A time-traveling semi-fictional account of my ‘bipolar’ year, before the lockdown of ‘managed’ depression. The final and perhaps most important of a series of back-tracking blogs
It’s 2016. The day after a work-based session learning how to deal with dementia sufferers, which ended up feeling more like an afternoon of warning signs, and (although it turned out it wasn’t just me doing such self-examinations) I was having to psychologically bat them away, as if I had self-doubt-carrying mosquitoes in my head. How had I become so out-of-joint with lived experience? What had happened to make me feel that the past decade was a storm of immaterial nothingness?
Although evidence abounds that links all this to the point where we became immersed in an ‘always on’ culture (was 2005 /2006 the point when we began this slide into a quagmire…
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