Overcoming Mental Illness

So yesterday in a fit of hypermanic energy I wrote one of the most random posts I’ve ever written. It seemed like such a good idea at the time, a lovely little post full of spot on observations and theories about why it is so hard to ask for help. A topic close to my heart, considering I’d rather gouge out my own fingernails with a screwdriver than pick up a phone and dial someone who cares about me to say those four little letters.

I should point out that I have never actually gouged out my fingernails with a screwdriver, nor have I even attempted to do so.

What sparked that post was a conversation I’d had on the Wednesday, part featured in the post, and itself sparked from my utterly crazy weekend which had begun on Friday (as talked about in this post) and continued through Saturday night and all Sunday - which is what I’m about to talk about.

To back up my theory about why it’s stupid not to ask for help - especially if someone is there who would help - is that everything I’m about to talk about wouldn’t have happened if I’d just picked up the phone and said those four little letters.

Saturday

I’m having a rough day on Saturday. I’m hungover from my binge drinking session and resulting manic episode of the Friday night. My cheek hurts from a woman with a cracking slap, the second hardest I’ve ever received, but I deserved it! I’m a mite hungry but can’t think about food so spend the day sitting under the trees of the Staff’s Flag trying to recouperate and keep my moods in check. It kinda works, and eventually retire to the internet cafe for blog posting, email checking, Facebooking and MySpacing. Which is probably where I went wrong - the last thing you need when battling hangovers, the spiralling down from a manic episode and a potential serious depressive episode is something which could only trigger me. You see, I’ve written about triggers before, and I know what my primary trigger is - for both manic and depressive episodes - so I have to steer away from this if I’m not feeling 100% in control of myself. It gets difficult, but it is definitely doable.

You see I should have gone to see Prince Caspian instead - that would have helped. Alas, hindsight is such a powerful thing.

Instead I’m sitting at the internet cafe getting progressively worse and then BAM the trigger hits. Like a finger on a revolver unleashing the fatal bullet I spring up, sidle out and I’m away to do something stupid.

This is where I should have picked up the phone, hit a couple of buttons, and had a five minute conversation. I needed help. I didn’t want to bother someone. So I tried to deal with it all myself. If I hadn’t, then the following wouldn’t have happened:

• I wouldn’t have taken more than I should have done of anti-depressants and mood stabilisers in an attempt to numb the emotional pain. I REALLY want to point out that this occasion was NOT a suicide attempt, I would have taken far more than I did if it had been! It was merely me being unable to control my depressive episode, unable to control the pain and just wanting it all to stop. Living with emotional pain every day can be rough, can be very painful. It was stupid, VERY stupid, but for a moment there I thought it would work.
• It didn’t!
• Well…maybe a little.
• I became very weak and docile. I started loosing my grip on reality a little and hallucinating. Somewhat bizarrely that little worms with fedoras were burrowing around under my skin so I had to try and cut them out. That’s really the only hallucination I recall aside from a general slippage from reality into some etheral dark place.
• So as things got a little worse I decided - ummm, hospital - and managed to get my reasonably cute butt there.
• The woman who checked me in at the admissions desk of ER was a gem, a wonderful girl whom I would love to buy flowers, take out for a slap up meal, run her a bath, wash her hair and then give her the greatest all over body massage of her life. Not just because she was darned hot, and had scrubs on (a random kinky thing of mine), but because she didn’t - not once - look down on me, treat me like crap, or speak to me as if I was a naughty little schoolboy for what I’d done. Quite possibly the most wonderful hospital worker I have yet encountered.
• Once in, the ER guys did their stuff. I won’t go into the gory details. There were tubes and blood tests and wrenching and all that stuff…and then after a couple of hours I was lying in one of the beds dozily watching the pulse and blood pressure machine thinking ‘These gowns are wonderfully comfy, and your butt is truly a delight, maybe that admissions girl will come back, see it, and be rather taken by it, you might get something here!’ (I should point out the admissions girl didn’t come back, as far as I’m aware, didn’t say my naked butt in the gown, nor did I get any. Which was somewhat unfortunate.)

