My friend will be doing this post as she was more lucid than me. It turns out I am a bit ill but physically for a change which is surprisingly simple compared to being mad. It turns out unexplained weight loss, black outs and nausea are a cause for concern – who knew and who knew they could take loads of your blood to run tests to see if you have a blood disorder or are going to die right there and then. Ah well at least I got a whole bag of sugar salt and water pumped into the only vein that had failed to collapse and the photos are taken in a different location, though I look as rough as hell and the hospital blanket and drip accessory was not to my liking. I’m really more of a bag and shoes kind of girl but what are you going to do?
The boy is no more, my heart is broken and I don’t even have the strength of mind or body to blog about it. My heart is broken and I don’t see how it can heal when I don’t know how it got broke. Boys are silly, but I still love the boy.
There are no photos, maybe I will do them some other day but at the moment I am too sad, too pale and too weak to even stand straight and too scared of what will happen now that he is gone that I cannot even fake a smile. The boy is gone and my heart has broken.
In spite of my sunny looking attire I am in a foul and agitated mood. After a series of rows with my family last night i arrived at home to find the giant in an equally foul mood. A lot of the drama all stems from the fact that it was my mummy’s birthday and though I tried to make it special everyone was a bit too tardy or lazy to do so.
Much of the rows occurred because of a particuarly pricey cheesecake I brought to the restaurant and the bottle of sparkling wine we got for the table to celebrate the occassion. After all the fall out of last night, two family members stormed out of the restaurant, I was ready for an easy day but arrived at my home this morning to find the giant in a bit of a mood.
There is a thing that the giant did several years back, a mistake that he made that hurt me and years on I still struggle to gel with him and every now and again a fight occurs.
It is perhaps because we are so similar that the arguments we tend to have are so explosive. After our latest fight, I walked out of my house vowing to never speak to him again, taking the cheesecake and leaving the money on the table to cover the cost of the meal disaster.
I feel as though I am very alone at the moment, my family do not seem to understand me and things with the boy are on a knife edge. i worry that my thoughts, my voice, everything is all happening so quickly and I am struggling to keep a check on my emotions.
The giant can be a fool, but I wonder if I have made a mistake by throwing him from my life.
I am having a swap shop event. As well as general clothing and accessories swapping I will also be including a children’s clothing swap. This could well be modified to give away as I can’t guarantee what people will bring.
Babies and little ones are welcome but if you are bringing do let me know as soon as possible so I can baby proof the place. I am not entirely sure what this involves so any paternal advice on this matter would be much appreciated. Do they chew shoes, or is that just something my dog does?
None of the dresses from the blog will be up for swapping but I do have some stunning bits and bobs of my own that I will be bringing to the table along with an unholy amount of belts, hats and maybe even some shoes if you’re lucky.
We will have cakes, drinks etc and will carry on as long as necessary. Entry fee will all go to Mind apart from a little bit which I will use to cover cost of cake making as am charitable but still totally broke.
Lots love, Ellie PS to RSVP direct message me or comment below, x x xx
Sometimes I wonder whether those in the medical profession that are charged with caring for me are saints. In particular my long suffering GP has stuck by me through nearly a decade of mental health troubles. She is patient, kind and is everything that is right about the NHS. Though I know I am a pain of a patient she always has time for me and it strikes me when I see her today that I am lucky to have such a great GP.
I have been having, for a change, a few health problems and for once they appear to be of a physical cause. I have lost coming up to two stone since my birthday and am beginning to feel quite weak. I am not one to talk about such things but I have been having some tummy troubles that have exacerbated the situation and though I have not wanted to worry too much I am starting to look a little too thin even in my own warped mind.
The best thing about my GP is that you could tell her red sparks were shooting through your ears and she would still find a way to soothe you and believe that everything is going okay. I walk out from our review relieved that for once mentally everything is okay and with no bigger concern about the cause behind the weight loss other than the fact that I have to have blood taken tomorrow which I am not a big fan of.
It feels good to be going to see her with a fairly clear bill of mental health and I am looking forwards to the time when I will see her only for colds, check ups and flus. Hopefully this day is not too far ahead in the future.
Safe in the knowledge that today is Monday and would therefore be a day of minimal movement I chose a pair of heels best characterised by both their beauty and gravity defying balance. They were camel coloured and in keeping with my safari look so I was really rather pleased.
