Tag Archives: depressed

17:35 – Slipping, sliding, swinging moods

1 Dec

I am stressed. Extremely stressed. And my anxiety is sky high. I am taking more Diazepam each day than the amount I am prescribed meaning that I would have run out about a week early if I didn’t have my secret mental meds stash, which I’m guessing, most of us have.

I have been finding it extremely difficult to concentrate as my brain seems to jump from feeling so foggy I just can’t think… at all… about anything other than how fucking anxious I feel… to thinking about too many things in a fast and mixed up order… unable to concentrate on the task in hand… jumping from one internet page to the next… still getting absolutely nothing done.

And I feel so awful because my parents are spending their weekend off work up at my new house redecorating it for me and telling me just to stay here in my flat and get my two uni essays written as they are both due by this coming Friday. I’ve managed to get a half hearted first draft written for one of the essays but it is an absolute pile of bollocks, in fact I don’t even think it’s answering the question that is the essay title. It’s just a big long ramble that doesn’t flow properly, doesn’t really go anywhere, just rambles on about nothing. I think half the problem is that I don’t know how to answer the essay question… I don’t know what we are supposed to include… but I do know that the shit I’ve written so far doesn’t really include any of the stuff that we have covered in the module. So yeah… I think I’m way off track with it… it reads pretty much how my mood feels… no logical order… no nice flow from one point to the next… no explanation… just chopping and changing from one thing to the next.

My mood feels as though it is slipping and sliding all over the place but then it always does at this time of year. As soon as we hit November I seem to start struggling a lot. Once we hit December I just want to curl up in a ball and hibernate until it’s the Summer time again. I know people reading this will think I have that Seasonal Affective Disorder but I don’t… it’s because I now start seeing Christmas trees popping up everywhere, every shop window full of gift ideas, having to buy presents for friends kids and it’s like with every gift I see this big invisible boulder comes out of nowhere and knocks me to my feet… and as I try and climb back to an upright position it tries to knock me down again and again with the constant voice I hear reminding me that this is yet another Christmas to face without my little boy being here. It is immensely difficult to put on a smiling happy face for my friends kids as their little faces light up when they open all their presents and all I can think is why? Why did my little one not get the chance to experience Christmas? Why do I decorate a cold marble head stone in the cemetery instead of having my little one here helping me decorate a Christmas tree and seeing his little face light up on Christmas morning? It doesn’t get any easier even though it will be seven years in February since I lost him. Every year I go through these same emotions and they hurt so bad. It still makes no sense why he isn’t here with me. I don’t even have a Christmas tree to decorate because there is absolutely no Christmas spirit in me at all.

Then once we finally get Christmas over with for another year and enter the new year I have a six week countdown until it’s his 7th anniversary. So yeah… from now through to mid February is a very difficult time of year for me and I’m used to it pulling my mood down to super low levels. I’m used to feeling really depressed at this time of year. The majority of my hospitalisations have been this time of year. I don’t know how I avoided a hospital admission last year… perhaps it was using my uni work as a distraction or maybe I was feeling a bit stronger… I’m not sure. But right now with the stress of knowing that somehow or another I need to get these two essays written and submitted in less than a week and at the same time start getting all my possessions packed into boxes to move on Monday the 9th, I’m starting to feel like I’m not really coping very well at all. I should feel some degree of excitement about moving to the new house but I just don’t. I just don’t feel anything about anything really. Other than moving between depressed to stressed to anxious to foggy headed and then my moments of having about 100 ideas in the space of five minutes where everything suddenly speeds up inside my head… goes too fast… then like a lightbulb blowing it all goes dark again.

I better go for now, my Mum is coming to pick me up in half an hour to have a Sunday roast dinner at the parents house and I still need to have a quick shower. I might post back later as I feel like I’ve got more to say but it’s all a bit muddled up in my head right now. Maybe it will all make more sense later on…

19:21 – Sinking lower and lower

4 Nov

My mood is continuing to get lower and lower and much as I utterly detest my local psych hospital, I find myself feeling really frightened that the bin is the direction that I’m heading in. Life is becoming more than just a struggle, it’s currently at the point of absolutely everything feeling impossible.

The winter seems to be starting early – by 5pm it is already dark outside – and like every year when it gets like this I find myself only taking the dogs out once when it’s daylight (their lunch time walk) and the other times I walk them (breakfast, dinner and bedtime) are all in the dark. I feel more comfortable to be outside when people can’t see me properly, when I can hide myself under my thick jacket and big furry hood.

Why? Because the dark feels safer for some reason. My thoughts are starting to become really paranoid again. I don’t like people being able to see me or look at me properly, it sets my head off thinking all sorts of crazy stuff.

The depression is definitely in full swing and I feel as though I’m sinking lower and lower with every day that passes. And it shouldn’t be this way – I have good/happy things going on in my life at the moment (or at least that’s how they should feel). But the smiles I put on are so fake I’m sure everyone can tell. I just can’t seem to feel happy. I got my essay results from the essay I had to do a few weeks ago and passed with 65%. That’s a good grade B. Was I happy? No not really. Just relieved I didn’t need to resit. My parents took me for a lovely birthday lunch last Monday… again fake smiles throughout which I felt awful about.

The only person I’ve been somewhat honest with was the psychiatrist and support worker on Wednesday. That’s been the only time I’ve said the words out loud – I’m self harming again and I keep getting these waves of feeling like I just do not want to be here any more that come over me out of the blue and are so strong they drag me under them.

I have a couple of things happening this coming week that I should be happy about but instead I am miserable. I’m hell bent on hurting myself yet doing my hardest to just cling on a little bit longer… maybe when I get my first appointment with the psychologist through it will help me feel more positive. Who knows. The self destruct button feels like it’s getting closer and closer to being pressed.

I guess I’ve just got to keep going… but in what direction I just do not know.

