Racing thoughts.

“Wherever it may take me
I know that life won’t break me”

“Angels” – Robbie William

I was home for the Easter weekend. A brief respite from the drudge of hospital life. It went well although it started badly. I had an argument with my wife immediately we left St. Patrick’s. That’s not uncommon for me. I think there is so much expectation surrounding weekend leave that I get stressed and take it out as anger. However, we snatched victory from the jaws of defeat and enjoyed the rest of my time at home.

There was a few lovely moments. We went for a brief stroll along the promenade in Howth one morning. The weather was beautiful and the air was crisp. Mostly people were still wrapped up in their beds and we had the place to ourselves, shared only with the cackling seagulls. We started the day well.

On Easter Sunday, we visited the family of my wife’s brother for dinner. The food was good and they made us feel very welcome. Unfortunately, my form was low but I made the best of it.

But what has this got to do with racing thoughts I hear you ask? Well here is the thing. Since I began playing the guitar again, I have been thinking about buying a new one. Once this thought took hold, I couldn’t get it out of my mind. The ways in which I could achieve this goal spun around in my head the whole weekend. It became an obsession.

Racing thoughts are a recognised symptom of hypomania. It is hard to describe but it involves thinking about something so much and so repeatedly that it becomes uncomfortable. The same thought can be on my mind from the moment I awaken to the time I try to sleep. The thoughts are so intrusive that sweet slumber becomes elusive.

I thought about getting an electric guitar all weekend. I spent time trying to discover if any music shops were open during the holiday. I considered ways of beating the traffic restrictions to get into town. I drove myself crazy.

It became clear that the music shops were open on Eater Monday at 12.00, midday. My wife came with me and we were at the shop almost as the doors opened. The tension was palpable. I was compelled to buy a guitar In the end, my wife bought one for me. I hadn’t expected that!It was a very loving gesture on her part. She showed the deepest understanding of my discomfort. She reasoned that I would only be thinking about it all week and she was right. The idea was rooted in my brain. It wouldn’t go away. I couldn’t turn it off.

So after I had bought the amplifier and necessary accessories we spent a little time shopping and went home. The guitar is all set up and sounds great. It is evermore special because it was a gift from my wife. I will think of her every time I play. I’m a lucky man.

I came back to hospital last night and boasted about my new instrument and the one who purchased it. I didn’t sleep very well. I kept thinking about playing the guitar. And thinking, and thinking. It never ends.