Having a barney with my boyfriend which I’ve dealt with by going very, very quiet.

He was decrying my chosen activities and up with that I could not put.

I had to walk away but ended up walking right back as I always do.

Just have to weather it until M returns, the M I know and love who sometimes turns into a thuggish lout who fondly imagines he’d be better off on his own!

Laugh? I nearly sh*t my pants.

The poor man is hopelessly deluded if for one minute he seriously believes he could take me or leave me!

I picked up my Oxford English, ever the ally in times of trial, and looked at ‘respect’.

Was willing to read the definition out to him but he thought he knew what it meant already.

It says words to the effect that respect means a deep admiration for a person based on their abilities, character qualities or achievements.

Plus sundry other usages as in ‘with all due respect’ etc.

With all due respect, M, you’re a nincompoop.

Aren’t blogs the ideal place to vent sometimes! Especially as he isn’t in the habit of creeping up from behind to see what I’m writing (he’ll think it’s about him!) and as he isn’t computer savvy there’s not danger of him ever checking it out and charging me with calumnies on his good name.

Well Hypomania Hotel turned out to be a one-night-stand by the way. Just as well, I couldn’t really afford more than one night in that luxury suite… Fun while it lasted I know better than to attempt a longer stay.

M is nettled by the fact that I have male friends whose company I value. Both of their names begin with R and I would not be without them.

OK so am I a candidate for the lie detector test on Jeremy Kyle to see if I’ve been ‘cheating’ or not?

Well m’Lud no kissing, cuddling or hugging except for the ‘goodbye’, friendly variety takes place. Conversation is had, and duly appreciated at least by me.

Yes these guys are exes in the sense that I knew them both in the Biblical sense in the past.

So what do you say Jeremy? Does that make me of dubious morals?

In M’s eyes it might. In fact I wanted R2 to come round to my house so that I could type up some of his poems for him, but alas, I had to accede to M’s wishes that this not happen and I did. Out of respect for him and deference to his feelings. He rewarded me this morning with an early morning rant about how I should spend more time praying and reading the Bible and less at places like RISE and DRA (Dual Recovery Anonymous).

I can’t be the only one who has fantasised about going on Jeremy Kyle. How easily the audience could go against me. Equally easy would be coming across as a saintly martyr, more sinned against than sinning. Television is a fickle mistress. And what if the Lie Detector gets it wrong!

No amount of promised ‘aftercare’ by the counselling team would be able to compensate for the loss of face and reputation in the eye of a million viewers.

M, I let you do your thing. Please just let me get on with mine.

I love you much my treasure and would be lost without you…

Thanks for letting me vent dear readers. It won’t happen again until the next time.

Kisses. Z X

The all too familiar call of mania at its most seductive. And I’ve been up most of the night to boot.

But to fear and loathe all manifestations of mania would be to throw the baby out with the bathwater. Kept under control such impulses, harmless as they would seem to most ‘normies’, are actually very useful in any field where creativity is needed.

Another thing I’ve been quite good at is ‘seeing the potential in others and encouraging them towards it’. Come to think of it, I noticed my key worker at ‘RISE’, the  organisation for recovering addicts to move on with their lives, has pretty much a constant ‘why not?’ approach and has been nothing but encouraging to me since I have known him…

A ‘can do’ attitude. Enabling and empowering.

I watched M with pride this morning. Last night I was uneasy about his ‘street preaching’ which often sounds strangely like the rantings of a madman. This morning, in the soft haze of hypomania, I just see his immense potential as a performer. He can do music (DJ ing), he can dance brilliantly, he’s artistic and he has a consuming obsession with God and the Bible, which he can quote chapter and verse, something I’ve never been able to do.

He needs better PR!!

I thought ‘maybe that’s where I come in’. I can be tactful, diplomatic, and certainly understand the need to be able to relate to an audience.

Just a thought. More later, from Hypomania Hotel.