00:10 – ECT… has it really come to that?

31 Oct

Today I had my third appointment with new psychiatrist. I have to be honest and say I was utterly dreading it because the last two appointments with him have been extremely frustrating and of no help whatsoever. But lovely support worker came with me and when she first picked me up I was very very anxious, did not want to go, but after sitting talking to me and calming me down for about 20 minutes I finally got out of the car and went into the main hospital building.

I had gone over with her what I wanted to say to new psychiatrist today and just hoped that I’d both remember it all and get the opportunity to say it all. I can’t remember if I have already mentioned this here, but basically I had decided that if this appointment went as shite as the last two with him then I was going to ask my GP to refer me to see a different psychiatrist. I may live in the middle of nowhere with very little in the way of mental health support but I do believe there is one other psychiatrist that does cover this area.

So, bang on 2.30pm his door opens and he calls me through. I hesitantly walk through with lovely support worker behind me. We sit down and he asks how I have been since I last saw him. I took a breath and told him that my mood has remained flat the vast majority of the time, that there have been a couple and I do literally mean a couple of OK/good moments but really for… well… so long now I’ve lost count my mood is flat, I rarely find enjoyment in anything, my self harming continues, I have fleeting suicidal thoughts, my sleep is crap, even the very basics like having a shower and getting dressed and taking the dogs a walk sometimes just proves to be too much for me.

Yes, I know I went out for the first time in at least six months on Saturday night and ended up having quite a good time but I think that was mostly due to the amount of alcohol I’d consumed. I did not mention anything about the recent brief substance misuse because I don’t want that splashed onto my case notes again… and anyways… it’s over and done with now with no plans of any repeat episodes. I told him about the two visits to A&E for self harm wounds and stitches, I told him I am trying my hardest to plod on with my part time home based uni course but that I’m failing to concentrate and struggling with it massively. I told him that sometimes I hear a little niggling voice encouraging me to hurt myself but that I can tolerate it as it’s nowhere near as bad as when I was hearing several voices and hearing them constantly. In that respect I think the 750mg a day of Quetiapine (Seroquel) is still working.

He asked how I’d found the increased dose of 45mg a day Mirtazapine and again I told him that it was fine for the first couple of weeks but then I started having such severe physical symptoms of anxiety (when I truly thought my heart was about to pack in and ended up getting the ecg done) and how lovely GP had wondered if it was actually the Mirtazapine causing it as anti-depressants do take a while to build up in your system. So I told him my GP told me to go back down to 30mg a day and see if the anxiety improved and yes, the heart palpitations did stop and have continued to be minimal. But the ‘psychological’ anxiety, the constant worrying and fears are still very much present. Some days I’m so scared to even walk out my front door to cross the road and walk the dogs for ten minutes then other days I dope myself up on whatever anxiety med I can and force myself to face a potentially scary situation.

He then asked how I had found the Pregabalin (Lyrica) that he had prescribed last time I saw him as the plan was for me to use it on a long term basis for my anxiety and finally start to taper off the Diazepam seeing as I’ve been taking it daily for three years now. But I had to tell him that had been a disaster as well… that I didn’t realise it had the same/similar ingredient as Gabapentin which it appears I’m allergic to. So the two medication changes he made at our last appointment a few months ago were both unsuccessful.

This of course brought us onto the discussion of reducing my Diazepam and I firmly told new psychiatrist that yes I am willing to reduce but I am most definitely not doing it at the moment. I feel horrendous enough as it is without trying to taper off from that. To my surprise he did actually say that he agreed now was not the right time, especially not as we are fast approaching my two worst times of year – Christmas and then my little boy’s anniversary in February.

He asked what support I was getting from the mental health team and I quite honestly told him how utterly useless I find cpn#2. He asked why and I explained about her super structured way of working, her setting of agenda’s, her constant ‘positive goals’ and her reluctance to talk about anything that is making my moods low. However I did tell him that I am now top of the waiting list for psychology and have been given a provisional date of mid to late November for my first appointment. It’s the same psychologist I used to work with so in a way I am looking forward to going back to see her even if I don’t feel particularly convinced that this Compassion Focused Therapy bollocks is going to work for me.

So all in all it was actually quite a good session. I managed to get across to him that the two medication changes he proposed last time I saw him had failed, that I was not ready to taper off from the Diazepam yet, that my moods are low and flat, that I’m self harming again and having occasional suicidal thoughts, that I am generally struggling with life a lot, that I’m struggling trying to continue with my studies, that the only person who lets me vent is lovely support worker, that I find my sessions with cpn#2 useless, and some days I seriously do wish I just hadn’t woken up that morning.

His first response to all of this was to ask me if I thought I would benefit from going in as an inpatient in the bin for a while? I said no, that place makes me feel worse, trapped, none of the staff give a damn, the other patients are too stressful to be around, there are too many rules… just no.

His second response was the one that surprised and to be honest shocked me (no pun intended). He said that as he looked back over all my medication history for the past four years we have pretty much exhausted every med now. There really isn’t anything different we can try. We could maybe try new combinations of something but I have pretty much tried every anti-depressant, mood stabiliser and anti-psychotic and benzodiazapine there is. He asked if it’s my depression or my anxiety that is worse and I said both of them. The anxiety can be managed to a degree with medication, the depression is just constant, constantly ongoing flat crappy moods that for months and months and months if not closer to a year have just stayed shit. Every day is an effort, every week is an effort, some mornings I open my eyes and my first thought is “I think I might kill myself today” or “I wish I was dead”. But I don’t act on them because I don’t want to put my parents through all that heartache and frustration again. I carry on painting on these fake smiles and trying so hard to make everyone think I am coping. Although I did let slip to my Mum the other day that I had recently self harmed and had to go to A&E. The thing is I’m still self harming – first through cutting… then misusing substances… then drinking… now back to cutting again. I try to put on this persona of being someone in recovery but I’m so far from recovery it’s scary. All these people telling me how well I’m doing because they don’t fucking let me talk about how bad I feel, they insist on only talking about positives and therefore have a completely skewed picture of how my life really is.

