Tag Archives: anxious

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…

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00:01 – Hoping and praying I’m doing the right thing

25 Nov

So… since I last posted I have made the rather huge decision to accept the offer of the housing transfer. I went with my Mum to view it for a second time on Friday afternoon and then had an hour to give them a final decision as they are closed over the weekend and if I didn’t want to take it then it would be offered to someone else on Monday. I felt massively under pressure and I still don’t know if I am doing the right thing but after an appointment with CPN#2 on Friday morning and talking things through with her I decided I do need to get out of this flat I’m in. There are memories everywhere I look and a huge amount of them are bad ones. But, as lovely support worker said to me on Thursday “the memories that you need to keep you will keep in your heart and no matter where you are living they will always stay with you” and I hope so much she is right.

The appointment with CPN#2 on Friday was one I’d actually go so far as to say it was ‘semi’ productive. Yes she asked what items I wanted to put on “the agenda” for the session which as you all know drives me mad… but for once I actually had things I wanted to talk about. I knew I’d have lots to say about the housing transfer so decided to make it our second thing on the agenda and first of all discuss the recent letter from the psychologist. I told CPN#2 that I’d felt a mix of emotions when I received the letter, initially I felt hopeful as I read the words that I was now at the top of the waiting list and the psychologist was now in a position to offer me an appointment… but then as I carried on reading and saw she was only able to offer me 4 sessions due to going on maternity leave in March I felt pretty gutted. I chose my words carefully and said to CPN#2 “I’m assuming you only recently found out yourself that the psychologist is pregnant again as I’m sure you wouldn’t have left me hanging on waiting for my sessions to resume with her knowing she was pregnant and knowing that’s why I had to stop working with her last time”… I looked out the window as I said it and CPN#2 didn’t say yes or no… she just left me to carry on talking.

I’m now quite sure CPN#2 probably has known for at least a month if not a couple of months and that was possibly my way of making a little dig at her to let her know that I knew she knew. But I kept myself composed and said that whilst I wished the psychologist all the best with her pregnancy, I really felt like I would find it extremely difficult to spend January and February watching her huge bump whilst also spending January and the start of February trying to keep myself mentally strong enough to get through my little one’s 7th anniversary. CPN#2 said that she understood and was sure the psychologist would understand as well. I told her I felt a little bit deflated after being on the waiting list since May and to finally be offered an appointment then not be able to take it. Again, I’m not really sure if we would have achieved much in four sessions anyway, but now it looks like I’m going to be waiting considerably longer. CPN#2 told me that they had been advertising the post for a replacement psychologist for a while (this is why I’m sure she clearly has known for a while that the psychologist was pregnant again yet kept telling me just to hang on as I was getting closer to the top of the list) but unfortunately they’ve had very little interest in the post so far. She went on to say that it was not looking very likely that they will have a new psychologist in post by March and I’d most likely be in for a long wait. So just as I felt like she couldn’t make me feel much more deflated she actually surprised me and said that she thought I really did need psychological input and was going to ask the psychologist if it would be possible for me to be referred to a different psychology team. Basically it is the team located at the psych hospital about 90 minutes from where I live and they offer an outpatient service so CPN#2 is going to speak with the psychologist and see if they could refer me there instead. I don’t know that I’d be overly keen in being back in the grounds of the psych hospital or having to travel 90 mins there and back each week/fortnight but I guess if they could start seeing me in the next couple of months it would be better than waiting for God only knows how long to see a psychologist here. So that was the end of that conversation and I guess I can only hope for good news the next time I see CPN#2 that they are going to make the referral.

After that conversation was over with we started talking about all of the pros and cons of moving house. I talked about everything that scares me about leaving my flat behind and moving onto somewhere new but CPN#2 kept pulling me back to the positives of it all. She sat for about ten minutes painting this lovely scene of me waking up on Christmas morning with my little doggies bouncing around on my bed playing with their new toys… me getting out of my bed and being able to open my back door whilst still in my pyjamas and let them out to the garden… relaxing in a nice hot bath and getting ready to see all my family… peace and quiet around me, no noisy neighbours… getting the doggies and my presents and just having a five minute walk round to my parents house… talking almost like the way they do on hypnotherapy cd’s and I wanted so so much to feel this happy relaxing scene she was painting but in my head all I could see was me being in my flat. She then started to talk about how I needed to try and separate my anxiety associated with my “illness” and normal anxiety. That moving house was stressful for everyone who does it and it was normal for me to be having all these doubts but that she really thinks I need to leave this flat now and start afresh.

So I left the appointment with CPN#2 and came home and got the dogs and went for a long walk with them for an hour and tried to get my head straight. Then Mum came and picked me up and we went for the second viewing of the house. There is a lot of work that needs doing in it. The whole place needs completely repainted, the walls are going to need sanding down as someone has obviously put some plaster on to cover up little cracks but not bothered to smooth it out so there are big bumpy bits all over the walls. The ceilings and skirting boards need painting too. The flooring isn’t in a very good condition but I think I’m going to take my flooring from this flat and have it re-laid in the house as the rooms are slightly smaller than in here so it should fit. So after twenty minutes or so of viewing it I said yes I would accept it and we then went to the housing office for me to sign the acceptance forms. I have an appointment at 3pm tomorrow to collect the keys and sign the tenancy agreement. Then we had to go to the housing association from whom I currently rent my flat and was told I have to give them a 28 day notice period that I am ending my tenancy here which is a pain as we then had to go to the housing benefit office who have said that they will only pay the rent on one property at a time so I’m going to have to try and move as quickly as possible… ideally within a week as I will have to pay the rent on the new property out of my own pocket until I hand the keys back for this flat. But Mum said not to worry about that and that she and my Dad would pay a week or two’s rent for me.