Sunday

• Early in the morning I’m moved to another bed and then the MH guys take over. We have a chat, a conversation, nothing I’ve not done before. I’m still pretty out of it so am very zen-like. They generally want to keep me in, I think, just to be on the safe side. I however don’t want to stay in because I start work on Monday and I need time to get myself sorted out. So I manage to convince the MH guys to let me leave (I am very good at pretending I’m far better than I am; years, over a decade of practice in fact!)
• So I saunter away from the hospital mid morning glad the worms are gone and that I’m in fresh air again. There’s nothing quite as nice as fresh air after being in hospital. I’m walking very slowly, feeling very tired, seriously want some company and a smiley face.
• Afraid to pick up the phone still I do the next best thing - track down David Tennant travelling across Midnight on the ‘net - and then promptly fall asleep and spend the rest of the day drifting in and out of conciousness.
• Sleep is good, especially for an insomniac.

See, all that happened to me on Saturday and Sunday just wouldn’t have happened if I’d simply asked someone for help. I know I did by going to the hospital, but if I didn’t have such a problem asking for help then this wouldn’t have happened, I would have been able to stop myself with the assistance of others.

I have hang-ups about asking for help, as I mentioned yesterday. It was doing this which began the long, dark descent into the seven layers of hell. Plus, I have this bizarre belief that I’m not deserving of help because of who I am, a grotesque individual who doesn’t deserve happiness in the way others are deserving of it, which in itself is a result of emotional abuse and the severe PTSD I’ve suffered from the events of last year.

It’s just no matter how grotesque, reviled, repulsive, hated or despised you are - YOU ARE deserving of help just as every other beautiful individual on this planet is. Don’t be afraid to ask for help, if someone cares about you, they will listen and assist in whatever way they can. Trust me, whatever blow it deals your self-esteem and/or pride - it’s much better than a night spent in the ER department, no matter how cute your butt looks in one of those gowns.

My life since deciding to cease writing the blog has been a roller coaster of ups and downs, as is often the case in the life of someone suffering from bipolar. My physical and mental health has been deteriorating, slowly, but I’m working hard to find the strength to keep fighting on and rebuild my life as best I can. I guess the ultimate goal is to find some form of normality which will allow me to feel as comfortable as I am able.

Since writing the last post all those weeks (months) ago:

• I was (finally) given some medication, which I have been taking for nearly two months now. At this point a combination of Depakote and Citilopram. I am slowly weaning myself off the Citilopram, as per instructed, and am currently taking 750mg Depakote a day to try and stabilise my moods. So far, so-so. I’m still up and down, and right now am descending into a down with the odd glimmer of possibly entering a mixed episode as flashes of hypomania keep recurring. My weight is increasing as a result of the Depakote, a common side effect, and other side effects have been recurrent and continuous  with some fading quicker than others.
• My brother got married. Although the day was hard for me to get through, with all the social anxiety etc etc etc which has been talked about before, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. I got to wear a kilt, and I have to say I felt absolutely marvellous all day. I’m considering purchasing one just to wear on a daily basis, they’re that comfortable. All those guys looking stiff and uncomfortable in their suits - and me swaying around with a kilt. Awesome!
• I am now back in Australia, Melbourne to be exact. That’s really a whole other post which I’m sure will follow in time, but it feels wonderful to be back. However awesome it was to be in the UK again and see places I never thought I would, it made me realise what I always knew - which is that Melbourne is my home now. It always will be. And if I’m going to try and make my life anywhere close to what I want it to be; this is where I want to be.

As for the blog, things will probably be a little different than it was before. Back then I was struggling with so much; severe depression, self harm, bipolar diagnosis, struggling with anxiety and PTSD, fighting for help and medication, trying to come to terms with crippling loneliness and isolation, daily hallucinations and periods of mild psychosis, homelessness and frequent suicidal thoughts. In all honesty all of the above still applies (I have to say, after researching Depakote and learning that a side effect of the drug is recurrent self harm and suicidal thoughts, I can say that this is indeed true!) my life is lonely and frequently I don’t cope, but I am working hard to fight on as I always have. I’m sure posts on mental illness will still be present, but I plan to share a little more about what makes me a person, what makes me ‘me’; Addy.

