Sunday Ramble || Pride, BPD, and Staying Sane

I'm currently tucked up in bed in a little post-Pride slump, listening to Apple Music's 'Feeling Happy' playlist, and wishing I had a proper A/C unit rather than my poxy little desk fan from Tesco. Does the job, but still leaves me feeling entirely too hot. It's nice little bubble to be in though, if I ignore the fact that I definitely have too much uni work to do to be lounging around, and my bedroom is in sore need of being tidied and organised. 

But in bed I am, still taking in everything that happened yesterday. It was my first real Pride in London, and I spent it watching most of the parade on Regent Street and screaming and clapping and dancing and wearing a rainbow flag like a cape. Joyous, sweaty, loud, and queer as you like. I went to Her Upstairs (review of that brilliant venue herefor the afternoon/evening, and despite it being hotter than the centre of the earth, it was camp as tits and I could not stop laughing and screaming and singing.

Me, Phill, and Ryan being gay as hell during the parade

Me, Phill, and Ryan being gay as hell during the parade

Scene legend Myra DuBois started the performance segment of the show after two hours of camp tunes, and my god I just love her performances. A mix of jokes and songs and getting the audience to sing along, I genuinely could have watched her for hours. The rest of the performers were incredible too, and it was just the most amazing atmosphere. There was so much love in the room for everyone from queen to king and in between, and I honestly never wanted to leave.

I did leave, four hours early, because I thought if I stayed any longer I was genuinely going to pass out from how hot it was, but that's by the by. Everything else about the evening was sheer perfection, and just getting to celebrate pride with all my favourite pals and people was just the absolute tits.

That's not to say the day was without its hardships. I have Borderline Personality Disorder, and part of that (one of the best and most awful parts about it) is intense emotions. They (I don't know who they are, to be quite frank) say that having BPD is like having very thin or no skin where everyone else has 'normal'. Everything you experience you experience at a much deeper and more intense level, and it can make days like pride extremely hard.

During the day, whilst I was with my friends and in places that I know well and love surrounded by queer celebration and joy, I was happy to the point of hysteria. Complete ecstasy, if you will, and absolutely nothing could have brought me down from the top of the world at that moment. Not even the bastard heat. But afterwards, when we eventually had to leave and get the train home, I slumped into such a depression that today I didn't manage to get out of bed until midday. Normal for some, but I wake up and get up at 6:30am no matter what, and I know for me personally, not getting out of bed before 7am is a Bad Sign.

Obviously, being happy at Pride and sad when it's ended is a pretty normal experience, but for me, having BPD, those highs and those lows are even more extreme, and it's honestly completely exhausting.

But boy was it worth it.

I'm off down to Devon next weekend, so I know even if this post-Pride depression slump continues (and I truly never know when it'll lift and my intense emotions will switch again), at least I'll be back somewhere I can put my mind back together again. I'll be able to go to the woods or down to the sea, stand my feet in the water, and come back to myself again. It's the best medicine I've found so far, and I miss it when I'm in London.


But for now, I'm going to get some uni work done, keep hydrated, and not expect too much of myself for a few days. 

Have you ever been to Pride? Do you suffer from BPD, or any other mental illness, and find the mood swings one of the hardest parts to deal with?

Love, Cordelia