The Lockdown Breakdown Part 2 (Aka the last ever EVER article on snapmerr nex dot com)

Lockdown Breakdown Pt 2 (Or the last ever EVER article on Snapnexx dot com

Apparently I’m not done talking.

If you know me at all, you’ll know that for the past 6 weeks. I’ve not stopped talking.

At all

Even when the pills left, I was still talking a lot

Even when the booze left, I was still talking a lot

Even when all those things stopped interacting. I was still talking too much. Less. But too much

Oversharing constantly because I was so used to being to spill my thoughts and feelings at will with mr mrs. Then in one day I blew apart all my close relationships bar one and honestly. I don’t have a fuckin clue how that poor lassie has put up with me. I think if I didnt show improvement pretty quick she would have been done as well. She was fuming and in an 8 year friendship had never quite seen this rotten wee side of me.

She kept the faith cause I hadn’t directly hurt her and I will never get over that. I earned that with her. Took me a while to accept that I had earned that but it was the start of me getting on a path to believing im not the worst cunt on planet earth.

When you aren’t what I’d regard as a “fuck up” its real hard to accept even a brief flirtation with that. But i was. I was a fuckup and I fucked up and now I need to shut the fuck up but a few more paragraphs of shame first

Bipolar disorder is very……I’ve know I have since I was about 16 in all honesty. I haven’t slept consistently without drugs since then. When I’m as sober as I am all the fuckin time now. This is what I remember it being like. 3 or 4 days of good sleep sometimes, followed by 5 or 6 with 3 hours a night, then a big sleep and so on and so forth. The only pattern you’ll see there is “erratic as fuck”

Weirdly its the only part left of me that is that erratic. I’m in a lot of pain emotionally. But I’m channelling around 80% of it creatively. I’ve written a book and know what mate, no one will ever hear it but I’ve written and performed music. About 10 songs. If anything is given me some sort of hope that I could write lyrics for others even if doing music isn’t my personal thing. I love hip-hop and I love wordsmith’s who unashamedly damage people with linguistics.

“Bipolar but im focussed in both minds” – Shogun

That’s a big part of the healing process. Allowing others being creative as fuck to stimulate you. Mauro Ranallo calls his bipolar disorder a superpower because the level of sheer obsession he had with his craft was unhealthy but it made him outstanding. It made him a source of impassioned knowledge in a business full of absolute wrong uns, idiots and creeps. I can relate to that in a sense that Mauro just wants to go, do his job, and be on his own after. When your bipolar and on a major comedown, all other people can do is get you into trouble.

I’m rambling but im writing this with a breeze hitting my big stupit forehead outside Drumry station. I write everywhere now. Its a way of leaving wee pieces of myself all over Glesga and when I’m ready I’ll go back to these places and pick up all these wee broken pieces and make some kind of mad mental jigsaw out of them. For now? They can stay where they are

I didn’t want to talk about the assault. I still don’t as I realise how triggering that can be. Its not for a public forum anyway but a lot of my worst actions were indications that I was gonnae be a cheating bastard and well. I physically cant do that anyway. I couldnt even do with my partner of nearly 6 years right now. I can barely look at the fucking thing if im honest. Boggin.

I was a liar. I am a fuckin arrogant wanker when I’m proper manic. Its subtle but day on day if its really fuckin bad I lose sight of myself and just fuckin lie. I’ve done it since I was 15 stealing my Da’s painkillers cause I knew something was wrong with me and they helped but I had no idea what. I’ve lied about stealing pills for years because its the only thing I’ve ever stole from anyone who matters. (stole a few hearts in ma time but eh?!)

When yer manic. It all stops mattering. Consequences dont exist. Its only the truth baby. Truth or consequences? Or is it both. Its usually both eh. One comes with the other.