This is kindof what I had originally planned when the blog commenced, so I guess I’ll just see what happens. See whether anyone still reads, and see what ends up occurring :)

 Another public holiday, another religious festival, another day of me feeling like crap. Unlike Christmas when it was just me feeling like crap because of some godforsaken mixed-episode, which was much the same as why my New Year was also destroyed, this Easter I’ve also had the joy of some medication to back fire on me. Namely, Quetiapine fumarate aka Seroquel:

Seroquel belongs to a group of medicines called anti-psychotics which improve the symptoms of certain types of mental illness such as hallucinations, strange and frightening thoughts, changes in your behaviour, feeling alone and confused.

Umm, how exactly is a pill supposed to make you feel less alone and confused? Isn’t it contradictory that a pill which reduces your hallucinations also suppresses your feeling of loneliness? Surely people who are alone only have their hallucinations to make them feel less alone. No matter. They’re not really doing a bloody thing at the moment other than make me feel like a complete and utter zombie 24 hours a day - they’re not even helping me sleep, I just lie there having weird dreams about Kathy, Grace, Meerkats and Lucy. Lucy! I haven’t dreamt of Lucy for a looonnngggg time. Thought about her, yes, but not actually dreamed about her. Nope. These pills are doing bugger all at the moment aside from give me side effects. The list says:

| Dizziness | Feeling Sleepy | Rapid Heartbeat | Dry Mouth | Constipation | Indegestion | Feeling Weak | Swelling of arms and legs | Weight Gain | Fainting | Stuffy Nose | Low Blood Pressure in standing position | Allergic reactions | Fits | Fever | Very marked drowsiness | Muscle Stiffness| Marked increases in blood pressure or heartbeat | Reduced consciousness | Priapism |

Plus there’s the ‘if any of the following happen stop taking Seroqel and contact a doctor or the nearest hospital immediately‘:

| A fever, persistent sore throat or mouth ulcers, faster breathing, sweating, muscle stiffness, feeling unusually drowsy or faint | Fits or seizures | Allergic reactions that may include raised lumps, swelling of swelling around the mouth | That obscure sounding Priapism above (a long lasting painful erection) |

And it goes on…and on…and on…and for your information, those listed in bold above are ones I have experienced in the last few days. I suppose it could be worse, I could have a long lasting and painful erection!

So yep, my Easter has been chock-full of side effects and lacking in chock-olate and other such fun stuffs. I didn’t even paint any eggs, darn it! But how could my Easter have been different, if say, I had been in Eastern Europe?

In the Czech Republic, Hungary and Slovakia, a tradition of spanking or whipping is carried out on Easter Monday. In the morning, men spank women with a special handmade whip called pomlázka (in Czech) or korbá?(in Slovak), the women can retaliate by throwing cold water on the men. The pomlázka/korbá? consists of eight, twelve or even twenty-four withies (willow rods), is usually from half a metre to two metres long and decorated with coloured ribbons at the end. It must be mentioned that spanking normally is not painful or intended to cause suffering. A legend says that women should be spanked in order to keep their health and beauty during whole next year.

An additional purpose can be for men to exhibit their attraction to women; unvisited women can even feel offended. Traditionally, the spanked woman gives a coloured egg and sometimes a small amount of money to the man as a sign of her thanks. In some regions the women can get revenge in the afternoon or the following day when they can pour a bucket of cold water on any man. The habit slightly varies across Slovakia and the Czech Republic. A similar tradition existed in Poland (where it is called Dyngus Day), but it is now little more than an all-day water fight.

So there you have it. What would have been better? Spanking, whippings and waterfights - or side effects of anti psychotic medication. Maybe next year I should head to Eastern Europe!

Nevertheless I will keep you updated with all the medicated shenanigans over the coming days and, on Thursday, update you on yet another appointment with the Mental Health department. Who knows, it may even be hospital for little old me next :) I do hope however you all had an excellent Easter jam packed with chocolate, shenanigans and, if necessary, some aloe vera; I hear it has a rather soothing quality.

Well, it doesn’t get much press, but last night social phobia hit the radio airwaves with a half hour programme discussing social anxiety disorder. The Radio 4 website described it as:

“Are those who are merely shy and retiring being made to believe they have a mental health condition or are we failing those whose acute anxiety in social situations blights their lives?