So new psychiatrist says here is the plan of action: he will not make any medication changes at the moment (mainly because there isn’t really anything else we can try), he would give me a couple of months to start seeing the psychologist again and see if psychological input helped my mood in any way, he encouraged me to be honest with cpn#2 about what *I* need from our sessions (told him I’d already done that and got nowhere)… he asked lovely support worker if she would carry on seeing me and she said yes she would see me weekly for as long as I needed it, he encouraged me to try and open up to my family so they know I’m actually not coping that great right now and all these fake smiles are simply that: fake.

And then he hits me with it… “there is one other thing we can try but I’d like to wait at least six months before trying it as I only like to use it as a last resort… have you heard of ECT before?”

I sat there kinda shocked but nodded my head. A very lovely fellow blogger tried ECT some time ago and I read all her experiences with it with interest even though it didn’t seem to work for her. It is something that scares me a bit… I mean nobody really likes the idea of being knocked out, put into a seizure and having your brain zapped do they? It’s pretty hardcore stuff. Then add in the quite possible and quite likely short term memory loss. It’s not the most appealing of treatment options. But whilst he did reiterate that it would be a last resort I suppose it sort of shocked me that it was even suggested. He said it doesn’t work for everyone but a point has to come where we try and break this depressive and unproductive cycle once and for all… and maybe, just maybe ECT would be the thing that finally works for me. But like I say, he wants me to try a few months of psychology first and then review things again. He wanted to see me back in a couple of months but he is away for most of January so my next appointment is February 6th… five days before my little man’s anniversary so I’m bound to be in a super depressed state of mind next time I see him. Again, lovely support worker said she would come with me.

I can see that my life is not good at the moment, far from it if I’m brutally honest. Yes on the one hand I haven’t given up on the studying (yet) and yes I managed to travel to a new faraway place recently (doped up on diazepam) and yes I even managed to go for a night out on Saturday (full of alcohol). But then we look at the flip side: I’m self harming a lot although managing to keep it reasonably superficial at the moment purely to avoid having to go to A&E, I’m having lots of thoughts about ending my life, my anxiety levels are ridiculously high and out of control most of the time, other than that one night out on Saturday I have next to no social life whatsoever, no friends that I see on any kind of regular basis, a constant niggling voice giggling away in my head at how pathetic I am and fuck just a couple of weeks ago things became so desperate I put that shite back into my body for some sort of an escape. I feel unsupported apart from by lovely support worker, I feel alone, I feel miserable, I question the point of everything, I don’t cook meals or eat properly I just binge on junk food, I’m lucky if I shower a couple of times a week. Things are not good. And I can’t go on pretending that I’m OK any longer because I’m not. I didn’t want to admit it but there you go, I’ve said it. I just don’t want to worry my family so I keep it bottled up… but it’s getting really bad again.

I cancelled my appointment with cpn#2 for tomorrow because I just cannot face her “positive goal setting” bullshit… I left a message for her saying I had too much studying to do and couldn’t go and asked her to give me a call back to rearrange another appointment but to be completely honest I will probably cancel that one as well. What’s the point when I get no benefit from them? And now I know it will only be a matter of weeks until I start seeing the psychologist again maybe it’s time to just stop seeing cpn#2 because I feel like I’m getting nowhere with her and I just cannot work to her super structured approach.

Has it really come to a point where I need to give serious consideration to trying ECT? Could that be the one thing that just blasts my brain back to a state of normality so I can get on with my life in a happy and meaningful way where I actually want to be alive and enjoy my life? Could it break away from all these desperate little attempts of escapism? I don’t know… And I’m not going to give it much thought for the moment because it wouldn’t be happening for at least six months anyway. And who knows where I’ll be in six months time… Who knows if I’ll even still be here? The way I feel at the moment that is somewhat doubtful.

But if I’m totally honest with people, if I lay my cards on the table and admit to how bad I feel then I enter back into the conversations like those of today: talks of admission into the bin… talks of ECT… Do I want those conversations, or worse, for them to actually happen? No.

I just want to feel normal whatever that is. I just want to feel happy. I want to wake up and look forward to the day ahead. I want things to be easy and free and effortless.

And yet I also want to go to wherever my little boy is… wherever it is we go when our body has died and our soul has moved on… and well…. I guess I can’t really believe that I’ve ended up back in this place again. I’m scared… the feelings of things about to fall apart and hit crisis level feel imminent and I’m genuinely truly terrified of that happening to me again.

23:33 – Telling lies to A&E doctor :(

18 Sep

In the past week I haven’t posted because I’ve been feeling so low and if I had written anything it would have made for some pretty depressing reading. Not that this post won’t be but it feels like time to ‘check in’ with my little blog again. One nice thing I noticed was that in the week I’ve been gone my little blog hit the 100,000 views mark, which I know isn’t a huge amount compared to some of the wonderfully written blogs out there but it did give me a little smile to see that nearly four years on people still pop over and read my rambles!

So yeah… this past week I feel as though I’ve been triggered left, right and centre. I know that it’s been over six years now since I lost my little angel but when I see people announcing pregnancies, birth announcements, even just random posts on Facebook that people make about their kids still seem to have the ability to upset me.

I went to see the gynaecologist last Wednesday and she was actually really nice, we decided on a treatment plan of Metformin and Provera (a tablet that is used for a variety of menstrual problems and given to me to induce a bleed as I don’t have periods by myself). She had actually taken the time to read some of my file and she chatted about my loss for a little while and was really gentle and empathic about it. She asked me if I was in a position at the moment to want to try and conceive again but I told her quite truthfully that I’m not even in a relationship let alone a sexual one and that the idea of ever trying again absolutely terrifies me. But she said if a time does come where I’d like to try again she would be more than happy to see me again and go through my fertility treatment options with me. In the meantime she’d like me to try and lose a bit of weight, get my body a bit healthier and see how I get on with the metformin this time round.