I’m no a liar anymore. I don’t want to be ever again. There are various stages you can stop this behaviour before it gets really out of control. I saw all the signs and ignored them. Got to be strong Marty boy. She needs ye. Yer auld man needs ye. Yer maws holding the whole team up somehow. Help them all. Be stronger you fuckin weak cunt.

But my shoulders buckled. And I left.

I made things worse but I hope keeping physical distance will count in my favour soon.

See to be honest mate. If you had a lassie like I did for 5 and a half year. Try no emailing her 500 times a day saying sorry.

I’ve stopped now. They all know I’m sorry.

I’m really. Really. Sorry.

But I’m me again. A better me than I was. I’ll be a me with a gaff, a me with new close pals, a me with a job and an active pursuit in making writing my job.

I will achieve all these things. Alone.

Then I’m open to whatever comes. I hope its a nice gaff party in a few weeks time and inviting people I miss a fuckin lot. Wid obv be up tae them but a date, time and place would exist and if I see some familar faces. Great.

Until then.

Snapnexx out

Thanks for enjoying the content over the years. xx

Martin John Smith (im gaun full name as ma author name) signing the fuck off. Hopefully to sleep for 40 hours but I somehow doubt it mate

The Lockdown Breakdown (Or How Realising I Was Bipolar Probably Saved My Life)

First and foremost. I have bipolar disorder. I was instantly discharged because of the handle I managed to get on it rather quickly. Discharged minutes after I was told I have this. Told other meds would be considered if another spell happened but they were fairly happy to discharge me. Fuck knows how a manic spell where I managed to ruin everything doesn’t quite count as one that means you need more meds but im so glad I didn’t get them. I’m off everything and haven’t had this clarity of thought in a few years. Everyone in the room kinda knew it had really been this all along. I basically gave my life story to a doctor and she recognised it as bipolar as fuck. Yet there I was. Calmly telling her how I was actually awrite despite the wreckage that was my life.

This isn’t a short story loosely based on the events of the past 4 weeks. It is the events of the past 4 weeks. Or at least as accurate a description I could possibly lend to the act of chucking a grenade into the middle of your life and watching it explode. Then laughing right in the face of the wreckage and vanishing.

It was me who done this you see. The reason I’m writing this in Kelvingrove Park before I go to my third different hotel in a week because I don’t feel safe in my homeless digs. I done it all. Being at least a few stages removed from being properly manic has made me see. It was all me. Any mistakes others made were directly related to me losing my fucking mind. I hold no grudges over anyone I just fucking. Miss my people.

I also managed to ruin a 5 and a half year happy relationship. Yes neither of us were happy when it ended. My fault again there (A pattern will begin to emerge here guys) but we were happy. I cherished her until I didn’t. For me trust has always been the biggest thing and we always had it, then I started lying and felt her trust for me go away. I done a plethora of idiotic, destructive things that have clearly left bruises. I accept that. I accept there’s a healing process there and it will be a while before she can have me around at all. Even if its not. What it was. I don’t spend 5 year with folk without loving them that’s for sure. I don’t think about people every day unless I love them. I’m sure the love is still reciprocated, but I was a cunt and I’m being treated as such. Fair.

Wanted to kinda get the personal shit out the way before I really go in to the bipolar stuff. I could spend all day rattling on about how much I miss my people, but I’m sure if anyone follows me on twitter you’ll be fucking sick hearing about it by now. If anyone hasn’t though, just know. I miss ma fuckin dug mate.

I’m going to try and explain the logic behind me really losing the plot. Bear in mind this 6-7 week spell of nonsense was my first proper manic spell in 6 years. I had some brief flirtations but she always brought me back. Kept me grounded.

Nothing could keep me grounded this time. Every single thing that could go wrong did. Thats how it felt anyway. For context, I decided to isolate due to asthma when Corona really kicked in. I got really weird about anyone being anywhere and was adamant rules were to be followed to the letter. Not a bad thing, but when you then turn around, lost the plot, and never stay in one place for longer than 3 days, ye could imagine how that might negatively impact the people who were affected by my militant attitude towards it when it started eh? I lost my job due to isolating as well and that when it really became time to just. I dunno. Walk about all the fuckin time and buy cakes outta shops.

