The thing about mental illness is that, even when you know you're bad, you never realise how bad you are, until normalness returns. I have bipolar.
I've known for the last three or four weeks that I've been getting pretty bad. The dead giveaway - I didn't get any hormonal surge when I ovulated. Normally I'm viciously horny. But this month - nothing. My body chemistry is so out of whack. I ended up screaming at a co worker on Thursday. He's a passive agressive, childish bastard, who's ten years older than me. Frustration much?. And then there was the post a week ago.
Last night I cleaned. And today I cleaned. This place is spotless. Obsessively so. But it was good. I scrubbed the kitchen and did all the dishes (including my housemates), made my bed, scrubbed the toilet, even though it was done a few days ago, did 3 loads of washing, vacuumed, mopped, disinfected the litter tray, washed the rack that hold all of my toiletries in the shower (it was red with mould, ewww), tidied my desk, then dragged everything off it, dusted it and rearranged all cords that were just hanging around, straightened the couch, ... you get the drift. I CLEANED. Last time I was this bad I alphabetised my dvd's, took everything out of the cutlery drawer and washed it, got the cobwebs, windexed every mirror in the place, washed the fridge out, swept the balcony etc. Last time took 7 hours, this time only took about 4.
I had to force myself to stop. I went out to get lunch. To westfield. On a Saturday lunch, where there were a lot of people. I wondered how I'd go. Walking through a very busy section near some escalators and some prick dodges around slow cunt, right into my path. I sidestep him, as you kind of have to, and wait for the anxiety to hit and...
It was quite a strange feeling. Elation, relief. I spent a good hour walking around the shopping centre just because I could. Yay me!
I know I'm still not all good, I won't be til I finish my current job. I have two weeks only left. The end is in sight.