MY BIPOLAR HELL

I saw a remark on Twitter the other day, where some poor fellow revealed that he had been diagnosed with Autism, and what a relief it was.  There were few replies, a couple very sympathetic, and I admired them for replying, because they had the courage to hold out a hand of friendship.  One reply, however, stood out.  It was along the lines of 'should you really be speaking publically about something so personal'.  I felt ashamed for not replying sympathetically to the first poster, but more ashamed that I did not defend a mental health issue being brought out into the open. I hate that it is a taboo subject.  I also like to say out loud what other people are thinking, mostly for the shock value, I have a highly attuned, lets call it 'Loonydar', (like Gadar, but for fellow nutters).  I can spot it in an instant, but on the plus side, the loonier you are, the more creative.  I could write a thesis on it, but afraid some of you might be nodding off.  I wouldn't blame you for that btw, most of my audiences throw things, especially the WI ones.    

It wasn't entirely my fault that I did not reply, I was going through an 'episode' myself, too down to do anything other than watch creepy real life programmes about serial killers on Youtube, and cry at the wickness that exists in this world.  When I reach the bottom of that particular black hole, there is no escape, the gloomier and doomier my chosen text to study,the better.  I was blown away, quite litterly watching 'Inglorious Berstards' and have been drawn to everything war related since.  Watched Atonement last night and now in love with James McAvoy as well as Sheldon.  When people point out that there are millions of others worse off, that just makes it worse, it gives me a million other things to cry about and another reason to hate myself.  It feels as though we have learned nothing from the war, all those evil acts, those atrocities, are still going on, because some rich bastard who has more money than he could spend in 10 lifetimes, wants to be that little bit richer. 

In Sweden, a huge group of kids, primary school kids, staged a moving protest on behalf of the kids who were killed in Syria.  Our kids have probably never heard of Syria, or the appalling human rights abuses worldwide.  And yet we make no effort whatsoever to educate our children, on the contrary, we teach them to remain in ignorance at all costs.  Therein lies happiness.  There is the Garden of Eden, that luxurious happy place, before that pesky tree of knowledge sprouted up from Satan's spawn.  

Arguing with those people in that 'happy place' feels like banging your head against a brick wall.  I feel like singing 'you can see, what I see' if you would only listen.  By the time you get to that stage, however, there are usually straightjackets and heavy duty knock pills flying around. I sometimes fear I will spend my dottage restrained in the corner of a padded cell and talking to flies.  But I digress.    

Usually I can pull myself out of it by watching back to back episodes of Seinfeld and Father Ted, or maybe bring out the big guns like The Odd Couple or Some Like it Hot.  Laughing always does it for me, its medicinal qualities are right there with cannabis. 

A depressive episode is a feeling that is so hard to describe to 'regular' people, they too have felt loss and sorrow, and resent that you feel things deeper than them, as though it were some sort of contest.  We brits should all be stoic, stiff upper lip, chin chin and all that.   

But manic depression is so much more than that.  Its like falling down and losing the will to get back up.  I remember as a teenager going to a mate's party, when a fight broke out (lots of alcohol, no weed).  One lad took a punch to the jaw that sent him flying onto his back.  His mate offered him a hand to get up, All hell was breaking loose, it was like a wild west fight, and but he replied that he was tired and thought he would take a nap while he was down there.  I thought it seemed like a very good idea and joined the other girls fighting to nurse him while the neanderthalls knocked seven bells out of each other. 

If anyone lost the gist there, depression is that feeling of getting knocked down.  When I was younger, I was at my best when backed up into a corner, I welcomed drama and trauma, and if someone looked way too smug and happy, I'd go out of my way to upset them. 

a ferocious follower of Chumbawamba, and would sing 'I get knocked down, but I get up again' with my old mate Big Lynn.  Now it is not so easy to get up again, and I think I might as well have a nap while I am down here. 

Its like a miserable time for grown ups.  A Greta Garbo 'I want to be alone' - its stamping your feet and singing 'nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I think I'll go and eat worms' and stomping off with your back to the world.  But that little kid with her jaw jutting forward, and her arms folded, saying 'I'll teach them, I'll show them!' is now sitting in the corner weeping, because she has learned that she can't change anything. 

I am doing what Big Lynn would have referred to as 'throwing a wobbly' - and well known by my long suffering friends (and foes) from the YGL.  This is the thing, I think if I am going to suffer, I'm pretty much going to let everyone know about.  I mean its hard enough getting centre stage as it is, especially since I lost my waistline.   

Ps.  Now have weed.  unfortunately not a single working lighter in the house, having to keep a spliff going by using the gas hob.  Is this God's way of making me take exercise?