Tag Archives: crying

15:12 – Bad weekend, A&E, self harming and more

30 Sep

**Please note this post is (a) very long and (b) contains talk of self harm so could be triggering**

 

Since I last posted things have been shit. Beyond shit in fact. The constant urges, needs, niggling voices about self harming have been grinding me down at a super fast pace.

I don’t really know where to begin so I’ll just stick to talking about the weekend. Friday I was a mess, but a manageable mess (or so I thought) but from the moment I woke up on Saturday (at 6am) I seemed to do nothing but cry all day long. The urges to self harm were crazy strong, very very intense and I fought so hard not to act on them. I had agreed a temporary safety plan with my support worker from rape crisis and even though it was a Saturday afternoon I desperately needed someone to talk to so I sent her an email, thinking that this would both get things off my chest but that she wouldn’t get it until Monday morning, therefore I wouldn’t be disturbing her at the weekend.

However, she must still check them at the weekends as I got a reply from her about an hour or so later. She was really nice in her reply and all the bits I’d written saying things like “it’s my fault, I’m bad, there’s bad blood in me, I need to bleed it out” she replied to saying “no, you’re not bad, you’re just having a really rough time at the moment and rough times mean you are more likely to use the one coping mechanism that you’ve always turned to – i.e. self harming”. She ended the email by saying that if I wanted a chat just to text her and let her know. But I didn’t want to ruin her weekend with all my crazy head crap so I tried to plod on with things by myself. The day carried on getting worse and worse, and by the time we got to about 7pm I was totally inconsolable… crying gentle sobs, quiet tears running down my face, then hysterical crying, huge heaving sobs, my whole body shaking and still with the repetitive “just fucking cut” voice going on in my head. The next few hours after that are a bit of a blur, I took more than my prescribed dose of Diazepam just to try and get some control back by calming down a little but it didn’t really do much to help. Maybe I just needed to cry like that, it has been a long time since I last really really let go and completely broke down emotionally.

Lovely support worker text me to ask if I was OK somewhere around 10pm and I replied back honestly “no, I’m a mess” so she replied saying she was going to phone me for a little chat but I replied again saying “I don’t even know what to say, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I can’t stop crying and I don’t even know if I’ll make any sense” but about ten minutes later she phoned anyway. I answered but couldn’t talk, just sat there crying my eyes out, every time I tried to say a simple word like ‘yes’ or ‘no’ more huge sobs would start up. But she just sat there and listened, she spoke for a little while until I got it together enough to talk a little bit. She was so reassuring and kept telling me everything was going to be OK, and every time I did manage to speak and something crazy came out my mouth she would listen and then repeat it back to me with the ‘crazy’ parts removed so that she could just keep putting it to me that I was just having a really hard time right now, but that I would get through it, look at all the other things I had gotten through that I never thought I would. She told me I was strong even when I sounded like a whimpering mess, she told me it was OK to feel how I was feeling, and after maybe 20 minutes the tears subsided enough that I could speak a little more rationally.

We then had a chat for a little while longer and I told her I was sitting on my bed surrounded by my little boy’s memory boxes, I had all of his scan photos and his actual photos spread out on the bed… I was cuddling his blanket of love that he is wrapped in in the photos… I’d been reading all of the sympathy cards we got at the time and in so many of them people had written how sorry they were but how they hoped the “love we had for each other” would be strong enough to get us through such a difficult time. And it hurt me to my very core because at that time I truly believed the love that me and my (ex) fiancé had for one another would be enough to get us through it. And then at the bottom of all of the sympathy cards I found two mother’s day cards and the ex had written a little poem from our baby… the last few lines of which said:

although right now we may be apart,

know that I love you from the deepest of my heart,

thank you so much for looking after my daddy for me,

mummy, a time will come when we’ll be back together as three

And my heart felt like it broke all over again as I read those words. At first I ached as I read them and felt such sadness… but then this changed to a more angry feeling, like what my ex had written was all lies… there would never be a “three of us” now, why did he claim to love me so much yet still go and have his two affairs? I was still on the phone to my support worker at this point and saying all of these thoughts aloud through the tears but again she helped to calm me down and explain that whilst going and having his affairs was very wrong of him, at the time he wrote those words on that card he probably did mean every word of them. He wrote them long before our relationship even started to show the tiniest of cracks, when we were very much in love and when I was facing my first mother’s day but without my baby. I guess that made some sort of sense as I did begin to calm down a little bit again and put the cards back in the box and closed the lid.