Even though she was really nice and helpful, I still left with thoughts of my angel, my limited fertility and my very real and very scary fears for the future. I was literally out of the appointment all of ten minutes when I got a text message from my cousin telling me she is three months pregnant with her second baby. Of course I replied saying it was wonderful news and how I was “delighted for her”… but as I typed the words tears rolled down my face. Don’t get me wrong, I am happy for people that they have happiness in their lives and I would never ever wish a loss/stillbirth upon anyone, but sometimes it just all hurts so much. It’s tiring always having to bite back tears and swallow down the lumps in my throat to put on a smile and congratulate people. Then the following day best friend innocently wrote on Facebook something like “my life is perfect, I have two beautiful little boys and the best boyfriend in the world, life just couldn’t get any better” and that set me off again… all the thoughts of why is everyone else so happy with their perfect lives and I’m so miserable with mine. I’ve practically got no confidence at all, I’m overweight, I’ve permanently scarred my body to quite extreme levels, I barely have any friends and the thought of ever being intimate with someone again absolutely terrifies me. I’m 32 next month and none of this shit was part of my life plans :(

So I spent the weekend near constantly in tears. I hid away from the world. I refused to look on Facebook (my own personal one not my blog one). My head has been full of thoughts and urges and niggling voices telling me just to cut… cutting would make things all better again. But I know what I am like with self harming these days… I find it almost impossible to stop at a ‘superficial’ level… once I start it has to go deeper and deeper until I’ve made an absolute mess of another bit of flesh. And of course this results in a trip to A&E. I haven’t had to attend A&E since April and I’ve been really determined for things to continue that way. But then other things started to trigger me… stupid things like the fact my parents are going on holiday this coming weekend and this resulted in me having to beat myself up over the fact I can barely travel anywhere. Then on Monday I was supposed to have an appointment with CPN#2 and even though I really cannot stand the woman and find her worse than useless, I dragged myself out of bed and walked in the pouring rain to where the mental health team is located. A male CPN showed me through to a room then appeared back about ten minutes later to say that CPN#2 had actually called in sick and wasn’t there so that was a wasted trip and off I went back out into the rain. Would a phonecall to have let me know really have been that hard? I know I have a cheek to talk when I miss so many of my appointments with her but she’s supposed to be the ‘professional’ after all…

I walked home with the only thoughts in my mind that no one gives a fuck about me. I can go 10 or 12 weeks not attending a single appointment and no one ever asks why… no one phones to check if I’m OK… I’m just left on my own… which to be fair is what I always say that I want.

So yeah, the thoughts about cutting just seemed to get stronger and stronger every day from last Wednesday. My part time uni course that I do from home started back last week and I have barely looked at any of the course materials yet. I don’t know if I can do it, I don’t know if I want to do it, I just have no belief in myself right now nor any motivation. I just feel completely and utterly shit.

Now that I’ve rambled on for 1000 words I should maybe get back to the title of this post: I lied to the doctor. Actually I will correct that… I lied to the nurse, to the doctor and to my Mum. Today was meant to be a good day – my new phone arrived and I had been looking forward to getting my upgrade. I decided to get the Samsung Galaxy S4 in red as I loved my S3 and before that my S2. I have to say however that the S4 really isn’t that much different from the S3 and I’ve only had it one day and so far the battery life is proving to be pretty bad, even after disabling all applications and stuff that I didn’t need. I’m not really sure if it was worth the upgrade but maybe I just feel completely blah about everything right now. I can’t seem to get excited/happy about anything. Sorry… I’ve gone all off topic again… my head is just all mixed up and everything I’m writing is all coming out all mixed up as well.

This afternoon I just couldn’t take the constant urges to self harm any longer. Everything came to a head and I was having a complete and utter meltdown. The tears wouldn’t stop, the need to feel pain wouldn’t stop, the memories and flashbacks of so many things wouldn’t stop and I felt like I was starting to seriously lose the plot. I tried taking some Diazepam to calm down a bit but it did nothing to help. I forced myself to take the dogs a walk because I was becoming scared of what I was going to do to myself if I allowed myself to sit and think for one minute longer. The walk didn’t help either though, as soon as I got outside I began to feel extremely anxious and just wanted to run back indoors and hide again. I think that was the point that I realised I couldn’t fight it any longer, I had to cut, it was the only thing that was going to bring me back to reality and ground me again. But I also knew that if I started then I really didn’t believe I’d have the control to stop.

I’m not going to say where I cut but it was somewhere that I’ve never cut before and I will be honest from the start with you guys – I did it that way because I wanted to make it look like an accident. At the back of my mind that was the lesser of two evils if you will… I had to know that if I lost control and went too deep that I could pass it off as an accident and not admit that after going five months without cutting I ended up doing it again. Trust me when I say that the scarring I have on my body… all over my body… is horrendous. I wouldn’t want to trigger anyone but sometimes I think about posting some photos of scars that are several years old – not to try and shock anyone – but to educate them that this is what your body will look like if you walk down the path of self harming. Sorry, I’m going off at a tangent again, back to the point…

