Maybe not going quite so well then.

April 30, 2010

The (very) short story:

I overdosed again. Bugger.

If you don’t want to know or may be triggered by the details, stop reading here.

The short story:

Last Saturday night I went out. Unfortunately the night didn’t go according to plan and ended in an unplanned trip to A+E with rather more of my medication in my system than there should have been. Spent rest of week at home with parents staying to keep me safe. Parents have now gone leaving me with intensive crisis team intervention to survive the bank holiday weekend. We shall see.

It’s still not too late to stop reading…

The long story:

Last Saturday night I went out, to a Ceilidh. This should have been a good thing. I wanted to enjoy myself, have fun, feel normal. The problem was that the venue was crowded and noisy, two things I find hard to cope with at the best of times. To cope with this I took diazepam. Unfortunately diazepam doesn’t go well with remembering or coordinating  dance moves and I felt that I made a bit of a prat of myself to put it lightly. By the end of it, I had completely cut myself off from reality. I have no recollection of leaving the event or of how I got home. I remember feeling happy that nobody seemed to be in so I could carry out my plans in peace. I collected all the medication I could find (I’d stashed a reasonable amount) and went to my computer. Glass of water in one hand, tablets in other with occasional pauses to write my note. I recall being proud that I had a note, I didn’t write one last time.

Then there was a knock at the office door. Turns out my housemate wasn’t as out as I’d initially surmised. Instead she’d received a concerned text from someone I’d been at the ceilidh with to ask if I’d got home safely. Unfortunately it didn’t occur to me in time to hide what was going on and other friend was quickly summoned to transport us to A+E which was surprisingly quiet for a Saturday night.

I was pretty rapidly hooked up to a cardiac monitor as my pulse was dancing somewhere around 120-130. This was somewhat irritating as the warning alarm was triggered every time it topped 125. This meant I was beeping almost continuously. Time passed. Conversations were had but I can’t remember what they were. Friends didn’t leave me for which I’m very grateful. At some point in the early morning, I’m guessing around 3am, I was moved from A+E to CDU. Seemingly simultaneously my parents arrived. having been called by my housemate at an earlier point. Friends went home. By this point the drugs in my system had kicked in big time and my recollection is decidedly hazy. I hadn’t taken enough to knock me out and I was too nervous to let them send me to sleep. Everything seemed like a dream. The voice coming out of my mouth wasn’t mine, the movements of my hands weren’t a part of me. At some point they put a bag of fluids up, this helped things come back to reality somewhat.

A baby doctor determined I wasn’t an alcoholic (I think he was a medical student doing research). This was odd. It was late afternoon by the time my obs were anything like approaching normal and the on-call psych came to visit. It was immediately apparent that all she wanted to do was send me home so I shouted at her. I don’t think this helped much. In the end it was indeed decided to send me home, not least because I really needed to attend my ESA medical the next day (incidentally I passed this, the fact I’d been in hospital the day before and was still wearing my patient ID band may have helped my case somewhat).

My parents moved into my living room floor. I visited Complex Cases and spoke to people on a daily basis but nobody seemed to listen, nothing was being done. On Thursday  the Home Treatment (crisis) team were finally involved. We have a plan. It’s a risky plan but a plan nonetheless. The plan is I stay at large in the community. I am a real risk to myself at the moment. There’s no denying that. I have multiple plans in place which could be acted on should the need present. However, the benefits of staying home may outweigh these risks. The HTT are going to visit daily and I have their phone number (as if I’d use it).  So we shall have to see.

Right now though I feel just fine. The plans are there if and when I need them and in the mean time I have my space back.

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ESA Medical

April 23, 2010

Sorry I’ve been rather quiet of late but the sun has been shining and I have been nearly (and I almost don’t dare say it for fear of cursing the situation) up. This is a good, and somewhat miraculous, thing. However, the one dark cloud on the horizon is that I have my ESA medical on Monday. For readers from abroad, this is to determine if I’m entitled to benefits on the grounds of incapacity to work. So this is a plea, if anyone has been through one of these can you give me some pointers of what to expect? I’m absolutely terrified of it. I already have a sympathetic friend lined up to accompany me but this doesn’t mean I want to go.


But I had a good day

April 18, 2010

This weekend has been fun. I did things I like in the company of people who I enjoy spending time with. The sun shone and I laughed. Lots. This being so, why am I not happy? What the hell have I done so wrong that means that I can’t just enjoy the experience? I don’t know what changed. One minute I was doing well and the next, the insidious doubt had found a chink, balanced precariously on it and then slipped inside to wreak havoc amongst the happiness.

It’s just not fair (cue foot-stamping toddler tantrum). I don’t want to have to deal with part of me me telling the rest that I’d be better off dead. I don’t want to plan my own suicide in exquisite detail while smiling on the outside so that nobody will suspect. I don’t want to feel the need to hurt myself. I don’t want to analyse in minutiae every single detail of the last 48hrs and identify every petty occurrence of me behaving in a sub-optimal manner.  All I want is to be happy.

And after all that. what’s the thing I want least? I don’t want to know for sure that nothing is ever going to change.


Nearly 5

April 17, 2010

In the next few days, my one and only relationship would have been five years old. Instead I’ve been single for just over a year. When he left, the aim was to give me space and time to heal. To sort out my life, regain perspective and to become me. Of course none of that has happened, I’m still in the same or worse situation than I was last year. Just another failure to add to the tally. And he has moved so far on while I’m left to struggle. How can someone who allegedly cared so much go from that to not even asking how I am?

