So here we are.
I have resisted drugs for a long time, as I don’t like the idea of being controlled by medicinal chemicals.
But this time I knew I was heading off the cliff into the deep end of the paddling pool of grey nothingness that is a depressive episode.
This consists largely of my staring at a wall whilst shovelling ginger biscuits into my piehole, occasionally accidentally looking into a mirror and then having to cover it up with a towel.
If I’m honest though, I much prefer depression to mania… you know where you are with depression (in bed or the fridge, mainly) whereas with mania, Christ knows what you’re going to be doing in the next 30 seconds. It’s terrifying.
Mania is not happiness for me, it’s like being a wasp on speed – flying around at top speed, want the sugary thing, want out the window, want want WANT EVERYTHING.
Let me elaborate:
The two are like those relatives at a family gathering you would literally chew your own arms off to avoid.
Depression is like Uncle Bill. He’s dependable, predictable and will talk about motorways and the resurfacing of the high street until one of you dies.
Mania is like embarrassing drunk Uncle Roy. You smile a pained smile as he arrives and think about how quickly you can hide all the booze…. uh-oh, too late.
He’s already drunk all the crusty 15-year-old Drambuie and is trying it on with his nephew’s girlfriend and has a plunger on his head for no conceivable reason.
So, ideally we would like to keep them at bay, lose their invitation “in the post”.
Sadly episodes are not invited to the party anyway, they just crash it every now and again, as and when they feel up to it.
So that’s when we have to bring out the big boys.
In this case, some anti-psychotics and sedatives. There are lots of side effects, (more time in the fridge, aggression, sleepiness to name but a few,) which is the reason I try to avoid them, if possible.
But this time they have helped a lot.
I am having one emotion at a time, being the first one and I am writing this from the tube, not my bed, I am washed, dressed and plodding on.
I mean I’m not exactly full of the joys of spring but I can’t even begin to describe how much better I am doing.
There is one side effect which is a bit poo – I have the major shakes.
My hands are in pretty much constant movement and the only way to control it is to drum my fingers on whatever surface is near.
Soup is real no no right now – I can just about manage my granola but I have to eat at the table rather than my usual standing breakfast.
I can’t complain too much: In a competition between how I felt last week and how I feel now, now wins, shakey hands down.