Composed sitting outside the Guernsey Information Centre

So yesterday was a bit of a nightmare; lots of panic and things to sort out and worrying to be done.

Today is slightly better... all I have to contend with is the treacle-like substance which feels like it's working it's way down from my brain into the rest of my body. I have the speed of a 90-yr old woman. Is this better than racing thoughts and panic? I just don't know. I appreciate that I can't have everything, I can't ultimately function (brain-wise) as well as a 'normal' person - here I use the word normal in reference to people without a mental illness; but at the same time there's nothing special about me in particular. The meds will help, talking will help, the psych will help... but it's down to me to tie that all together into one mentally-healthy little bundle.

I do sometimes wonder whether I will be classified someday as mentally healthy. Without mental illness. Can that happen? I've been told that meds will be necessary for the rest of my life, I've been told that unless I take them I will end up in and out of institutions. I certainly won't be a nurse. So if I do feel good - on the meds - does that mean I'm no longer suffering with a mental illness? As far as I can see it, the answer is no - because to acheive that level of functionality I have to swallow the pills.

It bothers me often that when I'm down or panicked I seem to say 'you don't understand' to William often. I seem to shut myself into my little bubble where I am completely alone and no-one has ever felt as bad as I. This is ridiculous of course - perhaps each bipolar experience is different, but ultimately we're all going through the same here.

Then there's the question of when you turn from a 'normal' person into one with a mental problem... is it when you attempt suicide? When you're put onto meds? What's to say the doctors can't get it wrong and actually we're all as fucked up as one another, but to varying degrees. I've often asked a doctor if it's possible that I imagined all of this bipolar lark, and made myself suffer from it... he seems to think this highly unlikely. He seemed awfully quick to tell me that I am indeed suffering from a 'severe mental disorder'...

I guess I've just got a lot on my mind at the moment, and I like to capture these rare moments of lucidity so that I might look back one day and think that perhaps it wasn't all that bad - or is it?