I cut. I started and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t make lots of cuts I only made one. One in a place that would be one of the most unlikely places that someone would cut. I went over it and over it and over it until there was a real mess staring back at me. And then I cried. A lot. And then I panicked. This was going to need medical treatment and I had to come up with a story to tell the nurse/doctor at A&E to convince them that an accident had happened… I couldn’t tell them the truth. A couple of hours after I’d cut I decided I had a story to explain my wound that seemed plausible. So I forced myself to go to A&E around 7pm and the nurse who took me through to the treatment room was one I’ve seen a couple of times before (for self harming). The first thing she said was “have you cut yourself?” and somehow I managed to keep my voice steady and replied “yes, but it was an accident”… she replied with “an accident that you went too deep or an accident that caused the wound?” and I lied… “I haven’t self harmed… honestly… it was an accident”. She looked at the wound and said she’d need to call the doctor as it needed stitches. Where I live is a very rural area, the hospital is small, there aren’t a huge amount of staff there, and in A&E pretty much every doctor and nurse knows me. Most of them greet me by my first name and they all know I will just tell them straight out if I’ve cut myself. But tonight something was different, I just could not say those words. So I stuck to my story and when the doctor came in the room I lied to him about what happened as well. He straight out asked me if I was 100% sure I hadn’t self harmed and I looked him in the eye and said “yes, I’m 100% sure”. I felt awful, really awful and really paranoid that somehow he would just know that I was lying. And maybe he did because whilst he accepted my story of how I got the wound he continued to ask me at least another dozen times about my self harming behaviours… when had I last done it… how often am I doing it these days.., what kind of things trigger me off to make me do it… all that kinda stuff. And when he wasn’t asking then the nurse was asking. I kept thinking maybe he could tell from looking at the wound that it didn’t look like an accidental injury and he spent far more time talking about self harming than he did about ‘the accident’. At one point I started to feel like I was going to break down and just admit the truth but I excused myself to the toilet and took a couple more diazepam out my bag then returned to the treatment room and carried on with my bullshit lies.

After an hour or so I was cleaned up, stitched up, bandaged up and quickly jumped up and thanked them then went to leave. The doctor asked me to wait for a minute so he could tell me when I’ve to return to have the stitches taken out. They want me back on Friday for a wound check and dressing change then back on Tuesday for the stitches to come out. I really don’t think either of them believed my made up story but neither of them came straight out and said it, but there were far too many ‘mental health assessment’ type questions going on for an ‘accidental injury’. Hmmm. Then again, it could be possible that the doctor remembered me from the night where I really did almost die after taking a massive overdose and very nearly ending up intubated… maybe that was why he asked so many questions about my mental health and state of mind because he knows what I’ve been capable of in the past. Oh… I don’t know… maybe they did believe me or maybe they didn’t… I’ll probably never find out for sure what they really thought unless I ask to see my notes which realistically I’d never ask to do as I think it would be a total head fuck to see what some people have said about me on paper.

So there we go… after five months of only very superficial self harming I have again done it badly enough to require stitches. I’ve lied to a doctor and nurse. I lied to my Mum when I spoke to her earlier and told her the same ‘accidental injury’ story.

Do I regret cutting? No.

Do I feel better for cutting? No.

Do I think I’m going to do it again? I really don’t know.

Is my head still a fucked up mess? Unfortunately yesVery much so in fact.

:(

23:45 – Put simply, I feel like shit

6 May

It’s been almost a week since I last had anything to say for myself. Since I last posted the desperation and the urgency and unpredictability of my destructive thoughts has all quietened down somewhat. I’m not really sure why. What has replaced those thoughts is a feeling of numbness, I feel almost detached from everything and I don’t want to be around anyone and I don’t want to do anything. My brain feels sluggish. I can’t think properly so I give up trying. My ability to concentrate or focus on anything is shot to shit at the moment.

If I could, I would just lie in bed all day and all night, not bothering to get dressed or go outside. The only thing that prevents me from just doing exactly that is knowing the dogs need to go out for walks, they don’t need to suffer because of my state of misery. So I scrape back my hair and I put on the same clothes that I wore yesterday (and probably the day before that as well) and we go out. They get a walk and to do the toilet, I stay hidden with my hood pulled up and stare at the ground. And this repeats itself several times a day.

In between times I pull my pyjamas back on and lie in bed or on the sofa staring into space, not even thinking about anything really, just lying there feeling numb and empty. I found a box of stanley knife blades in the drawer yesterday and had a very brief urge to self harm but you know what? I couldn’t even be bothered. It was too much effort and too much energy to do it. The blades got thrown back in the drawer and the drawer closed.

I’ve gone from barely being able to sleep at all to just wanting to sleep all the time. I can’t sleep all the time, my body won’t allow me that privilege. My GP was off on holiday last week and I needed a repeat prescription but because my last prescription was the first month long one in years the other GP said he wasn’t comfortable to give me another monthly and so he put me back on weekly dispense until I can get an appointment to see my normal GP. Then she can decide whether she is happy for me to get monthlies or whether she wants me to remain on weeklies. I think it was probably because the other GP had seen all the A&E trips from self harming episodes over the past month and probably wasn’t sure if I was a bit of a risk. Maybe it’s for the best that I’m on weeklies at the moment as it means I tend to take my medication properly as I don’t have enough tablets to mess around and do a bit of self medicating here and there. At least I’m doing one thing properly.

This week I have an appointment on Wednesday with my support worker from Rape Crisis and an appointment with CPN#2 on Friday. Other than going to them I expect this is going to be another week of hiding from the world and living in my pyjamas. It’s not as if I haven’t got things to be doing – I have a washing machine to order and I have an essay due in at the end of the week if I want to have any chance of passing this module… but I just can’t seem to do it. I keep putting everything off and delaying everything, telling myself I’ll ‘do it tomorrow’ then tomorrow comes and again I do absolutely nothing. If I don’t meet this essay deadline and pass it with a pretty decent grade then I will have to re-sit and I just want this module over and done with. I’m going to try and take an early Summer break and try and get my head back together for the increased workload that September will bring. Hopefully by September I will have done a fair bit of work with the psychologist and be armed with some better coping tools than cutting myself to shreds.

