I’m the court jester in my own mind palace

We have presented evidence and arguments that huh?, or more precisely a short questioning interjection with the function of other-initiation of repair, is a universal word likely to be attested in similar form in all natural spoken languages. The similarity of this interjection across languages is unlikely to be specified in our genetic makeup and we argue that it is the result of convergent cultural evolution: a monosyllable with questioning prosody and all articulators in near-neutral position is the optimal fit to the sequential environment of other-initiated repair. source

I’m going to contest their findings, because I have a lot of huh? in my genes. They’re actually more huh than denim now. I’m also going to make a t-shirt out of my post title, perhaps a bored Sherlockian would buy one.

Okay, so.

It’s been rough for a while now, but at least I’m getting help and information with the bigger picture, which I’ll probably be glad about, just as soon as my glad glands call off the strike and shuffle sheepishly back to work.

Thank fuck I found a cover version, the original became an earworm in a millisecond. It was touch and go, and I had to find mental floss asap.


Yesterday I woke and slammed immediately into anxiety (no, fear), tears, shakes and dizziness and dazed and… I felt like shit. Wednesday is therapy day and so I decided to go to my friend’s place to mellow out before driving into town. She always grounds me. She compared me to a drunk thundercloud and announced that she’d drive me, in one of those acts of kindness that remind you that humanity is beautiful. Therapy was great, shrink two and I discussed Tupac at great length; I like that in a CBT session, it’s much more fun than CBT. When we’d finished fervently declining things like, “the man was a poet!” we discussed my next destination on the never ending bipolaroadtrip™, which rather a lot of blood tests, followed by some clozapine. “We used to think it reduced lifespans,” said shrink one last week, “but recent research shows that it actually increases longevity.” “Oh fuck,” was my shiny happy response, “can’t you hook me up with one that doesn’t prolong this shit?” She said, “I want you happy, and you are going to live for a  long and happy time.” I sighed inside (sighs matter), because as much as I like and respect shrink one, long is a thing I don’t want and happy is a thing I doubt. I shook morgue’s tragic h8ball™ (and with my diagnoses, I can shake with absolutely no effort at all – it must be one of those benefits of bipolar people keep writing about) and the answer was the h8ball™ baseline, “are you kidding me, sucker? If the brain don’t get you, the body will. I pity you, foo.” Ja it’s a big mofo of a h8ball™.

Fuck fucking treatment fucking resistant fucking bi-fucking-polar disorder and the whores it rode in on. It’s possible that the following song may offend you, but, well, frankly, fuck you if you can’t take a joke etc etc. Lol Yvette this one goes out to you blood.

So my drunken thundercloud ass was safe. My friend is the sort of friend produced in extremely limited quantities and won in a mystical and invisible lottery that only Odin Allfather understands. The nerves remained on high alert (they must be American) and my vision was blurred all the way to fuck and back, but I was safe and I have to tell you, tribe, that I smiled, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. The anxiety, which the dictionary defines as an emotion, felt purely physical. Mosquitoid™ brain zaps buzzed through my cranium from the time I woke until the time I slept and as you know, those symptoms combined make for one hell of an exhausting day. I’ve never, ever had a day stuffed so full of physical symptoms and still smiled, felt lucky, felt good. At the end of it I was just tired and I wasn’t sad again till the evening. I suppose that in bipolar disordered terms, yesterday counts as part of this mixed episode. In my terms it counts as intensely strange and strangely lovely.

The evening whizzed and whirled and whirred along that ‘you must be really high’ version of the bipolar coaster (you know the one) by way of physical symptoms and emotional lows, and a few hours of a beautiful stillness. Fucking hell though, the muggles who think it’s all in the mind really need to spend some time in our bodies and our brains. Brain zap zap zap nausea shakes headaches zap zap zap weep RLS. You hate bipolar it’s awesome? I hate you so much right now. I slept, I woke at 2am (thanks Dog) and I slept some more and woke at 6am, too late for sunrise, too early to care. I’m sad, I’m down, I’m depressed, there is a teeny and malevolent goblin inside my head trying to stab its way out – I’m hoping the little fucker sticks to headache level and doesn’t venture into the here be dragons migraine zone.

™ means try me, not trademark.


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battlescarred, bright, bewildered, bent, blue & bipolar

24 thoughts on “I’m the court jester in my own mind palace”

  1. I can’t imagine how nice that must have felt to be able to smile through all that anxiety. I’m glad that you have one those fantastic friends that you can count on to help ground you. That goes a long way when you live like this.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Way too plastered still to read this with the care and attention it deserves, but in the meantime, how glad I am I get to chain smoke my anxiety away to Life Goes On. Like you read my mind.

