Validating my Bipolar Disorder

Yesterday I posted, on Instagram, a photo of myself, without makeup (Thank you Alicia Keys). The picture’s caption read:

How i feel. ‪#‎downday‬‪#‎mentalhealth‬‪#‎mentalillness‬‪#‎bipolardisorder‬‪#‎manicdepression‬‪#‎stillinmypajamas‬
Being honest. Living out there in the open.

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I’ve been living out there in the “open” with my diagnosis for a few years now. It hasn’t been easy. Yes I have been liberated, but I have also been judged and constantly watched. That made me so anxious. I was so afraid to make any wrong moves, to have bad days. So, yesterday was my way of freeing myself from that. Even as someone who advocates for mental health awareness and speaks openly about having a good life with Bipolar Disorder, I too will have bad days.

Just because I’m on medication, doesn’t mean this monster goes away.

Just because I go for therapy, it doesn’t mean the problems go away.

They stay there. You just learn to deal with them better.

And I for one, over the last two weeks, was not being proactive in preventing this relapse. I was not stupid. I just took on too much- something I think this illness can be blamed for. One just thinks you can do it all, save the world. It’s part of the illusion and I seem to fall for it every time.

If I look back at the past two weeks, I can say that I was way too busy for my own good. Life threw lemons at me and I tried to juggle them all.

It all started with driving to Cape Town for a radio show, (I live about two hours from Cape Town). Driving plus anxiety never mixes well with me. Constantly images of car crashes fly through my mind. Anyway, I got home safely and I think it was the next week where I had to be in Cape Town again for a TV show. More driving. More anxiety.

The next week I had a three day art workshop in Cape Town again (from Wednesday to Friday), a presentation I was asked to give about living with Bipolar Disorder on the Saturday and then a market on the Sunday (where I was to sell artworks I have been working on in my spare time).

ANXIETY GALORE!

I was so unsure of myself, so full of negative talk but I made it through the  busy days. The very next Monday it was my turn to drive for our carpool (lift club). It was all just too much. I crashed. I stayed in my pajamas, I didn’t shower (obviously), I didn’t eat (not so obviously). I was irritable. Everything was so loud, from doors opening to the kids crying to sounds outside. Everything was amplified. Everyone (and -thing) was in slow motion. My body feels heavy, like I’m walking around in ankle weights. I just wanted to give up on everything including myself. No amount of positive talk was helping. I chatted to my team members (now my friends) from Our Lived Experience and that helped. They kept me distracted from the fog. The numerous wishes on Facebook were also an eyeopener for me. People, some I haven’t even met, were clearing my cloudy day with their messages of support. Some didn’t know what I was going through, some did. But with every like and comment, it was like my experience, my down day, my crash, my illness was validated. It was real. A lot of the time I find that people do not understand this illness because they do not think it’s a real thing. How can it be real? It’s all in your head, no? No. It’s not only in my head. It affects my entire being. I was scared of posting that picture because I was afraid may label me as weak or seeking attention. Maybe I am seeking attention.

I want my illness to get some respect!

There are days where I hear things, and when I see things.

There are days where all I want to do is kill myself.

I am being blunt because that is the truth. I need treatment. I need compassion. Just as you would show compassion to people undergoing chemo or a child who just broke their leg- I too deserve it. They say the mind is a wonderful thing, but my mind can be hell. And it affects who I am to the world. My illness alters the person I am. That is scary. An illness that can take you away from your family and friends is scary, not only physically (like going to a clinic) but episodes take you to a different world and it can turn you into the worst version of yourself. All this is beyond your control. Most people don’t realize that. This illness robs you of control over your entire life. This is not just about having a bad day. Anyone can have a bad day. It’s about not being able to function. It’s about constant negative thoughts you can’t control. It’s about feeling confused by constant racing thoughts. It’s about (again) not having control. With “normal people”, you read a few positive quotes and Bob’s your uncle- you’re back on track. This ILLNESS requires other interventions (quotes can help, don’t get me wrong), but serious interventions are required for you to manage your life.

People will and agree with me and many won’t. And that’s okay too. This is my truth.

I’m busy finishing off my memoir writing course and I hope it will give me the tools to write a book that will explain exactly how I got to the space I am in today (both medically and otherwise). I want to be able to tell the story that needs to be told. I want to be able to share the story in a way that will help people who cannot go public for various reasons. Most of all I want to be able to tell my story with the compassion I deserve to give myself.

