Hi, remember me?



I know it’s been a while, but between our ridiculous road trip – from Aberdeen to Blackpool to Cardiff to Stonehenge to Harry Potter to Legoland to Oxford to Leeds to York to Livingston to Aberdeen – and life in general being busy I’ve not really had time to sit and write much. And there’s another reason – my brain’s not working.

I’m not sure where it is on the spectrum of Bi-polar just now because I’m not aware of any highs or lows beyond the norm. It’s just my brain’s stopped. I’m struggling to remember simple words in conversation, I forget what I’m meant to be doing as I’m doing it and it’s unsettling. I know I used to have a brain, but recently I’m struggling to pinpoint when that last was. Headaches have started too and I’ve a strange twitch in my left upper eyelid. The hypochondriac has already decided it’s a massive brain tumour, where as the sensible me knows not to google symptoms and just take a couple of tablets instead.

Just got up and took the tablets. That should help. Back to the mis-firing brain though I know that happens right across the chemical imbalance and I’m worrying that it’s a manic phase in progress. You can’t tell them as easily as you can depressions. you come out of a dip to what you assume to be normal, but it turns out you missed that junction and are heading on out to Crazyville in a horseless carriage.

Which would be a lovely break from everything but probably not the kind of place I should be right now. I haven’t visited there since the start of last year for any length of time so I’m not sure I’d recognise it straightaway even if it was the same place. The place changes and morphs with each postcard you send back like a Zygon with a low self-esteem. Too random a reference even for me.

Those who live with depression alone – that’s only depression and not a hermit with mental health issues – say they would relish the highs to give them an alternative to the misery they experience. but my mind wonders, confuses itself by misdirection as if Derren Brown is at the controls, and stops suddenly as an imaginary driving instructor taps the dashboard. I want to enjoy it, of course I do – as a teetotaler any high I can get is great these days – but you don’t know where the line is drawn and it’s a fight to reign yourself in when you are flying so high your mind is on fast forward.

The phrase and label “Manic Depression” is much more accurate than “Bi-Polar”, the latter feels like it’s a sanitized or publicly palatable version of what really happens.

But all I want is my brain back please. I miss it when it’s gone. I just need company to get through whichever extreme of the scale I’m heading towards now, and I think I could help me right now.


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