Tomorrow is my 65th birthday and I have realised that I’ve been part of Twitter for 15 years and before that the ‘mother’ on a mental health forum.

Today I became very close to opening up my Twitter account and using it just to post blog posts saying how I feel now I’ve stopped using the website and other wannabe sites. Just a selfish ploy to get more visitors to my website of course. This site gets a fair share of traffic; people Google for a recipe for Fadgies and then stay to read other pages.

I’ve been helping a neighbour with his family tree and it’s exhausting to say the least. What appears to be good information is not always as good as they think. But I’ll battle on when I have energy and my mind isn’t being eaten away by bipolar disorder.

The bipolar disorder is particularly troublesome at the moment due to outside events and I have little control over them. But still, life goes on even if it’s not the life you choose for a while.

The kitten is still entertaining and wonderful but heading into the ‘stop that’ stage. Anyone who has raised a young animal knows that feeling.

I went to the City Farm today and took some photos which was really lovely. One of the Bristol unicorns is there and it’s unforgettable for all the wrong reasons.

Anyway that’s Wednesday and another day closer to not thinking in 280 characters or less.

It’s a strange experience stopping tweeting. It’s amazing in all the wrong ways about how my mind has been working while I’ve spent the last 15 years tweeting and how it’s going to take a few weeks to change that.

I’ve noticed that when having experiences I’ve been thinking of them in characters of 280 or fewer. Thinking to a community that is no longer there and one that won’t be there again.

I have always seen my life in photographs and Twitter has been eroding that pleasure. I’ve been taking my camera for walks and it’s rarely been out of its bag because I’ve been tweeting about mundane things instead of taking photos of the interesting things.

Today I’ve been to an outdoor art fair. There’s been live graffiti, I bumped into an old mate who i hadn’t seen for ages, had a cup of tea in a local cafe and fussed over a tiny dog. I had a nap this afternoon and woke up to find my kitten sat on my shoulder being cute.

I’ve spent time outside watching a couple of dogs playing. I miss Leonard and playtimes with him but I enjoy watching other dogs play with one another.

One of my neighbours left a book for me on my doorstep and it’s one I’ve never read so I’m looking forward to it.

Tomorrow I’m going to set up my exercise step and start using it. Apparently it will help me with my balance. It will be interesting that’s for sure.

For the past few years I’ve grown increasingly tired of social networks and, despite the best of intentions, the time lost to them.

Since Twitter has passed into the hands of a person the users don’t like very much it has become a hard place to spend time on.

Many people, too many people, complain about how Twitter has been ruined, how it’s changed beyond recognition and the early days are remembered through a veil of mourning.

To be honest the early days of Twitter were awful. When I joined there was a lot of business networking and when the general public realised it was there it became a very weird place. I had an online stalker and that’s where they found me. So the memories are vague and only of the nice days. Heavenly Twitter never existed.

As it breaks apart there a several alternative networks desperate to become the next Twitter without becoming the next Twitter. They seem to be, largely, cross posts over all the networks and each with “stolen from [insert network here].”

I want none of it. I retain my Facebook account to keep in touch with my family, Instagram and Flickr for my photos and this, my precious website to mutter at the ether.

I spoke to my sister last night and she was very kind. Much kind than I felt I deserved and that is typical of me when I’m at the wrong end of antisocial behaviour and incredible stress that it begins.

Like a lot of other sisters we don’t always see eye to to but also like a lot of other sisters when one of us or both us have our backs against the wall we are there for one another unconditionally.

We talked about how I felt and while we talked I could feel myself ‘crumbling’ and how the terminology of people trying to show support can contribute to negative feelings.

I write or speak about what is happening to me in a non-specific way, it feels that I’m describing something vague, but at times people believe they know exactly what I’m saying.

I am not fighting a battle, I live with bipolar disorder, I am living with the effects of antisocial behaviour but I am not in the middle of a war with myself, illness or the effects of a situation.

I do not want sympathy as it implies that another person identifies with my situation. Since the way I feel and cope changes throughout my day, hour by hour, nobody can identify with that. We never have the same experiences of someone else so sympathy is misplaced especially when it can suggest a hint of pity. My sister understands this perfectly.

It sounds harsh to almost rail against people who are only trying to help but it is important to remember that the words we say, especially online, aren’t always received with the intentions behind them.

Meanwhile, since I don’t drink alcohol, I raise a cup of Yorkshire tea to my sister.

There’s a lot of negative things going on right now that are overloading my brain and, as it’s a bipolar brain, it’s beginning to suffer in many ways. I’m not going to go into details because that would hurt more than blogging and, for me, blogging is about trying to empty my brain.

I’m having neighbour problems and I’m not allowed to discuss them in the open. It’s as if I’ve been told I’m allowed to scream but silently. It’s hurting me mentally and when or if the problem is resolved I’m going to crash. It’s starting now.

I have recently got a very cute kitten. Exactly one week in and he and Finn have become playmates. It’s good for Finn to have a cat playmate and he may even lose some weight. The trouble with the kitten is that he was sold to me as without fleas, without worms and litter trained. It was partially true. The people had just moved into the house and my guess is that they found a young cat with a litter of kittens and decided to offset some of the moving costs by selling the kittens. If one has fleas they all do and I could tell them this but I’m not going to. Let them suffer as I am while I try to house train a kitten who is too giddy to get the idea. Little Hutch will learn and the people I got him off will learn that sometimes it’s best not to piss people off.

These things and more are throwing my eating patterns out I am so bloody tired I can’t work out how I stay a Je all day.

Things have to keep moving. I’m not fighting against the odds I’m living with in difficult times. The attitude I take is that my life isn’t a battle it’s variable.