻

I’m not even sure where to begin. I just know my brain is over full and sometimes writing helps. Emotionally I’m completely overspent already this week. I could do with a cry really, but that ain’t happening. As a last resort I may have to rely on sad songs and gin. That generally does it.

Nearly two weeks ago I discovered a bumpy area in my right breast. I was really unsure if it was anything to be concerned about or not, but being a responsible breast owner I took her to see the GP the following day. Incidentally my family doctor is now back from maternity leave, and she was absolutely lovely with me and the wayward boob. I noticed the area was quite tender as she examined me, but like me, she was unsure if there was a problem or not. So I was referred on a two week turnaround appointment to check.

I can’t remember how exactly I told Martin, my new gentleman, but he promised to be by my side whatever happened. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d disappeared. But I had hoped he wouldn’t. I really didn’t want to face it alone. I let him know as soon as I got my clinic appointment and it fit around his work fairly easily so he announced he would be taking me. I was so relieved.

Previously my Dad had gone with me to these appointments. In fact when he died I was still waiting on the results of a punch biopsy which he never got to know. And this week it’s two years since he died. Which feels totally unreal. I miss him so much still. Although I can no longer say my Dad was the only man who always treated me right.

To be honest, being in relationship with a good man is constantly blowing my mind. I don’t quite know what to do with it. And I’m scared as hell I’m just one big disappointment as a human being.

I can’t help but make comparisons with the previous (toxic) relationships I’ve been in. Not because there are similarities, but because there aren’t and I feel all adrift. I don’t know how to respond to honesty and kindness.

My clinic appointment was long, but the outcome was good. Nothing to be concerned about. I did feel a massive sense of relief. I can enjoy being in a lovely new relationship without worrying about endless clinic visits or possible surgery. Ladies, check your breasts regularly for any changes. Actually, gents too, breast cancer isn’t exclusively female. And I’m genuinely thankful for our incredible NHS.

I wonder what my Dad would make of Martin. I know without doubt he would approve of my happiness. Our making our relationship official on Facebook would have gone straight over Dad’s head, but it seemed appropriate that a pairing born out of Facebook Dating should be announced there to friends. I just really feel the significance of being with a man who isn’t ashamed of me and isn’t trying to hide me. That speaks volumes.

So where am I now? One very much loved alive man, one very much still loved dead man, a breast scare that turned out to be nothing and a head full of oversized emotions. Maybe I’ll have that gin.

I’m really out of my comfort zone. My emotions are all over the place. I think I had actually convinced myself I was unlovable. I felt it. I wore a T-shirt that declared it to the world. Every time I met a potential partner I was just too much. Or not enough. And sometimes both. Such are the joys of dating with bipolar, BPD and a shedload of baggage. I absolutely know I’m not an easy option. When I would put on my dating profile I needed to meet someone honest with robust communication skills, patience and great emotional literacy, I meant it. In reality, few got past my profile picture. Attracted by a little red lace, all my requirements went by the wayside. And as time went on, the more men I met, the more I convinced myself I was undateable.

I still believed that with the right person I wouldn’t be too much or too little. I’d be just right. I was just losing faith that that person existed. But it seems the weird old world of Facebook Dating was to be lucky for me. A month ago a stranger by the name of Martin popped into my inbox. We started to chat. Both of us were keen to meet sooner rather than later, although he had the courtesy to let me keep an existing date I’d arranged with a guy previously. It was something Martin messaged me while I was with the other guy that made me realise what an incredible man he was. Honest, open, kind and caring and I found myself more keen than ever to meet him.

And I think it was when we met, I knew. We just seemed to click on every level. Being in his presence felt like coming home. And he absolutely felt like my person. I felt safe. I felt loved.

We even discussed how it was far too soon to use the L-bomb. But as much as we talked about it, we couldn’t unfeel what we were feeling. We’re better together. And my toiletries have a little spot in his bathroom. Just for convenience sake.

And despite all my stupid overthinking, I’m really happy. I am capable of doing life by myself, have done for the last 13 years, but I prefer not to. I like being with someone. I like his messages. I like falling asleep in his arms and waking up beside him. I like holding his hand in the street or across a table. I love how he makes me feel. And I can’t remember the last time someone brought me a cuppa in bed. He’s a proper good lad. He even washed my back when I was showering the other morning. After screaming because I didn’t see him come in, I realised no one had ever done that since my mumma used to wash me as a kid. I don’t believe I have ever felt this cherished.

