WARNING – unusually serious post.
It’s a damn good job I am Bipolar. The effects of that are very similar to the sort of brain damage I now have since the accidents and coma.
If you haven’t already, please have a look at Stephen Fry’s Secret Life of the Manic Depressive. That link is to Part 1 but the other two will be linked there too. We suffer from weird thinking. Suddenly we are struck with obsessions. In his case at one time it was MP3 players. We decide that if we only have enough of “whatever” all our problems will be solved. As our permanent quest is to solve all of our problems we go with each phase as it presents itself. He has 15 MP3 players.
Being in great pain doesn’t help. No, Bipolar Condition doesn’t actually hurt but my back has been killing me and migraines are nearly constant. This tends to make me walk through a fog, picking any shiny light to walk towards.
This may be why so many of us commit suicide. At the time it seems like a perfectly rational answer. Life is hopeless, the situation is ghastly, I will leave.
Just recently I decided to destroy something I love. It seemed an ideal solution to many of my problems and I took some steps to do it. No, it’s OK, it wasn’t my animals, I’d top myself before I’d hurt a hair on either of them!
Rather like my magpie habit of hoarding very cheap or second-hand jewellery which I never wear, I will then go through a fit and decide to get rid of it all. If I’m lucky, some sanity steps in and says “Why throw it away when you might wear it one day? If it isn’t qualifying you to appear on Hoarders on TV, what harm is it doing? Leave well enough alone.”
This was worse. This was something from which I used to get an enormous amount of pleasure and I did my best to divest myself of it. I came to my senses. It really is a bloody nuisance living with all these niggles.