Normality and Mania for the Severe Depressive

I had written quite a (fairly) long post yesterday using the WordPress iPhone app.  A and I had met for a drink after he finished work, and he felt that it was important to record my mood, so I just did it then and there.  But, where is it?

I saved it on the phone, I uploaded it – apparently successfully – but when I later checked both the app and this website the damn thing had vanished into the ether.  It is gone from the phone as well as the net.  Needless to say, this was deeply infuriating.  The other day when I lost a post, it was my fault for not using the application correctly.  Yesterday I had done, and so can only conclude that it was the bloody app’s fault!

The long and the short of it was that I was in a much better mood yesterday than from Thursday night.  I even managed to walk past my office without completely panicking; this is progress (since I’ve been off I have been too frightened to walk past it whilst it was open.  I would add about a mile to most of my journeys simply to avoid it).

Anyway, a nice night was had.  I am not feeling wonderful today, but I’m not suicidally depressed or anything.  Today is a normal day.

So what is normal?  Normal, for me, is perhaps best described by the fact that I exist, rather than live.  Clearly the distinction is subtle, but I’m sure other mad people will understand what I am getting at.  I see no hope for myself, and I feel indifferent towards activities in which I used to take pleasure.  I dislike the world and I dislike me.  I don’t want to interact with people and I don’t really want to do anything other than sit here.

However, I don’t (actively) want to die, nor do I want to scream and lash out at others.  I may not want to do much or see anyone, but I will do it usually do some of it anyway.  For instance, we are going to one of our semi-regular poker nights tonight.  Part of me really can’t be arsed with this even though I love poker and, relative to the other personnel involved (A’s friends – all males – I am the only bint involved), I am fairly good at it (though I am definitely not good in real terms as my attempts in Vegas at Christmas spectacularly proved).

But even though I can’t be arsed, I will go anyway and put on my fake ‘happy’ face.  (Side point – although some of A’s friends are now aware, to some extent, of my insanity, I don’t think any of them – or even some of my own – can quite believe it.  I have great skills at putting on a happy and outgoing public face, even if I am internally miserable.  But I’ll go into that more another time).  What is stressing me slightly about tonight’s game is that there is a person unknown to me joining us.  I know all the others quite well, so even though it can be a bit crowded, I cope OK, cos I’m familiar and comfortable with them.  But the addition of a random takes me out of this silly comfort zone.  I am sure I will be fine, but it is slightly anxiety-inducing.

So anyway, in essence I suppose ‘normal’ for me – if the concept even really exists – is disillusioned, fed up and perpetually depressed, but still semi-functional and capable of some social discourse and practical activity.

Yesterday evening was abnormal as, as well as being functional, I was in a pretty good mood rather than the ‘normal’ one – but it wasn’t the mania I sometimes find myself experiencing.  This is still a relatively rare occurrence, but I really hate it when it does happen, as it is followed by a spectacular fall from grace.

For the sake of this blog, I do hope I experience the mania again relatively soon, as it would be interesting to later read the ramblings that run through my head whilst in this state.  I cannot articulate what it is like right now, since I am not presently experiencing it, but it will be interesting, at an intellectual level, to observe it again when it does happen.

For the sake of myself, however, I’d happily never experience it again.  It’s fine (fabulous) whilst you’re going through it, but it is not fun when it stops.

The presence of these admittedly minor episodes of manic behaviour sometimes lead me to believe if I actually have biploar disorder.  But they are so unusual that I don’t think so.  However, I am really no expert on the disorder, so it is quite possible that even very infrequent manic episodes could be part of it.

I have also considered the possibility of borderline personality disorder.  According to that eminent and most reliable of sources, Wikipedia, I do have the majority of the symptoms.  But I need a fucking psychiatrist to make a diagnosis.  C is a psychologist and is ergo not medically qualified to diagnose.  My GP is not a psychiatric specialist, and can only do so much.

I was referred to a psychiatrist in January, and my GP expected I would hear from them in relation to an appointment within a couple of months.  Guess what, I sodding haven’t.  At the last meeting with my GP, about a fortnight ago, I reminded him of this and told him I was really cracking up, the situation was desperate and I needed to see the bloody person ASAP in order to get a diagnosis and appropriate medication.  (I currently take Citalopram, which is crap, after two years on Mirtazapine, which in itself was preceded by about eight or nine years on Prozac).  Luckily, the GP I normally see is a lovely man (most of the others in the practice are cunts, or at least can be moody and/or inconsistent) and he seems to genuinely want to help.  He was baffled by the psychiatrist’s lack of contact with me, and was to ring them and demand an appointment that day.  I am seeing him on again 19 May so, assuming I still haven’t heard from the psychiatric fuckheads by then, I can at least establish the outcome of his conversation with them.

Anyway, this was kind of a pointless post, but I suppose the entire blog is pointless, other than for my own benefit.  I will write more soon in any case.

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