My new psychologist has proposed I steer clear of cocaine until after my birthday in a fortnight, in an effort to keep me off the psych ward. I have developed a horrendous habit of getting locked up for my birthday. In fact I have spent 4 of my last 5 birthdays in hospital. Highness has a hold of me as spring rolls around. There’s nothing quite like a bipolar high, that there isn’t.
Fat chance of behaving myself. I couldn’t agree to my psychologist’s proposal. After all, Paddy’s Day is a-coming & the craic is set to be mighty. The festivities kick off on Paddy’s Eve with Joe Goddard playing a DJ set in Pygmalion for what they promise will be their biggest Paddy’s Day party ever. Then we’ll rock on out to a sweet location in Malahide for an after party of muchness. Whoop, yeah!
My goal for the Lenten season is to have as much fun as humanly possible. So far so great. And my aim seeing a psychologist is to keep a lid on things & stay the hell out of the looney bin…I have a new alibi who can vouch for my sanity, I am hoping, should the shit hit the fan.
My psychologist asked me to keep note of my sleeping pattern until we meet again next week. After all, sleep deprivation is the leading cause of psychosis, to which I am prone. I clocked in 8 hours last night but it’s looking like there’ll be no rest for the wicked tonight…with a nose full of coke & a belly full of coffee, I am enjoying the wee hours like there’s no tomorrow.
On the morrow, I’ll be traipsing out of town to see Bairbre, my amazing art therapist. She said that she noticed a shift in my energy last week. I had safely landed back on Planet Earth unscathed after floating away like a hot air balloon, high on life…higher than the moon!
The psychiatric services were quick to get on my case. Rumour had it I had been partying every night for a fortnight. Truth be told, I had. So the fuck what?
Their first line of defense is extra meds. I don’t need that shit! And if I do, I am perfectly capable of medicating myself. I don’t need Corona the Cunt, the Community Psychiatric Nurse, breathing down my neck. My psychiatric team treat me like a juvenile delinquent. Like c’mon, I’m almost halfway to 90! When all else fails & my hot air balloon floats away into the ethers, an involuntary hospital admission ensues.
There’s a last time for everything. My last 10 week spell in psychiatric care was hardcore, including 6 weeks in Grangegorman, where the acutely mentally ill are sent to smoke their brains out & stuff their faces. I gained a whopping 20kg. And completely lost my marbles. I put all down to experience…an excellent adventure was well had, one for the book.
Faith In The Ripple Effect 