So after a long chat (and it was now getting really late at night) I thanked her lots for taking time out of her Saturday night to sit and talk to me. I apologised for all the crying I’d done and felt a bit embarrassed about it… I don’t really do the whole crying in front of people thing… but again she told me not to be silly and that crying is what we do when we’re upset, it’s completely natural, and right now I have a lot of upsetting thoughts that I’m trying to deal with. She said again that she was proud of me for not giving in to the self harm urges, re-checked I’d be OK and told me to text her any time the next day if I was struggling then we said goodnight.

I lay there for hours with my head pounding from all the crying I had done and then finally fell asleep feeling a bit better for talking to someone.

But then I woke up on Sunday morning (yesterday) and my very first thoughts upon waking were “cut yourself, just do it” and I burst into tears straight away. I got up and felt determined that I was not going to listen to those thoughts nor act upon them. I tried to busy myself by having a shower, walking the dogs, trying to do some studying, but to be honest no distraction was actually distracting me. The thoughts were constant and at the very front of my mind no matter what I tried to do to block them out. So then I tried doing things the other way and allowed all of the thoughts to flood my brain, sat and cried and listened to every single reason why I should cut myself. Needless to say this approach didn’t get me very far either. I got through ’til about 5pm before I felt like I was seriously going to lose it so I sent a text to lovely support worker and said I was struggling a lot and that I didn’t think I could stop myself from self harming for much longer. She replied asking if I’d like to have a chat but I didn’t want to take up her Sunday as well so I decided to leave it for a bit before replying to see if I could calm myself down on my own.

The next few hours were an absolute nightmare, my head hasn’t felt that crazy in a long time, I tried and tried to fight back but was running out of fight. By the time it got to around 9pm I finally started to lose it big time. Now at this point I *should* have text/emailed/phoned my support worker and talked it through but I had become so focused on needing to harm myself that I couldn’t think about anything else. So I got some towels and a clean blade and then turned the light off so I was sitting on the living room floor in the dark. [Insert warning here: self harming in the dark is not a clever idea, you could easily go too deep by accident and cause nerve damage, hit a vein or worse nick an artery, you could cut at a tendon or muscle and risk permanent damage to a limb… etc etc] But yeah, I just didn’t want to see what I was doing, I just wanted to feel the pain from it and fully intended to just cut one time, sit and feel that stinging throbbing sensation and then stop. But of course, as always with self harming, it didn’t turn out that way. I made three pretty nasty cuts which didn’t look too bad when I turned the light back on, but the sight of them and the blood on the towels made me not want to stop. So I cut deeper and deeper into the three cuts I’d made until it was at the point of them all being gaping open a fair bit. When I was finally ‘finished’ it was only then I realised that I didn’t have any essential first aid stuff in the house and there was a lot of blood soaking through the towels… so I began to panic a little bit. Even though it was about 10.30pm I sent a text to lovely support worker apologising profusely and explaining what I’d done. She replied asking if I needed to go to A&E? I text back saying ‘yes probably, but I don’t want to go’ then we spent the next half an hour texting back and forth with her saying she wasn’t going to force me to do anything I didn’t want to do but that if I did need medical attention then she would come and pick me up and take me there. After a lot of thinking I finally decided that it would probably be the best move to have the cuts cleaned and treated properly.

So around 11pm she picked me up and I said I was so sorry, sorry for using up her free weekend time and sorry for wasting the time of the NHS. I was really anxious as I had a feeling it would be the same doctor on duty who stitched me up after my ‘accidental’ injury just over a week ago but thankfully it wasn’t. Support worker was great, she let me go and sit in the waiting area while she explained to the nurse what I’d done and explained on my behalf that I was feeling really anxious. As usual, it was a nurse I’ve seen a few times before but haven’t seen this particular nurse in about a year. She let my support worker come through to the treatment room with us and said I had done really well with getting my self harming ‘under control’ as she remembered a time I was in there every few days with wounds, and other than the ‘accident’ the other week, I haven’t attended A&E for self harm wounds since April this year. So yeah, she was nice about it and told me not to feel too bad for having a bit of a relapse.