I’m fighting the doubts constantly. The voice that tells me it’s too good to be true. That no one does those things without expecting something in return. Where’s the catch? The one that goes, “Just when you relax and trust him, you know he’ll disappear? He knows my fears. He knows my weaknesses. He knows my past. And he assures me he’s going nowhere.

And the weirdest part? He thinks he won’t be enough for me. Because we’re possibly as insecure as each other. Which with any other guy would make me so anxious. But this one is a talker. And we both know that so long as we keep communication open we can sort things out.

My friend asked me the other night how things were going with Martin, was I still happy with him? My reply was this, “I can’t imagine ever wanting anyone else”. And I stand by that. He makes me so happy.

It’s early days, but it doesn’t feel like it. And we’re realistic. We’re not naive. We went public on our respective Facebook pages this week and the response was overwhelming. Mostly it was noted how happy we both look. And we really are. Happy and in love.

I think it’s fair to say I could never be accused of being a quitter. In life generally, or indeed in the dating game. Given how appallingly I have been treated over the last five years by all kinds of assorted men in my quest for love, I think anyone with any compassion would think me justified should I have given up altogether. But I kept hanging on. Determined there had to be decent guys out there somewhere, or more specifically, one decent guy who was destined to be my decent guy.

I think I’ve met my decent guy and I can hardly contain myself.

Recent dating encounters have had me sceptical. Always saying I’d believe it when I saw it. After all words are cheap. Actions genuinely do speak louder. I’d go into it with an ‘impress me’ attitude, keeping my heart very guarded. I’d been devastated too many times.

Two and a half weeks ago I matched with a gentleman on Facebook Dating. Simultaneously I’d connected with a guy on PoF who had arranged to visit the weekend coming. We had a pleasant weekend, but he lived too far away, and he just wasn’t really for me. So I continued talking with my man on Facebook and within a couple of days more we’d met over a cuppa and cake.

Wow! It was impossible to think we’d only known each other for such a short space of time. We both felt as if the other had been in our lives forever. We clicked. Conversation flowed. I felt at ease when he held my hand and when he hugged me goodbye.

Another cake date followed. Lots of messages and calls. A brunch date. A sleepover at his. So much conversation. So much honesty. And something that blew us away; an incredible depth of feeling, mutual feelings. And use of the L-bomb.

I do realise it’s probably way too soon by the standards of others. But it’s working for us. We’re really aware it is very early days but we’re not lovestruck teenagers. We’re mostly pretty grounded 50-somethings, who have been through so much in our lives that we know the importance of grabbing happiness with both hands.

Yesterday as I was catching up with some jobs at home, a delivery of flowers arrived for me. I was in tears as the delivery driver handed them to me. I have not been sent flowers by a man since before my husband died. And that’s thirteen years now. They were exquisite, pink and purple shades and I just gazed at them for a time, rereading the tiny card that accompanied them. I felt so genuinely happy. And loved.

I hate the fact that in the face of what appears to be real love and concern, I’m afraid to fully relax and just enjoy it. I feel sad that such a good man, who doesn’t deserve to be doubted, is reaping the aftermath of the others who came before him. The ones who broke my heart and messed with my head. My insecurities cause me to feel inadequate in the face of his affection.

I am however confident, that given time I will trust him fully. And we will have innumerable happy times together. But at the moment, it’s all just wow!

 

I had a blissful moment when I awoke,

Far too early.

The devastation of last night

Hadn’t yet hit me.

Until it did.

 

In the blink of an eye,

Like a kick to the guts,

It winded me

And tears prickled behind my eyes.

 

When I read the message,

Last night,

I was actually speechless.

I stared into space,

Crying silently,

But there were no words.

Just physical pain

And a huge vacuous place

Where my heart once was.

Yes, of course I know

It’s way too soon

To have fallen so deep,

But that’s being borderline for you.

My emotions don’t work

The way other people’s work.

Hence he can decide with logic

While I suffer with a passion.

 

How do men do that?

Choose their work,

A good pay deal,

Over matters of the heart?

