Cruisers heading for the wild blue yonder

The following is a personal statement regarding what people call my ‘mental illness.’ You are not under any obligation to read it or to comment on it.
 
It’s been an emotional day. A psychiatric nurse, (CPN), not called called Kevin, who I’ve never seen before in my life, arrived at my door out of the blue, at 10am. Apparently he’d sent a text but as I no longer have a mobile phone, it was all news to me. He seemed like nice enough guy. I didn’t even have my jeans on at the time, and the flat looked like a bomb site, so I just had to ride out the embarrassment.
    Mostly he wanted to know my story, recent and past, so I gave him a summary. I got a bit emotional towards the end, talking about my many sourcers of emotional pain and how I don’t feel part of society. I told him my mum was an outsider and I too am an outsider. 
    People often take objection to things I do and say, not taking into account that I suffer from a brain disorder* which the ‘beaks’ term, ‘bipolar.’ Initially, folk can be sympathetic, but if my wonky brain impacts on them in any adverse way, I will then be blamed for my ‘bad behaviour.’ That's worth having a wee greet over.
    The irony is that I have been desperate for some kind of support since the start of January. Now on the third last day of August, the cavalry has finally arrived. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not ungrateful, but in the past eight months I’ve come off two powerful psychiatric drugs, and have had a very mixed up head at times. The withdrawls have been gradual, but I’ve done it without support of any kind. So you might imagine that I feel a bit bemused at this chap turning up today. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll take all the support I can get, but I wonder where it was when I really needed it.
 
*A steam engine has a regulator which controls the amount of steam flowing from the boiler to the engine’s cylinders. My brain has a faulty mood regulator.