Overcoming Mental Illness

Every passing day sees my mood dip further and further into this pit of depression.

It enrages me that people can believe depression is merely a state of mind when so many people in the world are suffering intense pain on a daily basis. There’s no specific reason for my falling into the pit at the moment; my life’s as shit now as it was several months ago, but at least several months ago I was surfing along the wave of mania, and however scary that may be, at least it was a little more “fun” than this disparing bleakness.

There’s nothing good or exciting about my life at the moment. I wake up from a restless night, potter around with the blog (trying desperately to find the creativity and drive I had when I first started writing it), eat only ’cause I should (as I can barely remember the last time I felt hungry or enjoyed a meal), exercise, potter around, feel shit and then at some indiscriminate point in the early hours try to sleep only (as now) for it to be unsuccessful so I end up lying awake at five in the morning trying (as always) being attacked by small mozzie flies trying to escape the storm outside.

The weather always seems to reflect the mood.

I miss excitement, fun, passion and smiling. There is so much in life that I love and cherish, so much which does excite me but what people just don’t seem to understand is that this illness works against that excitement; it makes it virtually impossible to enjoy anything.

[Oh Yay! now Melbourne's on the news - that's gonna help the mood isn't it - remind me of somewhere I was blissfully happy once!]

Anyhoos, today is my “day out”! I get one a fortnight (due to money) so will be heading into the big bad city; got some personal business to attend to, musty bookshops to explore and perchance a cinema outing - and I can’t even remember the last time I went to the cinema!

So this is my new home.

As I don’t actually have any place I can call home in the “real world” it’s nice to have a place to call a home in cyberspace, especially with an address that I can call my “own”.

My decision to move to my own domain has been a long time coming, it’s something I’ve wanted to do since I started writing this blog back on blogspot so many moons, mood swings and lifetimes ago I can barely recall who I was back then. My move to wordpress was, in essence, a way to try out their software whilst I pondered and tweaked with the whole “is it possible/feasible/worth it” debate.

Eventually I decided, as it was something I desired, it was worth it. So often in life we never get what we want, no matter how much work we put in to realise our dreams.

Hopefully the move will prove undramatic, but as I have become accustomed to dramatics in life I’m sure there will be some hiccups along the way.

For those who have followed me over from my wordpress.com blog, all the posts found on that site are here and complete so you can re-read and study to your hearts content. new posts will, mood dependant as always, fly either thick and fast powered by uncontrollable mania - or trickle along slower than a snail trying to escape his arch rival the slug (who is intent on stealing his home) - hopefully the former :)

For those of you who are finding me for the very first time. Don’t be too scared! :) Granted I have my obscure moments, but peak beneath the surface and the labels and you’ll find a surprisingly interesting guy. The best thing to do is have a wander and see what you find.

I recommend a trip to the INDEX where you’ll find answers to the most commonly asked questions. Perhaps then a visit to the UNDERSTANDING MENTAL ILLNESS page where you can read more about the various forms of mental illness which exist in the world, as well as lengthy passages about my own experience of dealing with these illnesses which I have had thrust upon me.

To keep you up to date you can subscribe to my RSS FEED or by EMAIL; and for those of you who decide to subscribe by email you will be in the running to win a wonderful prize every two weeks, just for subscribing! So hop to it.

If you’d like to know more about me you can have a wee gander here, and please let me know a little about yourselves, it’s always good to meet new people.

I look forward to settling into my new home and getting to know you all better :)

Inverness, the site of so many memories and moments of my life was both a happy inducing tour-de-force and also a nostalgic kick in the groin. There are two videos of my time in Inverness, both rather reflective pieces, which draw this particular journey in Scotland to a close.

Part 1: Return

Part 2: Reflect

And this concludes this journey. It’s not been handled very well, but that’s kinda the thing with bipolar isn’t it! You get all these wonderful ideas of world domination and then - BAM - a vicious depressive episode hits for no reason and nothing ever gets done.

Ah well.

There’s always next time!

Anyhow, hope you’ve enjoyed them at least a little - I had fun making them, so at least that’s something!

Drumnadrochit, or Drum as it will hitherto be known, is a small township of only 600 (approx) lying midway up the North Side of Loch Ness. Which, unless you’ve been living in a remote cave somewhere in the Himalayan wilderness for the last century, is home to the ‘Monster’, or Nessie as she will hitherto be known.