So tomorrow it’s all going to start feeling real. Once I have the keys Mum and I are going to spend a few hours in the new house cleaning it all. I also need to phone a couple of removal companies tomorrow and get quotes from them to see how much it is going to cost to move all my heavy stuff like furniture and electrical appliances. Then on Tuesday I will need to contact my gas and electricity companies and arrange to have pre-payment meters installed in the new house. I also need to go to the post office and get a form to arrange to have all my mail redirected for a month or two to give me the chance to contact everyone to notify them of my change of address. I also need to phone and arrange to have my phone line and broadband moved. Then I need to start packing all the things that can go into boxes that I can move with the help of the parents. I feel like I have sooo much to do and to be honest I’m finding it all quite overwhelming and scary… I’m so thankful I do have my parents to help me with all of this because I think I would have fallen to pieces by now if I had to try and do it all by myself.

Plus I have less than two weeks to write and submit my two final essays for this term which I had intended to try and make a start on this weekend but I went to an engagement party last night and had a little bit too much to drink and have been suffering for it all day today. My own fault but never mind… I’m sure I’ll get them done. Sometimes I feel like I work better when I’m under pressure with a deadline fast approaching as I have no choice but to just study and write and study and write until it’s done. Maybe not my best work but so long as I scrape a pass that is all I really care about. I may just get my phone line moved and study from my parents house whilst they’re at work using their internet… at least I don’t have any distractions there and should be able to get my head down and get some work done.

So the next couple of weeks are going to be crazy, hectic and super busy but hopefully in a fortnight’s time I will be fully moved, essays done and on my Christmas break from the uni course and able to relax and get the rest of my Christmas shopping done. I’m hoping and praying that I am doing the right thing and won’t regret leaving this flat as once I leave I can never get it back… that’s it gone for good to become someone else’s home. And that really does throw up a whole mix of emotions for me. Whilst I need that fresh start I will also be very sad and probably quite emotional when the day comes that I’m sleeping here for the very last night. I have a feeling I am going to just sit here completely consumed with so many memories of the past 7 and a half years jumping into my head. But I am trying to trust my instincts and the words of advice other people are giving me and I do need a blank canvas to start creating new memories in… a new place to build into my home… right now it might just be ‘a house’ but I can make it ‘a home’ eventually I’m sure.

Big, scary adult decisions… argh!

Well I think 2000 words of rambling is quiet enough! I can’t quite believe that this time tomorrow I will be sitting here with the keys to my new house. It’s all happened so fast I just hope I can keep up and it doesn’t start going too fast that I get myself all into a big mess.

Deep breaths… keep calm… think of the positives… and when it all starts feeling overwhelming take a couple of Diazepam, try to be mindful and try to calm down… I guess that’s all I can do :/

Scared just doesn’t cut it. But I keep telling myself I’m only getting the keys tomorrow, I’m not moving tomorrow, I won’t be moving for at least a week yet, the more time I spend round at the new house getting it looking nicer the more familiar it will become and the more comfortable I will be when the official moving day comes around. I bet this last week of living here is going to fly by.

Another chapter of my life closing and another empty one just beginning…

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.

21:35 – Twelve hours to go

17 Jun

Guess what? I’m crying again. My eyes are red and puffy. I think all I have done all day is cry. I don’t mean a few tears down my cheeks, I mean crying hysterically like a toddler until I’m heaving and running to lean over the toilet to be sick. I can’t eat, I’ve barely slept the past couple of nights and today the urges to self harm have been awful.

I can’t quite believe that twelve hours from now it will all be confirmed and I will hear the news if I have tested positive or negative for HIV. I am still utterly convinced it will be positive.

If it is negative the relief will be absolutely immense, I cannot imagine how much of a weight it will feel like has been lifted from my shoulders.

I have been so worried about it all that it will just be a relief to know one way or the other for sure. I genuinely don’t know how I will cope if it’s a positive result, I really don’t. If I thought there was stigma surrounding having Bipolar Disorder well there’s a heck of a lot more surrounding people with HIV.

I don’t really know if I’m even ready to hear these results, to know one way or the other, but also I couldn’t put the test off any longer, it was seriously beginning to make me a bit crazy. This seven day wait since being tested has been horrendous at times, time has gone so slow some days every minute has felt like several hours, hours have felt like days. Then suddenly I have a little moment of awareness and realise that somehow I have gotten through these days and made it to the end of the wait (well almost).