‘Social phobia’ was first identified as mental health condition in 1980. Now according to some estimates, up to 1 in 8 people in the US and the UK has this chronic and enduring mental health problem.

Some believe it’s the most under-recognised and under-treated mental health problem of the modern age - the cause of many people’s depression and alcohol addiction. If you cure the underlying social phobia, they say, the associated depression is much less likely to recur.

Others, however, feel that psychiatry itself has gone just a little bit mad – re-branding ordinary shyness as a mental illness.”

Now, for a start social anxiety disorder IS NOT shyness and I’m personally sick of the two being lumped together as one! When are people going to realise this? There is a huuugggeeeee difference betwen being shy and being a socially phobic person; most shy people will be able to go to a social situation albeit feeling anxious - but most socially anxious people will be cowering in the corner of their room at the mere thought of walking out the door let alone attending the social situation! Also, I strongly believe that medication is of no true help in overcoming social anxiety disorder. You can get drugs which can help control the feelings of anxiety, and you can get drugs which help control the depression which is often precipitated by the social anxiety but to my knowledge there is no drug which will fix social phobia.

So although it’s wonderful that a programme aired bringing social phobia into the mainstream audience I was a little disappointed with it’s overall content and conclusions.

You can visit the BBC Radio 4 website on the programme here
You can listen to the programme here

Welcome one and all to the Carnival of Mental Illness, so let’s wait not a minute longer…

—–ISSUE V—–

Articles and Discussion

Deb Serani presents
Chemical Signature of Bipolar Disorder posted at Dr.Deb
This post looks at the chemical signature of Bipolar disorder, and how mental illness is often neurobiological in origin. 

Isabella Mori presents
An Interview with writer Laurie R. King posted at change therapy
An interview with the mystery/thriller writer whose characters are often dealing with mental health problems.

Doc presents
Depression: A disordered mind, body and soul posted at Mind, Soul and Body

Romeo Vitelli presents
Saving Ezra Pound posted at Providentia

Jose DeJesus MD presents
Physician Rating System Supported by Governer Cuomo posted at Physician Entrepreneur

Shaheen Lakhan presents
The Top Ten Secrets of the Mental Health Field: Part I
and
The Top Ten Secrets of the Mental Health Field: Part II
posted at GNIF Brain Blogger 

Personal Stories

Doc presents
Depression: My Story posted at Mind, Soul and Body

Society Stigma

Peter Jones presents
Alcoholism and Bipolar Disorder: New Book posted at Great New Books

Shaheen Lakhan presents
Brain Damage: In the Clinical Dark Ages posted at GNIF Brain Blogger

The Suicide Taboo

Carole Gold presents
A Message for the Children posted at McKay Today

and my own personal favorite this month

Therapy Doc presents
Choosing a Therapy Doc, or is that a Dodo bird? posted at Everyone Needs Therapy

—–

The sixth edition will be released on:
26th March 2008.

Submission Deadline:
25th March 2008.

SUBMIT ARTICLE ¤ BLOG CARNIVAL HOME ¤ CONTACT ME

When I last left you it was Sunday, and I was experiencing a rather nasty reaction to the Prozac I was prescribed. It messed me up as Sunday was meant to be Glen Nevis/Cow Hill hike day - instead it was “lying on my ass and throwing up whilst wondering which of the wonderful side effects I was to experience next” day! I did however attempt to salvage something from the bowels of medicinal hell and dropped by the Fort William Mountain Festival: Art and Photography Exhibition which was somewhat spiffing I have to say.

There was a plethora of immensely talented work on display. Numerous drawings and collages from school children which - it has to be said, took my breath away - as well as paintings, photography and mixed media from local established and non-established artists. Such as:

  
(CLICK IMAGE FOR LARGER VIEW)

As the festival bumph states “From slacklining to biking and from Ben Nevis to Everest - the 2008 Mountain Festival is bursting at the seams with inspiring events guaranteed to get you in the mountain mood!” It’s a 100% bursting at the seams celebration of all things mountains! From hiking, climbing and biking to flowers, prehistoric organisms and, of course, the humble goat.

