Monkey needs some sleep..

Is your brain an ordered library with a strict librarian in control? Or is it more like a zoo full of escaped animals? If my mind was a library the stern, smartly dressed librarian is hiding under a table and various, strange creatures are roaring and shouting and ruining my day. The creatures make me feel different form well dressed, together women, I'm simply a different breed, I'm a little fidgety, a bit immature and very random.   

To be a slightly different person, every morning I give the monkey a sleeping pill. The monkey is put to sleep with legal Amphetamines contained in a small yellow package. 

Like the forbidden  powder Speed, Ritalin only takes about 20 minutes to work. Once the substance is absorbed the monkey yawns, crawls into the corner of the library and snores loudly. A small amount of Amphetamines is leaked into my bloodstream so my inner mischief maker sleeps all day.

The librarian sighs, makes herself a cup of sweet tea for the shock, and starts to tidy up She has a floor to clean, she has to pick up pages and stick them into the right books. Occasionally, the Monkey snarls in it's sleep and makes the librarian jump. Sometimes the Monkey looks cute and vulnerable the Librarian remembers a fun creature who gave her a lot to do, at other times "The Monkey" is a monster she will be happy to forget.

While "The Monkey" was snoring, "The Librarian" found a big book and hit "The Inner Mean Girl" over the head. "The Inner Mean Girl's" eyes rolled, she let out a dramatic moan and fell to the floor. 

"The Inner Mean Girl" was well disguised devil, tall, blonde beautiful and perfect but under the image she was a demon. Her twisted voice would insult me in a Valley Girl whine and tell me what an embarrassing mess I was. She reminded me of every failed opportunity, every popular boy I fancied who didn't fancy me, every awkward moment from primary school to last week's horrible mistake at work. Like a God of doom she declared ambition wasn't for me, other people had secrets I didn't. "The Inner Mean Girl" would snarl and tell me every neighbour had a tidy house and crew of mates and I was a messy loner. The demon was a great time traveller, she would travel around the worst parts of my life and bring them back as lurid nightmares. 

Eventually, "The Inner Mean Girl" came round and stumbled to her feet. She's still blonde and beautiful but she's a good friend. This reformed character talks about what's amazing about me, not the horror movie details. 

She now tells me the rebellious Monkey gave me character, she tells me being unpopular was fine because it meant I was doing what I wanted, this was because "The Monkey" was always searching for novelty. Instead of hanging with a gaggle of girls I was a skate rat who would fly down big hills on a piece of wood and four wheels just to feel alive. I discovered new music and subcultures, Punk, Rap and dance music, my adventurous creature meant great experiences and more people. My loner tendencies meant I would meditate on lonely beaches, go on long walks, find photography and write strange tales. 

My latest bid for adventure means I run into the sea all year round so my brain can get the neurotransmitters it craves.

The reformed mean girl tells me I deserve a better life and that my dreams are possible. She also gently told me not cleaning my kitchen wasn't because I'm an immature, lazy slob but simply a chemical imbalance I couldn't control.  She reminds me plenty of people live untidy lonely, dysfunctional lives and never say a word about it. 

The Monkey never meant to be evil, it was a dopamine hunter. It tried to find a chemical I desperately needed to be happy in any way it could. The Monkey lead me to disaster and adventure in about equal measure.I do believe only a brain as busy is mine could dream up something as complicated and crazy as #Hatefield. 

I had to put the creature to sleep because I was failing at everyday life. I was rude, I would stare at people for way too long, The Monkey would interrupt people and fidget endlessly. My dreams never lasted long, I never felt as good as other people. I felt loved at work, a rebel who was horrible at paperwork and never taken seriously. I needed to change so I could be more social, and live a more conventional life.

So never be scared of getting rid of your demons. I may keep feeding "The Monkey" sleeping pills or I may let it run wild. I have seen a glimpse of another life,a tidy home and a quiet brain and who could have been, it's a wild road trip to destination "normal."

https://www.webmd.com/add-adhd/adhd-medication-chart

https://www.simplywellbeing.com/being-adhd/adhd-rebels-mavericks-criminals-and-innovators/#

https://www.additudemag.com/adhd-neuroscience-

101/#:~:text=ADHD%20was%20the%20first%20disorder,is%20synthesized%20within%20the%20brain.

https://www.wildswimmingcornwall.co.uk/blog/cold-water-immersionwhy-is-it-good-for-you

The Monkey's genius at work.

@Exsuarbabe

#Hatefield

Christmas in negative

 It was the night before,

Christmas in negative,

Panic buying,

Drunkenness,

Expectations.

Except lights will sparkle 

For the few,

We’re buying pasta 

Baked beans and toilet roll

Not chocolate and booze

There will be no 

Overheated living rooms

Full of too many aunties

And forgotten uncles,

Just us holed up with our thoughts.

The Dullest Fight

Some days of The Plague were dull.

I suspect I had the sicknesses, on some days I would struggle to talk through a sentence without coughing, this was hard for someone who talks like a machine gun and hardly takes a breath. In the worst of the sickness I would just sleep, people talked of “fighting” Covid 19 but is wasn’t that interesting, all you can do is sleep. The fevers were extreme and sometimes trippy, visions came and went and I was pinned to a bed. Breathing was part blocked by what felt like candy floss in my lungs, the dry coughs never seemed to get rid of the alien substances. Odd symptoms came and went, dizzy spells, loss of taste and smell, strange toilet problems, recovery was slow, boring and came in spurts.  My lungs felt disabled, I played mind games with myself to keep breathing slowly so I didn’t panic. I lied on the phone when my loved  ones asked, I was falsely cheerful but inside I panicked, I had to be strong.

I tried to ring the doctor a few times but these seemed little point, the robotic voice told me only to ring if it was an emergency. I felt utterly let down by the state, The Plague had come and they weren’t really there.

I stayed on my house for 2 weeks. The views outside started to feel like moving paintings I was no longer part of. There were occasional, eerily empty busses going past, people  jogged past or had socially distant conversations, I wondered what they were talking about. I wanted community back, I missed everyone, my close friends, my gossip mates and even the people I only tolerated.

On sunny days when I felt better painted pictures on the balcony, I painted the sea, my favourite place, these were hours of fun in a boring time, mixing pretty shades and struggling with cheap paintbrushes was something to concentrate on. I was pleased with myself when I started to use kitchen sponges, make up blenders and a spare toothbrush, they bought better results.

I became dependent on an ever shrinking bubble, my teenage son made me drinks, my boyfriend bought food. We had stained conversations in the corridor, I was incredibly happy  to see his face and feel his presence and incredibly glad to have someone I trusted and knew our tastes in food so he always bought us the right shopping.

The 14 days needed, I ventured out for my state sanctioned walks again, I was used to stomping around the world without any problems but now I felt a little fragile, a bit breathless but getting better. Covid 19 could have been a lot worse.