Hitting the wall

Since the Covid-19 pandemic began I have hit walls on an almost regular basis. I have a great doctor who lets me bypass the appointment system because the alternative is potential death. So far he’s assured me that I’m doing okay, my mental health toolbox is full and even if I don’t know what I’m looking for there’s something in there that may help.

He’s very good about medication. Too many doctors don’t trust their patients around diazepam and sleeping pills especially when prescribed together but mine does and has acknowledged that even though I may need to take them more often for a while that time will pass.

Today I’ve accepted that the wall I hit three days ago is part of a bipolar episode, a depressive episode. My mind tends to be in a permanent state of irritatingly chirpy so depression is an alien feeling and is something I find difficult to cope with.

Two visits to my bank this week have ended with me in tears. I’ve been talked to as though I was a stupid child and nagged constantly during the time I waited to go in and the time I was in there. I will make a formal complaint and they will send me a letter of apology. 

I’m an experienced speaker on welfare reform and disability and so the bank has asked me to send them some notes so that they can run a training session for the staff based upon them. I have a feeling that this won’t change the way that they do business very much.

 It had better be good. One day it will, one day it will

Tomorrow is another day and it will be different. It may not improve but it will be different and meanwhile I will continue to keep going because I don’t know how to stop.

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