I suspect I will spend more hours awake, in tears, staring at the ceiling, trying to read but getting nowhere, getting up and down all night, popping pills trying to buy some sleep only to finally fall asleep around 6am and wake up with a fright as the alarm goes off at 8am. I am then going to meet best friend at the clinic just after 9am and she is going to come in with me while I get the results which I’m very grateful for.

It’s kind of crazy when I think that my results will probably be sitting in the clinic right now waiting to be opened. Like I said in a previous post the clinic is only open on Tuesdays so there will be nobody there to open them until tomorrow morning.

Tomorrow morning my life will change one way or the other. That might sound dramatic to some people but I swear these last seven days have been a complete rollercoaster of emotions. Anyone who has a reason to think they may have been exposed to HIV I’m sure probably feels the same during the waiting period. I’ve lost count of the amount of emotions I have experienced this week.

I’ve thought a lot about how to react to a positive result but I think it’s one of these things that you simply just cannot prepare yourself for, you just need to deal with it if it happens.

9.30pm.

Exactly 12 hours to go.

I hope so much that someone has been looking down on me and is going to allow me a second chance at life tomorrow.

God, if you do exist, you know how much I have prayed to you these past few days. Please don’t make me face any more life challenges at the moment, I’m struggling so much with the ones that I’ve already got. I don’t know if I could cope with another, especially not a biggie like HIV. I need to start to recover from this sexual assault ten months ago. It’s worn me down so much. I need to find some strength again.

I hope so much that in twelve hours time I will feel as if I’ve just been given my life back.

 

14:58 – The HIV test

11 Jun

Today I finally did something that I have been putting off for several months. As some of you may remember, back in August last year I was spiked with a drug known as PCP by an unknown male and then sexually assaulted. A week or two after it happened I went to the local sexual health clinic and had baseline bloods taken for the HIV/Hepatitis/Syphilis tests but I was told I would need to wait for three months before the HIV test could confirm whether or not I had become infected as a result of the assault. All of my initial blood tests and STD checks at that stage came back negative (so as of August 2012 I had all negative results) and then I was supposed to return to the sexual health clinic for the HIV test to be repeated, three months later, in December.

I didn’t go.

I have regularly had the thought pop into my head that I needed to get my bloods taken again but for some reason I just kept ignoring the thoughts. January, February, March, April and May all went by and I still didn’t go back to the clinic. In fact, any time I have found myself thinking about it recently I work myself up into such a state, convincing myself that these results are going to tell me I am HIV positive. I know the chances are extremely low but it only takes one time and if he is the sort of guy to drug rape a girl who knows what his sexual history is? I can only hope that he might have thought ahead about what kind of trouble he could get into and have used a condom at least so he didn’t leave his DNA trail behind.

Our sexual health clinic is only open on a Tuesday morning and for the last three Tuesday’s I have had my alarm go off at 8am, got ready to leave the house by 9am and then had the panic set in… I’d then change my mind about going and end up staying at home. This morning however I finally went. The doctor was really nice and I explained I hadn’t been back at the three month mark because I have utterly terrified myself that the test is going to be positive. She calmed me down by explaining that I was relatively low risk as all my tests done in August 2012 were negative and as I haven’t slept with anyone since the assault then there is only one person who I have been exposed to. And even if he did have something nasty it still doesn’t mean it would definitely have been passed onto me. Then she explained a bit about the HIV virus and told me that even when people do get a positive result it no longer means a ‘life sentence’ for them, that it can be managed very well with actually quite a small amount of medications and people still lead long and fulfilling lives.

So my bloods have been taken and I get the results at 9.30am next Tuesday. I am absolutely terrified, I can’t lie. Don’t get me wrong when I was younger I have had a few one night stands which weren’t always protected and then took myself off to the sexual health clinics in a panic in the days following it but my worries were never about things so serious as HIV or Hepatitis, I was more concerned about catching Chlamydia or something equally as treatable. The couple of times in my teens and early twenties where I had HIV tests done as part of a sexual health screening I never even gave those results a second thought, I always just (ignorantly) assumed they would be negative. Now, into my thirties, everything is the other way around. I’m terrified of the big ones and don’t give a second thought to anything which would be symptomatic because I know I don’t have any ‘symptoms’. But then it’s the quiet ones that have the potential to be the deadly ones…

I have a feeling it’s going to be a long seven days until I go for the results. I’m trying so hard not to think about it but I am thinking about it on every level and I can’t seem to stop. Even when I don’t think I’m thinking about it, somewhere at a subconscious level I am because I drift back into reality and there will be yet another article/story/video/forum to do with HIV or Hepatitis open on my laptop. It’s the ones that talk about their diagnosis coming as such a massive shock that really get to me. Their diagnoses shocked them so much because they were feeling so well and so healthy and had only exposed themselves by having unprotected sex just a couple of times. It just goes to show that it really can happen to anyone at any age and at any time in their life.