    Liked by 3 people

  3. On the topic of huh?, I went to a voice workshop in early September which was taught by an English expat who had relocated to France (who came to London to do this workshop for 12 lucky participants), and we started off with the yawn, which is a universal sound and is almost our baseline in terms of the fundamental noise human beings make. At first, I was in a room full of people making a noise so profound that I started to feel startled, until I found my own yawn sounds, progressing into the link between pitch and sound. The human voice’s natural mid-point and most common sound was “ah” (long A, like the a in “rather” or, for people from Bath, the word bath). My most natural “ah” makes me feel like Bertie Wooster which explains a lot. Huh? Isn’t far off “ah” and having rolled it around in my primal vowels (oo, orrr, ah, eh, eee, or u, o, a, e, i if you want the letters), think it fits somewhere in the lower half of the sounds because it’s so guttural, I think it’s stupid to argue in the face of incidences of it being in worldwide languages. I would place it between o and a as a sound progression, so it would go “orrr, huh, ah.”
    But what do I know, every time I try and read about linguistics I have to give up in the face of the fact that they don’t use enough plain English to write about it, and whenever an academic shrouds their findings in too many homonymic buzzwords (words that have a different and probably temporary meaning in their writing to the generally agreed meaning of the word), it rather makes me think they have missed the point.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Well that’s bloody interesting and makes me wonder why actually using it out loud in your kind of context wasn’t explored. Oh wait, I know why – no vocals in the hushed and sacred ivory tower. South Africans say bath like that too, just not in a remotely Wooster way. Well you know what we’re like, we’re guttural by default.

      Liked by 2 people

      1. I guess they were looking at it from the wrong direction. Like maybe they didn’t like trying out the sounds themselves. Which is odd given how much a lot of linguistics students/grads seem to love hearing their own voices talking about inane bullshit in RP accents in a tone and volume that drills into the brain.

        Liked by 1 person

  4. I think I need a team of scientists mixing pegacorn horn extract with some camelraffe dander, see if that’d do better than most of these psych meds.

    I shall call it…Hybridia XR.

    Liked by 4 people

    1. Put a tiny amount of pills in a really big expensively designed box, just add marketing, fear mongering and propaganda and the job’s a good un. You’ll make a fucking fortune mate.

      Liked by 1 person

  5. Well, Blah, in typical bipolar manner, I’m happy and sad over this post. Happy the dam finally broke for you. Happy to hear you say you’re depressed. I KNOW how weird that sounds, and in no way do I mean offense. I have been hearing it in your writing but not hearing you say it, and that can be a lonely place to be. And I’m sad you’re depressed, too. Wish I could send you an IV line of not-depressed. <3

    Liked by 2 people

    1. It doesn’t sound weird in the least; I frequently reach the point of wishing very sincerely that I could maintain a level depression instead of all of this yo-yo bullshit. I’d totally split that IV line with you, as long as I can have the mix that makes the hyposadgitation fuck off and die. Thank you for reading more than my words, there’s a kind of solace in that for me.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Oh, Blah! I know it because I do the same fucking thing. Haven’t tried to mention my concerns because I know that just adds pressure: oh geez, someone’s worried about me, I must really be bad. Always ready to do whatever is needed for ya. <3

        Liked by 1 person

  6. The purely physical anxiety, I get that a lot. I think it’s a good sign: it means your brain is working well enough to stave off the evil thoughts, so emotionally you are actually very much ok, though the rest of the symptoms are still there. The aim however is as always to control even those symptoms, because they reliably bring you down afterwards. An interesting day for you nevertheless :)

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I like your analysis (and right now I’m so up that I’m fighting myself not to write a stupid rhyme containing the words analysis and paralysis). Okay I’ve just this instant reached the point where the attempt to continue making sense feels herculean.

      Liked by 1 person

  7. It’s true that the muggles often think “it is all in your head” or “we all feel depressed sometimes…how are you different?”

    But I wonder about therapists who are muggles. Many of them went into the mental health field because they have their own issues which helps them to understand better.

    But the ones that think the goal should be to “be happy” ….I just don’t know if they understand.

    I would like to feel less regular mental pain but the thought of being cheerful and happy go lucky kind of makes me want to puke.

    I like the idea of calm, peaceful, able to sleep and feel rested. That is a good goal for me. I would like to get rid of that feeling of hopelessless that nags from the back of my brain and I have to battle it.

    But hopelessness and happiness all the time are like different planets. I do not really want to leave the planet I am on….but rather find a home that is more comfortable to exist in.

    Liked by 1 person

  8. Your CBT sessions sound much more fun than mine :D And he was a poet.

    Even reading the description of your experiences make me flinch with discomfort. I remember the zaps and the disorientation and anxiety. But maybe this can give you some hope. It feels more and more distant for me, while I always felt like it will forever be an intensive part of me. It still is but subdued, and I never thought it would be possible. Hugs as always!


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