But we’ll have more of these festivities later, first up, we will resume to manic adventures of Addy (not quite in full on manic mode, has to be said, but the Prozac certainly wasn’t helping keeping the Hyde at bay!)

Day #5 - Glencoe and Table Mountains.

When I began this whistle-stop tour of Scotland I knew the places I was going to be visiting would fall into one of three categories:

• Those wonderful brand spanking new spots I had always dreamed of visiting.
• Those wonderful [no-where near brand spanking new] nostalgic paths of old which I have worn out over many years of traversing.
• Those not-so-wonderful [and in no way brand spanking new] places of old I had once upon a time arrived and - as departing - stated “never again”

This particular day falls into the category of numero (ii).

Glencoe is one of the most intensely beautiful places in Scotland. Much like a mug of steaming hot chocolate which is over-flowing with dark chocolatey goodness - this region of Scotland is jam packed with history, wildlife, flora, fauna and an overwhelming sense of how miniature, pointless and insignificant we are in the grander schemes of the world.

My first visit to Glencoe came in September 1999 when I undertook my grand backpacking tour of this bonnie country and I have returned there on numerous occasions since. Upon this first occasion I became lost in the woods surrounding the river and took rather a lengthy sojourn in finding my way back to the village and bus-stop. I’ve traveled the glen by car, train and tour bus. Hiked the hills and forests and generally had a romping good time in this fau-chocolatey wonderland.

On this occasion I traveled to Glencoe in the weirdest bus I have ever seen. Granted, and rather unfortunately, it was not weird in the way Miyazaki’s Cat Bus is weird - but weird in the sense that unlike any bus I’d been on before (wherein the make up is:

[seat] [seat] {n i c e a i s l e} [seat] [seat]

The layout of this particular vehicle was:

[sea[seta]t] {redicuslouslytinyaisle} [se[astea]ts[eat]

To get across how tiny the aisle was think of a general school ruler, which is 30cm in length. This WOULD NOT fit in this aisle, in any way you could try and put it there! I tripped over three people, smacked a nice old lady in the head with a flailing arm as I did, and then, as a struggled to (a) climb over the seats and (b) retain balance - my head very nearly ended up in the crotch of a rather sprightly looking twenty-something woman. Which, from my viewpoint would be no bad thing - but from her viewpoint, having a strange man’s head delving into her nether regions on a public bus might not be her idea of a good time. I stress might not be as - really - everyone’s different and it’s all “each to their own” as in actual fact it might have made her year! We shall never know, as I retained balance and threw myself into the world’s most uncomfortable bus seat.

If anyone has ever traveled the A82 from Fort Willy to Glencoe I’d be willing to put money on the fact that the scenery is embedded in the core of your mind; it is unflinchingly one of the most beautiful stretches of road in this country. The views over Loch Linnhe toward Ardnamurchan are word defying, and as you cross the Ballachulish bridge you receive stunning panoramas over the North of Argyll toward the Pap of Glencoe, and the mountains beyond.

I departed at Glencoe Village and promptly began hiking up the glen. I paused for several moments at the visitor centre, reacquainting myself with the area before continuing further up the glen. I couldn’t say how far I walked, nor how many sheep I spotted, nor how many times I gasped in utter amazement that there is no-where quite like this on the planet.

A brief historical sojourn:

Glencoe is the scene of one of the bloodiest most upsetting moments in Scottish history. For it was in 1691 when the infamous “Glencoe Massacre” took place” Disgruntled with all the rebellions and conflicts William II issues a decree that any Highland clan would be given a pardon should they sign the treaty. The MacDonald clan leader, much like myself, was rather a slack fellow and left it until the last minute for the lengthy ride to Fort William to sign the treaty - which he did sign, albeit several days late of the deadline. Jumping on the chance an issue was ordered, and the Campbells (aligned with William) were sent to the Glen and enjoyed the Highland Hospitality offered to them by the Campbells. The Campbells stayed with the MacDonalds for ten days; sleeping in their homes, eating and drinking their food, having their way with the bountiful lasses (no doubt) and then one black morning the command as given and the Campbells duly began slaughtering every MacDonald under the age of 70; men, women and children. It was supposed to show what would happen should a clan stand against the wishes of William II. Many of the MacDonald’s did escape into the hills, but being a bleak and unforgiving place were killed by the elements…and for a far more in-depth retelling of the Glencoe Massacre try the book “Glencoe” by John Prebble, which is an excellent account.