So now I guess I just have to wait and hope. I have debated whether or not to tell anyone that I’ve had the test done, I never imagined it to feel like such a massive weight on my shoulders and I fear I might drive myself crazy if I keep it all bottled up. Yet at the same time I don’t want to tell best friend or my Mum or anyone close to me. Maybe I will tell my Rape Crisis support worker when I see her on Thursday, I have talked about my fears of having the test done and she knows I’ve been putting it off for the past 5/6 months. She has offered in the past to come with me to get it done so maybe she’s the best person to get it all off my chest with. I might ask her if she can come with me next Tuesday morning to get the results as I kinda don’t want to be on my own even if there is a 99% chance of them coming back negative… I’ve convinced myself in every way possible that I will be that 1% who gets a positive result 😦

Anyway… I guess there is nothing I can do to change things now, the results will be what they will be…

21:20 – 24 hours in my crazy head – What do I do now?

21 Apr

This post was started around 9pm on Saturday night (the 20th) and goes on through to tonight – it’s very long – graphic in places – so *insert trigger warning here*

I don’t understand why I feel this way I am feeling at the moment. Or maybe it’s more that I don’t understand why it’s suddenly hit me with such force. All I can think about is hurting myself and I’m trying so fucking hard to fight it but I can’t. It’s winning. I’m trying so hard to distract myself, I’ve used just about every suggestion on my ‘distractions’ tab at the top of the page. Nothing works.

Nothing.

Nada.

I am completely stuck in this horribly miserable depressing state of mind. I feel so empty yet in so much pain. And now I’ve had to go and trigger myself haven’t I… my stitches from Wednesday were itching like mad because they had put layers of some special material between the stitches and the dressings. When the pressure bandage was on I didn’t notice the itchiness so much but since it got taken off yesterday all I’ve wanted to do it scratch and scratch. So the couple of extra dressings I had are now also gone because every time that material touches my skin I end up ripping it back off. And that was me fired straight into Trigger Time.

Seeing all the cuts, seeing the stitches, looking at both legs that are in a complete mess just makes me want to do more and more damage. At the back of my mind all I keep thinking now that I’ve made this much of a mess I might as well just keep on going. The usual regrets that come in the aftermath of a self harming episode have not come… it’s almost as though I didn’t do a good enough job to release everything on Wednesday and so I need to cut again to get back into that ‘regretful’ headspace. When I’m regretting what I’ve done then I generally don’t do it again for a while.

But this is getting bad, if things continue on this way I know I am going to cut badly again, what the fuck will A&E think of me/say to me if they need to put a second lot of stitches in so soon after me last doing it? How do I know how the doctor will react? In my head I think and feel and know that it’s all just about needing to cause more pain, it’s not really about wanting to die or anything remotely suicidal no matter how disgusted in myself that I am. I just want to be able to take a deep breath and feel calm again.

One minute I feel rational and think “well, if I cut and if I do need to get medical attention well they will just patch me up as usual and send me on my way”. I’m not psychotic, I’m not suicidal, it wouldn’t be a suicide attempt. I know if I can say those things to the nurse/doctor then everything should be OK regardless of how true that really is.

But I’m becoming more and more agitated and irritated and the only one thing stopping me from cutting is the fear that this time if I have to go to A&E they will say “fuck it’s the weekend we better put her in the bin”… OK so that has never happened to me, I have never been hospitalised for self harming but that new doctor on Wednesday seemed like the type who’d take no nonsense and not help with giving any meds to calm me down which is likely to get me more and more worked up until I start behaving in a less rational manner.

I don’t know how to stop these thoughts. I don’t know how to make the voices shut up. My iPod isn’t helping. TV isn’t helping. I can’t go for the long hot shower thing as I can’t get my stitches wet, especially now they have no dressing over them. I don’t even know what I feel. Emptiness? Numb? Messed up? Confused? Depressed? Scared? Like I’m about to lose it? Very very scared of ‘losing it’.

It’s 9.40pm now and I can’t even sit still to write this. I need to walk or pace or something. This is driving me mad. I’ll save this as a draft for the moment and come back to it later.

UPDATED – 11.30pm Saturday 20th

It’s now 11.30pm. Two hours have passed since I wrote the ramble above. I have taken my medication, a few extra diazepam included. I have half had a shower (I tied a plastic bag around my leg to cover my stitches) but feel cleaner now, my hair is clean, my leg isn’t itching so much either. I have also been out for a late night walk with the dogs and got some fresh air but there were a load of drunk people staggering between pubs so I didn’t stay out for long.

Where is my head at now? Still in the exact same frame of mind as it was earlier unfortunately. Perhaps the restlessness and irritability have calmed a little with the medication starting to kick in, and my thoughts are going at a slightly slower pace. It’s the exact same feelings of impending doom that I had for a couple of days at the beginning of the week before I cut. Knowing it will happen, just not knowing when it will happen. It could be tonight, it could be during the night, it could be tomorrow or I might even manage to fight for a few days but the longer it goes on for the more of those feelings of being in a pressure cooker with the lid about to blow go on for. Yet because that immediate desperation has calmed slightly it is giving me the space to reflect upon what the consequences of my actions will be if I do go ahead and cut myself:

I will have another scar or two.

I will have to face A&E.

There is the possibility of them being way too busy with drunken people who’ve been fighting and what not and me having to sit for a long period of time making me more and more anxious.

There is always the fear of being judged or someone not understanding that I’m either appearing completely silent or talking non stop due to anxiety, not just because I’m a bit mental.

