On Monday morning I did not want to get out of bed. I’m finding it increasingly difficult to get to sleep at the moment and then sleeping until lunchtime to compensate for it. Normally this is not a problem so I sleep but on Mondays, it’s voluntary work day so the extra time in bed isn’t an option. Normally it’s alright, I stay in bed until the last possible moment, roll out, throw on an uncoordinated outfit and run up the hill, to arrive approximately 3 seconds before I have to. This time though it just wasn’t happening and I just sat there in my pyjamas staring at the wall as the time at which I was meant to leave came, happened and then passed further and further into the distance. Eventually, with rather a lot of prodding from boyfriend, I removed myself from bed and made it to work, albeit an hour late.
My mum also works at the same school on a Monday so when break came round I was talking to her. I mentioned that I felt my mood was dipping a bit and this seemed to precipitate a crisis reaction in her. Within half an hour I was being dragged away from my class to an emergency doctors appointment. Given I still currently think I’m pretty fine, I feel this was a major overreaction. But I still talked to the doctor (one I don’t like), explained why I thought I was returning to a depression. I also mentioned stopping the aripiprazole. Given I stopped it over a month ago and it was at a tiny dose, I’m fairly sure it has nothing to do with the more recent mood changes. To the doctor though, it was clearly the only possible reason my mood could have changed. She tried to convince me to start taking it again but I steadfastly refused. Instead she’s going to talk to my doctor when he’s next in (friday) and they’re going to come up with a brand new shiny med for me to try. Just great. I really fail to see what an anti-psychotic is going to do for depression. I am not psychotic ergo I don’t need anything to stop it. However this being the NHS, pills is all they can offer so pills it will be.
I think I’m just about at the point of giving up with the NHS. I always had faith that no matter the flaws in the organisation, it would help when needed but that clearly isn’t the case. To be honest, I don’t know what I expect them to do for me anymore. My life ends in one way, the events of the last few years have made it inevitable. Maybe if I could get some decent therapy, my mind could be trained to see the world a little differently, but that’s never going to happen, the funding simply isn’t there.
The worst thing is now my parents know there’s a problem and so they throw their misguided attempts to help at the situation. For my dad this involves putting on a fake hyper-cheery attitude where everything is lovely and fluffy and isn’t the world a marvelous place. This involves plenty of strained smiles, a fake accent and lots of awkward questions. Apparently all I need is more commitments, get out and volunteer more, go on a bike ride once a week, eat more fruit. My mum backs this, if I’d just do more everything would be beautiful. Can’t they see that that’s just patronising bullshit? If I was capable of doing more I would.
Today I saw the psychiatric liaison nurse at the surgery again. We chatted for half an hour, she made some CBT type attempts to challenge the way I was thinking but I didn’t find it particularly helpful. We talked about whether university was the right decision or not but I don’t think any particular conclusion was made. If I go to university I’ll probably just fail. If I don’t go, I have to think of something else to do and in all honesty there’s nothing I fancy.
My boyfriend asked me the other day if I even wanted to get better as apparently I’m not doing enough towards it. Of course I want to, I just don’t realistically see it happening. And besides, I’m still fine remember?