There have been tales of strange sightings and occurrences at Loch Ness dating back to the time of St. Columba (the Irish monk who established the church upon Iona and whom attempted to convert the Highlands to the ways of Christianity. These sightings have varied from Sea Serpents and Sturgeons to the more mythical explanations; water kelpies and unknown monsters (i.e. Nessie)

It wasn’t until 1933 that Nessie sightings took off and began making a name of Loch Ness across the world. It was in this year that, following a somewhat biased article in the Inverness Courier (the local paper), Nessie sightings began to become regular occurrences.

Then, in April 1934, this picture appeared:

Without question the most famous photo of Nessie which has yet to hit the general population. Surely this shows the infamous Nessie in all her beautiful, somewhat blurred glory? Well…actually, what most people don’t know is that this photograph was released the press on April 1^st - All Fools Day! Yet for over half a century, until the late 1990s this photograph was widely heralded as the most concrete proof that something did indeed exist in this mighty loch.

Only it was then revealed it was a fake; it is in fact a toy submarine with a toy dinosaur stuck on top. Yet it was a photograph that captured the imagination of the world, kick started over half a century of research, ignited thousands of people into becoming amateur Nessie hunters, created a massive tourist boom around the loch and cemented the name Loch Ness into the annuls of history.

I will stress straight away that I am a believer. Colour me naïve, but I am positive there is something lurking in the murky waters of this loch.

If you haven’t been there, some basic facts:

• The loch is approx. 24 miles long.
• It is, in parts, over 750ft deep.
• The floor of the loch is as flat as a bowling green.
• There is more water in the loch than in all of the fresh water lakes in England and Wales combined.
• There is in fact 263 thousand million cubic feet of water in the Loch, that’s approximately 16 million 430 thousand gallons of water.
• It could hold the population of the world ten times over!

I will, however, stress almost as quickly that I am not saying it is a Pleiseosaur or other prehistoric creature. I said I believe there is something in the loch, which I’m sure there is. It might be a giant eel, a befuddled whale, a ravishingly beautiful naked mermaid or even a never-before-seen species of water based badger. It might be anything, because what it is isn’t important to me, what is important is that I believe something is there. And as Isobel says:

“No Mr Dempsey, you have to believe it before you can see it,”

I believe in Nessie, kelpies, dancing wee faeries and ever staring Gwyllions. I believe in bogles, brownies, wartless witches and ravishingly beautiful mermaids. We all need something to believe in, and the hidden magic of the world is what I believe in - well, that and the inherent goodness of humankind, but in today’s society this is getting harder to find than Nessie herself!

That’s just me.

However, until you have seen Loch Ness it is difficult to truly understand the scale of this body of water. This is no mere puddle or lake! It takes over an hour to travel from one end to the other, it’s over a mile at it’s widest point and there are so many geological and natural phenomena occurring in it’s waters all the time that it’s no wonder so many people have seen something.

In the short space of time I was there I saw three localized whirlpools created out of the weather and tidal conditions on and below the water’s surface. Otters and seals have been known to live in the water, and an explanation for many of the “horned head” sightings can be attributed to deer swimming across the loch.

[Click image for larger view]

It is hard to stand on the shore’s of the loch and not have a casual glance over the surface to see if you can spot Nessie. I do it every time I’m there, and this occasion was no different, I am yet to see anything which I can’t explain though. I believe in Nessie, yes, but I’m also willing (and able) to factor in those deer, whirlpools and water based badgers instead of allowing myself to believe anything my eyes throw up.

My excursion for the first day I was at the loch was a visit to the Loch Ness Monster Exhibitionin Drum. My last visit here was waaayyyyyyyy back in 1997 and my recollection of it was a half interesting/half annoying collection of monster sightings, brief history and recollections and an overwhelming sense of trying to convince you the monster was there. They have however spent a lotof money updating and transforming the exhibition in the 11 years since my last visit and I was surprised to find an exhibition which wasn’t in the “there definitely is a monster so go frack yourself” camp. Here is an exhibition which paints an honest portrait of not just the Nessie phenomenon but gives a stunning amount of information on the Loch and area itself. It’s history, nature, ecological function, challenging the visitor to think more about the loch as an environment rather than a habitat for a (potentially) long since extinct dinosaur. I can whole heartily recommend this exhibition to visitor’s, the cost of admission is well worth it, ad you can also skip through the fluffy Nessie kingdom of it’s shop at the end, if you so wish.