XXX

I know I’ve neglected you, blog. I am also guilty of not reading anyone else’s blog and not always replying to the comments I do get so I have to be philosophical about the situation.

I’ve been a reclusive blogger but at least I’m stil here and while there’s life there’s hope.

Same goes for my son. He is still languishing in a twilight world of complete and total isolation (barring use of the internet). He does not get dressed. He barely even washes himself and doesn’t brush his teeth. He is as near to rejecting life completely as it’s probably possible to get without giving up eating as well…

So sad, for a sixteen year old.

But my own life can’t come to a standstill.

Interesting that when I was battling Equals my site stats went to an all time high (535 hits in one day). But now I’m giving you poems about love, no one’s interested…boo hoo!

No news is good news, or should that be the other way round.

Gentle reader, don’t give up on me please! I don’t deserve you I know but what is a blog with no readers?

And if no one sees it does this blog disappear in the manner of a tree or a chair when we’re not observing it… see David Hume or Bishop Berkeley, enlightenment philosophers.

What is there to say. Well I was up at four this morning. I’ve had a bath, made breakfast, listened to Premier Radio, chatted on phone to Mum for an hour, did some ‘Morning Pages’ on the PC then fiddled around with files and folders for a while. It’s a good thing I recently acquired a book called ‘How To Be Idle’. The thing to do is have things to do then shirk them, there’s no fun in being idle when there’s no skiving involved.

What ‘should’ I be doing? Well possibly I ‘should’ have gone over to Camden for a meeting of Codependents Anonymous, but I didn’t feel like it. M and I went there yesterday and had one of those lovely thai vegan buffets for our lunch. I was with him all day and we listened to a lot of Roots music, shopped a bit, considered going out clubbing then thought better of it and had some soup at Caribbean Spice in West Green Road, Tottenham. Subdued middle aged gangsters.

Now I’m coughing from all the ciggies and going to try and right the wrongs I’ve done by taking a long walk with R and his dog.

I try. No one could say I don’t.

Lots love XX

Lot on my plate, too much sometimes to reply intelligently to everyone… But your presence here makes this blog what it is, at the end of the day. I love my readers, they’re a wonderful bunch, even the hating ones.

M and I are At Home today. He’s out in the garden with his roots reggae, burning a shedload of incense as an offering to God. Weird? He is, but this is how he stays reasonably sane. He needs his outlets. Sometimes he starts haranguing the world at the top of his voice in public places. That’s a little scary not to say quite annoying. But it goes with the territory when you love someone with a diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia.

And I do love him. The old goat.

We drove down to Kent to celebrate my mum’s eightieth with her on Wednesday. She took us out for a slap up meal. My word though, did M make me pay for the privilege of his company for those two days! I told him I’m not gonna take him there any more, I’ll go on my own, cos it’s less stressful. He’s uneasy out of his comfort zone of my house, our locality and his place, even though he seems to quite enjoy going on the motorway.

It’s a bit like having an exotic, high maintenance pet. A tropical snake or something. I understand you have to buy frozen rats and suchlike for them to eat… At least him being more or less veggie I’m spared that.

Have I told you about my poetry-writing exploits? I attend a writing workshop run by a good friend of mine who is a brilliant writer, musician and performer.

For someone who has always enjoyed words, I struggle with writing poetry the way I am these days. I have a horrendous inner critic who does their best to sabotage my efforts to create…

When asked to put a story together I’m even more scared. I’m in awe of people who seem to do that naturally, people who know how to tell a good anecdote for instance. Many are not well educated necessarily. But they have the storytelling knack, gene, whatever it is.

I wonder why the ability to frame my experience is something that strikes the fear of God into me.

Anyway here ever felt inadequate when asked to present their experience, or just to ‘make something up’?

Yet this is something I was outstandingly good at, as a child. My stories were read out in class. I wasn’t so fearful then, it didn’t occur to me to fear something that just seemed to come naturally.

