Back again

I know this is a fairly anonymous blog, but people I know in real life have succeeded in finding it, so I feel kind of strange talking as openly as before about what's been going on in my life. But feeling kind of strange is a whole part of my life, so I'm going to do it anyway.

I have bipolar disorder and am in the severe depression phase. I have been hospitalised pretty much constantly since 28 August 2012 (yup, first anniversary coming up). I did go to England to see friends with the girls at the end of April, and have just come back from a week in Spain, also with the girls, but apart from that, it's been pretty much hospital all the time.

It's an interesting experience. Not as One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest as you might expect, but scary enough all the same. I've been in the locked facility, am now technically in the "open" facility but even that one has restrictions (duh, it would be a hotel otherwise). I've met some incredible, life-changing people, leading me to suspect that the best people end up locked away.

I've found myself in a relationship with a young man (much younger than I am, I mean - he's almost 30) who keeps me stable, keeps me as sane as I can be, makes me feel special.

I've been given various outlets for my creative talents and now have more paintings, drawings, story ideas and sculptures than I can possibly house in my increasingly untidy home.

Ah, yes, that. My home. Obviously, I'm here often enough to feed the World's Best Cat, but that doesn't mean I do much in the way of housework. I'm also now totally disconnected from my debts and money because a judge has put me "sous curatelle" (I've been judged incompetent (does wonders for one's self-esteem, that) and have been appointed a legal guardian who deals with everything administrative and financial, including giving me "pocket money" of €150 a month to live on. That may seem like a lot, but I have to buy cat food, cat medicine, cat litter, odds and ends for me, deal with birthdays and the like. It's tight, really, really tight. My debts are phenomenal, depressingly so, and work has been more than scarce this year - maybe 1/3 of my normal amount, possibly less.

So, apart from my young man, my life pretty much sucks at a whole new level of suckitude. I rarely see the girls, rarely even hear from them. Our times together are OK (except that they're not at all OK with me being with my young man - there have been tears and tantrums), but I feel like I'm losing them, like they're slipping away from me irretrievably...

C enters her second year of middle school, L her penultimate year of primary school on 2 September, and I'm determined to be there, even if it means breaking hospital rules and going out early. I missed "la Rentrée" last year, I'm not missing it this year too. I love my girls, miss them more than anyone can imagine.

I still cry too much, and way too often. Money problems have seriously curbed my muscat/mojito habit (which is almost certainly a good thing. Not that I don't feel like a decent mojito more often than I should, given all the pills I take) and I'm trying to behave, trying to get used to the idea of being here, at home, alone more than I'm ever with anyone.

Oh yes - I'm not in hospital at the moment because I owe too much money (almost € 3,000!) and they won't take me back. But my guardian and psychiatrist are working on it, so I reckon I'll be back behind bars again soon. There aren't actually many bars to be behind, but there are locked doors, nurses, pills, rules, weirdos, it's a mental hospital FFS.

There are also my painting, drawing, sculpture and writing classes - the best thing there, and definitely the thing that does me the most good. Dr H is pretty cool too, but I only see him for 10 minutes or so a day, which isn't much, given the facts.

Anyway, I'm hoping to be set free soon. I know I'm not ready (see above - endless bouts of tears, brought on by just about anything: sad songs, happy songs, Cory Monteith dying of an overdose, most episodes of Glee, losing my keys (still haven't found them), just about anything as I said), but I have to be out soon. I can't spend more time there; it's too long. And the longer I stay, the more difficult it is to come "out".

But it's definitely been an interesting experience, that I can't deny. Not one I'd particularly recommend, but interesting all the same. Maybe I should turn it into a story...