An interesting thing is happening to me at the moment: having felt physically exhausted for a good long while, and although my physical energy is low, my brain is packed full of things I want to say. This is classic bi-polar, of course, and the medical literature refers to this as the 'racing mind'. Or is it?

Having just come back from a lovely pub lunch with my hubby, I was struck by a thought: change was something I had always made numerous assumptions about. This sudden 'revelation' led me to explore the change territory further.

This is what I had hitherto assumed about change:

Last night I forgot to take my medication. That's a rare occurrence and, as a result, I found myself fully awake at 2.00pm. I knew something wasn't quite right because I didn't have my familiar 'drugged' feeling. I didn't feel woozy and I could move without stumbling about like a drunk person. I got out of bed and walked down our two flights of stairs to the kitchen to correct my 'mistake' and take my tablets. Suddenly, something struck me: the house was dark and quiet.

Let me be honest here: I often feel frustrated by all the things I can no longer do. I feel like a useless lump on a regular basis and I catch myself getting on my own nerves more often than I care to admit.  Having said that, there is humour in every situation and I am amused by the new standards I have been forced to adopt.

My new yardstick for achievement isn't what it used to be, that's for sure!

These days, I feel I have something to be really proud of if:

I have recently returned from a convalescence break in France where my parents (yes, I am lucky to still have my mother and my father) spoiled me rotten, not to mention my sister-in-law who is so generous with me I can hardly believe it. On top of all that, I also managed to see my beloved brother (who travels a lot so he is hard to catch) and my two treasured nephews. Lovely, lovely, lovely!

When many people talk to me about depression, they actually talk about something else. They talk to me about hurt, pain, despair, the healing power of time passing. In short they talk to me about grief. They talk to me about sadness. I do my utmost to stay civil on the inside but inside my blood boils.

Since I have been treated with ECT (Electro-Convulsive Therapy), many people have asked me questions about it. When I have asked them what they imagined it was, I was horrified to discover that most people's imagined version of ECT bore a strong resemblance to execution by electric-chair!  

Following on from my musings about looking well and the sneaky fears associated with it, I spoke to my counsellor J about what I had written. I think I have mentioned it before but I like J. She doesn't stick me in a 'theoretical box' and we can explore thoughts and feelings together in a way that leads to powerful questions rather than immediate concrete answers.

I have been thinking for a while about something that makes me uncomfortable. As I was getting ready to go up the town for my eye test today, it came sharply into focus (pun unintended): how well dare I look?....