On Tuesdays I have my drama project. We all had to create a story board. Six squares of drawings showing a hero/heroine, their mission, the special powers that enable them to complete it, the challenges they face in completeing it, the resources they call on to complete it, and the final outcome (some kind of triumph or success).

Boy did I ever panic over this task. Despite being quite good at art I found I had to change to writing for most of it. But my story got picked for us to try to perform as a group, and guess what? I had to be the director!

Out of my comfort zone. But it was good. The theatre group has triggered a lot of dreams of being an actor surrounded by other actors and performers.

Hopefully I will learn to relax and not fear judgment so much.

Here’s a poem wot I wrote.

Love’s Alchemy

Without it we’re base metal

Lumpen dough that cannot rise.

More than the sum of our parts,

Love is the key to our hidden treasure.

The warmth that we share

Soften’s life’s glare, muffles its shrieks

Turning harsh reality

To a warm and fuzzy glow.

We may be nothing special on our own

Yet love sheds its forgiving light

Picks out colour and weave

Beautifies from the inside.

You bring a long awaited thaw

To these frozen feelings.

The stream still moves beneath

The surface ice, and creatures thrive.

At such times even love’s fools

Seem strangely wise.

Feedback welcomed. I told you, I struggle!

Take care lovely readers. Z X

M has been so cool. So sweet. Such fun, lately. It may be that my better mood is rubbing off on him, or just that, in a better mood, I notice better things. And I really am in a MUCH better space. Hey before you start to worry for me, I’m nowhere near manic or hypo or anything like that, promise! Just quite happy and content, and God knows, I had a long old depression I really did.

I’m attending an organisation in my local borough which helps people with addiction issues get into work, volunteering, training and such like. I’m really enjoying this. Two mornings a week I have IT/Skills for Life class with a very interesting teacher who is becoming something of a guru to me, or at least a mentor. He isn’t your average IT guy. He seems to bring his own take on life into the class, wisdom, street smarts, whatever you want to call it. And I think they want me to start as a volunteer mentor for certain other students whose IT may not be as good as mine (not that my IT is anything special, but some of these guys are beginners I guess…)

On Tuesdays I am taking part in a new drama project being run by my dual diagnosis worker K. It’s early days but I’m really enjoying it so far, and it seems to have triggered a host of acting-related dreams I’ve been having (at night) this week.

There’s also a new therapy/LIfe Skills group with a psychologist I know quite well. I’m impressed by him, but not sure about the other people yet. I hope they will open up and start talking a bit more or there are going to be a lot of long silences in the group I foresee…See what I just did. What about me, why am I blaming the others when I often don’t feel much like talking myself.

Getting referred to the dual diagnosis services is the best thing I ever did. The culture of them, the ambience, the staff/client relationships compares very favourably with the straight mental health services. And I’m meeting a whole new set of people, and it is a pleasant change from being around other mental health service users, and that’s come out all wrong because I’m not meaning to diss my fellow service users.

It’s just been so many years folks, and maybe you can have too much of a good thing. And maybe I do feel like a bit of a fraud being in dual diagnosis services when I wasn’t sure if the word ‘drug addict’ or ‘alcoholic’ could ever really be applied to me. But I don’t care because I’m getting a lot from it, it’s a breath of fresh air.

And there’s a bit of better news wafting up from Kent where my son currently resides with my Mum. It’s also her 80th birthday on Wednesday and the plan is for M and me to drive down there. I hope I didn’t sound like I was dissing you, J, when I said about the Malibu and all. I love you and have been worrying myself sick over you, that’s all…

Lots love folks. Z X

Here’s an excerpt:

A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 7,100 times in 2011. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 6 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

It’s a dull and rainy New Year’s Day. M cooked for both of us again. We had ricotta and spinach pasta parcels with arrabiata sauce and roast potatoes. A surprisingly good combination.

