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Henrietta Ross

A Laugh A Day

If I had to choose one thing that has helped me with my Bipolar Disorder more than sleep, cognitive behaviour therapy, meditation, or walking in a field with sheep, it would be laughter. 

It is hard to cry when you are bent double, unless those tears are the kind that run down your nose when you’ve just watched Lee Evans career around the stage for two hours and now will never be able to say you’re over-tired again without squealing like a toddler. 

Tobacco Wilderness

Two years ago, I tried to give up smoking. It was just before Christmas, just before New Year’s resolutions come along where we all make promises to be better and do better, eat less cake, and then predictably fall flat on our faces. 

But it wasn’t about that. It was simply because I thought I should. It would be good for me, my health, my wallet, my skin, and my clothes even. The usual reasons. 

Genetic Overload!

I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder over ten years ago. At the time, I wasn’t aware of any genetic component as I was an adopted child. Within my adopted family, there was a high incidence of alcoholism on my maternal mothers side, with most of her siblings having alcohol difficulties whilst her own mother and two of her siblings had suffered or would go on to suffer from depression. There was no one who had Bipolar Disorder. 

Tough Decisions!

When I was a child, I always imagined myself living in the country when I was an adult. Living off the grid in a small cottage in the woods, completely self-sustainable surrounded by beautiful rolling hills and lush green fields and keeping a goat for company. 

Oh, how is my Bipolar I hear you ask?

As I recall somewhat hazily, nine months ago I decided to take a break from writing. Initially it was only going to be for a few short months. Just enough time to steady my increasingly chaotic moods, have some much needed time to myself and to enjoy more of my now habitual and delightful long ponderings - preferably whilst drinking a nice hot cups of tea and trying to muster some self control over the heavenly packet of biscuits, that were coyly looking at me, with their mesmerizing eyes.