OK it is now 11.45pm and I’m going to go and lie in bed and just see what happens. I have no idea how tonight is going to pan out, it really could swing either way. I’m so so so confused and messed up at the moment, I just want it all to stop. Will one more cut make it stop? I don’t know. I really don’t.

I’m not going to publish this post yet as I have a feeling it’s going to be a night of having difficulty sleeping so I’m going to keep adding and updating until my mood makes a real change or until the urges win and I collect another scar.

UPDATED – 4.22am Sunday morning

4.22am I’ve been awake for about half an hour I feel horrible and very emotional. I think I woke up crying or at least it felt that way. That urgent desperation to hurt myself has calmed but with the calm it’s like that big black cloud of doom is now sitting over me instead. I sort of wish I had just cut earlier and got it out my system but will one more cut get it all out this time? I don’t know. I feel all messed up, all I deserve is to lie here and completely absorb all this misery.

UPDATED – 1.55pm Sunday afternoon

I feel calmer. I have stopped looking at triggering things online. I have put all the blades back in the drawer. I am going to take the dogs for a walk and try to clear my head. I need to get out of here and away from sharp objects that I can’t stop thinking about using. The thing is that I don’t want to see anyone at all, I have already lied twice today and send two texts saying I wasn’t well and was staying in bed to avoid them asking to meet up.

I just want to be on my own even though it’s probably the worst thing I could be doing. I don’t care. I just want to be left on my own until these urges finally go away 😦

UPDATED – 7.30PM SUNDAY EVENING

Ok I have fought and fought. I can’t fight any more. The blades are back out the drawer and my spot on the bathroom floor is ready and waiting for when the moment is right. The towels are there, the blades are there, the dressings are there. Maybe I could just do lots of little cuts to get that intense stinging sensation. That way I could avoid A&E completely. I don’t even have any skin closures at home though, just some bandages.

I think that I’ve fought against the head crazies for long enough now. It’s time to just give in, let them win and hope they fuck off. There is no certainty that they will though and I’m scared that I end up being right back in this very position within another few days. I’m supposed to be going back in to A&E tomorrow for another wound check and to have the dressings changed, I can’t go in tonight and tomorrow and then again on Wednesday to get these stitches out then possibly a few days after that again to get more out. They will think I am completely bonkers. I’m just so terrified of the unknown. The unknown being – which nurse/doctor will see me and how they will assess me. In a way it would help if I took someone with me, when someone is with you then they think you have support so are a lot happier to just treat you and let you go. But where I live we don’t have crisis teams or out of hours mental health people so the judgement on whether or not you are “a risk” lies with the A&E staff. And that is fine when it’s someone who knows me a bit, but is extremely scary when it’s someone I’ve never seen before.

I have to do it. I have to get it out of me. It is tormenting the hell out of me now and I want to shout and scream at the top of my lungs – I want to throw a tantrum the way a toddler would and just scream and throw things around for no real reason other than it feeling like the right thing to do. I am ridiculous. Pathetic. Weak. Ridiculous.

UPDATE – 9.10pm Sunday night

I did it. I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t cope with the urges and thoughts and voices all joining up and making me feel so mental. I had to get it out. I just had to. Three fairly nasty cuts. Three cuts that are all probably going to need stitches. My dilemma now? I honestly don’t think I can go to A&E. I can’t face it. Regret has finally kicked in. It’s a shame it took a bunch of new scars to get there. I don’t know what to do now, I don’t know where to turn, I don’t want to tell anyone and even though the cuts are all deep and gaping, the bleeding is under control. Best friend will be at home with the kids in bed, she can’t leave them so I can’t ask her to come to the hospital with me. My other friend who has come to the hospital a couple of times with me thinks I don’t self harm any more and I’d like it to stay that way. There is the option of my Mum but she has just finished a long shift at work and will be having dinner, probably enjoying a glass of wine and I don’t want to phone and tell her what I’ve done. So that leaves two options: go myself or don’t go at all. I’m scared that when this blurry trance like feeling passes and the physical pain starts kicking in that I will have no choice but to get medical help and I’m also aware that wounds not cleaned or dressed properly which are gaping open are far more likely to become infected. I feel sick with anxiety. I’ve never felt like this after self harming. I feel really really weird. I wish I had just fought on a bit longer. I could have won. I didn’t need to let it win. Why did I let it win? I’m so stupid.

I don’t have a fucking clue what to do.

20:52 – Meeting with support worker and social worker

7 Mar

Well today I went along as planned to an appointment with my social worker and support worker. I was very anxious beforehand, I don’t know why, but taking a small amount of Diazepam helped a little. It was good for them to meet each other and we chatted about a few things like what they should do if they have concerns and what I should do in situations where my crisis plan would be useful and the possible triggers that doing this work with my rape crisis support worker could have and if they did trigger me then making sure it didn’t destabilise me too much mentally. There was nothing too heavy talked about and it was all over and done with in about 45 minutes so it was easier to sit through than I expected it to be. We pretty much ended it with a verbal agreement that I’d see my social worker every couple of weeks until the psychologist returns and I can start more ‘structured work’ and I’ll carry on seeing my support worker every 1-2 weeks and I gave permission for them to share information if needed so we can all work together.