I deserve to give myself all the love I can.

I got this message in my inbox. I’ve been too overwhelmed to answer.

Your encouragement is worth more than gold. And your sincerity shines through in your Facebook posts, the few times I’ve heard you speak and definitely in our chats. I am a stranger to you, yet you offer words of encouragement and support to me and many others through your work/blogs etc. I’m sure I’m not the only one that randomly inboxes you, often bombarding you with questions and more. If what you have offered me is anything to go by, I am positive that you do the same for them. Each individual diagnosed with bi – polar has various triggers, some common where this diagnosis exists, others unique to the individual. I sense “your worth” is or has been a struggle to you. You can doubt your own words despite knowing the sincerity with which you offered them. Your actions however…This not even you can dispute. It’s clear in the work you do, albeit your talks, blogs, words of advice, your positive posts and your beautiful paintings you graciously share with us all. All these acts surpass your words, whether you think those words have worth or not. And therein lies evidence of your kind heart. I don’t know you, and I am certain you are not perfect (a common feature amoung the human population I’ll have you know! 😁), but your intentions are clear by the way you put yourself out there. Don’t you begrudge yourself the acknowledgement, respect and gratitude you deserve. After all, you should be Yvette’s biggest supporter!

Sometimes we can’t heal ourselves, but in helping others we actually do…one kind gesture at a time

Sorry for the vent/rant tone in some of the … You know what, I’m not sorry.

Stay strong,

Yve

So, I lost some weight!

Yes people, after changing to Abilify (aripiprazole) from Zyprexa I can honestly say I’ve found the right mix of medication to help with my weight issues. I suffer from bipolar type 1 and when going manic I do experience psychosis. So I do need anti-psychotic meds in my life. Problem is, a lot of these medications we are given have terrible weight gaining effects.

 I just recently survived two consecutive pregnancies (a year a part from one another) and the weight I gained from those two escapades were catastrophic. So meds like Zyprexa was just not going to work for me. It made food taste like air. I was insatiable. But now, now things are different. Now I eat when I’m hungry and I know the feeling of being full. I welcome it and don’t overstep the boundary. Full is full. Before there was no line to draw. I’d just eat and eat, as if I was eating for two… Or three. It became a huge problem. I had no energy (Zyprexa made me sleepy) and I felt like I was too big to move around. Exercise was a chore (read as pain in the bum). Actually everything just ached. I did some exercise when I was in the gym during my last clinic stay but haven’t been continuing. But I’m proud to say I’ve lost 6kg in the short time of being at home (3 weeks). And that’s after not lifting a finger or a leg! I could have lost more yes but I’m just thankful that losing the weight is NOW POSSIBLE. With the old meds, i had to  to “accept” my fat fate. It’s difficult to explain to someone who hasn’t been through picking up weight due to medication but it really is a reality people with all sorts of illnesses face. (Like thyroid issues)
Anyway, I just wanted to share my great news with my world.

I feel comfortable in my own skin, mood is stable and my weight is down. This has really given me a boost in confidence. Whooorah!

Look, I know I may not have my 19 year old dancer body back, but I just want to feel like myself again.  Free. At peace. 

Yours in power,

Yve 

happy eyes

 

Celebrating the little things

It’s easy to get stuck into thinking you won’t be able to achieve your goals. Many know me to be a positive person and generally I am. When it comes to my own issues, I often put myself down, like so many of us do. You know how to motivate others but struggle to do the same for yourself.

I just came out of a mini depression. I call it ‘mini’ because I didn’t attempt anything and I survived without my psychiatrist. Positivity is key in this sensitive time for me. I took time out from writing as advised by my blogger friend Kitt O’Malley and just focused on sleeping. I haven’t been doing that so I decided now is a good time. (Two of my children are away on holiday).

I slept and slept. My nanny took care of the baby and i just loaded washing between naps. I literally slept it all off.

Today, for the first time I read a few chapters of a book. I’m going to do a little dance now. *twirls* I could actually read. Being able to focus to read the words off a page is something a lot of adults take for granted. My mind also didn’t dart from one topic to another whilst reading. Usually I start reading and complete to-do lists between sentences. (This made studying at varsity extremely difficult).  I decided that being able to read, even if it was just for today, should be celebrated. So thank you to my blogger supporters and thank you to me, myself and I for giving myself that time off to heal.