I didn’t say very much at first… I hate that moment where they take off the DIY bandage you’ve made and expose the cuts. I always look away and refuse to look at the wounds until they have been treated and covered up. One of the cuts just needed glue and steri strips but the other two were quite a bit deeper. I’ve had cuts less deep than them needing proper stitches before, but the problem was that the two cuts were so close together I don’t think it would have been possible to stitch them. So she asked if I was happy to have them glued and taped together and I said yes. It looked quite neat once she was finished but the dressing I have on my leg has quite a lot of blood on it today and I’m not sure if a bit of the glue has burst. I don’t want to take the dressing pad off because I only have one spare one and so long as no new fresh blood appears then it doesn’t really matter too much if a little glue has burst, me and medical glue don’t really get along, I always seem to burst a bit of it somewhere.

Anyways, going back to what I was saying… the A&E nurse was gentle, non judgemental and kind to me. I notice if you have someone with you, especially someone they see as a supporting professional, then all of the A&E nurses and doctors tend to be a bit nicer towards you. I asked her if I could just care for the wound myself instead of the usual routine of going back after 2 days for a wound check then returning again to have the stitches or steri strips or whatever removed. She said that would be OK as she knows I know what signs to look out for regarding infection etc. I then asked her if it would be possible for them not to send over the information to the mental health team even though it is in my care plan that if I attend A&E a copy of the notes should be sent over to them. She was a bit reluctant to do that though and asked me why I didn’t want the mental health team to know. I answered as honestly as I could:

  • Nobody from the mental health team ever contacts me even when they do receive a copy of the notes from A&E
  • This in turn makes me annoyed that I stick to my end of my care plan but they don’t stick to their end to even make a quick phone call to ask if I’m OK
  • If crappy CPN#2 doesn’t even attempt to make contact with me when I didn’t attend for 10-12 weeks in a row then there isn’t much chance of her making contact following an A&E visit
  • I end up just feeling let down and like no one really cares when I know those notes have been sent over but nobody even acknowledges them

 

Adding to this I also explained that I’m not finding my current CPN very helpful at all. I told the A&E nurse I did have an appointment to see CPN#2 last week but didn’t attend it so that would be even more reason for CPN#2 to turn round and say “well you had an appointment, you could have come to see me but you chose not too” – when in fact the reality is even if I had gone to see her my ‘current mood’ is never a topic for her little agenda so in reality I wouldn’t have been able to talk about how crap I was feeling anyway. The A&E nurse said she completely understood where I was coming from but that she would feel much better for sending over the notes anyway. She said at least this way, if nobody does make contact, then I have even more ‘evidence’ that this CPN is not the right one for me. So in the end I agreed that the notes could be sent over and lovely support worker agreed I’d done the right thing.

By the time we got back to mine it was well after midnight and we sat in support worker’s car and chatted for a little while before I actually realised how late it was and thanked her very much for coming with me and for supporting me all weekend. I have an appointment to see her again tomorrow afternoon and am going to get a little thank you card for going above and beyond in helping me these past few days.

So yeah, it’s been a very difficult weekend, lots of emotions, lots of crying and another three scars to add to my already horrendous looking legs. But at the same time I was never left feeling alone with all these mixed up emotions, I felt supported and that in turn enabled me to feel like I could be honest and not have to hold back… I could just admit to what I was feeling and let people help me. I’m still not sure if the urges to self harm are out of my system but at least I no longer have to keep those thoughts to myself, I know now I have at least one person I can talk to when things get really rough who won’t judge me but simply reassure me that it’s OK to feel how I feel. It still really annoys me that support worker is having to take that role at the moment, I truly believe that it should be the job of CPN#2 to look after my “mental health needs” rather than my support worker who is there to help with my ongoing issues regarding the sexual assault in August last year and the issues I still have surrounding the childhood sexual abuse I suffered. Thankfully when it comes to the topic of self harm it is one that my support worker is quite knowledgeable about as sexual abuse and self harm often go hand in hand, but still, it would be nice to have a CPN who actually made me feel like she cared once in a while.