There was only one thing which was said at the meeting which *searches for the right word* … surprised? me. My social worker said at one point that I have attachment issues. I’ve never heard her say that before, well not in those words anyway. And it didn’t as such annoy me but it played on my mind for a while afterwards because, in my head, someone who has attachment issues is needy and possessive and jealous and has turbulent relationships. And whilst I can admit that the first year I worked with my social worker I probably did feel quite dependent on her in a lot of ways… since not seeing her so much over the past couple of years and since having a string of people starting to work with me and then leaving I now have the opposite problem. I find it harder and harder to trust people so in general I spend a lot more time on my own and have done for some time now. I make excuses to leave friends and family’s houses early. I don’t like people being in my house for too long, it starts making me feel agitated. So yeah, I’m left a little bit confused by what she meant by me having attachment issues, I’m not overly bothered about it just confused as right now I feel like the most unattached person on the planet!

I’ve arranged another appointment with my support worker for next Thursday and hope to touch base again with my social worker the following week. That’s all I need, just someone I know and trust and who knows my mental health to touch base with until the psychologist starts back. I’m really trying just to ask for the bare minimum so that my social worker can see that I know seeing her is just a temporary thing until the psychologist is able to work with me again. That way it means she doesn’t have to make any commitments to me that she might not be able to stick to, I know I have someone to touch base with and I have the support of my support worker for the ‘other’ stuff that I’m trying to work through.

So yeah, we’ll see how things go.

I’ve been taking my medication properly again for a few days now and am happy to say that the constant stream of chitter chatter has actually been very quiet today. I am still hearing the occasional sentence which is usually telling me to do something but it doesn’t have the same weight to it so it’s easier to ignore. I am still having huge problems with my concentration and am still no further forward with my studying, just adding more and more days onto me getting further and further behind. My tutor emailed me on Tuesday asking if I was OK and I still haven’t replied to her, because I don’t know what to say. I think I’m somehow still hanging onto the hope that I will suddenly get my concentration back and get myself back up to speed and everything will turn out OK. But with the more days that pass the more unrealistic that is starting to become. I will try and compose a reply to her tomorrow.

Anyways it’s getting close to 9pm now and I’ve some washing to hang up then there’s a program on TV I wanted to watch and then it will be medication and dog walking time. I’m going to try and get some studying done tomorrow but it’s just so hard to focus at the moment. I’m not even writing proper notes when I try and study, I just write word for word what is on the screen onto my notepad. None of it goes in, half the stuff I’ve written down I have no clue what it actually means. So yeah, not so good. And this is an important week as it is the start of our online sociology debates and we have to contribute to the debate forum boards over the next four weeks as 20% of the module mark comes from these posts and then the other 80% comes from an essay due in May. How can I debate what I don’t understand? Argh.

Right I guess it’s time to say goodnight, fingers crossed for a good day tomorrow.

19:12 – The lid finally blew… and resulted in a trip to A&E…

17 Jan

[Warning – talk of self harm in this post]

 

Sorry this might be a bit of a rant and probably a really long post but my head is going crazy and I’m still shaking and crying. Today has been a day from hell and the pressure cooker lid finally blew off. It started off when I got up this morning and there was a letter there for me from the housing association from whom I rent my flat. They sent everyone a letter a couple of weeks ago saying there was evidence of dog fouling in the communal garden area and that they were going through a “process of elimination in order to find out who was responsible”. Out of the 12 flats in my block there are only four dog owners so I threw the letter in the bin and didn’t think any more about it knowing that I wasn’t responsible.

Until I got the letter this morning. The letter says:

Dear MCBL,

After a process of elimination I am led to believe that you are allowing your 2 dogs to foul in the communal areas at [my address]. Please note that dog fouling is an offence and, as a responsible owner, you can be prosecuted. The Dog Fouling Act makes it an offence for a person in charge of a dog who fails to immediately remove the faeces the dog makes guilty of an offence under the Act. The offence carries a fixed penalty fine of £40 rising to £500.

Yours sincerely,

Nasty Housing Association Woman.

 

I sat there reading it and burst into tears. Why the fuck am I being blamed for it? And it’s most definitely aimed at me as I’m the only person who has 2 dogs. I kept reading those words “process of elimination” and “led to believe you are…” and got so anxious. All I could think was that everyone in all the other flats must have been talking about me. Then I remembered back to a few weeks ago and all I could think about was this little ball thing that had appeared on the ceiling, just next to where the door is that opens into the communal area, I even pointed it out to my Mum and asked her what she thought it was. I said to her that I thought it was a camera spying on who was coming in and out of that door and it made me feel really paranoid every time I had to go past it to put my rubbish out. Mum said that as it was outside an elderly disabled man’s house it was maybe some sort of sensor if he had one of those personal alarm things. She told me I was just being paranoid. So I tried to believe her and then after a few days I noticed it had disappeared again so I just kinda forgot about it.