I just feel this complete sense of misery, a big black cloud right above my head threatening to start pissing down on me at any time. Numbness and emptiness and a sense of detachment from everyone and everything. Quiet and in full hibernation mode. Self harm is too much of an effort even though I know I deserve to be covered in more cuts. Thoughts of ending my life have passed through my mind a few times, but they are just that, thoughts. I don’t have a clear enough head to do anything. I don’t have the energy either. I don’t even know if I have the energy to go to my couple of appointments this week – I’ll see how I feel at the time.

I hate myself for writing such a depressing post especially after writing about all the sad news I’d learned last week and how it had put life into perspective a bit. It made me feel like I shouldn’t take life for granted so much and that I should be doing something happy and something positive every day. And I hate that I can’t adapt into that mindset even when I try. Any time I’ve tried to laugh or smile this sense of darkness begins to loom again. So I don’t try. I just sit and be miserable and wait to see what is going to happen next.

I’m shit. I deserve to feel this way. Honestly, if you really knew me you would say the same. The people who tell me nice things about myself like my Mum or best friend just say it to try and cheer me up, they are biased… If people could hear the stuff in my head they would have no hesitation to tell me that yes, I am shit and deserve nothing more than to feel like the piece of crap I am.

01:36 – A confused and messed up girl

24 Apr

My head is still pretty messed up and sadly the regrets over self harming so severely on Sunday night still haven’t kicked in. Last night was pretty horrendous,  I became extremely emotional and sat with my little angel’s memory box on the bed and cried for what seemed like hours. After putting his memory box away I became really angry, angry that this is my life, that the most precious thing in my life has been lost.

My behaviour after that became ridiculous. I started pulling all the bandages off my legs and sat with a blade in my hand, shaking and desperately wanting to cut out all twenty something stitches. I shook, I cried, I threw the blade angrily on the floor then picked up the TV remote control and began smacking it off my face, whacking my cheeks with it over and over again. Then I was down on the floor and  hitting my head off the wall like an angry child. Then the blade was back in my hand again and I was going to cut but I truly could not have faced more stitches. So I repeatedly lit my lighter until the metal was red hot then pushed it down deep onto my skin all round my ankle. And then ended up in tears again.

I was really starting to get quite terrified of where this was all heading. My thoughts were so negative that I began to feel quite suicidal. Then I cried some more when I remembered yet again I can’t commit suicide because I can’t put my parents through the pain I carry about every day of having to bury your child. So whether I like it or not I have to keep on going and that made me angry and upset and frustrated that I felt in the moment like I was only alive to spare others pain. But then of course there is always that little evil laugh inside my head saying “they wouldn’t care anyway, they’d be glad you were gone” even though rationally I know that is completely untrue and that my parents love me very much. I don’t deserve their love, sometimes I wish they loved me less so it would be easier to put an end to things :(

Everything was just going bonkers. I couldn’t hold myself together any longer and ended up phoning the mental health helpline breathing space and spent the next hour on a non stop ramble about how I just want to completely self destruct, how much I deserved to be in this pain, I deserved to suffer, I was/am a bad person who doesn’t deserve good things in life. I told the call handler I wanted to rip all my stitches out, that I couldn’t stop thinking about hurting myself more and more. After about an hour I finally got so tired from everything and broke down in tears on the phone, I couldn’t keep talking and just hung up. I felt a bit bad for not even saying thank you or goodbye to the person who had sat and listened to me all that time but I was completely mentally exhausted. With a slight bit of self medicating I did finally manage to semi-sedate myself and fall asleep only to wake up every couple of hours in a state of panic. I think I was having nightmares, I’m not sure.

I sent lovely support worker from rape crisis a text message yesterday telling her I’d had a bad night on Sunday and she messaged me this morning to ask if I wanted to see her today instead of waiting until tomorrow. So I said yes and we had a long chat together. I was honest with her about everything I did over Sunday and Monday night, I was honest with her about feeling like I just want to make myself hurt and hurt and not stop hurting. I told her I was scared about where this was all heading and that I didn’t know when or how to make it stop. I don’t think it can stop until I do something really bad to myself. And that I was terrified I was going to end up in the psychiatric hospital again if I keep going like this. She asked if that might be a good place for me right now and I very firmly said no. There is no way I am ever going back to that place, it is awful, truly awful. It would make the sanest of people feel like they’d gone bonkers in just one week of being there. The thought of that place makes me feel anxious as hell and physically sick.

Oh I forgot to mention that for the first time since this whole arrangement was made with A&E a year ago that they would let the CMHT know when I had attended – well yesterday for the first time I actually got a phone call from the duty CPN (albeit it was just before they were closing) but yes someone did actually phone and ask if I was OK as she’d read the A&E notes. I told her I wasn’t sure how I felt and she asked if I thought I could keep myself safe. I said I’d try my best, I said the same when I was leaving my support appointment this afternoon.

I went to the A&E department this afternoon to have a wound check and dressing change done. I was supposed to be going back again tomorrow to get last Wednesday’s stitches out but I asked her if they could just come out a day early. That wound looked like it is starting to heal well so the nurse took those stitches out. Now I have to wait until a week tomorrow before I can get all these other ones out. I don’t honestly know if I can go through the next 8 days without doing it again. I don’t even know if I can go through the next 8 hours without doing it again at the moment. My head is well and truly pickled it really is.

Tomorrow I have promised to spend some time with best friend and her kids. I haven’t told her about Sunday’s self harming and don’t plan on telling her. I don’t know why, I just don’t want to talk about it with anyone close like friends or family. I haven’t mentioned it again to the friend who came with me to A&E either. It almost feels a bit like a can of worms being opened if I tell them, if I admit to those nearest and dearest to me that I’m not coping and constantly trying to hurt myself then it makes it that little bit more real that I really am falling apart. It’s easier for them not to know. For now anyway. Even with all these stitches in I still don’t feel like I’ve done enough damage and I have no idea how long that state of mind is going to continue for.

