Increasing by 50%

Meaningful talk with my Psych., and the outcome is a 50% increase in BP medication. He told me what it can do and what it cannot do. My questions were in line with the questions he is asked regularly. I take some 'comfort' in this, because it means that I am not alone in my view of: the world, my illness, my medication, my fears, my personal expectations etc.

He confronted me with my outlook on how I behave in personal relationships and made me examine my approach to problems and using the 'no' word. He has personal experience in this matter. Therefore I give his views far more credence than I would normally do.

My 'survival' techniques were correctly performed when I plummeted a week or so ago. My positive reaction to a negative need was just what he wanted me to do. I have to be vague here because of deep personal turmoil. I can say that what was a possibility/probability, became a non-starter.

The pain of the mind is as bad as the pain of the body. Seeing a broken leg makes it easy for onlookers. Not seeing a broken mind makes it impossible for anyone but the sufferer. I'm now on 'increased' help. Let's see how I get on.

Coping with the un-cope-able

A truly bad 2 weeks!! Two events 'conspired' to bring me to my knees. Each event was instigated on its own, but being together, they put me on the receiving end of a double smashing of my mind, my emotions, my self esteem, my self confidence, my days. No steps forward and 5 steps back!
I was swirling around and down the upper edges of a cone shaped miasma; unable to stop myself as I plummeted down, whilst trying to claw onto the side of the cone. I needed urgent help and the Samaritans were my saving lifeline.
Not a life threatening episode, but a blood-letting 'need.' How to cope with the dark days of the un-cope-able? Knowing the release of blood brings euphoria of an unnatural kind. Feeling the pain releasing the anger of what cannot be fought. Taking the mind away from the devils in the brain. In short, diversionary tactics for a mind in torment.
I'm to see my 'specialist' in a couple of days and I want to know what can be done with my medication. I feel that the problem comes under the 'label' of clinical depression rather than Bipolar. It isn't a mood swing, it's a nosedive into a pit.

Summer Solstice

Summer Solstice

During the Summer solstice
When Gemima was in ascendancy over Andripodes
I chanced upon a soothsayer of yore
Hunched darkly over a small unlit coal
She begged for a match and kindled my interest.

Rat-tailed hair lolloped down her form
Hiding any eyes in her possession
Twitching stick creatures clambered through her locks
Rendering comb and brush redundant
Grease allowing a sliding motion for them

One by one and two by four
They toured the labyrinthine folds of follicle and knot
Her zoological head spoke more of her than words could
Heartbeaten questions poured out of me,
“Will I meet my love, settle down, have a family and return to Hydra?”
“Yes, yes, no, where?” she replied.

I slumped on my haunches
Befuddled and flumuxed at her response
“Who, where, why not and Greece,” I snapped back.
“Young man, you take heed and note what I say.”
“Not any longer, how, I’ve no pen and paper,” was my retort.

“You poor simple fool,
how can you manage heartbeats, love and answers when amnesia encroaches in this quest?” was her rhetorical reply.
Beyond doubt I was lost
Unfit to assuage my dreams
I was undone, bereft and quashed
in a moment

The grey cells of Bipolarity cannot be tamed
when musings strike without warning
Seasons, places and people take on other forms
In an endless round of flash and dash from there
to here and onwards in frenzied leadless surges
I digress
I stop
I draw breath


I crave peace

This is so apt.

How will you know I am hurting,
If you cannot see my pain?
To wear it on my body
Tells what words cannot explain.
–C. Blount

SI

I found this some time ago and it is extremely accurate.

"Self-injury:
is best described as a coping mechanism. You will find that self-injury shares similar
co-morbid illnesses and behaviours as those of alcoholism, drug abuse, and sexual
promiscuity to name a few. Realize that many of us fear hurting others with our pain,
which is why we turn it back onto ourselves. We don’t have well-developed, healthy
coping mechanisms for stressors in our lives. If we reach out, we want to heal.
But it takes time, and the unknown scares us. Do not threaten us with ultimatums if
we don’t stop the behaviour cold turkey. Self-injury is not the disease; it’s a symptom.
Self-injury is the part you see on the outside. The real issue is what lies beneath
the surface. And beneath that surface is not just pain, but beauty."

I think it came from an American lady, who was totally honest and open about her 'situation.'

And this is from another lady:
My scars are too real to explain away — but they have kept me going. My SI is not an
art form, a fad, a statement for others to see. It is my coping device, used at nearly
'un-cope-able’ times. It’s a part of me that has given me strength.

16 years ago

My father died 16 years ago
The operation was a success
The post-op care was exemplary
The 10 days of Intensive care, exhausting
The tubes, everywhere
The emotions, likewise
The bed, needed
The options, none
The outcome, bleak
The liver, failing
The kidneys, dying
The blood, pernicious
His arm, warm
The switch, off
The loss, indescribable

During the falling of leaves

During the falling of leaves
‘tween dusky Angelus
and the bursting Sun
I think of you

Last prayers to rising
Heavy lids through dreams
Slippers to alarms
I think of you

Sinking to waking
Vixen’s cry to cockerel
Off to switch on
I think of you

‘neath covers to suits
cotton to linen
cocoa to coffee
I think of you

I think of you

Sunday 21 January 2007

Hypnotherapy...it took me to places I remembered. It took me to times I remembered. It took me to emotions I had buried as deep as I was able.
Incidents, events from my past emerged from the pool.
What emerged in wrapped angst was how terrible incidents and events had been. Fear, loss, anger, terror, victim in place and childhood, shredded through me like a chainsaw in slow motion.
No, I shall not recount the moments here.
Suffice it to say that I know where, how and why I carried the scouring scars that wept and poured over me through the past twelve months.
What I can say is that other people were total, utter bastards.
What I can say is that I am greater than them, now.