But when I got the letter today the same question kept going round and round in my mind. What was this “process of elimination” they had used? It couldn’t have been by going round and talking to each resident one by one because they never came to speak to me. And the whole thing feels horribly personal because my dogs are my babies and if anyone says anything bad about them I do get offended (and angry) 😦

So I kept thinking back to that thing on the ceiling and tried typing into google phrases like “ceiling cameras” “ball shaped cameras” etc until I finally found a whole page of what I was looking for. Dome cameras they are apparently called and they look like this:

146

 

 

You can see the camera inside that one but because it was on the ceiling and the ceilings are around 10 feet high it just looked like a little dark ball thing. So now I am convinced that they secretly filmed everyone coming in and out of the communal area for a while and I do use that door quite a lot because it leads to a little path that is a short cut to the shops. Have they been filming me, spying on me, watching me, talking about me? Have I been the person (with dogs) who has come in and out of that door the most? I don’t know. I took some Diazepam because I was getting myself into a real mess and then composed an email to the person who sent me the letter. This is the email that I sent:

Dear [nasty woman who made me cry]

I’ve just received your letter about dog fouling at [my address]. You say in this letter that after a “process of elimination” you believe that I am responsible for allowing my two little dogs to “foul the communal areas”. I am sitting here in tears with anger as quite simply you are putting the blame onto me for something I haven’t even done.

[A ramble about the other dog owning neighbours who could be responsible but it goes on for about 1000 words then ends with…]

I have lived in this flat for over six years and in that time there have been many letters about dog fouling, people dumping rubbish and furniture and stuff and I can assure you that I am well aware of all of the rules. I am an honest person and if I was responsible I would be emailing you just now to apologise and assure you it wouldn’t happen again. But I am not the person responsible and your letter has now made me incredibly anxious that if future dog fouling is discovered then I am going to be the person blamed. You already know from previous emails (when I was making my application for a housing transfer) that I suffer from severe mental health problems and receiving a letter telling me that I’m responsible for something that I could be prosecuted for, has left me in quite an emotional mess.

I’m sorry this email is so long but I want to know (a) how you reached the decision that I was responsible (b) if there is further dog fouling in the future will I automatically be blamed? and (c) how do I prove to you that I am not the person responsible for this?

Thank you,
MCBL

So now I wait to see if she writes back and tells me they put up a hidden camera and have been watching me. I didn’t mention anything about the possible camera in my email to her because I want to see what reason they come back with to tell me how they reached the decision that I am responsible for this. I don’t think they have done anything wrong by putting a camera up to monitor who was coming in and out of that area, but it didn’t look like a camera and there was no warning notice about CCTV being used, and it was in my opinion a camera that was disguised. Again, they are probably allowed to do this as they own the building, but wouldn’t anyone who suffers from paranoia probably start freaking out a bit if they thought they had been being filmed without knowing?

So basically that was the final straw. I sent the email then kept looking at the letter over and over getting more and more wound up that everyone is talking about me behind my back; about how desperately I wanted to move out of here then became too anxious about it all and decided to redecorate to try and make this feel like some sort of home again and just as things were starting to settle a tiny little bit, here I am feeling terrified to walk out my front door in case I bump into any of my neighbours and I keep thinking what if they have all been told that they are holding me responsible for it…

By the time it got to about 3pm I was just a mess. I kept bursting into tears, cuddling my little dogs and telling them that they were still my babies even if nasty housing woman is saying bad things about them, the paranoid thoughts that they have been filming me and talking about me were spinning round and round and round…and… I just lost it.

Before I knew what I was doing I had a blade in my hand and had carved deep angry cuts into my skin. There was blood everywhere and two of the cuts were very deep and gaping open wide. I knew it had gone too far and I was going to need stitches so I just kept cutting and cutting until I finally dropped the blade, sat back and burst into tears again.

I tied a bandage around the wounds and the reality of what I’d just done began to set in. I knew that if I went up to A&E around 4pm then there would be a good chance they would phone the mental health team and I didn’t want to see any CPN’s or anything. So I waited until almost 5pm when the mental health team close and then went to the hospital. I couldn’t stop shaking as I went into A&E, scared of which nurses/doctors would be on shift yet desperately hoping it would be one of the nurses who knows me and would just treat the wound and let me go.

A man who I haven’t seen before (he turned out to be the doctor on shift) asked me to fill out a form then he took me through to the treatment room with a nurse. I have met the nurse a couple of times before and she has always been really nice and non-judgemental. The doctor was asking me what I’d done to myself to have ended up with cuts on my leg and I completely froze with anxiety. I didn’t know where to look and just wanted to run out of the door. The nurse asked me if I’d self harmed and I nodded and stared at the floor feeling so ashamed of myself. She asked me to lie up on the bed and let her have a look. I couldn’t even look as I exposed inch by inch of flesh with words written all over me with a knife… and then we got to the bandage and out the corner of my eye I watched the doctor’s face change as he saw the two worst wounds. He kept asking me questions and I just couldn’t answer him. He said he was going to phone the mental health team even though I shook my head and said no when he asked if that would be OK. But he came back five minutes later to say nobody was answering the phone at the mental health team so they left a voicemail or something instead.

