Writer and Editor. 21. London. Get Stable or Die Trying.


“‘Ere! Cheer up, luv. It might never happen!”
“It already has.”

Hospital tomorrow at 10:00. The DS Unit has palmed me off on the SW Centre again, which is hugely disheartening- both units are as bad as each other but at least DSU has actual inpatient facilities and 24 hour service. Every time I have needed help and run to the SWC, which is a mile from my home, they’re closed or won’t let me in or don’t answer the phone. I’m scared. I’m having a full assessment for the millionth time and apparently I’m meeting my new care team and I think LC who is supposed to be my go-to girl but I’ve missed 4 appointments with her because of work but I think she’ll be there and the chief psych doctor whose name I can’t remember or spell or pronounce but I know he’s going to be just like Dr T was which is bad and so they’ll all sit around the table and judge me on ridiculous unrelated things (“You have your nails painted, that’s a good sign”) and they’ll ask the same vile questions that they’ve been asking for years and try to catch me out by quoting me on things that I said when I was 14 and try to make out that I’m a pathological liar and a narcissist and a whore and they’re probably (almost certainly) going to fuck with my medication and diagnose me with something new just because why not and they’ll make me go to BDAS groups (Barnet Drug and Alcohol Services) and I’ll laugh in their faces and then maybe cry and then definitely cry and then run away because I have to get my bloods done in the main building of the hospital at 11:40 and then my hand will be bruised green and purple and then I shall go home and get in bed and maybe drink some wine and read a book and cry.

At least I get the day off work.

Currently Reading


Essays in Love by Alain de Botton (1993)

When does it stop hurting?

Word Up

(n.) the experiences, positive or negative, that we feel most deeply, and through which we truly live; not mere experiences, but Experiences.

English from Latin
(adj.) describing an experience that makes you fearful yet fascinated, awed yet attracted; the powerful, personal feeling of being overwhelmed and inspired.

(n.) a healthy state of mind, characterized by self-control, moderation, and a deep awareness of one’s true self, resulting in true happiness.

English from Middle English
(n.) a woman who emphasizes a life of passion, expressed through personal style, leisurely pastimes, charm, and cultivation of life’s pleasures.

(n.) a wild, reckless young person
(v.) to be wild and reckless
(adj.) wild and reckless

(n.) lit. “cloud-walker”; one who lives in the clouds of their own imagination or dreams, or one who does not obey the conventions of society, literature, or art.

Sometimes I’m terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants. The way it stops and starts.

- Edgar Allan Poe


I have been in the office for 40 minutes. I have eaten a chocolate croissant and am confident in my decision to never invite my French friends to visit London, lest they too fall prey to a moment of bad judgement and buy a Tesco bakery “croissant” (that is, an abomination seemingly constructed from damp cardboard and some sort of grainy chocolate substitute, a bland, disappointing and tasteless insult to French pastries). They would believe that I brought them to London to demonstrate how Brits take the piss out of the French on a daily basis by mass-producing disgusting breakfast items and calling them “croissants.” My French friends would leave immediately, and then I would be sad so we can’t let this happen. I have also finished my orange juice which is good because apparently it is important for me to get my vitamins (namely C and D, says Doc), especially what with the winter arriving and my mood crashing daily.

I have been in the office for 48 minutes. Thinking about croissants took longer than anticipated and J keeps loitering behind my desk, trying to read what I’m writing. I have read an article listing the top 10 Eliot poems that everyone should read. I was relieved that Prufrock was on the list because I’ve noticed that sometimes when people compile these types of listicles they deliberately omit the obvious choices in order to appear ‘edgy’ or ‘unique.’ This article can be read here. I like Interesting Literature’s blog- it’s informative but easy to read, so you don’t feel overwhelmed with information but you always learn something new. The Raven by Poe is one of my all-time favourite poems, and Interesting Literature posted a great article on how Poe actually wrote the poem, his method of composing The Raven (you can read this article here).

I have been in the office for 67 minutes. I have also had a look at the blogs of two wonderful women, who both have bipolar like myself, who are both experiencing similar struggles with daily life, who are both doing a damn good job with recovery. I always read their latest posts to check on their progress because it inspires me with my own recovery. And it makes me happy to know that there is hope. To discover that Becky finally got the Masters degree classification that she deserved despite a long, hard personal battle with her inner demons actually put tears in my eye (I was nearly crying on the bus and people were looking at me like I’m insane, but I am insane, so it’s fine). Her posts about alcoholism are enlightening, providing new angles that I’d never considered before. I like the way that her posts are intelligent and pragmatic: we see her actual thought process on the page, and we read the questions that Becky is asking herself as she continues her journey, working out what is truly best for her and what makes her happy. Awesome stuff, check out her blog here: Only See Your Good Side.

I have been in the office for 82 minutes. The second personal blog I regularly keep tabs on belongs to Kait Mauro, who documents her life through her stunning photography and diary-style posts. Again, Kait is on a journey of self-discovery: a bipolar diagnosis earlier this year as well as struggles with anxiety and diabetes, plus studying, plus all the other shit that 20-somethings have to deal with means that life for Kait at the moment is about trying to new things, being comfortable, looking after her little dog (so cute) and doing what makes her happy and stable. Read her stuff here: DON’T FLINCH. And, I mean this in the least creepy way possible, it’s a relief to see a new post from these girls come up on my feed because it means that they’re safe and stable, and not in an emergency room somewhere. And if they can keep going, then so can I. Thanks, ladies!

I have been in the office for 93 minutes. I just looked at my own blog. At the top of the page there is a link to my participation in last year’s NaBloPoMo. I posted a journal entry on this blog every day during last November apart from one day in which I relapsed and was too ill to write. I wrote those posts a year ago. A year ago, when I was at university, and was still with R.L. Everything has changed. When I think about this time last year, I want to throw up. I am sitting at my desk and my cheeks are flushed and my stomach has got very tight and I feel like I’m going to be sick. Usually, after a year has passed, people reflect on all that they have achieved during that year and ponder whether they are happier than they were a year ago. I don’t know how to answer that question for myself. Am I happier now than I was this time last year, November 2013? I don’t know. I don’t think so. I don’t know.

I have been in the office for 106 minutes. My colleague hasn’t turned up. This means, hopefully, that I can work at my own pace for a couple of hours and then skive off and go home at lunchtime. I. Am. Ecstatic. I just pray he doesn’t turn up, then I’ll have to stay until after 5 and the thought of doing that makes me want to smash my head against the wall. I’m going for a cigarette. I’m going to say a silent prayer that he is not sitting in his desk when I get back.

I have been in the office for 113 minutes. My colleague is at his desk.

I have been in the office for 113 minutes. I want to cry.

I have been in the office for 114 minutes. I want to go home to bed.


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