Laughter

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What is the matter with me? I mean, apart from my usual mild madness ...  The minute I know I have something to do at a particular time I feel stressed.  It doesn't matter that it is something ridiculously easy, I still feel stressed.

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People who know me (doctors and friends alike) and deal with or are affected by deep depression and/or Bi-Polar Disorder often pay me a huge compliment.  They say that I manage my condition in a highly intelligent way. I always respond with humble appreciation and yet I know they are wrong.

The truth is: I don't manage my illness/condition.  I let it manage me.

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A horrible thought came to me in a flash while I was in between sleep and awakeness one morning: what if I was attached to my bipolar disorder [BPD]? The horrible part of it was not so much the physical attachment (i.e. the fact that my biology is such that BPD is a life-lomg condition for me) but rather the psychological side of it (i.e. the fact that I might in some way be clinging to my BPD). I wish it had but that thought would NOT go away...

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Like all people who live in Bi-Polar Land (i.e. all of us who have Bipolar Disorder Type 1 or Type 2), sleep is very important to maintaing our stability. Because of this I read with interest anything I come across that 'sleep specialists' write about getting a good night sleep. I wish I didn't....

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After a second relapse and a stint of home hospitalisation, I am finally feeling better. It appears the new drugs regime is working. What I mean by 'working' is that it is giving me sufficient biological/physiological stability for me to access the sum total of my resources and experience. To me that's what drugs are for: they give me back ME.

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Whenever I have the opportunity to spend time with people who operate in the 'real' world, I have noticed that I always feel a strange mix of emotions afterwards. Following yesterday's BBQ organised by my hubby's work colleagues (a splendid bunch of people) today is no exception.

Here is my attempt at identifying those various emotions so that I am not left 'holding' a slightly painful and nauseating brew inside myself.  I feel:

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I have this urge to write. The trouble is, I haven't a clue what I want to write about. It feels like an itch I can't scratch! When this crazy situation occurs, the best way I have found to deal with it is to let Batty speak. Batty is my very own BPD - see her above? I do this by continuing to type and seeing what happens.. 

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We speak, and we speak some more. Some of us even listen. We use English to communicate so it is reasonable to assume that we understand each other. In 'normal' circumstances we don't anyway but Bi-Polar Land goes one step further: it turns some part of what we say into a foreign language that requires translation.

Here are some of the most common examples:

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It is now two months since I started my new medication (Carbamazepine - aka Tegretol). In a bid to find some sort of bearable balance, I have played with increased dosages and decreased dosages. I have taken the medication in higher dose in the evening and lower dose in the morning. I have stopped taking it altogether in the morning and taken the whole daily dose at night. I am so all over the place that I am not even sure whether I am going up and down any more!

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