I’m still not coping. I can’t settle to anything, restless and on edge. My body feels disconnected from my head, events happening to someone else but not to me. Nothing happens to me. I have piles of projects I could be undertaking but they require concentration, an ability to sit still for more than a minute at a time. Time moves so slowly and still nothing is done.

I’m so sick of all of this. I don’t feel sad just fed up, it never changes so why keep trying? My medical records at the doctors now have big warnings on that I’m only to be allowed weekly prescriptions. Mostly this just leaves me irritated. I could get round it of course but that would require effort.

I just wish I could make it all stop.


In note form

April 13, 2010

Words are not happening at the moment and I seem unable to type straight which is making blogging somewhat triggering. So in short:

  • Last blog post triggered concerned reaction in real-life friends and ended up with me in A+E attempting to get myself hospitalised.
  • There were no psych beds in the whole East of England area and the best they could offer me was a chair in CDU so I went home instead and friends took pills off me effectively spoiling my careful planning. Still, at least they meant well.
  • Was visited by the Home Treatment team on the Monday who advised me to eat plenty of chocolate (I like the home treatment team, last time they advised me to go to the pub!).
  • Had first proper appointment with Complex Cases on Wednesday. They were better than I expected. They run a programme of daytime activities such as walking and cooking groups in an attempt to get people out of the house and meeting others in similar circumstances. This sounds potentially good. In the long term they offer some varient of CBT but not until people are stable. This irritates me. I have a naive image of therapy fixes all even if rationally I know right now it would throw me even further down this hole.
  • Parents came down and took me home for a few days. This was good and I had a couple of better days.
  • I’m now back at home and trying to not let the disordered thoughts find a way back in. I’m failing but at least I’m trying.
  • I’ve joined a gym 🙂

Sorry, I may turn this into a proper post at some point if my brain starts regaining control of my fingers but in the mean time have an apology for being such a dull blogger!


It’s Easter

April 4, 2010

WARNING: May be more triggering than usual

Today I have eaten far, far too much chocolate and am now working my way towards drinking far, far too much rose wine. I will hate myself for this tomorrow as I haven’t left the house since Thursday ish and therefore have done zero exercise and am infact a fat disgusting slug feeding on the detritus of this supposedly holy day.  At the moment though it seems like the only option. It’s the only way to quiet my head.

I’ve never heard voices. I hear noises quite frequently and occasionally noises that could be voices but they’re never distinct enough to determine what if anything they’d be saying. Instead the only voice I have to deal with, is a part of me. I often think of myself as two people. There’s the one I want to be – smiling, happy, inspired and successful – and then there’s the bloody insane one roaming chaotically over everything I do. They take up varying proportions of my time, when the good one is in the lead it’s all dealable with but when it’s not… The insane part picks different ways to torment me. Right now it’s massively suicidal thoughts the second I’m on my own.

The last three nights I have lain in bed unable to sleep for hours, drafting and redrafting my suicide note in my head. This isn’t just a generic note to everyone but also includes what I would like to say to a few specific individuals. I think I could recite it almost word perfect now. I’ve planned the possible whens, the how and the why. The detail that’s gone into this thinking astounds me and also terrifies me.

The only small comfort is that every time I run the scenario in my head, I end up waking up in hospital like before. The rational me says that I don’t want to die but the insane one is leaving me with no other choice.

So this is why today I’ve gone down the chocolate and wine route. I may be a fat, disgusting slug but at least this slug is still here.


I thought you were meant to care?

April 3, 2010

I had a GP appointment on _______ (insert day here, I’ve forgotten and can’t quite be bothered to look it up). I’m struggling to build up a regular relationship with a GP. Every time I see one I can get along with, they’re on holiday or busy the next time I need an appointment so once again I was facing doctor unknown. It started badly when he didn’t even ask how I was. I mean, surely that’s a basic communication skill no matter who you’re dealing with. I summarised what had happened at the psych appointment, increase in Risperidone and back to weekly prescriptions again. He obviously didn’t listen to a word I said as he still issued me with a fortnights worth of pills. He then went on to question why I needed to see a GP every fortnight, could I not just get repeats? I muttered something about being a risk to myself (and probably flushed bright red, it’s not something I’m proud if), and he glared at me as if my presence there was massively inconveniencing him and I left. In and out within 3 minutes.

I was so angry. This is one of the few times I feel I’ve been treated truly differently because of my diagnosis. Hell, I don’t want to see a doctor all the time but it’s not like I have a choice right about now.  I felt like a waste of space and that if a GP feels the practice would be better of without me, how does the rest of the world feel? He’s meant to care, to be looking out for me and instead I left convinced he wanted me gone.  I also now have far more pills in my possession than I wanted and slightly too many ideas of what to do with them.

Everything is very spacey at the moment. Things are happening but not to me. I forget everything. I am learning to crochet, and the initial instruction was chain 6 stitches. It took me about 10 attempts as I kept losing count. A 5 year old child can count to 6 for goodness sake, it shouldn’t be challenging to someone with a degree and a degree with a reasonable maths content at that. I self harm but it isn’t me that it’s happening to. It’s like watching someone else be damaged and I feel nothing. I’ve found it hard to focus for long enough to write this and I couldn’t tell you if it makes any sense. I’ve often had problems with dissociation but they’re never fun and I could really do without them at the moment.

Oh, and Complex Cases finally got back to me. They’re going to start seeing me regularly as of next week. I’m yet to decide if this is a good thing or not. It’s a different person to the one who did the assessment so I will give them another chance and see what they can offer me.