In My Head - 1. Morning

I wake up too early. Actually, I’ve overslept, but it feels too early. I have to leave for my appointment in less than an hour. I drag myself out of bed and into the shower. The hot water feels nice, wakes me up. When I get out of the shower I feel sick, though. I often feel sick when I’m anxious. I take an antiemetic with my meds, then go to brush my teeth, but it doesn’t have time to take effect. The pills taste bitter going down. Even worse coming up. I shiver over the toilet bowl for a few minutes, waves of nausea washing over me; dry heaving, mostly. But the meds are gone. I can’t be bothered with taking them again. It’ll be fine. Should have waited with taking them, knew this might happen, but I’ll be okay. Always am, in the end.

I get up and flush, brush my teeth again, go get dressed. Panties, packer (my detachable silicon dick), boxers on top. Chest binder, t-shirt, open button-down over it. That’s become my style, I guess. Usually, the shirt is flannel. Today it’s light grey-blue cotton. I like it. It’s of an almost fancy brand. I wish I had nicer jeans. Nicer jacket, too. It’s a thin hiking jacket, sturdy, good on chilly days this time of year, but not especially nice looking. Still, it’ll do for now. It’s cold and raining. I put on combat boots.

Ready to go, I tell the cat goodbye and walk to the metro. Still feel sick. I try listening to System of a Down, but it’s a bit too violent and I’m a bit too anxious, so I switch to my favourite post-rock playlist, etherial and airy electric guitars filling my ears. Mogwai, Sigur Rós, Explosions in the Sky.

It’s early, people are on their way places, and the train is late. The platform is filling up. The train car is crowded. I stand still, jaw set against what still feels like nausea. Though in truth it’s hard to tell if I feel sick or hungry. Maybe both. I think, this would be worse without the binder and the packer; they’re like a security blanket, somehow. Things that tell me that this is me, that make my body a comfortable place to be.

I change from the metro to a bus at Helsfyr, get off near Hasle and walk for ten minutes. Threads by This Will Destroy You comes on, and I think maybe this is the song I was listening to when I edited chapter sixteen of Fleeting Eternity the first time around. I’m not sure, but it gives me the same feelings.

I’m going to a sort of job centre thing. The government outsources this stuff, so it’s a private business. I don’t really know what I’m going to, but the lady who meets me is kind and friendly and understanding when I tell her how anxious I am. Asks if I want a cup of tea. I don’t.

And so we talk for half an hour. What are my needs? I guess to find out if I can work, and how much. What specific challenges do I face? I’m bipolar. I don’t know when an episode might hit. If I get depressed, I can’t do anything. If I get hypomanic, I can do loads, but it’s hard to focus it where it’s needed. My longest hypomanic episode was a little over three weeks. I wrote a whole book. My longest depression lasted nearly half a year.

What would I like to do? Well, I have experience with sound. Project based work is ideal, but an internship might be a place to start. They can swing that, she says. We agree to start this process in August. After the Øya festival. And then I leave.

I feel better now, calm. And I’m hungry. Paul just got off work, so we meet in town. I need new swim trunks. Find a pair that’s blue. They have pockets. I’ve never had swimwear with pockets before and for some reason I get really excited about it. Pockets! On swimwear! What? Is this a thing? I buy them. Pretty sure they’ll fit. I wonder what I’ll keep in the pockets? My first set of men’s swimwear . . . My binder is swimsuit-like material, quick drying. I can go swimming. Can go to the beach. This makes me smile.

We go have a bite to eat and a cup of tea. It’s nice, normal. It’s a nice, normal day, and I’m okay.