There is a pernicious thought I have.
Credit card statement lands – I’m nearly maxed out. Maybe time I stop putting things on credit, but I’ve no income.
I think about the debt I’m in – been plunged into in the space of six months. Fucking bipolar. Fucking illness. Fucking me. Continue reading
“It always seems to be spring, with you”
Dad had stopped slicing potatoes for dinner and looked at me, old eyes wary and full of care. We don’t often talk like this – about this – but today it’s inescapable. Sent home from work, nearly to A&E. Out of a job, again. Bedraggled in trousers and a creased blue shirt, work lanyard still hanging from my collar. It had all been going so well.
I’d been thinking the same. Past few years, it’s hit or accelerated in spring.
“Ever since you were 14”
Jesus. I’d not thought back that far.
I knew it was the paroxetine; I knew, but I didn’t want to admit that, because then the bliss could leave at any moment, the childlike and childish joy in my heart would be contingent on this daily capsule. I knew it was the paroxetine, but secretly hoped that I’d got plugged directly into the heart of God. That it would be as I felt; eternal, oceanic, forever and ever.
It started in the woods.
I’d like to say it started in the forest, because forests are enchanting in all the most wicked ways; but it started in the woods, where kids skulked off for fags and TWOCers burned out their rides and where, bafflingly, you’d get the occasional abandoned fridge-freezer.
I’m fine now, thank you. Continue reading
Came to Leeds, day out. It’s my old stomping ground, where I came to waste away my uni days.
I was off my fucking rocker in Leeds.
I mean, not constantly. There were weeks I’m sure when I was fine.
But I got ill here, and I didn’t appreciate how ill; a lot of my time in Leeds was barb wire and static and me trying to convince myself it was silk and cool water. Still; time dulls edges and smooths wrinkles, soothes stinging memories. Now Leeds is a city of fond nostalgia, the ghosts of friends I wish I’d kept up with, and lifetime and a half away there’s a thin memory of me; less heavy with regret, although maybe just as wound up with uncertainty. And wilder, so much wilder than the man I am now.
At times, I was off my fucking rocker in Leeds. Continue reading
I wish I’d been diagnosed sooner.
I know I bang on about this, but I do, I do and it hurts, it hurts sometimes when I let it hurt.