And how can they drop a bombshell,

Knowing it will obliterate,

Then leave you in silence

While they retreat into solitude?

 

How do I continue,

Since he looked at me,

Like I was the most beautiful girl in the world?

How do I ever

Go back to normal?

Now I know that look exists,

How do I live without it,

Knowing there’s a chance

Nobody will look at me that way again?

 

What if no man ever adores,

Or cherishes me again

The way he did?

It’s unthinkable.

He allowed me a taste of paradise

Just to snatch it away.

 

How do you process a whirlwind

Of passion, of happiness

When it departed

Before it barely began?

 

Why does he get to choose,

But I just get told?

How do I go from

Being his somebody,

To just being nobody?

Dropped from a height.

When he offered me every night,

Yet now perpetually alone.

Again.

 

I feel like the unluckiest person ever

When it comes to romance.

I’ve settled for half-baked

Excuses for men,

When I truly deserved much more.

I’ve stayed in relationships

When I should have walked

Because I hate to give up.

The pain I’ve endured,

In the name of love is vast.

And then when a good one comes,

And he was,

He chooses his job over me.

That hurts.

Guess I know where I stand.

I stumbled upon this piece of writing recently. I thought it had been lost forever. It was penned in 2014 for a project across social media, Twitter in particular, called A Day in the Life – Mental Health. It was because of writing this, and how therapeutic I found it, that I went on to launch this blog in early 2015. My friend suggested I use it as a comparison, see how far I’ve come. My health is infinitely improved, that’s fairly obvious. But I think my writing now is better too. More consistent, more reader friendly. It wasn’t a comfortable read, but I’ve made a lot of progress, of which I’m proud. Enjoy isn’t the right word. But celebrate with me.

A day in the Life MH 7th November 2014.

“It is nearly 1am,” said the voice on the end of the line, “Perhaps you should try and get some sleep.” I sighed. I promised the out of hours nurse that I would get changed for bed, make a milky drink and try to sleep. I felt calmer than before the call, and suddenly very tired. I pulled the duvet up and turned out the light. I slept for a while, visited by puzzling dreams, but by 4am I was awake again. My head was spinning in the darkness, with peculiar images, line-drawn and monochrome, like ’70’s album covers. The familiar voice, the source of the damning thoughts, taunted me with name-calling and how I should self-harm, how I should kill myself, how no one would miss me, no one would notice. I fought to bring my mind to order, but the images, the voice and random emotions all jostled for position. I tried relaxation. I tried distraction. I put on calming music. Nothing. After an hour of trying to get back to sleep, I picked up the phone again. Same person. It’s such a relief to hear the nurse on the line is compassionate, and not dismissive, hurried, or dare I say it, just too busy to really care. He talked me through a deep muscle relaxation exercise, and to my surprise, it helped. Next, mental exercises for distraction, and a plan. At this point I did make a cup of tea, and at 7am, just as the world was waking, I went back to bed.

I awoke again at lunchtime. I lay cocooned in my duvet, unwilling to move. Evidence of my distress the night before was everywhere, a knife, packs of pills, a huge glass of wine (untouched) and some new cuts on my forearms. That overwhelming rush of the dawning of another day hit me, the realisation that although I had been talked out of the disastrous, I felt no joy, no relief. I wished in that moment I had taken the pills and drunk the wine. 

I forced myself to move. Ashamed that I had slept in my clothes, I ran a bath. I also called the Community Mental Health Team to speak to my care coordinator. Out on a visit….can I take a message?…..I’ll get him to call you…..blah blah. Same old same old. I ignored the sinking feeling and plodded on with bath, tooth cleaning, dressing, eating and taking my meds. 

A friend sent me a text to see how I was doing. I told her I was waiting to hear from my nurse. It is heartening that someone cares and takes time to check in with me. I felt guilty and decided against telling her I planned to head out shortly for the top of the multi-storey car park with the intention of ending my life. 