But who out there could pass up the chance of owning a pair of Nessie emblazoned knickers? Surely the ultimate in erotic apparel, no?

Meanwhile…

Whilst couples frolic in the Drumnadrochit hotel with their Nessie knickers in various states of dress, the mighty ruin of Castle Urquhart stands ever watchful over the deep waters.

My first visit to the castle was, again, in 1997 when I risked retribution and surreptitiously leapt over it’s walls after closing for a wee trespassing poke around. My second visit to the castle was in 2000, when I spent a couple of hours there with a lovely girl from the hostel I was staying at (a meeting which had occurred when I walked into her room whilst cleaning it and found her standing there half naked, and let’s be honest, perchancing to bump into gorgeous woman in their underwear is surely the point of becoming a hostel cleaner isn’t it?)

But, oh, how time’s have changed. You can now no longer risk a smacked bottom by illegally entering the castle as you’d break your neck with the drop they’ve created, and rather than walking around a few crumbling stones you can now learn all about the castle courtesy of their shiny new visitor centre.

Built in the 13th Century this castle has been pillaged, ransacked, destroyed, rebuilt, ransacked, pillaged, destroyed, rebuilt, ransacked, pillaged and destroyed more times than it’s conceivable to believe. In fact, pretty much every one who passed the castle during the 14th and 15th Centuries decided to attack the thing and try to seize it for their own! Perhaps they liked the view. But with everyone and their sheep attacking you is it any wonder the owners finally decided to blow the thing up themselves and move on to pastures new in 1692?

Many people pass their noses up at the chance of visiting this castle - why would I pay to wander around a few piles of bricks? They ask - well, as with the Nessie Exhibition above, I can whole heartily recommend shelling out those few pounds. The brand spanking new exhibition and visitor centre gives a complete history of the castle, and there is something very tranquil about wandering around the ruins of the castle. In fact, I would prefer to pay to walk around this form of castle rather than the complete examples - they’re just much more interesting, and oozing with delicious historical emotions.

And oh, all you Melbournians clinging to the strange fascination that you experience four seasons in one day (something I can’t adhere to having lived there for five years) in the two hours I was at the castle we had: blistering sunshine, a torrential thunderstorm, hail, more sunshine, gale force winds, more hail, a wee bit more rain then blistering sunshine again followed by a five minute snow fall!

Just a quick note to say I have been having a great deal of difficulty in uploading any posts and certainly the videos (which all keep getting bounced back to me) over the last few days and hope I will have the problem rectified soon so you can all catch up with what I’ve been up to - so far we’re only seven days behind with my adventures!

Which isn’t too bad I suppose :p

So just to bide you over, here is an awful self-portrait taken whilst I was in Glenfinnan!

“Rhum possesses a unique field mouse, Apodemus sylvaticus hamiltoni, which is said to live nowhere else. Could this perhaps be the “fairy mouse” of the Hebrides, which has strange and terrible powers? If a fairy mouse runs over the back of a man or beast, the creature so treated will become totally paralysed and never move again. There are cures, but they rarely work. Even the flick of the tail of a fairy mouse on and or foot may have dire consequences. Some have claimed that the fairy mouse is the lesser shrewmouse and that the greater shrewmouse, if sacrificed or even passed over the paralysed one, can remove the disabilities put on by it’s lesser brother. But no natural history book that I have consulted knows the lesser shrew under that name, nor the greater shrew either, just “shrewmouse.” However, water in which the head of a shrewmouse has been boiled will cure “bite of shrew,” and a shrewmouse can bite. It is bravest little creature imaginable. Hebridean mice were believed able to sing, but it was death to him who heard them. To find a dead mouse was also a death omen, but eating a roasted one will cure whooping cough and jaundice.”

