bipolar

Day 128

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Music was an integral part of my everyday quality time with myself. I spent it singing or listening to music or doing both at the same time. Singing along while cooking, driving and just pottering around the house is something I did subconsciously. Music was my constant companion and a great source of pleasure and relaxation. I was also taking vocal training lessons once a week. It was a highlight of my week – something I enjoyed very much. Tickets for concerts were bought months in advance with much excitement and anticipation.

Then came Day 0 and everything came to a sudden standstill. No music. I felt too vulnerable to connect with it. The rawness of my emotions sat too close to the surface to be disturbed in any way. I just wanted to be left alone.

My brother booked tickets for a concert this evening he knew I would enjoy. Initially I thought it was a mistake but went along anyway. I must give permission to myself to be happy. That is what my son would have wanted. I have to constantly remind myself of that. His life and the way he lived it holds that lesson in it.
He honoured a lot of my decisions with great dignity even if they did not make his life any easier. I must learn to do the same.

The singing this evening was soulful. Some exquisite moments brought tears to my eyes and I felt completely one with the universe. I felt free. It was wonderful to be reunited with my old friend.

Day 127

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We went to a flower show this evening. The array of floral displays was wide and wonderful. The bonsais were astounding!

As I strolled around one of the stalls I caught a sweet familiar smell that triggered a little twinge in my heart. In the corner stood a big bunch of lilies!

All of a sudden it came rushing back to me – the bunches of white lilies arriving at the door, one every couple of hours for the first few days, the house filled with this tingling scent and the portrait of his smiling handsome face nestled amongst the fragrant snow-white conical beauties. This sweet aroma lived in our house for many days, soaking itself into the carpets, cushions and curtains. Those days my entire being seemed to be submerged in this gorgeous fragrance. The entire experience played in fast-forward in front of my eyes and tore through my chest. I was transported back in time.

After a few moments I regained myself and looked at the lilies again. This time, closely. They were now pink. They stood tall an arms length away on a wooden table covered in a white tablecloth, in a handmade terracotta earthenware vase, looking proud and pretty. They seemed to be smiling at me.

I smiled back and silently dedicated them to him.

They would probably make him sneeze but that’s life 🙂

They are ours to share and cherish.

Day 126

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I miss him.

He was my teddy bear. He gave the biggest, cuddliest, warmest hugs!

He made fun of the way I pronounced certain words, often getting my ‘w’s and ’v’s mixed up, for example, tomato on the vine, window, wine bottle and such.

He spoke to me in English with an Indian accent. He would be with friends speaking his normal public school English and would switch his accent when speaking with me. It was very noticeable to everyone aside from him. It was funny!

He often started his sentences with ‘also’, with a little lilt at the end, while speaking with me. I don’t know why. It was so typical.

He completely cracked up when I spoke some phrases in Punjabi (a north Indian language).

He often made me a cup of tea when I came home from work.

He loved candy floss and hated almonds.

He called himself a coconut – brown on the outside and white on the inside.

He wore shorts and flip-flops even in freezing cold weather.

He hated trimming his toe nails as cutting them tickled him a lot. He often needed coaxing. If that did not work, I would personally trim them for him while he giggled like crazy.

He could tell when I was too tired to do anything. He would say, “Your battery is done.”

He constantly teased me about being a vegetarian and a teetotaller.

He was sweet.

I miss him.

Day 125

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“Edward was a very rare animal,” said Mr Mallen, describing his son in The Times today. “Not only was he intelligent and gifted, he was also very kind, caring and humble.” This 18 year old is another tragic example of not enough attention paid to a young man with depression. Just after Christmas he fell into a deep depression and was ‘given an assessment’ by the NHS a month ago but had not heard back about possible treatment by the time of his death.

What a waste! How can this continue to happen again and again? Same themes emerging repeatedly! It is agonizing to hear this. I can completely identify with the parents who said, “a normal Monday afternoon became a horrifying nightmare where one is staring into this appalling abyss of grief.” Even the thought of it is unbearable.

A survey by YoungMinds, a youth mental health charity showed that quarter of parents waited more than 12 months to receive treatment for their child. The suicide rates in England are at risk of rising sharply as a third of local authorities do not have suicide prevention action plans.

Today is 18 weeks. In my heart it feels like Day 0 again.

Please let us all wake up and do something to stop this.

Day 124

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“At first I thought it was a bit strange that you would be willing to share your innermost feelings on a public platform”, confessed a very dear friend. I am so glad she did. It made me think about why I started writing this blog and continue to do so.

Well. I really don’t know as when I made this decision I was out of my mind. My guess is that it started as a replacement point of focus for my days. After more than 20 years of having a focus, I couldn’t cope with not having one. With its help, if I could, I would not allow another suicide to take place.

It is therapeutic and cathartic. Sometimes it is a vent for my anger, other times it is a gratitude journal or a piece of information. Always, a friend.

My hope is to change the world for the better, learn as much as I can and share whatever I learn.

Many lovely people have come my way through writing this and I have learnt so much from them about being human in general and dealing with mental illness in particular.

So, what stops us from sharing our feelings? Why is it so hard? I am sure how I feel is not terribly unique. Anyone in my position would have similar feelings. There is nothing to loose or gain. I feel alright about sharing my humanness. We are all vulnerable and fragile in one way or another. Nature intended it to be that way. There is no shame in acknowledging that to others and myself. It is nothing to be ashamed of. It makes me who I am. It is ok.