The day was as cold and grey as my mood. As I stared blankly across the town, the sun briefly came out through the rain. Although the stunning full arc of the rainbow caused me to marvel, my mood remained unchanged. People below were going about their business, and I wondered at what point I became so detached from everything around me. Startled suddenly by the ringtone of a phone, it takes tangible seconds to realise the ringing phone is mine. Hesitantly I answer. The familiar Yorkshire accent of my CPN. I can’t process what he says and the traffic below makes it difficult to hear. Yet I feel reassured by his voice. As I tune in to his words, I curse him silently for knowing me so well. He knows the only important people in my life are my son and my dad. He reminds me what my death would do to them and I begin to waver. He assures me he can arrange for me to see a different psychiatrist, as the relationship with mine has broken down. He reminds me I have an appointment with my GP early next week, and that I should seek his help in the meantime.

As the call ends, I suddenly become aware of how cold I am. I stare a while longer, then glance at my watch. If I go now I can still get to my choir rehearsal. Singing is one of the few things in my life that lifts my mood. Maybe I don’t want to die today. Maybe I can trust the reassuring voice of the Yorkshireman. Maybe.

👼🏻

Wow! I just reread the blog I posted a month ago. The blog that marked the end of six weeks of dating the truck driver. Obviously I never heard any more from him. So I hit Plenty of Fish and Tinder with a vengeance in an attempt to meet someone else.

Initially there was a flurry of interest, and I met a couple of guys for coffee. The first quickly showed his true colours; saying he was seeking a relationship but rapidly disappearing when I declined going to his for sex as a second date. The other was very pleasant but messaged after the date saying he didn’t think we were suited. And I was inclined to agree. I have started conversations with numerous others over the last month but they have all fizzled out for one reason or another. Then I connected with Paul, lives fairly locally, a little older, but not too much and divorced. We only communicated for a few days but he seemed really genuine, down to earth and honest. He chatted really frankly with me, and had asked me to go to his for dinner on Friday. I was truly hopeful, there seemed to be an integrity about him I’d not experienced from other prospective dates.

Also, after I sent a face pic the other night, he had called me beautiful. I admit I cried a little. Guys don’t call me beautiful. They call me sexy. They look at my body, they don’t look at me. Only my female friends say I’m beautiful. He said I was beautiful. Then he left. How to truly fuck with my head.

He messaged today and ditched me. No explanation. I did reply asking if I may inquire why, but obviously I’m not even worth that. I don’t care what anyone says, if a girl is rejected as often as I have been, that girl is going to put the blame on herself. What’s wrong with me? I know I have issues but I can’t believe they make me unloveable. Or maybe they do.

Aside from my ongoing disastrous quest for love, I am finding life at home really challenging. I am having my bathroom refitted currently and at present have my old toilet still in situ and a huge stack of boxes with all the new fittings and fixtures. I have been having a wash at the kitchen sink and dry shampoo is my friend. I don’t think I will be able to wash my hair over the sink with my spinal issues so if I should knock on your door looking unkempt in the next few days, just usher me towards the bath/shower and refrain from passing judgement.

I was on holiday last week, me and the boy. I was so relaxed, so happy. I didn’t have to cook or clean or wash up all week and I really felt the benefit. Coming home to clearing the bathroom and airing cupboard ready for work to begin was hard. I’m tired and I also have to be up earlier to receive the plumber. Early is always a challenge with my chronic illness.

Last night I received a message saying the plumber wouldn’t be with me til midday. Ok, can have a rest. Get a call lunchtime saying he’ll be with me about 1pm. He finally appeared just after 4.15pm (when he knocks off at 5pm). If that hasn’t set the project back I don’t know what will. I am already craving a soak in the tub. I’m weary and tearful and just fancy a nice bath. Some hope. Initially it was hoped we’d have a functional bath by Friday. Now I’ll believe it when I see it.

I’m expecting to have tradesmen here until the end of next week. It is playing havoc with my anxiety. And the boy seems to be picking holes in every decision and choice I have made regarding the new bathroom. I feel constantly on high alert, preparing for the worst. It’s emotionally exhausting. When the heck am I going to get a break? I’m trying hard to focus on how the new bathroom will look and how it will be better suited to my needs, but it feels impossible at this moment in time. Running away is a serious consideration. Big sigh.