As with Glenfinnan before it I spent the day hiking in the hills before returning to Glencoe village for a spectacular view out west as the sun was setting.

Upon returning to Fort William I dashed back to my abode, changed, made myself smell of honey (or at least better than how I smelt after a day’s hiking in the hills) threw up (because of the Prozac) and then had to remove the odor of vomit from my person before heading to the Nevis Centre (the entertainment hub of this fair town) for an evening of film as part of the festival.

There were short films, longer films, a couple of crap ones and a couple of spectacular ones. Stand outs for me were; 65 Degrees North in which a bunch of intrepid skiers headed to Greenland to be the first to descend some previously undescended peaks and the magical Puento; a one hour documentary dealing with exploring the table mountains and their caves in the Venezuelan rainforests. (This film, should you be given the chance, should not be passed up. It not only made me want to become a spelunker, but also elevated my desire to visit South America even more than it already was (and as South America is second on my list of not-visited-countries which I want to go to) this desire was already pretty fracking high.

Anyway, after a long day, I returned home and still somewhat queasy, clambered into bed. I was to be up early the next day as for the first time in seven years I was to become a sailor, which unfortunately did not include a cute little uniform, but I was island bound!

Well that was a bit of a gap wasn’t it. Blimey. Almost a week without any interesting post whatsoever! Och well, these things happen, and when you’re shacked up in the Highlands of Scotland with little or no internet connection (and when there is some it keeps dropping out!) these things have to be expected!

Yep, Addy has returned to Scotland. Two weeks of hill walking, mountain climbing, hairy coo spotting and general let’s-visit-some-old-haunts excitement are in full swing! So let’s wait not a minute longer!

Day #1: Bristol - Fort William

My trip began at 1:45pm on Thursday 14th February 2008 (Valentines Day, schmalentines day) at Bristol airport. Yep, despite the fact I have a tremendous fear of it I opted to FLY to Scotland. You have to combat your fears somehow, don’t you? So there I was sitting in the smallest plane in the world listening to the cranks and crashes and oh so obscure noises these wee planes tend to make thinking “is this thing actually going to make it off the ground?” or “frack, that was a lesser spotted sparrow dive bombing into the engine! We’re all gonna die in a fiery inferno!”…

…but we didn’t, we took off, they tried to sell us all sorts of bizarre things at discounted prices, and then we landed in Glasgow about an hour later. Not too bad. Then came the trip to Glasgow Queen Street; a cavalcade of three buses, two walks and a train trip (if the internet was to be believed) but was in actual fact just a matter of getting on a bus and then - BAM - twenty minutes later I was sitting at the train station thinking “what the hell do I do for two and a half hours?” So I whipped out the DS to continue my epic game of Germ Buster(which had, by the way, begun on the plane and thus far had been rocking on for approximately 2 and a 1/2 hours) and when I boarded the train bound for Fort William it was still raging!

It has to be said the trip from Glasgow to Fort William by train is one of many utterly gorgeous train journeys in Scotland. The train winds north, leaving Glasgow and then heading into the lower Highlands before crossing the bleak and unforgiving Rannoch moor. Quite simply the scenery is devine - it’s just a shame I was taking the trip in the evening so the only thing I could see through the window was my own reflection, which, in a good light, is equally as devine (and equally as bleak and unforgiving)

My arrival in Fort William occurred at 10:06pm and my heart jumped a thousand beats as I alighted the train to be slapped in the face by the beautiful Highland air (i.e. sheet of ice which passes as Highland air) and I immediately skipped away from the train station with a barmy grin on my face.

Where I’m staying, I’ve stayed at before, so I knew exactly where I was going. Under the underpass (much better than going over it, it’s called an underpass for a reason), along the High Street, past the rather new looking memorial, and then a left up the stairs into the building which is a rather cheap and cheerful hotel. I threw my pack onto the floor - and like anyone who has just returned to his home after 6 years immediately resumed my game of Germ Busterwhich I played until I unceremoniously lost and then collapsed into bed.

