The Dating Game

I joined the writing team of N16 magazine this month, and also became part of the writing team for Mental Healthy (formerly Uncovered magazine) who I've written for before, two amazing, insightful and colorful mags, and what with the recent Jubilee, my current exhibition and the Olympics coming up I've been making a LOT of bunting, so, I haven't been blogging much. The article above (and thats me) is about my very own dating (disasters). Here's an extract..


"I wonder how much time it would save us in the long run if we were just as honest as we possibly can be on our dating profiles. Here's mine for example.. “Female, early thirties, living in vibrant area of London, textiles artist, loves documentaries, live music, is fun, intelligent, kind seeking similar man.” What I really mean is “Female (true), mid thirties, living in ex housing estate in close to the Hackney riots, does knitting, watches Women Who Kill and Embarrassing Bodies every night, been to see Chas N' Dave (twice), is lively and prone to mood swings if forgets medication, can complete half a crossword in Take A Break magazine, says please and thank you once in a while and seeking whoever because her clock's ticking.  According to many sources the world is supposed to end in five months and we're simply running out of time."


xxx

Post Man, Psychiatrist or Gloria Estefan?

It recently came to my attention that the best person to assess a client with Mental Health needs is in fact, the Postman. Firstly, yes I have been taking my lithium. Now, think about it, the Postman, if a regular to the same address, ticks the box that good Psychiatry practices, but very often fails.

Consistency.

I once advocated on behalf of a client who saw a different Psychiatrist every quarterly session for four years, each time having the same introductory conversation over again and each doctor had different views about medication so that changed more often than Gloria Estefan's outfit in a pop video.

My Postie has seen me every morning for the last six years and must have witnessed the cycle that is Manic Depression over and over. He's experienced the gibbering insomniac who won't let him leave “Just one game of Kerplunk” to refusing to open the door for paranoid days on end. He can tell I'm overspending by daily multiple packages and red letters. He sees my fluctuating weight, he sees me glammed up to the max one morning and can tell when I've not got dressed all week.

Sometimes the poor man has reverted back to knock door bunk leaving Amazon parcels outside my front door for the world to help themselves to. (It's good to know that other adults are playing knock door bunk as I was a late developer in the world of student nights and partying, I played knock door bunk, alone, until I was nineteen. Where I grew up many women had a family of four by then.

It's therefore no wonder that clients, who meet a Psychiatrist for the first time and receive a full diagnosis fifty minutes later, sometimes get re-diagnosed by a different Psychiatrist later in life, having not only been taking the incorrect medication during that time, but have had to come to terms with a condition they didn't actually have.

Last week I went to visit a friend who's currently staying in a Psychiatric hospital. On arrival the doctor was very reluctant to let me see him and I had to say I was a staff member from a Mental Health service to get in. He told me I can have five minutes and to prepare myself as he was extremely high (manic) and so I took a deep breath and went to find him. I can honestly say he was as manic as he usually is and no more, but having not known him prior to admission the doctor wouldn't know that.

Well, I never thought I'd be putting Royal Mail on a pedestal, they are after all up there in the top five things we Brits love moaning about, alongside the weather, husbands, public transport and banks. But then I'm the crazy customer that sends thank you cards to credit card companies and takes chocolates into Specsavers. Maybe one day I'll send Interflora some flowers...

Nan's Cabinet

My current exhibition..

http://nanscabinet.blogspot.co.uk/2012/07/nans-cabinet-launch15th-july-2012.html

A Reflection Of Mania

You may be familiar with the term manic depression where a typical sufferer's moods shifts from manic to depressive in episodes, often triggered by stress, but also brought on by the fact that they are, just manic depressive. 

As with most labels, it has been given a trendier name.. bipolar disorder. I prefer the old one, it does exactly what it says on the tin. This one somewhat suggests the bisexuality of a polar bear.

Following a recent manic episode I am currently going through the usual "reflective" phase with my psychiatrist. "Why didn't you ring me and tell me you were manic?" The thing is, the early stages of mania the high phase creeps up on me and to be honest, it's feels good, very good, it's a bit like winning the lottery, so why would I then tear my ticket up? Or winning Britain's Got Talent then going back to the bleak night shifts and day time TV. 