Sorry for over 3000 words of rambles… hope I didn’t bore you too much(!) I guess I just have to hope now that this new week is a better one… so yeah… will see how it goes…

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16:54 – In a pretty crappy place right now

24 Sep

So yeah, I spent the weekend getting drunk by myself. Sitting here pouring glass after glass of wine and drinking it at a ridiculous speed. I don’t know what I hoped to achieve by doing that, I guess I was trying to block shit out. However the reality was that I just got more and more depressed, my mood dropped a little further down with every gulp I took. I did a lot of crying which maybe wasn’t such a bad thing, maybe those emotions had to come out of me, but I’m still having emotional outbursts with no warning signs today.

I continued to self harm Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Despite being under the influence I seemed to manage to have some control over it as the cuts are reasonably superficial. I think I just kept reminding myself that if I just pushed down that little bit harder then it would be time to go back off to A&E again and I’m still sticking to my story with them that the stitches I’ve got were as a result of an accident and not self harming.

I am supposed to be going to get my stitches taken out today but I just feel so low and so miserable that I can’t face going out. I don’t suppose an extra day will make much difference, I’ve had times in the past where I just couldn’t face going to A&E and left stitches in a few more days than they were supposed to be in for. I was also supposed to go to an appointment with CPN#2 at 12:30 today – I got up at 9am and forced myself to go in for a shower, got dressed, sat and watched some TV, let the dogs out to do the toilet, then around 11am took my clothes back off and put my pj’s back on. Sat and watched 12:30 come and go, knowing that I should phone and least concoct some excuse for missing yet another appointment but my brain just seemed incapable of thinking so I didn’t attend and didn’t phone to apologise either.

I think I have come to the conclusion that I don’t find that I get any benefit from my appointments with CPN#2. In fact, I have worked with a number of CPN’s over the years and I’ve never really achieved much with any of them. The ones who have been good are the ones that haven’t stuck around for long. Typical really. So now I don’t know what to do – do I phone and leave a message for CPN#2 and make yet another appointment, drag myself along to it, sit there finding it no help whatsoever, make another appointment, repeat the process over and over again? Or do I somehow try to find the strength to be honest with her? I don’t know if I could do it face to face but the thought has crossed my mind that it might be an idea to write her a letter explaining why I’m not finding these sessions useful, therefore I either cancel them or just don’t attend.

My main problem with them is that CPN#2 likes to work in a very structured sort of way. I go in and she takes a sheet of paper that she calls the ‘agenda’ then asks me to pick two or three topics that I’d like to discuss during our session. If I go off at a little bit of a tangent she quickly pulls me straight back on topic by saying “this isn’t on our agenda, please stick to the agenda” which leaves me feeling like I’m being told off for trying to explain something. I don’t know if I’m explaining this very well? It’s like she wants our sessions to be like business meetings – have an agenda with a few bullet points – discuss them very specifically without really allowing any emotions to come into the conversation. Sometimes you need to go off at a little bit of a tangent to explain things better and when someone is sitting tapping their pen against their notebook it is extremely off putting. Then add to that her latest thing of propping her phone up on the middle of the table with the stopwatch app counting the minutes, constantly flashing, distracting me… yeah… it’s just not helpful.

I understand that she wants to use the sessions to get me to cover the basics of Compassion Focused Therapy until such time that I can see the psychologist again to learn it all in more detail, but surely I should be able/allowed to talk about how I’m feeling as well? Like if I had gone today there is just no way I could have told her about the self harming or about how low my mood has been/still is. We have absolutely no bond/no relationship/no therapeutic relationship/nothing. I cannot open up to her because I’m scared to mention anything that isn’t set on her little business agenda. So I end up not going to my appointments, not engaging with the mental health team, sitting and waiting for a letter to appear in my mail one day telling me she has discharged me as I don’t attend and she could be seeing someone else in my place. Part of me wishes she would just do that, but I carry on clinging to this little bit of hope that it won’t be too much longer now until I see the psychologist again and at least I know I can get along with her and work with her.

