My mood hasn’t even been up for two months yet and usually I get four or five months before it crashes. Back in bed after breakfast I’m feeling a tiny bit miserable though: a mini-dip perhaps after the soaring heights of the last couple of weeks.
Hopefully it’s just because this is the last day of my holiday and I’ve had such a brilliant time. There are things I really don’t want to face when I get back: hospital things and then autumn and all too soon months and months of winter.
Ever since I first experienced a cyclical mood disorder at 19 and took on the responsibility of being the panther’s keeper, my life has been constrained in various ways. Now there’s a new layer to it. Whilst I’m having cancer treatment I can’t move anywhere away from home. I couldn’t stay here even if I wanted to: I’ve got to see my surgeon and oncologist and plastic surgeon and find out what they want to do to me next. And it’s difficult enough understanding what they’re all talking about in English: imagine if they were banging on about all of it in French.
You’re probably not allowed to emigrate and turn up in a new country brandishing a chronic mental disorder and a life-threatening physical illness anyway.
On the plus side:
1. One of my new chums
feels so sorry for me likes me so much that she has given me a Fluffy Present: a mother-holding-a-baby panda pair. So must think of names for them.
2. In a mere 2 days will be reunited with my real live fluffy monster.
3. And Tinder messages have arrived from a new tall, blond very tasty chap. He says “what are you writing?”
So I’d better start writing something that isn’t my cancerous dating blog to tell him about, just as soon as I’ve completed this pre-lunch swim…