My son has gone out for the evening. I’m home alone. I can not tell you how strong the urge is to drink gin and listen to sad songs. I’m feeling down and the desire to indulge my misery is overwhelming. One phone call now from that significant person could nip all these rogue emotions in the bud. But I’ve pretty much given up on expecting that to happen. Say something…

I said I always put the kiss of death on things romantic. Seems I did it again. Within a couple days, the man who told me he could definitely learn to love me has all but vanished. The first day he was quiet he told me he’d had a down day and spoken to no one but his employer. I accepted that and gently reminded him I would always listen if he had stuff on his mind. Then my messages on WhatsApp were left unopened. Early on, when things were still fresh, he told me I could see he hadn’t been on WhatsApp because it shows when he’s last been on there, and that he was only chatting to me. Well apparently no longer. While my messages just sat there he’d been on doing something. When the messages were finally read, he still didn’t respond. One had vainly asked if he could schedule in some time for us to be together. At the time I was hopeful still that a face to face was all that was needed for us to reconnect. That was ignored. As was my inquiry as to how he felt about ‘us’ six weeks in. And then my calls started being ignored. Gradually communication was tailing off. Although we did call briefly yesterday it felt strained. Like he didn’t really have anything to say to me. He said we’d speak later. We didn’t.

I thought maybe I was hounding him too much. I know I can be needy of verbal and physical reassurances. So today I backed off completely to see if he’d initiate any contact. He hasn’t. Because it’s such early days I have no idea if he’s the sort of guy who totally goes to ground when times are difficult and that’s what he’s doing. My gut says he’s just lost interest and/or met someone else.

I can in no way cope without dialogue. I’ve said over and over that I need really robust communication and loads of reassurance. It was even written on my dating profile. Not that men read them apparently. If I don’t know what’s happening, I will create my own version of events. My writer’s imagination with a dose of EUBPD is absolutely chaotic. If you want me to cast you in my life story as a polygamous spy, please feel free to leave me guessing. So here I am high and dry. Clinging to the last shred of hope that he’s just having a tough time and will be in touch when he’s ready; yet preparing to put this down to yet another bad experience. I’m giving up on you…

Also recently I tied up the last loose end with the man named Dave. I finally closed my incognito profile on the swinging website, but only after I sent him a message saying that if he ever used my photos on there again I would not hesitate to take legal advice. Then I wished him happiness and fulfilment and said goodnight. I miss him. And every time my son uses whatever deodorant it is that smells like Dave’s, something lurches deep inside me until I realise again.

As I said to my friend last night, if I can walk away from my Perv (Dave) I can definitely leave this latest guy. I just wish, for once, there was a man out there worth staying with.

👼🏻

I’m almost afraid to say it. I feel like writing it down puts the kiss of death on my potential romantic liaisons. But here I am. After a series of crap encounters with the one who didn’t comprehend consent (and had a filthy infection), the invisible man, and the creator of improbable excuses, plus another online dalliance with Filthy Bloke (no-longer-in-Stoke) I seem to have met a decent man. I was beginning to wonder if such a thing even existed. I mean even my previous relationships were characterised by control, manipulation and abuse.

Yet I still cling to hope that a good man exists who will adore my crazy, celebrate my insane sex drive and love my perfect imperfections. It’s a lot to ask. But I have such a good heart, so much love to give the right person.

I met someone. It’s been five and a half weeks, so incredibly early days. We’ve seen each other five times. And if anybody read my slightly embarrassing love poem, I guess you could say I’m rather fond of him. The first night we met I felt at ease. Safe in his arms. The intimacy was intoxicating. I didn’t get home till the morning. Slut.

If anything alarmed me, it was the sense of déjà vu I got comparing this experience to my first night with the man called Dave. Definitely not the kind of relationship I wish to revisit. The other similarities include the distance between us and his long and unpredictable working hours. But as a person, he’s very different.

He’s honest. He talks to me. And listens to my babble. He’s kind. Always helping others. I sense he wants to help and protect me, but my fiercely independent inner survivor isn’t quite ready to let her guard down yet. I’ve noticed over the short weeks he’s gone from questioning my daily physical and emotional struggles, to quietly accepting that’s just how I am. He now needs to learn not to back away when things are challenging me because that’s when I need him most. And in addition to his words, I need his touch. Doesn’t have to be sexual; a hug, a hand to hold. And a cuppa to drink.

I can do nothing more than be myself and see what transpires. I have a real sense that we were both very ready to meet someone so I can only hope we turn out to be the right someone for each other. And I believe we both really deserve some happiness so we will see what the future holds.