I haven’t felt this much of a mess in a long time and I can’t seem to make it stop. Maybe I don’t want it to stop. Maybe I need to feel this level of self loathing at the moment. I don’t know why… but maybe I just do. Nothing really makes a great deal of sense at the moment. I’m one very confused and messed up girl.

00:12 – Impossible

11 Dec

Why it’s called impossible – I can’t stop listening to the UK X Factor winner James Arthur’s song. Didn’t watch X Factor, Impossible isn’t his song, but something about it makes sense. I guess life feels pretty impossible right now.

‘Tell them I was happy,

And my heart is broken,

All my scars are open….’

Should you wish to listen to it whilst reading my ramblings of today here it is:

I woke up this morning and couldn’t remember if my appointment with new CPN was at 1pm or 2pm so thought I better phone the mental health team and find out. To my (pleasant) surprise it was my the social worker whom I was once very close to who answered the phone. We chatted for ten minutes and it was nice to hear her voice but it also made me feel a little bit sad afterwards.

I try not to think about it so much any more because I have accepted now that I am never going to get to work with her again. If I see or speak to her these days it’s more a case of bumping into her in the mental health place. I feel like I can’t ask her for anything any more, not even a chat and sometimes that feels really shit because she was still is the only professional who I’ve ever felt understood me. She totally understood why I hate Christmas so much, she came with me to my little man’s headstone up at the cemetery one time and put flowers down with me. She probably doesn’t remember that because she’s probably dealt with that many crises’ since then that little memories like that are likely to be long forgotten. But at least I can smile looking back on that, even if it also makes me a little sad to know that’s pretty unlikely to ever happen again.

If I think about it all now it just makes me angry. And sad. I still don’t properly understand why they couldn’t just leave me to work with the person I was comfortable with and trusted. I don’t understand why or when or who decided it should be a CPN I work with instead. I felt like I was making progress working with her and I don’t know who decided I’d make better progress with a CPN but I do feel that their decision was a wrong one. I’ve gone from working with someone who I felt like I could tell anything to and who I trusted enough to do graded exposure work with for my agoraphobia, to two temporary CPN’s and now a third but permanent one and I feel like I have achieved nothing by working with them. Besides starting the university course, the second temporary CPN gave me encouragement to apply for it, but mood-wise things have remained pretty unsettled.

Anyway I vowed the last time I wrote about the whole social worker situation that it would be the last time I wrote about it because reading my posts back made me feel a bit pathetic that I was getting so upset over one member of my care team being changed. But you know what, when you work with someone closely over a long period of time you build some form of relationship, you build a trust and that person feels like someone safe to you that you can confide in and be honest with, even when you’re telling them about the brain crazies you feel OK because you just know that they truly aren’t judging you. And when someone comes along one day and says ‘right you’re going to be working with person X from now onwards and not this nice social worker that you’ve built a relationship with any more’ it kinda does feel like a bit like you’re being rejected of a punch in the gut.

Hmm what was that word I started with again… oh yeah… impossible.

Anyway I’m not talking about this any more, I sound like a fucking broken record!

I went to see new CPN at 2pm. I couldn’t seem to express myself very well at all today. I’d start saying something then totally lose my train of thought. Then be sitting there aware that I was talking but with complete mind-blank about what I was saying. In the end we just talked a bit about the uni course, I told her I’d submitted a final assignment but that I was far from happy with it. I think I will pass but probably just scrape a pass and to be honest I’d rather fail and get to rewrite it completely than get a D.

We also talked a little about my appointment last week with Mr Psychiatrist and I told her about his little speech about my ‘negative thought patterns’ which I guess there is some truth in… and how he is still annoying me by asking at the last few appointments I’ve had with him for reasons why I’m feeling depressed. He is a consultant psychiatrist. He has been a psychiatrist for many years. He makes diagnoses and has the power to take all control away from a person and detain them. My point is he is an experienced and I dare say very intelligent man in his field… so why the fuck does he insist on asking someone with a mood disorder (that he diagnosed) what it is that’s going on in their life to be making them depressed? I don’t have one particular reason. There is not one particular thing in my life making me feel this way. Sometimes it’s just the fucking Bipolar Disorder that makes me this way – surely to God he can understand that?!

Again… Impossible…

New CPN agreed about the negative thought patterns and started saying something about mindfulness and being compassionate and I pretty much said straight out that I just can’t even begin to think about being compassionate to myself right now. I want to cut myself, hurt myself, bleed, drain out the bad blood in me, these little scratches are not helping, it needs to be done properly. But then I look at my arms and my legs where bad wounds and stitches have been before and some of the scars really are a pretty horrendous sight. More than anything the main reason I feel I need to do it is because (a) I deserve it and (b) I need the huge rush of release I get from it. The reason I haven’t acted on it properly yet is because I am terrified that if I do it then I’m going to completely lose control and start slipping down that spiral at a ridiculously fast rate. But the racing thoughts, the whispers and giggles racing around my brain make me want to explode at times… I need things to slow down…

My brain… impossible…

I came out of the session with new CPN actually feeling really quite confused for some reason. Conveniently right across the road from the mental health team is a DIY store and even though I knew I still had half a pack of blades in the house I wanted more. I began to head in that direction when my phone started ringing. It was my Dad wanting to know if I’d like him to come and measure the rooms in my flat and go to look at flooring again. He probably called at just the right time and I agreed to head back home. He came down shortly after that and measured up then we went to the carpet shop and I got a couple of cheaper off-cuts for the hallway and bathroom, a gorgeous carpet for the bedroom, wood effect vinyl flooring for the living room and a big shaggy rug. It came to almost £550 (that includes fitting) and Mum is putting it on her credit card for me to pay off bit by bit. So it looks like it might take two days because I’ll need to move all the furniture out one room and into the other and then vice versa but they are coming to definitely fit the first carpet on the 18th and I’ve been assured it will all be done by Christmas.

