P makes great mince pies and she makes them in great quantities because I eat the most. How many is most? If she made 100 I’d eat 80. So I am at the height of my festive pie eating right now or to put it another way I am taking up more space daily. Come the thaw the girls and me will start using an elliptical trainer which is in the garage. We could use it inside but it’s a little cruel to use exercise equipment in front of Jacq. Very cruel. So in the frozen garage it is and will remain unloved until there is a thaw. The weight must come off and that is one method. Anyway, I’m doing the washing up and I twist the broken finger. It didn’t have the splint on because I’m increasing the movement but it twisted and I said ouch. P called through asking if I was okay which it was. And that’s when I realised what the hand damage had shown me.
I had more sympathy / concern over my hand (which admittedly is a fairly useful bit of the anatomy) than I have from being bipolar and all that entails (and minds are more essential than hands) and yet online you cannot see the effect of a broken finger (I can still type) but you really do see the effects of my mental health. It comes through in so much I write. I’m sure I could map the ups/downs through twitter at least and me writing this now in an indication of a frame of mind.
There was a meme about invisible illnesses went around some blogs earlier this year. I did all the answers and nearly posted it here but was wary of who would read it. Wary because you cannot un-reveal something. (Found a site called unsuicide yesterday while looking for something else – and no, I’m not – and I wondered how you would unsuicide exactly. If you can’t unsee then unsuicide is well, impossible? I got the point of the site). If you are going to reveal you have to trust. There are people I will never know reading this and I don’t care because we know nothing of each other, some readers I really do want to meet and I genuinely trust them and there are others I either have met or will meet who I trust and do not trust. This goes back to being bipolar and the fact people will read this blog and make their minds up before we meet. Or they will look back and decide in retrospect that something done genuinely was done because of my mental health.
5. Most people assume: That what I am saying does not count because they think I’m too happy, too sad, too mad. “Oh he doesn’t mean it” or they conveniently forget about the bipolar when it suits them.
It’s very very annoying. It’s bad enough me wondering just what’s going on without having to deal with conflicting messages even though I am the reason for them. It’s my fault but it’s also not. Which isn’t a cop-put, it’s just difficult. So is this a way of asking for sympathy? No because you can’t give it. So why mention it in comparison to my hand? I don’t know.
In other news I still cannot play MW2. But a tentative few goes on BCBF2 went well so that is the game of choice for a while. I am Level 5 Specialist II so I have much yet to learn.
And finally I was looking for a domain for someone else and found one I just had to buy. The design (which is crap, I know but I have never pretended to have any aesthetic abilities whatsoever) Â is the original for the tattoo I have on my chest – and if you knew all the meanings captured in that design you really would know me very very well.Â http://perfectly.me/