Hypo

I think I'm becoming bulimic. Seriously.

I snacked during the day (and no, I'm not proud of it) and then made myself a real, healthy meal this evening. I ate, and then promptly and copiously horked it all up until I felt better. That sounds like a classic definition of bulimia to me.

Fuck.

Like I need more psychiatric conditions in my life.

On the bright side, if this becomes a habit (and it's happened a few times now), I might actually start to lose some of the huge amount of weight I've put on because of my medication (which I take in a very haphazard manner, I must admit, so it may not actually be the cause).

But saying that makes me sound anorexic. Another psychiatric condition.

I seem to be collecting them.

Or maybe I'm just a crazy hypochondriac.

On a more positive note, I signed up for an "event" held by some international organisation on 29 October. I mean, I have absolutely no idea of whether or not I'll actually pluck up the courage to go, but at least I signed up for it (and, by then, I might have been given my monthly €200 so I should be able to afford it). I know I need to make an effort in my life, reach out to people, make new friends, new contacts, because the people I already know here in Montpellier (with the exception of Y, I mean) aren't as present as they need to be for someone like me, and the people I really, really feel close to aren't even in the same country as I am.

On the insistence of Dr H, I've started going to the day hospital at the clinic I spent a year in, and so far I hate it (OK, I've only been once, but spending 45 minutes waiting for the "activity" to start and then spending an hour and a half colouring in a repetitive design (like a segment of patterned wallpaper) doesn't really do it for me), hate being back with the people with whom I spent a year, hate feeling like a patient, even if I am.

I've also done some teaching, and I'm not really enjoying that either - for the very same reason that makes me suspect I may not make it to the event on 29 October: being surrounded by people, the centre of attention (albeit briefly), expected to "perform" like a normal person when that's exactly what I'm incapable of doing.

Maybe the real problem is just that I spend too much time alone and am turning into a bitter old hypochondriac with psychiatric problems coming out of her ears.

Can you tell that this hasn't been a great day (week, month, year, decade)?

What, another post?

Yup, that's right, two posts in 8 days...

Not that I have much to write about, of course, as my life is stunningly dull and un-bloggable, but that's never stopped me before, why should it stop me now?

My decision to do NaNoWriMo again - and the fact that I mentioned it on here, making me feel even more obligated to do it - is on my mind. I have a half-formed, half-baked idea in my head, but don't have a plan or any clear idea of where I want to go with it. I'm kind of scared it's too much for me to take on - just physically typing 50,000 words in addition to all the words I translate in one month is a monumental task, so you can imagine what typing 50,000 coherent words is going to be like. But I am stimulated by challenge and I kind of enjoyed the 2009 version (just wish I could find my story, I'm sure it had promise). So I'm going to give it a go. I'm going to try and get a plan done before 1 November so that "all" I then have to do is actually write the thing, not think about what comes next.

Other than that, the big news (which is nothing fantastic at all, but big in my dull little world) is that tickets to Scotland for Christmas have been purchased, all I need to do now is book a hotel room at Gatwick airport for one night and we'll be set. One week in Scotland with the girls (and my dad, of course). I'm actually quite looking forward to it. Already.

As for me and my mental state, it's not good news. I'm not being assiduous with my medication, so I'm very up and down, down, down. Still crying a lot, still having trouble going to bed at a reasonable time (hey, it's 2.15 am!), still having weird and disturbing dreams, mainly about children dying and me not being able to do anything about it. I've started fantasising about muscat again and am feeling seriously tempted, but the thought of ending up back in the clinic is working pretty well as a deterrent, for the moment at least.

No good news on the girls-accepting-me-being-with-another-man front either, which makes me feel like I'm being pulled apart, having to decide who I see. Why is nothing ever simple?

And there you have it. That's my news for this week. I did warn you that I didn't have much to write about, so don't complain that I'm dull and boring (I already know that)...

North and South

I just can't seem to keep this blog going, can I?

Maybe it's part of being bipolar, being disorganised, being crap at leading a normal life. Things haven't really changed a great deal, except that I'm predictably rubbish at taking my meds (either on time or at all, meaning I'm putting together a nice little stock just in case).

I'm apparently about to be summoned to appear before a judge, along with my ex and my "mandataire" (the guy who's in charge of me (I would say in charge of my financial and administrative affairs, but it feels more like he's in charge of my life as a whole). I'm not sure why my ex would be invited, and I don't like it. I don't think he'll say anything bad about me, but I do hate that he's still considered to be part of my life in all its daily workings, when really he isn't.

So my life is still a mess and I'm having a lot of trouble getting anything done. Except work, which I am managing to do, amazingly enough. I guess that's a good sign. What's less of a good sign is the fact that I lock myself away, day after day, barely leaving the house, barely talking to another human being from one day to the next, with the exception of Y, the new man in my life.

Oh, did I not mention him before? We met almost exactly a year ago in our favourite mental asylum and have been together more or less ever since. He's still there, though in the part that the least hospital-y and more young person's hostel. He's also considerably younger than I am, but who cares? The most important thing is that he's good for me, that I like being with him, that he keeps me going, keeps me stable. We're both skint, so we never do much, but we can live with that.

The flat remains a total mess, except for maybe 50% of the sitting room and 75% of the bathroom, which I guess is progress of sorts, but not the sort that anyone would notice because the rest is still such a tip.

What I have decided is to give NaNoWriMo another go, to see if I can manage to do it again. It's a hell of a lot of work, and requires great discipline (something I lack almost chronically) but I did it in 2009, I'm sure I can do it again (especially as I appear to have lost the one I did 4 years ago).

One last thing - I'm sure you're wondering about the title of this post, which doesn't seem to have anything to do with anything, surely that's wonderfully appropriate no? This post is about nothing at all, and the extreme north and the extreme south are the two poles of the planet - get it? I know, crap. But you really shouldn't expect anything better of me. Not in my state.