My current read is YOUR VOICE IN MY HEAD by EMMA FORREST. It’s a memoir about a feisty woman with bipolar disorder who meets lots of famous people and swears a lot. She also has many troubled relationships. 

This is one of the five books I bought while manic. It’s actually the second time I’m reading it but now that I’m ‘present’, I should enjoy it.

Keep dancing,

Yve

The new adventure: day f#@$ six

Today is Friday,  my day off. I’m sitting outside reading How not to murder your husband , by Stephanie Calman. She shares my grudge of having a so-called perfect husband. You know the one everyone praises and you wish they could live with him for a week and see if they change their minds.  Anyway,  I digress.

It’s been a rough week and because I’m terribly impatient I expected myself to be settled in already.  I started the negative self talk again which often is set off because there’s dirty dishes. I know my mother would NEVER have dirty dishes and so the spiral of comparison brings me down. I’m not beautiful anymore,  I am not talented enough, I can’t write,  I’m not a leader anymore,  I’m not thin (see how petty I’m getting) and lastly I don’t fit in with certain people. Look that’s a topic all on its own. Just typing this is making me sad. 😦 Am I getting depressed?  What are MY signs?  One of my fellow online friends I should give myself time. She’s right but I keep believing I’m programmed to think that I don’t have time. Everything needs to be felt and learned, now. Old people will tell you this is impossible.  They are right but we choose to live differently.

I have never been patient with myself. All my goals and timelines are set to zero and if I don’t achieve them I die inside a few thousand deaths. Then I go for the impossible again. My parents are probably to blame for this and they know it. My memoir will probably have all the details but I must thank them for it too. I have the ability to push through almost any adversity life spin balls at me, even the ones beginning with the capital M,  ME. I hold myself back in so many ways it’s scary. 

I hope this move to this somewhat sleepy town will teach me about patience.

I need it. Now.

[New Poem]: This Life

This life
by Yvette Hess

Dreams strung wall to wall.

Pills pop

And I swing

I dream of jumping,
I end falling
Failing
And bleeding

I bleed,
Ending it all.

Oh but it’s fast again

Words speed through

And I write

And I’m alive.

I can’t stop.

Living this,

Like this.

When every breath is a test.

I’m sorry

I’m so sorry

I am grateful.

It’s just stillness we (sometimes) miss.

helped myself to a portion of “hospitalization”

Yes, I, Yvette Hess, strong-willed, creative and ambitious woman sought help and lay (comfortably) in hospital for DEPRESSION.

My psych thought it not only therapeutic but EYE- OPENING for others to SEE the real effects of this debilitating illness. So I would blog about it.

Two weeks ago I was on my A-game and not long after, I headed on to AAA-game. So the following applies:
A manic episode is not a disorder in and of itself, but rather is a part of a type of bipolar disorder.

A manic episode is characterized by period of at least 1 week where an elevated, expansive or unusually irritable mood, as well as notably persistent goal-directed activity is present. The mood disturbance associated with manic symptoms should be observable by others (e.g., friends or relatives of the individual) and must be uncharacteristic of the individual’s usual state/behavior. These feelings must be sufficiently severe to cause difficulty or impairment in occupational, social, educational or other important functioning. Symptoms also cannot be the result of substance use or abuse (e.g., alcohol, drugs, medications) or caused by a general medical condition. Three or more of the following symptoms must be present:

Inflated self-esteem or grandiosityDecreased need for sleep (e.g., one feels rested after only 3 hours of sleep)More talkative than usual or pressure to keep talkingFlight of ideas or subjective experience that thoughts are racingAttention is easily drawn to unimportant or irrelevant itemsIncrease in goal-directed activity (either socially, at work or school, or sexually) or psychomotor agitationExcessive involvement in pleasurable activities that have a high potential for painful consequences (e.g., engaging in unrestrained buying sprees, sexual indiscretions, or foolish business investments. Taken from.

This was me, but in a majestic way. Not in a crazy way, I think. I exploded with awesomeness and bright sunshine. Until I became TOO SENSITIVE. Started hearing things, seeing things, feeling uneasy, suspicious, passive aggressive (as in aggression and power in my body that is released involuntarily), fearful, don’t want to be alone, excessive paranoia. Through these symptoms I could still blog, smile and make people laugh.

Then I blogged about my depression in my previous post. That monster grew larger, hairier and snarled at me. The coat of dusty brown fur was thick,  coarse and probably housed fat ticks. It had already started doing damage. That was my soured blood in that tick!