Half way out the house I noticed that perhaps, due to not quite securing my necessary six to seven hours of sleep I was a little unbalanced. I did consider changing the shoes but as I was, for once, running on time as I had to return the video camera to the office before the boss noticed it was not in its proper place, I set to a stride and told my tootsies to be silent. After all we have been in worse footwear dilemmas than this before.
At the end of my street it became apparent that I had underestimated my enemy. Without tights and with no bannister or the balance of the boy I was tottering like a stripper on ice after one too many Smirnoff nerve steadying sips.
Halfway to work things got worse as I felt a feeling not known of for many years, the soles of my feet. They were in agony and a blister had begun on my heel and was cutting in at every step. I soldiered on, resisting the urge to hijack or hussle a lift arriving at the office out of breath and beaten.
Hoping I could retire to my desk for a morning of calls, emails and general set ups the matter soon hitteth the fan when a lovely man came to test my tootsies with a story about a tree. It was not long before I was sent away to photograph said tree before it was pulled down for a car park by Harborough District Council. It was a truly lovely tree but then again so were once my feet prior to walking to see it. To add injury to insult by the time I got there the tree had been chopped down and no matter what journalistic skills I tried to muster I could not get the workmen to hold it up while I got a scene shot.
Three hours, 30,000 steps, two blisters and one severe cut later I arrived back at my home. The shoes were stripped off and replaced with a sensible five-inch backless wedge and the now bloodied shoes were left in the boot of the car where they will stay. I feel quite hurt by them and my feet which I have finally felt after fourteen years.
- Today’s dress was from Prada mark, a gift from the Polish Princess as was the belt which I by accidentally chopped in half this morning while trying to add an extra hole. the point missed my tummy by millimetres so I should have predicted today was not going to be a friendly day for fashion.
I know it is not the best idea in the world to self medicate but when one has been suffering from depression for a time it is a temptation to try a hand at controlling one’s fate. I get so sick of swallowing pills, accessing side effects and the unclear instructions from a psychiatrist I will next see in November. I am left with a million questions at the moment the least of them all being which of these innumerable prescriptions is going to bring this bitch of an illness under control? Sometimes I feel like a guinea pig. At the moment I am unsure of whether I should be on Lamotrigine at all or if I am meant to be whether the dosage is right. The psych is the one to make the decisions on these things but he is at the top of a tree which I will not come to see until the last leaves of autumn fall.
The one tablet that they keep on the prescription pad and on all their computer screens is the magic pill, the one that works every time but that has a naughty habit of making me, heaven forbid, happy. Excessively happy, apparently. When I started to feel the fall last week I wondered whether I should start to take it again, the Duloxetine, the one that got me through the times before, but I didn’t. I wanted to wait, not to have to get better with just another pill as I was doing okay the week before, why then did I need another prop?
The logic was all good and well but by Wednesday I was desperate and with no clear sign in sight of a doctor I swallowed the magic pill and hoped to Christ it would kick in soon. It didn’t of course, the crash continued anyway, but here I am four days later back on my feet even if a little shaky. It’s confusing because I get so much advice from so many different people, professionals and amateurs alike that I get a little lost about what’s right.
Maybe I should have waited till I saw a Psych to go back on the Duloxetine but the last crash, just over a month ago, it worked and it was one of the Psychs that recommended it. I could have waited, but I was running out of time. Perhaps if I hadn’t I would have come back up on my own, slipped out of it and been able to crawl out of bed and even stop the bloody crying all by myself. Maybe I could have done, but I didn’t like the odds and it felt a lot better choosing to take the pill than the looming alternative of having it forced into my hand in another emergency ward.
- Today’s dress does not have a label in. It came from the Polish Princess and possibly from a charity shop but there is no label. I chose to wear it today as it looks very similar to the usual Joules jockey fare and as the boy and I were spending the day at the Arts Fresco, an event they sponsor, it felt like an appropriate choice. I wore my most beautiful pair of Kurt Geiger shoes because I fear the summer is coming to a close and their just too pretty for the cold and dark of the winter.
Perhaps it is something to do with the nature of the bipolar but considering how dreadful I was feeling last week I now feel fine. It is frustrating as hell as I do not know what brought it on but equally I have no idea what it was that saw it clear and leave me feeling calm and sane today.
- Today’s dress is on loan from a lovely lady called Georgie Houghton.
I have lost this dress and am having a few anxiety related, depression type thoughts which are rather interfering with basics like memory etc. I can not remember which dress I wore though I think it had flowers on and was black and was a donation rather than a loan. if anyone remembers seeing me today in the street and could help me find it that would be wonderful.
Until then I am pretty sure I was wearing a dress today.