(Christmas in my bed… sleeping in my bedroom again… impossible?)

They are trying so hard to make me happy and get me safely through these upcoming tough couple of months and it makes me feel a little bit mixed up. I feel like I’m constantly putting on an act when I see them and when I smile it feels so fake and pretend. I don’t want them to worry about me so I’m keeping this bout of head crazies to myself as much as possible. I also feel a bit pathetic that at 31 years old I can’t finance my own ‘home improvements’. I feel thankful that I have such loving parents who are in a position to be able to help me. I feel emotional and sad that at 31 I haven’t achieved anything that I thought I would have achieved by this age. Well I have achieved some of them… they just tore my heart to pieces didn’t turn out as planned…

I really didn’t mean for this to turn into such a self pitying post. Sorry. Anyway that’s my ramblings over with for tonight, that’s been my day, as for tomorrow I have absolutely nothing planned. There is no studying for me to at least attempt, there are no appointments to attend, maybe it will be a day for lying around in my onesie doing nothing apart from over thinking no doubt.

Writing a happy blog post, that’s what’s fucking impossible…

Goodnight folks

23:08 – My heart hurts

9 Dec

Like the title says really…

Why can’t I just feel normal?

Why have I spent today hiding from the world, ignoring calls and texts and spent a large proportion of the day in tears. I don’t even know what I’m crying about.

I’m having one of those days where you sit on youtube and watch music videos with lyrics that somehow touch your soul and move you to a point where you end up replaying it over and over and over again and just letting the tears roll down your cheeks.

I have an appointment with new CPN tomorrow. As usual, I don’t want to go. I also have to see lovely GP on Wednesday and support worker on Wednesday. I don’t really want to speak to anyone, I’m more in the mindset where I really just want to be left alone to discreetly make my exit.

This evening I have phoned the Samaritans about four or five times and not even managed to say hello when they answered. I just end the call and start crying again.

If I really must go to these appointments this week then I think when I see GP on Wednesday I’m going to go ahead and ask for my Quetiapine to be increased to 700mg. It can’t make me feel any worse and maybe it will just help enough to keep me from acting upon these thoughts that are getting worse and worse by the day. I’m just really scared that I’ll admit to lovely GP how utterly crap I am feeling. She just has a way of making me feel like it’s OK to tell her the truth and I don’t have that with new CPN (yet?) and to be honest I really wish the social worker I was once really close too was still around because lovely GP tends to panic and mentioned the dreaded H word when I’m too honest with her. At least lovely social worker understood, or so I thought back then.

I feel so miserable. I feel lonely even though I don’t want to be around people and I just want to shut everyone out whilst I nurse my crazy head through these horrible dark and gloomy days. My heart feels as though it’s breaking over something, but I don’t know what. But that is where the pain is when I cry, my heart feels like it aches. I know that sounds a bit dramatical but it’s true. My heart hurts. And I feel very empty and very sad.

Goodnight folks

 

22:44 – Still in a crappy place

8 Dec

I have spent the past two days in a bit of a blur. At the back of my head I’ve had the constant nagging thought that I had to get my essay written so I decided I wouldn’t bother sleeping last night and sat pretty much from 8am yesterday morning until 10pm this evening just writing. Then deleting. Then writing again. When it reached 10pm tonight I almost broke down in exhaustion after being awake for about forty hours straight, the only breaks in between were those to walk the dogs and to go to the shops for half an hour. Anyway, some kind of essay has been written and I have just hit the submit button so it is now hovering around in cyberspace somewhere until one of the course tutors decide to mark it. So that is this module completed now (providing I pass my essay assignment) and somehow I need to keep myself distracted over the next three or four weeks until the next module starts.

My reward for getting it done is a bottle of rosy wine. I am on glass number two and can feel it starting to make me yawn. Alcohol, lack of sleep and a very warm room (the heating is turned up to the max as it’s freezing here in Scotland) are all making me sleepy. I very much hope that when I take my medication I’m going to fall into a nice slightly tipsy sleep and sleep right through to late morning tomorrow.

I still have not showered and really need to do something about that. Well personally I can’t really see what difference it makes but I guess I might not smell too good to be around.

Self harm… well it’s been happening but I’ve been managing to keep it very shallow and not requiring any medical attention, but the urges are far from out of my system and I think there is probably quite a high chance of a bad wound happening when I start losing the plot with the ongoing whispers in my head to “do it, do it“….. “stupid“….. then that fucking giggle again.

Like the title says, I’m not too sure how I am. Right now very tired and the mix of medication, wine and sleeping pills had better knock me out til the morning.

I’ve had enough of being awake now. I’ve pretty much had enough of everything. I want to go back into hibernation mode and hide from the world. I’m getting really tired of feeling so low all the time, just functioning on auto pilot and at the minimum level necessary to scrape through another 24 hours. What is the point to it all? Really… what is the point? We are nearly at the end of another year and I really do not know if I want to let myself enter a new one or if it has finally reached the point of saying I’ve had enough.

19:01 – And it’s all fucked up again

6 Dec

Mood: Shit

Thoughts: Paranoid (I believe a new neighbour has moved in next door, I heard a lot of commotion all day that sounded like someone moving in – who are they?)

Feeling: Anxious and Ill. Have run to toilet at least fifteen times in the past twelve hours thinking I’m going to vomit. Actual Vomiting: Once.

Personal Hygiene: Fail

Studying: Not Completed

Essay Writing: Not Started

Accomplishments Today: None

Times I’ve Thought About Self Harm: 1000000+++

Times I’ve Actually Self Harmed: To Be Confirmed…

What I Should Be Doing Tonight: Writing A Very Important Essay

What I’ll Actually Be Doing Tonight: Failing. At What? At Everything…

 

 

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