My teenage son managed to persuade his grandmother to buy him some Malibu ‘to see the New Year in’. Half the bottle is gone.

We draw our own conlusions.

Z X

Besides being very withdrawn my son also self-neglects to the point of self-harm. He is hugely picky and difficult about food. He doesn’t exercise and often sleeps his days away, staying awake at night on his lap top.

I think he may also be suffering from post-traumatic stress from his years in local authority care and an inability to bond with others from his early years with me and his grandmother plus a spell in foster care when he was only eighteen months. This is sometimes known as reactive attachment disorder.

His nasty, arrogant and abusive behaviour would lead me to conclude that he’s more bad than mad, but it’s not as simple as that. I’m sure given the chance to be different he would grab it with both hands, because I doubt anyone would choose to live in self-imposed purdah in a small room, rarely seeing the light of day or breathing fresh air at a mere sixteen years old.

Poor J. I never wanted him to go through and be forced to endure a fraction of what I have, but whatever ails him has struck him down way younger than it did me and never, not even in the deepest darkest depression did I wish to withdraw from the world completely…

Self-incarceration. Self-imprisonment. What is it that drives him?

Some young people today are throwing a grenade into the midst of our cosy and cherished beliefs about family, inherited values and so on. As I surf the net looking for other stories there is no shortage of desperate parents who can’t believe their son or daughter is their own flesh and blood.

Sometimes they, and I, have to frankly admit that we hate our own kids, or at the very least, we hate their behaviour.

But while I frankly felt suicidal at times last year because I felt I did not deserve to live I now realise that my life is still calling me to live it and continue to do my best.

Love X

I feel down today. Can’t believe there are two more days of this.

M is cooking. I can’t find much of anything to say. I have no insights to offer about New Years, resolutions or anything else.

I’m sorry folks. Sorry for all my psychotic excesses including the religious mania. Sorry my life is such a godawful mess.

I think my son is suffering from some kind of attachment disorder by the way. He wasn;t able to bond with a primary carer, which should really have been me, but I was in and out of psychosis before and after his conception. He fits the profile for this kind of condition. He seeks to control his environment at all costs because he feels his life depends on it. He perceives the world as a hostile place and cannot trust others to meet his needs. Defiance, argumentativeness, oppositional behaviour. That’s my boy.

I often feel like running a mile, or erecting a cast iron shutter between him and me. But that’s not in the nature of motherhood. We must persevere, day by day. The Sisyphean chalk face, where hope springs eternal to face off despair.

Love you folks. Z X

My Mum is amazing and I am so lucky to have her. She’s cooking a Nigel Slater veggie stew and the smell is amazing. J won’t eat it though…He’s still cloistered in his room. I sometimes feel filicidal if that’s the word.

The last two weeks things have looked a bit brighter than before. I’ve got a few interesting projects coming up for the New Year. One is a therapy/life skills group facilitated by a psychologist supported by a social worker, both of whom I know quite well and like. The other is believe it or not a theatre project which my dual diagnosis worker is organising. She’s a sparky, kind and positive person with a passion for drama therapy.

I’m aiming to also locate some voluntary work with the help of an organisation that helps ex addicts find work, training or education to get that all important structure in their lives.

As someone who was never sure that I was an addict, I am getting some good help that sometimes seems to be denied those who are ‘merely’ mentally ill.

M has been on best behaviour most of the time. He can be very attentive to my needs. We both caught a cold and he spent lots of time rubbing Vicks Vapour Rub into my back and chest and dosing me with Benilyn for my cough. Bless. Today he gave me a lift all the way to Charing Cross station to get the train down to Kent…

How are you dear reader, more to the point? Hope Christmas gives you a little break from the grim reality that has prevailed for me this year. But at least it was some kind of reality. This time last year I was away with the fairies and well on my way to another disastrous psychotic high.

Love you Peeps. Happy Christmas. XXX