Black Dog Back To Bite Me Again.

I haven’t been able to write for some time now. I wasn’t physically capable for a while. Mostly medication induced. All I care to say in that subject is, Seroquel…. stay away!!! I can’t even say that I turned into a zombie. Zombie’s are still capable of some things at least. I was virtually a vegetable. I became incapable of making a coffee! Me! Not being able to make a caffeinated beverage! I would say that it was on the verge of becoming hazardous to someone’s health, but since I was incapable of making a cup of coffee, how capable was I of hurting someone for coffee, really? Safe to say that it was a very unpleasant experience, and that is just the tip of the iceberg. Of course the psychiatrist is going to be none too pleased that I am no longer taking it, but I also think that the almost constant chest pain, being unable to pee, the constantly snuffling nose to the point where I still have a cut up there from blowing it all of the time, hallucinations, serious lack of balance, confusion, shortness of breath, palpitations, dry mouth, increased numbness in my hands and feet, and the feeling of needing to over eat constantly, (to name a few things) was enough grounds to stop.

Of course, it was also pointed out to me after stopping the seroquel, that I was having a manic episode. Not much fun after a while I can tell you. I was very much convinced that the doctors were trying to kill me. Especially my psychiatrist. He was the ring leader, and that’s why he prescribed me the seroquel… to bump me off, and the chest pain was the start of it killing me, so I had come off it in time. Now, I don’t like the man, sure, but trying to kill me?? Maybe that’s a little far fetched? Maybe?

I was even convinced that my GP was in on it, and that the only reason that my GP and I could get on, and could have an adult conversation when we disagreed on something, was to lull me into a false sense of security on behalf of the psychiatrist. One of only 4 half decent doctors I have crossed paths with in the whole of my area, and this is what I thought of him. The man lets me walk into his office, sit there effing and jeffing until I’ve got everything out of my system, and granted he usually sits there giggling at me while this is going on, which in turn makes me giggle also, but I like that about him. It means he’s human, and he knows he’s human. He knows that he’s one of us. He certainly doesn’t look down on me as though he thinks he’s better than me, or as though he thinks I’m stupid, because, although I hate to admit this, he has got me sussed out there, and knows that I like to pretend I’m a little more dumb than I actually am. My downfall there, is that I do not show my intelligence in the right situations.

As a result of my manic episode, I did come away with lots of goody’s though. Goody’s I cannot afford, nor can I return now I know I need to, but, I will justify it like this, I have no good clothes, so now I have a gorgeous dress. I have no decent shoes, so now I have some boots, and pretty, shiny red shoes, which means I have something different to wearing trainers all of the time. I have new makes up brushes, eye shadows, and a brand new red lipstick, to make me that little bit more me again, and also to push me into putting the war paint on more often. Canvases! I can start painting again. Always good to promote my creativity. I homemade, extra large, leather bound book with blank pages, for which I intend to write my life story in. A tablet PC. B+Very naughty of me. But, it will help me with writing etc. Like I said, it was too late to send any of them back, so I needed to justify it in my head.

Only now, I have gone to visit the other end of the scale. I was coping with that fine. I really was. However, I have been not so gently shoved too far down to the bottom of the mood scale, and it isn’t pretty down here. So much so, that I have actually self harmed for the first time in a long time. I know that I use tattoos to replace the self harming, but I have actually cut tonight, and what’s worse, is that because I’m already in so much pain, I didn’t feel a thing.

This is exactly the sort of thing that I want to one day be able to guide other people through, and quite honestly, I’m not sure if that first means I have to come out at the other end, or if my current experiences keep everything fresh enough in my mind to help more effectively. Only time will tell, but first I have to make it through this, and right now, I’m not so sure that I want to.

H x

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Normality Exists!

I am on the road to recovery! It may be temporary recovery, but it’s recovery all the same. Brilliant. Finally I am starting to feel a little bit like the Holly we all know and love. Well, some of us know and love anyway. Just like anyone else I have people that really don’t like me that much. Some of it justified, most of it, not.┬áRegardless, normality, whatever that means, is almost here.

Strangely though, I do believe that normal exists! (Insert all the ‘she’s nuts, she just as good as asked what normal is’ comments here.) I know, I know it doesn’t really make sense. However, I do still believe in normality.

You see, in my humble opinion, I see that normality is an individual thing. What is normal to me, might be completely abnormal to you. It’s all about perspective.

For instance, my highs and my lows are actually normal to me. It’s something that I’ve lived for most of my life. Since I was a teenager in fact. The I have a separate kind of normal in between those highs and lows, where I experience my life on a level, with normal reactions to hardships, normal reactions to joyful situations, normal reactions to everyday things in everyday life.

My normal life, consists of studying, writing, raising my kids and guiding them so that they can become the people they can be, the teaching of dealing with mental illness so that they understand that sometimes mum isn’t well, and trying to be the best partner I can be.

Normal for some people, is going out, working a 60 hour work week, with no social life. Normal for other people consists of travelling the world, or living their dreams on screen for the world to see, or being on the road touring with a band. Normal for some means putting on their leathers, jumping on a motorcycle and riding for hours to escape the stress of everyday life, or building racing cars to take out on a track and smash to pieces, or spending all day everyday in the pub drinking their body weight in alcohol.

It is absolutely a matter of perspective, and unfortunately too few people realise this, and expect every to conform the the normal stereotype. It gives me a fear of people losing their individuality.

I know only one other person that it like me, and each of my children, while so alike in some ways, are complete opposites in other ways. I love that about them. It’s the best way to be in my eyes.

So, when people talk about normality, think about what is normal for you, and forget other people’s view of normal. We were made to be individual after all.

Took a sleeping tablet and I can feel it kicking in now so tata for now.

H x