So here I am hiding indoors again. It’s now week three of my part time uni course and I haven’t even finished week one’s work. I sit and try to read, try to absorb it, try to understand it but it’s like there is an invisible mental block getting in the way and nothing sinks in. So I give up and tell myself I’ll try again tomorrow. But tomorrow comes and goes and I’m no further forward. At the moment there is still a chance I could catch up but for that to happen I need motivation. Right now I have no motivation at all. I just sit here and cry, cut myself a few more times, cry some more, never really getting anywhere. I can’t even go and sit on my (personal) facebook because I just cannot handle all these pregnancy announcements, baby announcements, baby talk in any way shape or form. Of course I know it’s something I can’t hide from forever but right now it’s all just too triggering for me. My mental state feels pretty fragile like the slightest thing will cause it to fall apart.

Although I fully intended to get drunk on Friday night I actually didn’t plan on repeating it on Saturday night. However, I popped up to see my parents to wish them a nice holiday (they left on Sunday morning and get back Monday next week) and just as I was leaving their phone started to ring. I saw on the caller display that it was my Aunt that I have nothing to do with these days (this is my Aunt who was the mother of my older cousin that abused me for years – he’s dead now for any new readers) and as soon as I saw her name flash up on the caller display I knew instantly what she was phoning for. My abuser cousin has a daughter who has been brought up by my Aunt as he couldn’t provide for her due to either being in prison or when he was out of prison he’d go straight back to his life of heroin and crack addiction. The mother of his daughter was also an addict. Despite who her parents were I still just looked at her like a little cousin and we used to be quite close until a couple of years ago when my stupid Aunt told her about the abuse. I had never wanted her to know about it but my Aunt is an alcoholic and doesn’t think about what she is saying half the time. So, the girl was about 14 at this point and of course she reacted to the news in a very angry way. She splattered messages all over my facebook and I made the decision to write her a long email explaining everything. I wrote about it on here and it was quite controversial to say the least – some people commented to say they thought I’d done the right thing – others said she was too young to have been told about it and that I shouldn’t have sent the email. But that’s all in the past now and sadly I haven’t spoken to her since.

My Mum told me several months ago that the girl is now 16 and pregnant. Firstly the fact that yet another person just accidentally got pregnant at the drop of a hat upset me. Secondly I convinced myself that she would have a little boy and name him after her father (as I think there is a bit of childhood idolising of him on her part even though he was never around as a father to her). I knew the baby was due in September and sure enough that was what my Aunt was phoning to tell my Mum. Thankfully she had a little girl. Even though I don’t see her any more or have any contact with her, I think it would have really got to me if she’d named an innocent little baby after the monster my abusing cousin was. But yeah, just hearing about yet another baby started making my head feel all bonkers so on the way back from my parents house I went and bought three bottles of wine and drank the lot over Saturday night and Sunday afternoon.

So that’s where I am at the moment. Alone, lonely, self isolating, unable to study, crying a hell of a lot, cutting myself, missing appointments and generally feeling extremely low. I have an appointment with my rape crisis support worker tomorrow which I’m going to make an effort to go to as she is pretty much the only person that I can just sit and be honest with at the moment. And if I make it to that appointment and get out of the house then maybe I’ll manage to get to A&E as well to have these stitches taken out. As for the rest of today and tonight I have absolutely no idea how they are going to pan out. If my mood stays like this then it looks like it’ll be yet another shitty night to try and get through. Truthfully I don’t feel 100% safe at the moment and I do feel a little bit worried about where this is all heading. But if I can just get through tonight in one piece then maybe tomorrow’s appointment with lovely support worker will help to calm my crazy brain down 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.

 

20:08 – Another day closer and in a real mess

15 Jun

I’m sitting here crying my eyes out, tears rolling down my cheeks. I have been feeling like I was about to break down at any second all day long but trying so hard to hide it. I managed to spend a couple of hours with best friend and the kids again this afternoon but just felt like I was a bit detached the whole time. I was there in person but my mind was somewhere else altogether.

Since I got home I’ve felt the anxiety building up inside me but did my best to ignore it. But then the tears started to well up in my eyes until I couldn’t see any more and with every blink they spill out down my face. Part of me wishes there was someone here to give me a hug and the other part just wants to be completely alone.

My head is a total mess. I am terrified beyond words of the HIV test results on Tuesday. I want to know and for it to be over with yet when I realise I’m another day closer I begin to completely freak out. Three more sleeps until I know. Utterly utterly terrified.

