M.I.A.

I’ve never been gone for so long before, and, frankly, it’s difficult to know what to say about it.

I don’t want to sound pathetic and sorry for myself, and I’m never sure how interested people are in the whole bi-polar thing.

I always said I wouldn’t talk about it, and I yet I find that I do.

I didn’t want to wear it like some badge of honour. I’m always a bit sceptical about people who hold some sort of stage for doing some job or other and then use that platform to talk about something unrelated. I’m not hugely keen on rock stars talking about Third World debt or minor royals talking about their eating disorders, or actors talking about their child abuse. I know that all of those things should be talked about, but hearing very individual, very personal stories from our favourites in other fields aren’t necessarily the answer, I don’t think.

There are professionals for that, surely?

The problem is that actors and minor royals and rock stars have agendas other than Third World debt, eating disorders and child abuse, and those agendas are usually tied up with their public images and their earning power. I’m not suggesting that Stephen Fry doesn’t want to help other bi-polar people when he discusses his own problems, but I can’t help thinking that there isn’t another bi-polar person on the planet in Mr Fry’s very particular situation with Mr Fry’s very particular set of circumstances to deal with.

So, although I’m not really a public person, of course I have an agenda of sorts, and that makes me wonder whether I should talk about my bi-polar at all. On the other hand, if you read my blog, you will have noticed that it’s been absent for some time, now, and that is directly related to my condition, so an explanation isn’t entirely out of the question.

My black dog has been patrolling the perimeter for a couple of years, and It’s almost exactly three years since I enjoyed my last decent manic episode. Just when I think it’s time the dog sloped off over the horizon, he seems to edge a little closer, making my world smaller, until a couple of weeks ago he lumbered up and decked me. 

borrowed from Kate at Gas House Radio

He’s been sitting on my chest ever since.

It’s hard to breathe with a mountain of black dog dead weight bearing down on me, let alone think, and it’s downright impossible to be light of heart, or, heaven help me, funny!

For the past... Crikey!.. Twelve days! Is it really twelve days? You see time does some weird shit, too, when I feel like this... For the past twelve days it’s been almost impossible to do anything. Some days I haven’t even bathed or dressed, or got out of bed. I don’t think I’ve cooked a meal, but I haven’t managed to eat one every day, either. I haven’t read a book, and I sure as hell haven’t written anything; you’d know if I had, because the first thing I write every day is the blog. 

I would just like to say that this is not by way of a complaint. If anyone has anything to complain about, it’s the husband. Mostly, he doesn’t complain. He worries, and he coaxes, and he tries to get me to eat, and he discusses my meds with me, and there’s a sort of urgency about him to get me moving again soon, and if not soon, then, preferably, sooner.

This too shall pass; I know that it will. There’s a good bet that the past twelve days probably marked the lowest point of the current cycle, because, today, despite this not being one of my better, more interesting blogs, I am, at least, putting something on paper, and putting it out in the World. I hope it’s remotely coherent, although I’m guessing it won’t get most of you very far to understanding what this can all be about.

My very lovely friend knocked on my door the other day for a chat, and told me that she’d soon sort me out, that all I needed was a good kick to the lady-groin. Bless her heart! I had to love her for that, regardless of just how clueless it was. ‘Lady-groin’! What a fab word!

I’m guessing my daily blog will probably appear a little intermittently for the next little while, but you lovely people can help me along by giving me fodder for it. If there’s anything you’d like me to talk about, do let me know; some mornings, I spend more time thinking about what to write about than I spend actually writing, and right now, that just isn't going to get the baby a new bonnet. Anything that gets the mental juices flowing will, trust me, be most welcome. Thanks.