Recovery

I am now totally off my evening medication and, to my surprise, I feel a little lost as well as immensely relieved. I have lost the evening ritual that has punctuated my life for the past two-and-a-half years.

I did not expect to feel this AT ALL and yet, when I put the leftover boxes of medication away, I felt a little sad - as if I were saying goodbye to a good friend.

I suppose that my evening tablet (Mirtazapine) has been a good friend. It has:

"Do YOU want to know what serious Jet Lag is like without having to fork out for expensive air travel? Easy - I do it every day."

Such was my status update on my Facebook Bi-Polar Girl page and on Twitter too. That's the great thing about all those new fandangled technologies: you can work with them FROM YOUR BED!

I love being able to DO things. The last two days, I have done some cleaning, some recycling, some writing, some cooking and some taking care of animals on behalf of our neighbours who are away on holiday. I am so grateful when I feel the desire and have the energy to potter about here and there.

I don't watch soaps but my friend Lynette alerted me to one of the story lines in East Enders: one of the characters was diagnosed with Bi-Polar Disorder (BPD). My God! Could it be that BPD was  becoming a 'cool' illness to have?!? My hubby downloaded the relevant episodes from BBCiPlayer and I settled down to watch them with some trepidation.....

Facebook is a wonderful thing: postings go from the ridiculous to the sublime and back again. Who would have thought that this kind of internet social network could contribute to our development as a human being, as well of course as providing us with a few good laughs...

I am feeling royally fed up today. I wish I could have a good cry but I don't even have the energy to produce tears...   I am just an old lump of misery. Good old pain signals are having a field day and I hurt all over.

I love fish. I love to look at fishes and - poor old things - I love to eat them too. I should have been a fisherman (or fisherwoman). I am the idiot who stares at the fish counter moved to tears by the beauty of a mackerel's stripes or a trout's rainbow scales. I get funny looks from the fishmonger on many occasions because of it.

It never ceases to amaze me how some thoughts will NOT leave me alone until I have put them down on paper, electronically or otherwise. It's as if they were yelling to be let out of my brain. Eventually, I must give in if I don't want to go completely around the bend...  Talk of being crazy.

As I was ploughing my way through a huge pile of ironing, a thought suddenly struck me in the form of this question: what is the difference between a strong spirit and a strong will? (My musing was obviously prompted by what I wrote yesterday about Jade Goody.)