My Great Big Broken Head

Introduction

Back in 2013 I was diagnosed with rapid cycling bipolar II disorder and mood congruence.

For the uninitiated, bipolar is where you are lucky enough to have bouts of both depression and mania; rapid cycling means that you get at least four episodes of said depression or mania per year; and mood congruence is where you sometimes have delusions based on your mood (my go-to flavour is paranoia when I’m depressed [yum!]).

Bipolar is a lifelong illness, it’s a part of you, there is no cure; but, as my (excellent) doctor said “…think of it like diabetes, it’s dangerous yes but with medication and careful management you can lead a long and relatively normal life…”.

“Hooray! I have brain diabetes!”

– Nobody Ever

I have been trying to write about this for a while now and will admit to being a bit overwhelmed. My mental health has been (and continues to be) a long journey so I am going to split it into a series of more manageable bite-sized blog posts. I’ll try and pop out at least one post a week.

If you can’t wait for the thrilling conclusion to the series (spoiler alert!) – I am really good at the moment, I’m in a great place. Since my diagnosis in 2013 I have had two kids (I love being a dad), my wife remains my ever patient rock and best friend, I have held down a good job for over five years without committing career-seppuku for the umpteenth time and I am (hopefully) making a difference doing youth mentoring in my local community.

So it’s a happy story then? Well mostly, but buyer beware, a blog about bipolar wouldn’t be a blog about bipolar without a few dark episodes, however I will try to at least give you a laugh along the way.

OK, the scene is set – where to start?

I suppose at the beginning… [Next week – Ghost Grandma]

V762 Cas [tanka]

Three millennia,
Sixteen billion miles each day,
To fall upon my eye.
The vain queen bestows her gift
From her celestial throne.

I felt a wee bit sorry for the star V762 Cas. She held* the remarkable record of being the furthest star we could see from Earth with the naked eye but yet she got very little love, so I decided to write her a nice romantic tanka.

– Cenydd.

* I say “held”, past tense, as in 2007 they observed V762 Cas’ parallax (a figure used to calculate the distance) had become larger and therefore her distance was calculated as being much closer. She is no longer seen as being the furthest visible star. I still love her though.

The Cardinal [haiku]

Watching her take flight,
Ruby wings in evening light.
Dreaming of soaring.

I love a bit of haiku action! They are short enough to churn one out per day on the commute to work and they’re great for keeping the creative juices flowing when you haven’t got the time to sit down and write something meatier.

I really was not happy with The Cardinal when I first wrote it, but it has grown on me. Perhaps I’ve made peace with the allegory behind the poem perhaps it was just a grower, who knows?

Also, before some cleverclogs brings it up, I know – the pronoun used in The Cardinal is feminine whilst the description is of “ruby wings” and generally only male cardinals are red… lets just call it poetic licence shall we. 😉

– Cenydd.

N.B. Haiku by me but photo credited to a talented chap called R. Hammitt.

A Remoaner’s Lament

 A question without context put to the nation,
No other purpose than saving Pig Fucker’s station.
A bandwagon jumped on with egotistical glee
By Farage, BoJo & Gove, an abhorrent three.
They promised the world to those who had nought, 
Vote Brexit, kick Europe and all of their sort!
There’ll be money for healthcare, great jobs for all
And the best thing about it, no foreign rule!
Rule! Rule Britannia! God save the Queen!
We’ll get the empire back (wherever it’s been)!
Also, I know we’re not racist but this will be aces, 
We’ll stop immigration - less foreign faces!
That was the Brexiteers, not brilliant debate,
No facts just slogans none could elaborate;
Whilst shifting the blame for our lack of prosperity
On Brussels, not years of Tory austerity.
But what of The Left, what did we do in this battle?
Assured of the result, we did… nothing at all.
The votes were counted, we stood in silent horror 
The Brexiteers has done it the dream was over.
Kübler-Ross famously gave five stages of grief
Before the vote we already did disbelief.
Then came the anger aimed at those voting leave.
And with insults and bile the country did cleave.

Note to reader: Whilst I am partial to a spot of poetry I have to admit I am not a fan of the rhyming couplet; that being said I did enjoy cobbling this together. It was written in style-matching reply to my BFF’s Dad’s poem Brexit or Bust just for a bit of fun really. A Remoaner’s Lament remains a work in progress, I’m not sure whether I care enough to finish it off.

…An unfinished mess, quite apt for a poem about Brexit.

– Cenydd.