Where It all Begins

So…...starting a journal isn't always easy but the doctor thought it was a good idea.
I have been scribbling at night time to unwind and offload the crazy.
It helps.
Today though I thought that in my calmer, non-manic moments maybe I should be keeping a more level-headed, less rant induced record of my journey and where it takes me. So that's what I am going to do.
I'm 34, single with two beautiful daughters.
Both amazing and hard work in their own unique ways. I wouldn't change them for the world even on the bad days.
When I say bad, I don't know that compared to a lot of households ours is bad at all. They are both warm, caring and thoughtful girls. An achievement in itself.
Trying to find a starting point is difficult.
I could go back to childhood and share memories of a ‘normal’ family life. I might refer back at points along the way, but for now, I don't know that it has any relevance to where I am now. Although I am no expert on the mind and how it works.
I think the best place to start is probably the beginning of this year.
It was supposed to be the year that I moved forward and made better choices. A better life for myself and the kids. It didn't really pan out that way though. The year started with the stress of the teenager and her prelims.
She struggled and I knew she had been. I let myself be talked out of the nagging doubt she wasn't coping and when it became apparent that was, in fact, the case, it was a mad rush to have her dyslexia tested, and to resist English with a reader.
I should have stood my ground.
I didn't.
It took a while to move away from that stress and focus on her doing her exams. They were racing in pretty quickly. A bit like this year overall.
By the beginning of March, things were on the up just a little and I was more positive again. (Something I now know I can't rely on for any length of time)
I had some focus back and felt happy. Maybe a little too happy.
What I now know is a manic spell, had hit me and I was attached firmly to the ceiling for a while.
I don't know how long. These manic spells, at least the ‘Up’ manic spells are something I don't remember overly clearly.
The 'Down' ones for some reason tend to linger in memory more easily.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not partaking in any life or death scenarios. I'm not beating the kids or self-harming. There's just so much of a rush and so many thoughts, that afterward when I start to level out, it's a little more difficult to fully look back on those spells and clearly remember everything.
That's uncommon for me.
I have an incredible sponge-like brain for remembering things. Times and dates and people and places. If they have shaped me in any way shape or form they tend to be embedded up there.
I'm hoping that the foggy memories of a manic spell won't be a permanent fixture to the ‘mood instability’
That manic episode of March marked my 34th birthday, which was also Mother's Day, being spent staying with mum and dad.
They live two streets away and, in honesty if they didn't then I wouldn't have coped anywhere near the way I have done.
Being more positive and productive led me to decorate the toilet downstairs. When I say decorate I actually mean incessantly, for two days straight, whitewash the walls.
The next genius move was to lay the lino that had been sitting rolled up in the toilet for the best part of 3 years.
Idiot move right there. The lino is still down and, all these months later still has white paint marks all over it, crappy edges that weren't cut properly and a little bump around the toilet.
I am slightly proud of the effort though. It wasn't that bad considering I'd never laid lino in my life.
The result of said stupid behavior was that the herniated disc I have been sporting since 2009 slipped to almost double what it had been previously. A and E was a regular trip eventually and stays in the hospital weren't as bad as I'd have imagined.
A sign of how much pain I was in. I don't cope well with even visiting people in hospitals, never mind checking in as a lodger for days at a time.
The pain was excruciating and the saga of numerous opiate based meds that followed, in my option, may have helped with the pain to a degree but they didn't do me any real favours.
If anything I think the cocktail of medications and the numerous changes to them have had a shitting awful effect on my mental health.
I'm less patient.
I'm less tolerant.
My sleep pattern had been out of sync for months but now I find the peace of nighttime a comfort.
I tend to stay awake, even if I am tired just to listen to the rain outside or something equally as pointless.
Searching online for things I'd love to buy and can't afford can take over hours of the night.
Another result of the crazy, so I am told.
Irrational spending and an inability to manage money well.
That's been true for as long as I can remember. I've been in debt since I was 19. Buying things I couldn't afford or didn't need. Ironically now the craze is at its most spectacular, I'm in less debt than I've been my whole adult life. Score!!!
Now I do have a tendency to buy things for the kids or the house. More productive than the shit I used to spend money on.
The last hospital stay for my back was the end of May. Just before mum and dad went on holiday. They almost didn't go I think. Just as well they did, I reckon they were both ready to drop. Thankfully I haven't had to go back in and don't intend to anytime soon.
Tonight, 19th July 2017, I am a bit worried my intention won't be kept.
Another manic episode, one that's lasted for a good while now has resulted in pain almost as bad as before.
I'm struggling to stay rested because my mind is ‘Up’. It wants to be organising washing into piles. Painting the kitchen floor tiles until they look perfectly new.
The list is actually endless of the things I want to get done.
I've been trying hard to focus on doing ‘positive’ things.
In honesty, I have to because if I don't then I am focusing on the mistakes I'm making along the way. The friends I have pushed to breaking and that just can't cope with me anymore.
That's not to say I don't think about it because I do. The sadness does have a tendency to creep in.
Maybe it's not even sadness, guilt, self-pity?
An unattractive quality, but one that, for now, I will have to learn to live with.
Being lonely is probably the worst part about the crazy.
Knowing that I have made my life this way, but not consciously, is hard to accept. It's admitting that my flaws have left me on my own. It's admitting that at times I don't have control over my reactions to situations. My mouth can and more often than not does, run away with itself.
Because of that, in the last 8-9 months, I have lost more friends than I'd care to admit.
Is it their fault or mine? They know I live with the crazy, so does that make me unlovable? Or does that make them uncaring about how my everyday life is and what it does to myself and the kids?
Maybe it's a bit off both. I'm not sure.
I don't seem to ever be sure at the moment.
I live in a potentially permanent state of uncertainty.
That's how life is just now though.
It's hard.
It's lonely.
It's sad.
It's up and down.
Forever changing.
This long-winded account of 2017 so far is a bit all over the place.
But crazy tends to be all over the place.
For the 19th of July, I am signing off. Xx


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