I haven’t been able to keep my house or myself clean for days. I’ve been clothed in embarrassment for days. How can I, the blogger, motivator, mother, wife and a whole lot of other stuff, be this? A sad lady filled with negative feelings and even worse impulses. Unspeakable impulses. Unforgivable.

This part of the illness is unforgiving. The way it takes away all that is good, all that you hold dear, your blessings.  Your body and soul is handed over. Your children are no longer blessings. Your kisses are no longer sweetened by love. They are tasteless, because even bitterness is worthy of a flavour. Yes I can make conversation and throw compliments at people, but inside- I have crumbled. I am dust.

I didn’t want this to be a long post.  I wanted to inform you, reader, that I am in hospital and I wanted treatment because I owe it to myself.

I cried a little in the car on my way here and told my husband, “I’m so sorry for this. You deserve better.”
And he said, “No my angel, you deserve better.”

Living day in, and day out having real suicidal thoughts is no life at all. Every object is a weapon. Every other fleeting thought is a whisper of death.

This is not life. But this is my life. From rock star to diseased animal, I ebb between glory in life and this.

See you soon.
xxx
PS I’m doing complete change over in meds… wish me luck. Maybe no more psoriasis….

Thank you to Dyane, Kitt, Blah, Nievo and all the other bloggers who have been so supportive. Love you, like a lot 😉

helped myself to a portion of “hospitalization”

Yes, I, Yvette Hess, strong-willed, creative and ambitious woman sought help and lay (comfortably) in hospital for DEPRESSION.

My psych thought it not only therapeutic but EYE- OPENING for others to SEE the real effects of this debilitating illness.

Two weeks ago I was on my A-game and not long after, I headed on to AAA-game. So the following applies:
A manic episode is not a disorder in and of itself, but rather is a part of a type of bipolar disorder.

A manic episode is characterized by period of at least 1 week where an elevated, expansive or unusually irritable mood, as well as notably persistent goal-directed activity is present. The mood disturbance associated with manic symptoms should be observable by others (e.g., friends or relatives of the individual) and must be uncharacteristic of the individual’s usual state/behavior. These feelings must be sufficiently severe to cause difficulty or impairment in occupational, social, educational or other important functioning. Symptoms also cannot be the result of substance use or abuse (e.g., alcohol, drugs, medications) or caused by a general medical condition. Three or more of the following symptoms must be present:

Inflated self-esteem or grandiosityDecreased need for sleep (e.g., one feels rested after only 3 hours of sleep)More talkative than usual or pressure to keep talkingFlight of ideas or subjective experience that thoughts are racingAttention is easily drawn to unimportant or irrelevant itemsIncrease in goal-directed activity (either socially, at work or school, or sexually) or psychomotor agitationExcessive involvement in pleasurable activities that have a high potential for painful consequences (e.g., engaging in unrestrained buying sprees, sexual indiscretions, or foolish business investments. Taken from.

This was me, but in a majestic way. Not in a crazy way, I think. I exploded with awesomeness and bright sunshine. Until I became TOO SENSITIVE. Started hearing things, seeing things, feeling uneasy, suspicious, passive aggressive (as in aggression and power in my body that is released involuntarily), fearful, don’t want to be alone, excessive paranoia. Through these symptoms I could still blog, smile and make people laugh.

Then I blogged about my depression in my previous post. That monster grew larger, hairier and snarled at me. The coat of dusty brown fur was thick,  coarse and probably housed fat ticks. It had already started doing damage. That was my soured blood in that tick!

I haven’t been able to keep my house or myself clean for days. I’ve been clothed in embarrassment for days. How can I, the blogger, motivator, mother, wife and a whole lot of other stuff, be this? A sad lady filled with negative feelings and even worse impulses. Unspeakable impulses. Unforgivable.

This part of the illness is unforgiving. The way it takes away all that is good, all that you hold dear, your blessings.  Your body and soul is handed over. Your children are no longer blessings. Your kisses are no longer sweetened by love. They are tasteless, because even bitterness is worthy of a flavour. Yes I can make conversation and throw compliments at people, but inside- I have crumbled. I am dust.

I didn’t want this to be a long post.  I wanted to inform you, reader, that I am in hospital and I wanted treatment because I owe it to myself.

I cried a little in the car on my way here and told my husband, “I’m so sorry for this. You deserve better.”
And he said, “No my angel, you deserve better.”