Then, when I've reached the manic phase - possibly because I feel so fabulous I think I don't need my lithium and stop taking it - I've lost sense of what's normal and what's not. I thought it completely acceptable to call the Police with a rambled monologue about how amazing they are and do they know why I've been banned from uniformdating.com, and pop to the shops for a bottle of cava and come back the following day with four hamsters. But alarm bells starting ringing (and cameras flashing) when I fell in the Canal head first, trying to run along the bank at full speed whilst putting a pair of tights on.

I AM aware that I'm a liability when manic, ironically the hideous lows that follow are accompanied by self loathing which makes the reflection period a bit like watching an Eastenders Christmas special with your eye lids staples back whilst sitting on a block of ice. 

Now, I live in Hackney in East London. You may remember last July's riots kicking off here on TV and during this time I was amidst my last (prior to above) manic episode and had to be locked indoors by a concerned partner as I was making hundreds of lemon curd sandwiches to take down to the crime scene for the Police, who by the way tend to star in my episodes. But people round here are used to it, we have the highest statistics of people with mental health problems, and if you went to the Museum of Hackney you will discover how many asylums there used to be here. Locals don't even cross the road when they see me coming anymore.

But when I lived in North London they weren't so understanding. One hot summers day I was roller-skating around Regents Park near Camden listening to my NOW Christmas Album on my ipod, and attempted a daylight disco move thinking I was on par with Torvill and Dean after a gram of cocaine, and I went flying. A thirty two year old woman face down, limbs spread out like a star fish and crying like a four year old — those harmonic wails — and a nearby woman who watched the whole thing applied the breaks on the wheelchair she was pushing and rushed over and said breathlessly "Just letting you know that you still have your price tag on your top!" Oh the concern..

So, I make a list - there are many lists in my "reflection" folder, there is even a list of lists. I write.. 

"How do I know when I'm high or getting manic?"  

Um... 

Well...

I don't sleep - a combination of being too excited about stuff, usually imagined stuff, I fantasize more than I think at this stage.

I don't eat - a perk, and one that Woman  magazine haven't cottoned onto yet, The Mania Diet, fifties housewives were given amphetamine based slimming pills and hoovered all day, I guess it's a bit like that.

I drink more alcohol than usual - psychiatrists call it "self medicating" I call it " I want to drink a bottle of wine by four o' clock and dance round the living room to the the TV adverts because my hands are shaking too much to put a record on.

Spending - and what with rodents also starring in my episodes, at one point I had sixteen guinea pigs and twelve rabbits in a maisonette. 

I'm likely to hit on anyone that stands still for long enough - for that reason a trip to Madam Tussauds is out of the question. 

So the above list being my cue to make that call to my psychiatrist. Hmm… maybe I'll just make him some lemon curd sandwiches instead.

To read this in The Huffington Post UK click here..
http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/kerry-hudson/bipolar-disorder-a-reflection-of-mania_b_1550097.html

"Mummy, What's Manic Depression?"

Trying to explain manic depression to a four old can't be easy. 
Trying to explain it to a pet guinea pig is near impossible. They couldn't even understand that the reason I let them stay up last night is because it's a bank holiday. 

New York, Brick Lane and ASDA Meat Aisle

Today somebody asked me for an example of a time when I was just a bit  - as in still in control - manic but totally inappropriate. I literally had to pull one out of a bag as there are so many but as we were enjoying a dirty burger this afternoon in Brick Lane my mind jumped straight to the meat aisle in ASDA when a close relative called. I told her that I was in a hospital in New York as a result of a drunken fall during a hen bash, but because we were only away for the weekend I didn't bother with insurance and the doctors couldn't stitch my gaping head wound up without $3,949 and could she transfer it over. I thought she'd appreciate it. She had a panic attack and had to go to hospital herself.

I call it foot in mouth disease, where your brain can't catch up with your mouth.

Surely she would've noticed a local ring tone? Unless the meat aisle in ASDA is a porthole to a parallel place, it happens.

Besides, $3,949 in sterling is less, around £2,469.20 .

You get good burgers and other fun food down the strip where is Cafe 1001 and The Big Chill Bar. For the record Rough Trade is down there too. (See what I did there?)

I have ASDA deliver to my door now. Much safer.