WARNING: Self-loathing of epic proportions contained within. I’m not playing for sympathy, I just need to write.
I’m so angry and frustrated with myself. All I seem to be able to do at the moment is sit around and achieve nothing other than eating far too much chocolate on the off chance it makes me feel better (it doesn’t, I just feel even more like a fat, disgusting blob). There are so many things I could be doing – making jewellery, patchwork, cross stitch – but I can’t convince myself I deserve it. I don’t deserve to be happy.
On the plus side, I got a letter through to confirm I’m entitled to ESA. I’ve also got my claim for housing and council tax benefit in so at least my bills should be paid for a while. I have an appointment to see Citizens Advice in a couple of weeks to attempt a DLA application, there’s no way I could put myself through that on my own. I’m still loath to admit that there’s really anything wrong. Everything is just fine, I just need to pull myself together and get on with it. Only it’s not and I can’t.
Yesterday I had another psych appointment. Nothing has the ability to make me brain dead in the way those do. I just end up talking. I can’t make eye contact, I just rant at the floor, crying, shouting. I feel I should give my psych a name, so from henceforth she shall be known as Dr. N for ease of explanation! I think I worry them. I’m too lucid to be crazy, they can’t just lock me up but conversely I’m too unpredictable and unable to cope on my own. Trying desperately to get me some kind of support in place.
How about going to your parents?
It’s half term next week so they’re on family responsibilities. I’ll see them the week after but I don’t want to admit that I’ve failed them so badly. Their perfect daughter is unable to deal with even the basics of normal existence.
Mates are having their own mini crises or in new relationships or just generically busy. Besides, they didn’t become friends with me to deal with my crazy shit. If I throw this on them, ask for support then they will hate me and then I will truly be alone.
Upside of this is that Dr N is going to attempt to get me some community support, a CPN or similar. That would be wonderful. Someone who I could talk to without having to be to careful. This will take weeks though. My referral is also in for psychological therapy. There is a young persons service for people up to the age of 25 which has slightly shorter waiting times. They though won’t accept me as by the time I’ve got through assessments etc and started treatment, that meaningless day will come, I’ll be 25 and they’ll have to transfer me. So instead I’m waiting to see if the grownups bit will accept me but lord knows how long that will take.
I also have my diazepam back. Mmm, diazepam, silencer of thoughts, bringer of peace etc (sorry, bad taste). There must be a part of me somewhere that’s attached to my continued existence as I insisted they only give me a few tablets at a time so that even if I take them all, the worse that happens is a very peaceful nights sleep. This does mean that when things get too much and I end up screaming and punching walls, I can calm down without hopefully too much drastic action.
Other than that, I’m in self imposed exile. I don’t want to inflict my presence on people. Last night was my first aid society meeting/pub trip and I had a couple of texts from people asking me along. I meant to, I really did but I just couldn’t do it. There would be lots of people asking questions, staring, wanting to know what’s going on. Besides, who’d really want to see me? They only care in that they’d feel somewhat guilty if I topped myself and they hadn’t made the effort. People would recover though and let’s be honest their lives would be so much easier and happier without my pathetic presence and breakdowns to dampen the mood.
Things are fine, only they’re not really, are they?