Exactly 2 years ago today a simple e mail from a man I had met once in Cambridge triggered the worst relapse I had had since I found risperidone in 2001.
It was not really as straight forward as bad news triggering my downfall. In reality my mood had been far too high for far too long. I do not get manic highs just little highs where I'm more annoying, more arrogant, more judgemental and I generally piss people off. But the lesson I learned then was that I couldn't be too high for too long otherwise I would burnout. Now I have people looking out for me as I find it is hard to admit when I'm ill.
My GP almost had to twist my arm to make me take time off. I have no problem taking time off if I have the flu but I find it really hard to succumb to my madness. For 2 weeks I fought back against what I feared might happen. But it was a different relapse that time. There were no voices, no suicidal thoughts and I slept for 14 hours a day-normally I can't sleep when I'm ill. Yet it was worse than that, just a chronic feeling of emptiness and failure.
With hugely increased medication doses I started to pull out but then came the feelings that I was faking it. The fraudulence of depression. After those 10 days I returned to work part time for a few weeks then it was back to reality.
Even after all these years sometimes I think I imagined my whole illness. It is hard to accept when I am well that it ever happened. But it did and I have to live with that. Fortunately most of my life it just lurks in my mind. But I know one day it will come back.
And so to a quiet weekend. A little cooking, a Moroccan kefta tagine later, some boring domestic stuff and a catch up on TV. On Thursday I travel to Kent for my mum's 80th birthday. Hoping that will be fun.
I Heard a Voice.
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