I don’t know why 10 years is more significant than 9 or 11. It’s an arbitrary number really…
Here we are again, the weaning process. It’s a cruel joke that for anti-depressants to work it can take up to 6 weeks, when you start going off them you feel it immediately. You get a nice combo of a headache, some extra cotton mouth, losing your words, lack of energy, exhaustion, blurred…
Work to me, like for a lot of people has been a defining element of my identity. The other element in the last 6 years has been my mental health. The crossover between the two has often been a challenge.
I was already sad, so when I received a bipolar diagnosis it wasn’t the sadness that I thought about. It was happiness. It was good moods, and energy, it was wondering whether a good day was actually a good day, or hypomania. When I felt good did I actually feel the ‘right’ kind of good?
I mentioned a few weeks ago I didn’t know what my purpose for blogging was any more. Then on Sunday I wrote about the one year anniversary of trying to kill myself and in five days it has become the third most popular post I’ve ever written.