Day #6 - Rhum and then an evening with Nevis

The first Scottish island I ever visited was Skye, although now it is connected to the mainland, is it still technically an island? Following this I jaunted to Orkney, then Mull, then the Western Isles; Lewis, Harris, North Uist, Berneray, South Uist, Benbecula. Iona was to follow next, and then repeated visits to Mull, Iona, Orkney, and - of course - my regular excursions to the Western Isles. It has long been a dream of mine to visit all of the islands that dot this coast - including St. Kilda, and island I would adore the chance of visiting. So it came with great joy and excitement that I am able to add another to this list, Rhum (or Rum, depending on which guidebook you read.)

Rhum is one of the four islands which are collectively known as the Small Isles, the other three being Muck, Canna and Eigg. They lie of the west coast, nestled in the Sea of the Hebrides between the Ardnamurchan Peninsula and the Isle of Skye.

The island is entirely a nature reserve owned by the SNH and is long considered to be the jewel of the Inner Hebrides - it’s peaks soar to over 750m and the entire island is noted for it’s effluence of wildlife. Wild goats, deer, manx shearwaters, golden and white tailed sea eagles and of course the humble Apodemus sylvaticus hamiltoni!

Even though I knew Rhum was considered to be a beautiful wee island it was not my choice of which of the small isles to visit. This would have been Eigg, but a combination of the ferry time-table and the utterly gorgeous weather I was treated to this day meant Rhum was the ultimate destination for the day.

In a way I am glad, as without doubt, it truly is one of the jewels. Granted I was only on land for about 2 hours (due to the strict timetable) my blink-and-you’ll-miss-it trip to the island was well worth it.

I dropped down from the ferry into the hamlet of Kinloch where stands the castle, most appropriately called Kinloch Castle (which was built by the Bullough family who owned the island between 1888 to 1957) and was in a state of repair during my visit. Following this I just started roaming this desolate, almost unpopulated island (at most times around 20 people), and found myself hugging the coast across moorland at first and then into a wooded area where birdsong filled my ears and I attempted to record the second of my video diaries. Perchance I disturbed a mouse’s nest as every video I recorded on this day was atrocious but one will be posted following this entry none the less!

Then, as I was recording I spied the ferry making its way down the bay and began a speedy return to the pier. As I did so my boot was swallowed by some odorous liquefied peat in one of the numerous bogs dotted around the woodland.

I did however make the ferry.

Even though I was on the island for a mere couple of hours part of the fun with island hopping in Scotland is the journey. There is something almightily joyous about ferry travel and it easily surpasses the pleasure of flying (is there any?) and almost touches on train travel as the greatest way of seeing the world. Not only do you get a sense of scale, unlike planes, but for seeing the dramatic and varied coastlines of this country there is nothing better. The weather, being as spectacular as it was, threw up the veritable vista of; the Morar hills, Southern Skye, the greatest view of the Cuillans I’ve seen and then the indominatable body of Eigg with it’s distinctive basalt peak the ‘Sgurr of Eigg’.

CalMac ferries have always been a pleasurable experience for me; from the mini-cruise I took to Mull in January 2000 to the bordering on erotic experiences between Mallaig - Armadale, and later journeys to the Hebrides. It was, after all, a CalMac vessel which ferried me to the point where I would lose my virginity. As such, the initial stepping onto the boat was, dare I say it, orgasmic?

Even though my day had begun incredibly early in order to journey the Road to the Isles to Mallaig by train, it did not end early, for when I returned to Fort William that evening I took in the second ‘bout of enjoying the Festival festivities. The previous night I had enjoyed the Film Festival evening, this night, was the Nevis Connections evening.

The theme was ‘Nevis’ - i.e. the mountain, the glen and the area. A celebration of all things Nevis. There was music, readings, short films, discussion and a debate on the issues affecting the area and the possible directions which the region could be going in. Music was provided first by the ‘Lochaber Community Wind Band’, and was a rousing (at one point almost tear inducing) movement celebrating the ravishing beauty of Scotland. Secondly, there was the delightful music from ‘Flutes in the Fort’, a small group of flautists beguiling us with their trade. This was set to video footage, although my seat obscured the majority of this - instead allowing me only to see the posterior of one of the players, which in itself wasn’t such a bad thing!

The leader of the debate, Cameron McNeish, is unequivocally the 2^nd most contagiously passionate person I’ve ever met; his adoration for the area and the outdoors made me want to run naked through the hills! I didn’t, but there is still time!

