Day 28 – What’s wrong with me?
It is my best friend’s birthday tomorrow and so tonight the boy and I go round to see her and have a Chinese take away. As we are going away tomorrow I decide to drive and therefore do not drink. The night is lovely, one of my oldest friends also comes over to join us and the conversation is light and humorous but also full of house talk. I haven’t seen my friend since I put in a bid for the house and everyone is quite amused at the fact that I went for the house before anyone else had seen it.
All is well and I am feeling good during the day apart from needing a bit of a disco nap to set me up for the evening ahead. We look at old photos and laugh about how young we look and the night when I decided to prove that I can in-fact get my leg over my head. Not one of my proudest moments I admit but it was inspired by a bottle of red wine which can clearly be seen etched around my mouth in the photo.
On the drive home however things begin to go wrong. I feel low and even listening to the boys latest singles fails to rouse me from the depths. I am paranoid of the fog and my head is full of negative thought. I worry we will career off the road and that my present and company this evening was just not good enough.
When I was in hospital one of the questions I would torture myself with day in day out, was what is wrong with me? I would ask the staff, my parents, friends and the boy this question in utter desperation and every time the same answer would come back at me. You’re ill they would say, but this did not seem enough of a reason to explain the utter despair I was living with every day.
Tonight when we get home my mother sees it in me straight away and all of us are looking for a reason as to what is wrong and as to how I have gone from whiling the day away happily with the boy to feeling utterly crushed.
The boy puts me to bed in a hooded top and an old pair of joggers. I do not look terribly attractive but still he lies with me and strokes my hair and does his best to soothe my worries away.
“What’s wrong with me?” I ask.
“You’ve got bipolar.” He replied.
“I hate it.” I said.
“I know you do Ellie. We all do.” He said.