Living day in, and day out having real suicidal thoughts is no life at all. Every object is a weapon. Every other fleeting thought is a whisper of death.

This is not life. But this is my life. From rock star to diseased animal, I ebb between glory in life and this.

See you soon.
xxx
PS I’m doing complete change over in meds… wish me luck. Maybe no more psoriasis….

Thank you to Dyane, Kitt, Blah, Nievo and all the other bloggers who have been so supportive. Love you, like a lot 😉

Bipolar isn’t a gift, but maybe, just maybe it can be an enabler

I read a blogpost where a ‘blissfully married, ballet-and-bicycle-obsessed gay intersexed boy’ expresses  his gratitude for his bipolar disorder. I found his blogpost on a really good friend of mine’s blog (The lovely Dyan Harwood), where she voiced her frustration towards the idea of it being a gift and the fact that WordPress endorsed this boy’s opinion.

One can only speak from experience, and maybe his attitude towards what he experienced was a good one- or it’s the way he expresses his life story, but I could never agree that Bipolar disorder is a gift. Never.

Firstly too many suffer, and I don’t mean suffer in the theatrical sense, I mean in the, not-being-able-to-perform-daily-functions-kind-of-suffer. Where one cannot function. You lay awake with trains of nonsensical numbers fly through your mind, you have no control- no control of your body. Anxiety eats you alive. You can’t leave our house. You can’t feed yourself. You can’t take your medication. You can’t shower. You can’t remember the names of your friends.

You can’t.

You can’t.

And then suddenly you can.

You can a lot. You can see behind the hues of every colour, words fly into your mind’s eye and you’re awakened from the death that is the dark.

You breathe in the secret to life.

Sounds glorious, doesn’t it? Yes, the dark days sound bad, but what do these ups and downs, can’s and cannot’s mean in real terms?

In my manic state I could start several business, run two student organisations, co-manage an organisation which held numerous events, be a single parent (not a very good one in my opinion), have numerous boyfriends. You can be very popular.

But you can attempt to kill yourself, more than once. You see your death happen before your eyes all the time, just so that you can stop to constant spinning in your head. Over and over, thoughts and ideas and emotions and words whirl around. You’re sick.

Bipolar disorder enables the creative genius inside to flash its teeth ever so often in different ways- from writing to poetry to starting a business to caring for people to leading. But it can  also take away all the gifts it bestowed upon you. It can take away your “Student of the Year” award your received at the University of Cape Town, it can take away your academic career, leaving you longing for some sort of qualification. It can even take away your friends- you don’t want to speak to anyone, you don’t want to be a burden, because you’re a burden to yourself.

Bipolar disorder can take away the light. And sometimes it can take away your light.

So maybe we can argue that Bipolar is a gift because of all those awards you received and that stroke of genius, everyone loves the taste of.

But of all that crumbles when you couldn’t manage all six business, your studies, your fame. Then, you’re left with voices in your head and no more than a burnt academic record and broken relationships as you couldn’t keep a promise… It’s just you and the illness.

It can quickly take away the very magic that made you, you.

Bipolar disorder is not a gift, it’s an illness- with very real consequences.

Thanks Dyane for the prompt.

Yvette

THAT call to the psychiatrist

As you can see in my previous blog post, two days leading up to the mentioned birthday party I arranged for my sister, I planned everything, cooked all the food, painted the owls in the babies’ room (because I didn’t want people to think I do nothing at home), I forced, I mean SUGESSTED, my hubby put up the 6 family photos on our photo feature wall. Luckily my sister-in -law helped with the decor at the last minute because I got too involved with the food, and my mom-in-law helped with the platters as I ran out of time. I swear I was buzzing throughout. Two to three days, no sleep. The Seroquel wasn’t having much of an effect. I’m sure one may call me a bipolar zombie.

What was also happening in the background is the normal financial matters, like there’s only one breadwinner and the sudden breakdown of my husband’s car when we were on holiday. We were then forced to service and replace the [insert mechanical technical term i didn’t bother memorizing]. This put us back a couple of thousand rand. Then when we got the news that hubby’s car’s repairwork will cost double mine. These stresses are not talked about out loud. I mean we don’t randomly bring it up in conversation. Person A: Oh dude, my mom looks so hot now. She went for lipo. Person B: That’s great. Speaking of hot, my pockets are burning. My car is going to cost R10 000 to fix. Person A: okay. You get my drift. Those stresses are hidden tensions that can fuel arguments, or in my case, it adds coal to my slowly building manic fire.

