Mental illness bags…

My new song is really good. It’s REALLY good. I don’t think I have ever written anything this good before. It may be the best thing I’ve ever written. I think I should record it. Oh! And maybe my sister can make a video for it. I reckon I have another EP in me. It could be called ‘Shoes’…thats been my theme for like a year now and there’s a line in the song that references it and I can’t believe what a cool idea that is! We could do an Ep launch…I could write song lyrics on shoes and have them hanging from the ceiling! I should start planning it now. Maybe I will film myself singing it first…OH WAIT NO! We film The band! YES! Get those sweet harmonies on…

I wonder where we could have the launch…venues in Lincoln are slowly dying a death! Maybe I could do it somewhere completely off the bat! Like outside…a secret location! Leave clues online…BLACK OUT MY SOCIAL MEDIA! Holy shit! I should do that. People won’t know what the hell is going on…and then BAM! EP launch! Secret location! Follow the trail of shoes to the event…which will be under a bridge in the middle of nowhere! hahahahaha WHAT FUN!

I’m staring into the mirror without realising that I’ve stopped all movement and have probably been like that for the last fifteen mins. My eyes refocus and my partner is stood before me holding some bags I recognise and haven’t seen for …well, I don’t remember.

He shows me them and says “I found these in the shoe cupboard…there’s some juggling balls, a few picture frames and a watercolour set in one of them..not sure about the other. What do you want me to do with them!”

My stream of consciousness has been rudely interrupted and all I feel is white hot RAGE. I’ve never felt so angry before in my life.

“Why are you showing me these? Why are you rubbing this in my face?”

His face goes from neutral to very, very afraid. This is not the reaction he was expecting…he fumbles words…

I continue….the torrent has been unleashed.

“Why would you find my mental illness bags and then show them to me whilst I am getting ready for work?”

He finds words. “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I just wanted to know where you wanted me to put them…!”

I know I am being unreasonable. I know this is ridiculous but I burst into tears.

“I’m sorry. I should move out. I’ll leave you. I’m sorry I hide project bags around the house and forget about them! You really don’t deserve this…”

I sob and mumble apologies and become a pathetic mush of nonsense. He really doesn’t understand this reaction but comforts me anyway. He puts the offensive bags somewhere out of site.

I call my Mum. She finds the whole thing extremely funny and before long, I do too. She gets it. My Step-Dad overhears the whole story and laughs, shouting in the background “Don’t worry Scott it’s not you! It’s usually either PMS or Bipolar!”…I can’t tell if I find this offensive or hilarious and opt to feel both, because I can.

The thing with being bipolar is. You don’t always remember you have it. You don’t always SEE yourself or the things you do.

When I’m feeling super humanly, creative and awesome I collect and purchase all sorts of wonderful toys for me to play with…am obsessed with…I put them into bags and then I hide them somewhere and forget about them. That burning desire gone. Replaced by the next obsession. They hide in the cupboards, under the sink, in forgotten corners. Not ugly. Not dirty. Not even that messy but they’re like shame monsters. A reminder that underneath all my shiny there is ‘disorder’.

It wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t to blame. This was me caught up in my mania fantasy not being able to face the reality of my illness. I was furious and upset to see PHYSICAL evidence that I had been struggling recently.

Those bags were more than JUST bags. They’re my mental illness bags. Mum collects them too. She’s like me. She got it.

“They should add it to the psychiatric evaluation! Do you collect mental illness bags!”

With hindsight this was one of the funniest ‘over-reactions’ to a bag of juggling balls that has ever been.

#bipolar #mentalhealth #funny #mentalhealthmatters


Author: Shughes

the life of Shughes. Bipolar, sobriety, creativity...overspill.

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