I’m also 31 and never smoked fags regularly till 2 months ago. Of course I was losing my mind. Who starts smoking in their 30s unless they are firmly in the grips of a breakdown?

I’m a liar when im proper manic. Its hard to admit because in general that is not me. Lies give me fuckin knots in my belly. I don’t identify with being a liar but when I’m manic and on certain meds? Second nature. Well second nature would imply I ever had any talent for it. I don’t

I lie terribly because I have a horrible all consuming conscience that really, deep deep down, always kinda wants caught. I was stealing painkillers from both my partner and father and firing that on top of a cocktail of drugs to try and sort my brain out I was a fuckin chattering looney. Would not shut the fuck up.

As much as I got some control over the proper wanting to die self loathing side very fuckin quickly when I left my house, that’s just because I had fuck all mate. The thought of dying barely matters when you look at your life and realise…shit….here it is big man. This is what ye wanted eh? Truly on your own. No even the wee dug fs. She probably still likes me but. There’s always a positive in any dire situation

My positive? I can do this. I didn’t even think me plus a partner could contirbute to me getting a place. That’s how much I’ve always looked down on myself and my propsects in life. I don’t see the next step. Only the really sticky step I’ve been on for what feels like forever. Convinced someone somewhere is gonnae see the talent and publish something I write one day. I’ve written on a semi professional basis since I was 24 now. Maybe 23. Its earned me the grand total of about a quarter of what I’d make a year working in a corner shop. Yet something in me still believes. This will take me somewhere.

Its took me here. I’m still sitting on the same bench in Kelvingrove Park I was when I started tapping away. To tell the gods honest truth I’ve never felt more tired which is how I know beyond dispute that it really is finally over. A couple of days back all of this plus abother 10,000 words would have come out and none of it would have rang true. Know what really fuckin bugged me though? She’s no heard my voice in 4 weeks right. YET wis able to tell me I wasn’t stable yet via email. Like.

How dare she be so right?

I’m finishing this outside The Kelvingrove Art Gallery which is currently shut. She always wanted to bring me here and it was always one of they things we could have done one day. We had nothing but time.

If there’s a lesson I’m going to take from all this is why put off something you could be doing right now? if it helps you forward. Do it. Big Andy taught me that amongst othert things and Big Andy is truly the only reason I’m able to write this at all. If it wasn’t for him, I’d have sunk at some point in all this. If it wasn’t for Con Daverad anaw. My very sick best pal who never stopped believing in me. Even when I stopped deserving her belief.

I’m getting there. I might have a house next week and it’ll mean no more impromptu hostels to get away from the wee prick across from me in the digs. Once that situation is settled I imagine a lot more things currently bothering me will fall into place. Right now its fuckin hard but. I literally walk by places I spent some of my happiest times in ALL the fuckin time. All they are is memories now. There’s a strong possibility that’s all they’ll ever be.

But I made my shitty wee bed and now here I lie. Hoping for the next 31 year to be a lot less stressful than these ones have been.

I’m pure sorry if you’ve bore the brunt of this shit in any way. There’s big gaps where my memory is at best very hazey. I mind all the shit that ruined my relationships with partner, mum and dad though so that was good of my brain eh? Keep aw the real dagger in the heart stuff, but forget the 40 times you went to Scotmid for the same cake.

If lockdown has led to a worsening in your mental health issues or even the appaearence of a mental health issue has happened for the first time you MUST speak out. This nearly killed me. The only reason I feel good day to day (most days) is because I feel like I’ve been handed a second chance at life. I was ready to go. That’s the truth of it. I was trying to leaving a shitey legacy behind so no one would really care if I died or not.

But yer boy lived

Miss you Da x