If you would like more information on the Nevis area, or perchance become a Friend of Nevis, you can visit their website at www.friendsofnevis.co.uk

And to close, a small poem from Kenneth MacLeod which I unearthed during my research on Rhum:

The grail of the dream land, the youth land, is love lit,
Beside the hill water a foam to sea,
Like tangle at noontide, like snow-wreath in moon-light,
And thou who art yearning, shall yearn them to be
O Bride! ‘tis seaward, the dream land, the youth land
O Bride! And seaward the coolin of Rum

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!

One of my pet peeves about suffering from bipolar/depression is the constant judgement I receive for being a depressing man. I do not view myself as a depressing man, nor do I view myself as depressed. To say I am “depressed” or “depressing” is labelling me with the illness I suffer from. It would be like labelling someone with cancer as “cancerous” or simply “cancered”. My illness does not define me, nor should it label who I am or my personality, but on so many occasions and by so many people (who could be described as ignorant) it does.

Depression is my illness, not my personality! Just as cancer is something someone has, bipolar/depression are things I have, and not am. (i.e. I have bipolar, I am not bipolar.)

Whilst writing a blog on mental illness it is difficult sometimes for people to get to know the real me, as often I am merely writing about how these illnesses have and are affecting me. In this first post of a planned series I hope to start showing people who I really am by exploring some of the idiosyncrasies and passions which make my blood bubble and my mind explode with pseudo-orgasmic delight.

Photography

I’ve been interested in photography for as long as I can remember. Now I’ve never considered myself to be a great photographer, but I will admit to thinking that some of the photos I’ve taken are great. I’ll not actually say which ones (that you’ll have to work out for yourself) but I do like my work enough to be incredibly proud of the images I’ve taken.

I’ve gone through so many cameras in my life, far too many to actually remember them all. I went through all sorts of dodgy 35mm and disposable ones when I was but a mere babe, even a couple of APS (remember those) when I was a teen. Of course as the bug continued to bite I graduated to a wonderful beast of an Olympus OM2 which took me through my photography course and then a glorious Minolta Dynax 5 which I was obsessed with for years and was the artifact which hurt me the most when I lost it last year.

If I had to choose a particular field of photography I’m most obsessed with, it would be people. With is a bit of a misnomer really as this is the field I have dabbled in the least - an unfortunate side effect of social anxiety. When I say people I mean portraiture, body abstract and nude; I take so much pleasure photographing the beauty and wonder of the human figure it really does make me explode with pseudo-orgasmic delight, or in the cases when I have dabbled in this field, pre-orgasmic delight ;)

[I can't show you those though!]

So instead here’s a small selection of my work:

And some work from photographers whom I admire greatly (some you’ll know, others you may not) and is a mix of all sorts of genres; landscape, portraits, candid, humorous, arcitechture, nude and abstract:

If you fancied checking out more of my photos I have a blog called Stray Thoughts Photography which is added to every now and then showcasing over a decades worth of photos - good and bad (!) Hopefully one day I will resume taking photographs; one of the most relaxing and inspiring past-times I know, and one which I’ve missed greatly.  

Other posts in this series are:
Faerie Art

It’s been a bloody weird week!

Most of it has been spent darting round the house keeping an eye on eBay auctions - and then camped out on my butt in my store/bedroom packing up over 150 items of my past into small bubble-wrapped packages. I should be used to losing things by now, especially after the mass exodus of my possessions last year, but it still hurts when I see my past being shipped off to locations all over the UK, Europe and the world. I can see how many would see this as a cathartic experience, but it’s also painful to let go of so much when I have so little left. Sure, it’s only “stuff” but it was my “stuff”, and now it feels like more pieces of myself drifting off around the world. A little tough to deal with when there’s so little of me left.

Then there are the banks…and good god don’t get me fracking started on those! I’ve barely used the account over the last few months (i.e. because there’s been no money or income going into it!) but they’ve still thrown on a few hundred pounds worth of charges for the most random and bizarre reasons, even on several examples, for things that they decided to do without any knowledge from me. So I have even less money now, despite the massive Addy eBay sell off!

In addition to this, I’m still not receiving any benefits, and one source of benefit (incapacity/unable to work) has already been denies - which just leaves income support to be either refused/granted when they make their decision. We shall see.

It’s been a bloody annoying week!