So on monday I called up the surgery, my usual GP wasn’t in so I decided that I’d just go and see any doctor. During the consultation it was established that I have the classic symptoms of bipolar disorder; a shocking revelation for someone with a diagnosis of bipolar disorder.
I wanted medication, specifically I wanted ritalin because there is literature to support its use with bipolar disorder and it’ll help me concentrate and focus. Instead what happened is I got referred to my community mental health team. Personally I think that this is a bit OTT, but whatever. They called on Tuesday and basically gave me the choice of a talking therapy or an assessment with a psychiatrist, which could lead to a talking therapy. On advice I chose to go for the assessment. I have no idea when this will be. I think maybe that because it’s been so long since I was under medical supervision that they want to drag me in and see where I am. Where I am, all in all, is a pretty good place.
At the moment my only real symptoms are that I’m exhausted all the time, I’m a bit subdued and I don’t enjoy anything or am able to motivate myself to do anything. That said, I did have a real moment at work today where I almost broke down. I sat there with my head in my hands and just stared out of the window for a good ten minutes crushed by what I can only describe as a wave of hopelessness. I nearly cried. Then it passed and I cracked on.
Oh and at lunch today I decided to actually just sit in Starbucks and read. Usually I grab a sandwich and a coffee and head back to the office, but I felt the need to be out. I’m reading The Fall by Camus. Reading Camus is very much a depression thing I think. Reading serious fiction, as opposed to sci-fi is a depression thing actually: I think something about being depressed and introspective makes me want to read fiction as a way of exploring alternative perspectives on life. Or something.