The Variety of Mood Swings
I thought I’d change tack this week and give you a picture of what it’s like living with unpredictable mood swings. These are extracts from my book -
‘Wearing Red - One Woman’s Journey to Sanity.’
With a mix of prose and poetry, I wrote the first Chapter to give an indication of what the reality is like living with the ever changing highs and lows of extreme mood swings.
TUMBLING DOWN
No solid foundation.
Tread carefully.
Losing my place.
Off balance.
Out of step.
Unfamiliar environment.
Out of control. Scared,
on the edge.
Peering into an abyss
of darkness.
Tumbling down.
Alone. Lost.
Abandoned.
Let down. Unsafe.
Precarious.
Dizzy.
Tumbling sensations come upon me without reason. Like sitting in the back of a car. Or on top of a double decker. It’s the swinging motion. I have to grab hold of something tangible to stem the rising panic.
I developed an ability as a child to freeze my body. Today, I have an unconscious habit of bending my thumb into palm of my hand and gripping it tightly with other fingers. I notice this sometimes when I’m walking about and consciously unfold my hand. Give it a shake. Some kind of protection issue.
A childlike sensation creeps upon me that something really bad is about to happen. I know all the clichés about ‘life happening whilst we make other plans’ or ‘change being the only constant in life’. At times like these, they don’t shift the anxiety. I’m caught in the trap like a frozen rabbit.
I put all my plans for the day away in a drawer to keep them safe. Can I nurture myself back to an anchored place, or at least one that is decidedly less rocky? I grab paper. Write fast. Furious. Content immaterial. Stabilizing tool. Describe what is happening in any words that come to mind.
Sitting in cafes helps on days like this one. I find a table where I can feel safe and sit with coffee and scribble. Around people, without any unwelcome companionship.
QUIXOTIC HIGHS
I adore my quixotic high days.
Ideas overflow. They pour out of me and land in an exuberant heap on the living room carpet.
Must chase after my mind, trying to keep up.
Chattering away. Sometimes to myself or to people I meet along the way.
Bursting with energy.
Feel so alive, I want to kiss everybody. Hug the strangers in the street.
Smile for England. Smile. Smile. Smile. In the supermarket, on the bus. Wherever.
No one can resist a smile.
Without exception they smile back.
I’m doing the world a favour. Filling the air with serotonin vibes, intoxicating the population. Like passing round a bag of Turkish Delight.
Everyone wants a piece.
You try it. Walk around outside, smiling at everyone for an hour and I guarantee you’ll feel on top of the world.
Everyone loves you.
THE COMPLETE PACKAGE
Taking the lift,
descend to lower ground floor.
Madness beckons me
as a welcome guest.
Enchanted by acceptance of my hosts,
becoming comfortable,
living with the unclean.
building a version of sanity
that fits.
Am called to retrace my steps
above ground.
Proud scars pay tribute to
this journey of initiation,
cavorting in caverns.
Arriving back, I write my message
to the summer clan:
“I cannot be with you for long,
before my skin shrivels.
But when I’m able,
I want to show myself to you.
Not just the bits I suspect you’d like to see.
The complete package. The whole of me.
Bring the red passion and impish delight.
Friendship. Festivity. Fertilising fun.
The stuff you all admire.
But that’s not all.
There’s more in this Pandora’s box.
A deep well of sadness.
Tears to moisten all ingredients.
Please don’t ask of me to
be always in the pink.
This composition needs melancholic blues.
Poignant minor chords of Cohen
to constitute me as
the complete package.”
I love my up- beat moods and have difficulty with the down swings. I’ve had to find a way to embrace the parts that aren’t shiny and accept the ‘all of me.’ The complete package.