Day #2 - Fort William

I missed breakfast. Or rather, when I descended the multiple staircases I couldn’t find breakfast. I had trained my nose to seek out the wistful odour of corn flakes, but alas, it picked up nothing. There was not a corn or a flake or a person to be found - so I went to Morrisons and had eggs on toast instead.

My first view of Fort William/the Highlands in the day light was something I had been eagerly anticipating (so much so I had, very nearly, performed a 10point worthy triple forward tuck roll down the staircase. So obviously, by definition, it was going to be something special - it was FOG! Yep, Loch Linnhe and the mountains I know so well were enshrouded in a blanket of mist which meant I couldn’t really make anything out - which sounds disappointing - but it isn’t. Scottish mist is all part and parcel of Highland life and in it’s own right is a beautiful sight to behold. I stood for a while, watching the mist roll over the crystalline waters of the loch past a wee red fishing boat which has been in the same spot (barring tidal changes of course) for the last six years.

My day was spent milling, meandering and moseying around this quaint wee town (the second biggest in the Highlands) and checking out what I have decided is the Op-Shop capitol of Scotland. So far, six of them! Which is really rather wonderful. I collected numerous brochures and sat by the Fort planning the things I wanted to do over the next couple of weeks.

Day #3 - Glenfinnan (on the shores of Loch Shiel)

Glennfinnan. A place so ingrained in my psyche that there’s not a single person who’s ever known me won’t be familiar with the name. A tiny wee town consisting of half a dozen houses, a Church, visitor centre, monument and viaduct…ahh yes, the viaduct, a monumental moment in Addy history in it’s own right. It’s been mentioned a few times in this blog, primarily here, and my return to this special place (my second favourite place in Scotland) was an emotional bumper car ride of conflicting ecstatica mixed with teary memories of times and moments from days of lore.

I know the place well and nothing had changed in the seven years since my last visit, well, a bench had disappeared (presumably eaten by wood-mites) which featured in a particular stirring memory of this place, but that’s besides the point. My track from the train station to the loch is well worn and I circumnavigated it with barely a second thought.

The monument itself isn’t anything special really. A cylindrical tower atop which stands the figure of a Highland soldier - many people presume it to be of Bonnie Prince Charlie himself (the monument’s existence being to commemorate the beginning of the 1745 uprising which he started) but it is not Charlie, rather it could be Geoff or Bob or Angus McHaggis. What makes the monument something special is it’s location, at the end of the Loch with the murky waters spanning off into the distance between the mountains. It is considered to be one of the great views in Scotland; and anyone who has travelled by train on the Road to the Isles will remember always the view as the train passes over the Viaduct.

I never really do much in Glenfinnan. I sit, I think, I ponder, I traverse hillsides and occasionally (as has been documented in the past, consider suicide). Today however I did all of the above (bar the last) I trekked up two different hills and half way up a mountain. I had a staring contest with a stag (I interrupted his meal of heather and grass gravy, to which he offered me none) and by the close of the day as I returned to the station looked a little windswept and brow beaten.

There is nothing in the world more delightful than trekking the Scottish hills and glens with only a friendly stag for company.

Day #4 - Fort William

So being a Sunday, there is little open in this wee town today. Scotland has a habit of closing it’s doors on a Sunday, which is fine by me, as I’m feeling a little queasy today. A visit to the medic on Tuesday saw me prescribed prozac which is not faring well with me and the side effects (I should be used to side effects by now) are taking their toll. So a quiet day today methinks in the hope the side effects will not become a feature of this trip, nor affect my adventure in the way they have the potential of doing.

On a slightly more annoying note I was not prescribed any mood stabilisers, not because I don’t need them, but because they wish to keep me off them for the next 6 months to monitor my changes. In a warped sense this makes sense, but having lived with my oscillating mood for so long now I had hoped for something to help control it - they are getting rather difficult to control on my lonesome.

I will return wit the further manic adventures of Addy in Scotland in due time, and if we’re lucky, perchance the prozac will kick in a manic phase - as it has the possibility of doing!

PS…The first in the Manic Adventures of Addy in Scotland Video Blog will be posted as soon as I’ve had time to upload it!