Both Feet In.

I now know the difference between a Megabit and a Gigabit.

Do not ask my why, or even how, for I am unable to tell you, but if you can stretch your imagination far enough to believe I am telling the truth, I will smile

For it is so true.

I am a nerd, maybe.

You know what is also true?

At 4 O’clock this morning I was trying to pull up the laminate flooring in the living room, using only my bare hands and Addison’s toy hammer.

The insomnia finally got to me.

I convinced myself that Carpet was the answer, to all of my questions.

If we had Carpet in the living room our lives would make sense.

Nothing has been clear for so long, you see, not really.

Nothing has felt true, I feel, at 4 in the morning (mostly) like one foot has been missing, so I am effectively hopping in and out of my life, nowhere has been home, I feel like I sit with the dog, my best friend on FaceTime, my past in a heap beside me, ready to run at any moment.

Addison is the Tether that keeps me grounded.

And all of it… it Keeps me awake.

But, well, at 4 this morning?

Carpet, seemed to be the answer.

Plus, I could hear them.

The rats.

The damn rats.

With their incessant scratching.


Can I ask you something?

Do I sound mad yet?

Do you imagine me in the living room, wearing a long white gown, twitching manically, maybe jerking about while I mumble incessantly about nothing in particular in some foreign language, my hair white and sticking up maybe, my face old, my eyes red, pulling up wood with my old gnarly fingers, like some old woman possessed, vomiting green gunk, from a dodgy and grim horror film?

Completely insane?

Because I wasn’t.

The above is just after a normal Friday night. (Babum Tish!) Bring on the tequila!

No, actually, I was me.

I was still me.

I calmly moved the sofa out, knowing where I would start, methodically almost.

I knew, even then, in the midst of the darkness, the difference between a Megabit and a Gigabit.

I was of sound mind.

I also needed to find them, and call the exterminator.

Damn rats.

I was on my knees in my mickey mouse pajamas, my hair tied back in a messy knot, thick winter socks on my feet (because the Irish one refuses to turn the heating on, on the proviso that it is May. But it’s not May is it? It may be May in our hearts but it is Bloody December out there! Doodle the Poodle is cursing me for his Spring haircut! He is literally freezing his nads off every time he goes out, when he goes out… IF he goes out.)

I wasn’t twitching.

I wasn’t jerking about or feeling particularly possessed, violent or mad, and I definitely wasn’t talking gibberish.

I was singing a little.

I was focused.

I even thought that maybe at some point I should tweet about my experience.

How amazing was I?

By morning I would have remodeled the living room.

How happy would The Irish one be?

He would commend me on my hard Graft.

I would earn a much needed lie in!

The pain in my fingers was excruciating, it has to be said, and after a while my wrists felt wet.

I didn’t have time to check and see if they were blood or tear soaked.

Did I not mention I was crying?

Silent tear after silent tear, and I have no idea why.

When I think back now, maybe my mind was crying.

The Tears at the time though, they frustrated me as they were slowing me down.

But, even still, I was getting somewhere.

And then, everything changed.

Very swiftly, from the corner of my eye I saw evil, and then I felt the evil, and then I heard the evil right in my ear, as if it was sat on my shoulder.

A big black shape, coming towards me.

And I violently jumped.

The screaming, the screaming, where is the screaming coming from?

I can hear someone shouting my name.

And then his face is there.

And the light is on.

The Irish one is gasping (it has to be said, in a very girly way) and I am being shoved ruthlessly in to a silent shock, a shock which ignites my blood and makes every thump of my heart burn, like I am actually on fire, as I witness the carnage.

Paralysed and On fire.

‘What the… ?’

From both of us.


I still know the difference between a Megabit and Gigabit.

I also know when it is time to go back on to dreadful, mind numbing, identity stealing medication.

I know I have to stop being so unwilling to see this turmoil.

I should be brave and face it, the madness in me.

But it’s fecking Scary.

Because it lives on, even without me, doesn’t it?

I can easily ignore the whispers and giggles of those who are uneducated and callous, because really?

Who has time for that when one is completely bonkers and destroying ones living room while declaring Carpet to be the Answer at 4 in the morning?

Maybe I should blame Siri.

But, one thing, if you have time that is, can you do us a favour?

Help us?

The ones that get like this?

We used to be normal once too, you see.

And we need you to get it. 

We need you to see, we can be ourselves, AND also, lost.

We need you to teach those who are uneducated.

Help us break the stigma.

Challenge the morons.

(Sorry, did I say morons? I meant… morons.)

Because the darkness, it lives on, without us.

I also know that sadly unless all of us who experience this level of Psychosis, or Clinical depression, Post Natal Psychosis, Bi-polar, truly horrific lows, manic state madness, suicidal battles, unless we all approach the Dr, twitching and jerking and talking gibberish, like women possessed in films, we will not be taken or treated seriously.

I also know that none of us are alone.


We are not alone.

Now, can someone very clever please hurry up and invent some medication that does not make me feel like I have had a lobotomy?

And also,

Can someone please send me some new Laminate flooring to review?

Because I hate Carpet.


‘What happened to my hammer mummy? It’s wrecked!’
   – Addison age 3.


7 Comments on “Both Feet In.

  1. Somehow, the “You are not alone” shout outs don’t mean as much as they used to. Because yeah, I kind of am alone. There’s nobody out there who experience the same internal fight that I do in that moment. Medication sucks. It’s taken me years to get it right but I think my doctor finally found the right combo (then he broke up with me so I’m psychiatrist-less at the moment). I feel mostly okay most of the time. The lows still hit and I miss the mania. I don’t think a girl with bipolar disorder can ever be completely happy or satisfied. This is an old post of yours and I wonder how you’re doing today?

  2. I’ve been in a similar place. All my life I suffered headaches and migraine and insomnia. About 12 years ago I ripped up my bathroom floor at 5am looking for a drip. I found one, I really did. While I was doing it I imagined how delighted my partner would be. When he woke and found me covered in dust and dirt and with no bathroom floor he just stared and I realised then what I looked like. I was on permanent meds for the migraine within 2 days. Best thing I ever did x

  3. This is going to sound … nuts, but when I was like that (and I was for a good few years, and then it was alright and then I fell in a pit for a couple of years =( but have manage to crawl out for the last 3, sorry back to it) I would paint, because: you can paint and repaint and repaint, without destroying your living room or making everyone totally aware of your need to rip yourself in two in that 6 hours (hope this makes sense sort of) it still unnerves people when your kitchen changes colour five times in six months, but hey that is how it goes XXX

  4. I won’t get into why this was so necessary for me to read right now, but it was. Thank you for sharing.

    I don’t have any laminate flooring to send, sorry 😉

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