I hate doctors.

July 28, 2011

They’re all liars anyway. I’ve registered with a new doctors surgery. I first saw my new GP two weeks ago. He seemed ok and more to the point he seemed useful. I explained that I wanted a psych referral, pretty common sense given my diagnosis and fairly unstable history. I also rambled on about being worried that it would take months and months for my notes to come through and I didn’t want to be left languishing until that happened. He reassured me it wouldn’t be a problem. He’d phone my previous GP that afternoon, obtain the details he needed and then be in a place to make a referral if needed next time I saw him. He also promised to put my meds on extended repeat (after almost refusing to give them to me because he didn’t believe anyone would actually be on that dose :S ). Then he gave me a script for a fortnights worth. Except for he didn’t. Despite me stating I was an overdose risk, he still managed to misprescribe and give me 56 of one tablet rather than the requisite 14. They’ll go in the stash then. Don’t need it at the moment but it’s good to know it’s there if situations change.

Anywho, saw him again yesterday. Apparently he hadn’t spoken to my GP and besides, I should know he can’t do anything until the notes come through which could take 8-10 weeks. Lying git. I want help. Yes, I’m currently fairly stable but I want some safeguards put into place ASAP for if (when?) that’s no longer the case. It makes me really angry and upset. I hate people not telling the truth in any situation. I can’t understand anything other than honesty. I build my hopes and dreams on people doing what they say they will and when they don’t it crushes me completely. It’s things like this that give me major wobbles and as an apparent professional, surely he should be working to avoid such things?

You’d think I’d have learned by now not to trust the NHS and yet I continue to do so. More fool me.


What a difference a year makes

July 15, 2011

Today I cut myself on a kitchen knife. It was an accident and it hurt, lots. But this is what I used to do to myself on a daily basis without caring of the consequences, longing for the pain but not feeling it enough. I’m not going to say I’ve stopped self-harming, that would unfortunately be a lie but I have stopped cutting in such a deeply destructive (and obviously scarring way).

At the moment life feels like a dream. This is the longest period of vague stability I’ve had in a long time. I’m not going to pretend I’ve become sane or normal but I’m coping well and even find myself enjoying life every now and again. I have a boyfriend, a house, a puppy. These things seemed unimaginable when I found myself discharged from hospital last summer. It is unreal. When I was young, I has a misplaced belief that my life was just someone elses dream. My waking hours were when they slept and vice versa. This is how it feels again. I have to pinch myself to understand that it is real and that it’s happening to me.

I worry I’m flying too high, that it is unsustainable. I think I may be invincible, nothing can touch me. Who knows? Let’s not analyse it too much and enjoy it while I can.

I’m scared of publishing this. Apparently if you smoke, there’s nothing worse than a reformed ex-smoker. I don’t want to become the reformed ex-mentalist who preaches recovery from a smug, seemingly unachievable position. It was only January that I was back inĀ  the too depressed to get out of bed zone. I’m not an ex-mentalist by a long shot but that’s not for this post; this is to celebrate the positives and how far I’ve come.



July 8, 2011

If my plan for craft domination doesn’t work out, there will hopefully come a point in the future when I will be well enough to look for a job. I don’t know yet what role it will be but based on the current economic climate, there will be a lot of competition for it. Humour me for a minute while I take you through my work history since leaving University in June 2007 and just for interest the reason I left each role.

  • July 2007-September 2007 – Geoscience intern, BP (temporary position)
  • November 2007-June 2008 – Temporarary worker (sickness record became too bad to continue getting roles)
  • August 2008-October 2008 – Health Care Assistant (hounded out by occy health witchery)
  • May 2009 – August 2009 – part time First Aid Trainer (left to go to University)
  • September 2009 – December 2009 – Nursing student (dropped out as too unwell)
  • …..

As you can see, there is no consistency of role there and rather a lot of substantial gaps. As fro references, I have one from the school I volunteered at one day a week (definitely not an area I want to work in) and for the other, I have a character reference from a family friend.

It is now illegal to ask people about their medical history at interviews. This can only be a good thing. It goes some way towards preventing discrimination at the interview stage against people with disabilities.

However, imagine you’re a big boss type. You’ve received 50 applications for your new role and have one space left in your interview schedule. There are two halfway decent candidates left to choose from. Both have no/equal relevant experience and both are equally well qualified academically. Candidate A has a consistent work history and up to date work related references. Candidate B has a work history and references similar to mine.

It’s pretty obvious which one you’re going to interview. Unfortunately, I don’t need to declare ‘I have a mental health problem’ all over my CV, my history does it all for me.

The many layers of my mind

July 3, 2011

My mind is a complicated and confusing place. It’s arranged in a series of layers wrapped and twisted around each other. I can feel them built up inside my head as pressure in certain places. The deeper the layers are, the less control I have over them. To silence a lower layer, I need to engage one that is over the top of it. I know this sounds slightly (very) crazy but stick with it and I shall try and explain…

The very bottom layer is an endless track on repeat. It runs on and on saying that I am a fat, ugly failure. Thankfully it’s very deep down so I don’t hear it that often. It’s only when my mind is very shut down that it comes to the fore. When I’m particularly depressed I hear it a lot as I don’t have the strength to silence it down. It’s also there on the edge of sleep and when just waking.

Above this is the narrative layer. This one tells the tale of what is going on in my life. It’s as if my life is a story and it’s filling in the blanks between conversations. It goes “and then she went for a walk with the dog…” etc. I’ve always had this going on. I remember when I was small getting confused if my life was real or just the product of someone’s imagination. It’s a pain to be honest as I know perfectly well what’s going on, I don’t need my brain repeating it for me.

Then there’s the layer of bad memories. This provides me with vicious, powerful visual flashbacks when I least expect them. It circles in series of questions, an endless series of what ifs. What would have happened if I’d made a different decision at a specific point? Would this have happened, or that? It analyses all my conversations and behaviours in great depth, needling and criticising at every opportunity. Taking down my self-esteem.

Up to this point, I have little control of the layers. They exist constantly and are forever running at speed within my brain. Above them though, is the layer over which I have control. My inner voice. It speaks loudly over the other layers to cover them up. At the moment it’s telling me what to type just before it actually happens. It argues with the bad memories, trying to shift the blame away from me, to overcome the flashbacks. It plans my blogposts, helps me to decide what I’m going to do next, is full of crazy ideas, exciting schemes and mad plans. It is the me I want to be. Confident and daft, with a good sense of humour.

Finally, there’s an insidious layer, it inserts itself wherever it feels it can do the most damage and plays white noise through my head, It causes a build up of pressure, gives me a splitting headache and sometimes stops me getting to sleep at night. It is irritating and infuriating. I can usually drown it out using the inner voice but that requires a large amount of cognitive input on my part and so prevents any sort of relaxation.

The only way to silence my head completely is to speak out loud. I spend a lot of time singing. This is painful for everyone else as my musical talent is somewhat nonexistent but for me it’s blessed relief. While I’m making noise, my head is silent, I have relief from the pressure within. I sing snatches of barely remembered songs, if I only know one line, that’s fine I just repeat it. Anything to drown out the chatter!

Reading this back I’m worried it makes me sound more than a little odd. I’ve tried to explain it in the past to mental professionals. They initially assume I hear voices. It’s not voices though, I know it is part of me. It’s just different levels of my own mind all clamouring for attention. I wish it would leave me alone.