Just a dream?
Nov. 4th, 2010 09:51 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
matilda36this morning I had a dream. I dreamt that my father, my mother, my uncle and my gradnfather had recelled me from England because my bipolar had worsened. I got home and I remember setting the table so we could eat steak, and I rememeber thinking that my mother with her mouth saveged by cancer could not eat steak.
I remember them having me taking stronger medications and me taking it. I kept calling England, my job and telling them that I was going back in a week, trying to follow my projects, with my uncle telling me to put down the phone that I would just get worse.
I remember that I was really worse and I was going back to London with my father so he could keep an eye on me. Then I remember a terrorist explosion in central London, and Boris Johnson asking us to take some boxes to safety, only once we brought them outside, the boxes were just wet, mouldy and useless.
I woke up convinced that I am worse. I reproduced my daily routine, but now I know that there's something wrong with it. I know that spending my mornings watching shows and films and reading fic is someway a way to keep my head at bay, that my cleaning issues are an OCD manifastation. I know I am not well. And that my therapist is right, that I have done a good job till now, but part of it is to recognise when I have a problem. And I have a problem. Not sure yet what it is, but I know I am going to have a serious talk with my psychiatrists about my medications, because I am barely able to function. I know what this will mean, probably new meds to get used to, but I am barely able to function.
I remember them having me taking stronger medications and me taking it. I kept calling England, my job and telling them that I was going back in a week, trying to follow my projects, with my uncle telling me to put down the phone that I would just get worse.
I remember that I was really worse and I was going back to London with my father so he could keep an eye on me. Then I remember a terrorist explosion in central London, and Boris Johnson asking us to take some boxes to safety, only once we brought them outside, the boxes were just wet, mouldy and useless.
I woke up convinced that I am worse. I reproduced my daily routine, but now I know that there's something wrong with it. I know that spending my mornings watching shows and films and reading fic is someway a way to keep my head at bay, that my cleaning issues are an OCD manifastation. I know I am not well. And that my therapist is right, that I have done a good job till now, but part of it is to recognise when I have a problem. And I have a problem. Not sure yet what it is, but I know I am going to have a serious talk with my psychiatrists about my medications, because I am barely able to function. I know what this will mean, probably new meds to get used to, but I am barely able to function.