He started cleaning me up and the nurse went out the room. He said he wanted to have a little chat with me whilst he stitched me up. This consisted of him asking a lot of questions and me staring at the floor and not answering. I only opened my mouth when I heard the “assessment questions” starting – “do you feel better now you’ve cut? Are you going to do it again? Do we need to keep you here to keep an eye on you? Are you feeling like you want to end your life?” etc etc etc… I shook my head and said no, I wouldn’t do it again tonight. The nurse came back and gave me 2 mg Lorazepam to calm me down a bit, even though the doctor kept saying that 2 mg would “knock me out”… Erm… No… They calm the anxiety a lot better than Diazepam but don’t make me sleepy. Anyway he gave me an appointment card to go back up to A&E on Saturday for a wound check and dressing change and then the stitches will come out in 7-10 days. He wished me good luck and reminded me I could go up there and see them if I began to feel like hurting myself again. I tried my hardest to force a little smile and say thank you.

From there it was just me and the nurse. She put some glue and steri-strips on the cuts that weren’t bad enough to need stitched and she talked and talked and talked. Maybe the doctor asked her to because I wouldn’t speak to him or maybe she was just trying to be nice. I don’t know. But I sat there in silence and she kept asking me how I was feeling, what I was going to do when I got home, was there anyone I could go and spend some time with, was there anything they could do for me and after me not replying to any of that she gave me a kinda sympathetic smile and said that she knew that I wasn’t OK and asked me if I’d like to just sit and have a chat to her. I said thank you but I’d be fine.

Then when I had all my clothes back on and was about to leave she said “are you 100% sure you don’t want a chat?” and out of nowhere my mouth opened and the words started coming out… the letter… the paranoia… the voices… the dogs and how they are my babies… the pressure cooker… the disappointment people would feel if they found out I’d cut again after all this time of not doing it… this time of year just being really hard as the weeks lead up to my little man’s anniversary…

It all poured out but quietly and with very little eye contact. Standing staring at my feet and just rambling on to her. It was only for a few minutes but then I started thinking “what the fuck am I doing?! don’t tell her about all the head crazies… just get out of here!” and so I went from rambling quietly to leaving the hospital in a bit of a hurry.

How do I feel now that the lid has finally blown and I’ve given myself another few scars to hate? I don’t know. That’s the honest answer. In one way I feel a little calmer but that could well be the Lorazepam, I still feel extremely paranoid and the head crazies are coming out with all sorts of random quotes but I’m trying really really hard to ignore them and just hope that my head can quieten down enough so that I can get through this evening with no further damage. To be honest I just feel both scared and relieved. Relieved that the lid finally blew and I got the huge urges to self harm out of my system… but scared that I’m now going to start sliding towards the slippery slope again… scared that I’m losing control… scared that I am so adamant that no one will find out about this except from my GP and CPN…

Sorry, this was one very long ramble, guess I had a lot to get off my chest. It’s now almost 7 pm and I’m going to try and just watch TV or something for a couple of hours then take my medication early and then lie down in a dark room until I finally sleep.

I hope tomorrow will be a better day but I will no doubt receive an email back from the housing association woman and regardless of what it says I know seeing the words of why she believes I am responsible are sure to upset me again.

I don’t know what else to say…

[/end of rant]

 

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…

 

 

12:56 – Gym day and no motivation at all

23 Oct

I have gym in an hour from 2-3pm. I have absolutely no motivation at all to go. I know it will be fine when I get there but getting there is the problem. There are people in the stairway, I think they are painting or something, I can’t see them from my peep hole so they must be on the level above or below me. I feel panicky at the thought of having to walk past them. I also feel panicky about being in a group environment today; that’s kinda how the gym is, although we all do our work out’s individually there is a gym instructor who goes round “encouraging” us to do another five minutes and another five minutes.

I think I will take my iPod today, you can either listen to it as you work out or all the machines have a TV screen built into them so you can just plug your headphones in and watch some TV, but TV is crap mid-afternoon.

I am annoyed with myself because last night I caved in on my low carbing after 4 weeks of sticking rigidly to phase 1 of it, I end up eating a slice of cake last night. I bet I have put weight on since I last weighed myself on Thursday at the gym. One slice of cake has probably screwed up my weight loss over the past 3 or 4 days. I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

I really really really need to read uni stuff today, I am about a week behind, I realised yesterday I’m further behind than I thought. And I need to force myself to get back into the swing of daily studying but it is so damn hard when your head is going a million miles an hour and can’t seem to fit enough thoughts into a day let alone proper thoughts about how much I NEED to start reading those books or I am going to end up failing.

I have to go and walk the dogs and then go to the gym. Maybe after an hour’s work out I’ll be able to work out how I’m feeling – either more awake and able to do some studying and concentrate for a while – or more tired in which case I’m coming home to try and get a few hours sleep. I’m past caring what time of day it is that I get some sleep at, if I can sleep then I will. I avoided the supermarket completely yesterday because I just couldn’t face lots of people, so I just went to the local shop instead and because they don’t sell the types of food I need on Atkins, I decided I’d just have a big huge slice of cake instead. Very smart move…. not.

Blah it’s now 1.20pm and I have only forty minutes in which to have a shower, tie my hair back, put my gym clothes on, walk the dogs and then get to gym. I just cannot be bothered with anything today, I don’t know what’s wrong with me I’m just in a very irritable mood today.