[As a side note]: One thing I’d like to write about is how I have this uncanny ability to flip a switch and turn into anyone I believe my audience wants me to be… Like at my sister’s party nobody knew, nobody knew that I was on empty. Only I did. I don’t want to make my problems, your problem. Mental illness is such a burden to me, why would I want to put it on you? You know? So I twinkle and shine. The show must go on madam! Anyway. [Exit side note]

During the party. The speeches part was really intense. I became very emotional delivering my speech- I don’t know if it was the days’ work and all the love behind it. I just know it was painful. Is it a bipolar thing when emotions are so deep they are painful? When it hurts to breathe when you’re sad or when you so deeply connected to the memory of a moment?

Maybe it’s just me.

Seeing that I was on empty, the only quick fix was and always is alcohol (We don’t have chocolates in our house).

Ah, so I drank. I felt a different kind of buzz. Every sip took the edge off- brought me to that happy place. That place where you feel cozy, free and oh-so-courageous. In this case, not in a I-want-to-undress kind of way. Just you know, to keep the conversation and laughter flowing. And i I think my jokes are funnier too. It’s almost like it brings me to the surface for air, and my soul is delighted in it and dances on the lips of everyone’s smiles.

*Twinkle, twinkle little Yvette*

When everyone left, I took less Lithium and no Seroquel. They left around 4am so I felt there was no need for high doses, right? Later that SAME morning we had a birthday lunch to go to (My mom-in-law) and an airport send off. By the end of the weekend I was so cruising on hangover farts and sea air.

Instead of going down mentally- I stayed up. I thought it was great, at first. I mean who couldn’t do with some extra energy? It’s sexy. But when does this become unsexy? Uhm I know, I know! When you go to pour water in the kitchen and in the corner of your eye you, see someone, and then you see them walk past the corridor. I probably check the house three times a day when I’m alone (especially when the wind blows or when I am naked) when I’m in this state. Was it due to stress? Was it my meds?

I think I was running low on lithium and high on manic. Yes the energy levels were up, yes I was irritable, yes I probably had 5 business ideas written down, my memory was rotten and I became really paranoid about mice and spiders… I’d be on edge all day. Everything is HD I tell you. Poems? Easy. I’d break it to you in rhymes, I was spoken word. Then I read some blogs of some of my bipolar friends. Uhm, seems like I was on my way to loopy town. I didn’t want to be institutionalised. I was lucky I always shut my mouth went I went down that road. “It’s embarrassing,” I’d tell myself. So, to save me from that I decided to do my lithium levels. And then after not hearing anything from my doctor, I called. BRAVE move because she is the type to whip my ass if I stray. But a nice kind of whip. hehehe. Of course she was busy, she’s booked until March. I always have this problem- I think she’s probably so good that the whole of Cape Town want to see her. That sucks because I need her.

Results revealed that my levels were 0.5. She asked me if I’d been compliant. My response: “Semi-compliant. It was the festive season.” I told the truth and but tried to sugar coat it. “Alright, up your levels and wait for your session.” I couldn’t tell if it was in a bitter tone. I could lend her some sugar if she wanted.

I was relieved. She didn’t send me to the depression clinic.

But maybe she would if she read my blog.

She’d know that I’m typing this while hand-making each pirate invitation for Cayden’s party coming up in two weeks, planning to make everything myself again, covering his school books, ironing his shorts, designing his week schedule and his reward chart posters. All while feeding a husband and seeing to a teething baby and attention-seeking toddler.

Is motherhood driving me crazy? Or is the guilt I have for so many things I’ve done driving me to be perfect? Leaving me sick, bringing me closer to the doors of the clinic.

*How I wonder what you are*

Have you seen crazy?

I’ve seen crazy.

I’ve seen it staring back at me from that dirty mirror.

You know those days where you feel like something is watching you- wait, it is watching you, and-
Waiting for you too.

Did you see that? It ran across- no, it’s still there.

Is it?

I feel stupid.

Everything is amplified- I hear the neighbours laughing, laughing at me?

I should call her.

But I’m too embarrassed to tell her, something is touching my leg- but there’s nothing there.

I want to tell her, my doctor, my insides are out.

Out to get me.

I won’t let you see me this crazy.

I can’t.

I won’t be alive anyway.