I don’t know if this emotional state I’m in just now is out of fear, I can’t really explain it as my thoughts aren’t very clear, they are all jumbled up, they are racing around too fast and I feel completely on edge. I’m chain smoking one cigarette after another and I feel sick to the very pit of my stomach. The only thing that makes things feel a little more bearable is pulling my knees up to my chest, cuddling them into me and rocking myself. The last time I remember feeling like this was in November 2010 when I was detained for the first time, sitting rocking on my bed, terrified that I had lost control and someone else would be deciding when I could leave the hospital again. Feeling so trapped and the agoraphobia sending the anxiety to crazy levels. That’s how I’m feeling again now.

Scared, terrified, anxious, emotional and all alone.

 

 

 

17:37 – I don’t really deserve a compassionate mind

24 May

I thought I better write a little post as a few people have sent me emails and dm’s on twitter to check I was still alive. I am, although there have been a few occasions over the past couple of weeks where I have wished that wasn’t the case.

Since I last posted I have got my new washing machine, seen very little of best friend as she’s all loved up with a new man in her life, gone to my appointment with the dietician, gone to one appointment with CPN#2 (but then didn’t turn up to my appointments with CPN#2 or support worker this week).

Where to start? Hmm… Well I have taken a lot of advice on board that the dietician gave me. She told me she had gone and done some reading about my medications and their side effects and I was pleased that she said she wouldn’t be expecting me to lose weight as fast as other people as the combination of 750mg Quetiapine (Seroquel) each day, the Mirtazapine and the Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) would all slow my weight loss down. She weighed me and said I am about 3 and a half stone overweight (around 50lbs for my friends across the pond) but she is only expecting me to lose at around 1lb a week, normally she’d aim for 2-3lbs a week. So it’s going to be slow and steady. I have another appointment with her on June 14th and hoping to have lost a few lbs by then.

I have completely changed my eating habits over the past week and have been eating only fresh fruit, vegetables, salads and wholegrain breads and cereals. I haven’t had one single chocolate bar or packet of crisps since I saw her which has been hard going at times especially on the days I’ve been feeling crappy because I don’t feel like I deserve to make myself nice foods, I deserve to eat junk and be fat and disgusting and it’s very very hard to fight back against that. I think that is another reason why I didn’t go to my appointments this week, because when I did see CPN#2 last she had spoken to the psychologist (that I’m on the waiting list to go back and see) and psychologist wants to try the Paul Gilbert ‘Compassionate Mind’ program with me again, now that my life isn’t so chaotic that I’m a psych hospital revolving door patient.

The idea of being compassionate towards myself is so fucking alien. It is natural for me to think negatively towards myself and I really don’t know if I’ll be able to do this compassionate mind stuff. Deep down I know that no matter what treatment we try or what help I get I’m still going to be the same ugly horrible person who deserves nothing good. And in a way I sometimes think I don’t even want any help just in case I do get caught letting my guard down and for a tiny moment think that maybe I am worth something. Nobody seems to understand that it is instinctive to punish myself and make myself suffer, thinking of being nice to myself makes me feel anxious and horribly uncomfortable.

My mood states seem to be changing between seriously depressed and feeling ‘ok’ every few days if not every few hours. Sometimes I just find myself sitting here and for no obvious reason bursting into tears. I’ve been really quite emotional for a good couple of months now, never in front of people, but the smallest thing on the television or even reading a friend’s Facebook status will set me off. Then I get frustrated with myself because I don’t even know what I’m crying about and angry at myself for thinking it is OK to cry. It’s not OK, I don’t deserve to express my feelings that way, I deserve to express my sad feelings by dragging a blade through my flesh. To be honest it is actually easier to cut than to cry, cutting just doesn’t seem to have as many emotions attached to it yet it seems to clear my mind for a while, whereas crying just leaves me even more of a mess than when I started.

Anyway… moving on…

I got some good news this morning. I got my essay results back for my university module that I have been struggling so massively with. They weren’t due until the first week of June so it came as a bit of a surprise. I passed with 65% which is a good grade B, although because I didn’t take part in the other assessed part of the module it pulled my overall pass mark down to 52% which is a C. I’m just relieved it is over and that I am now on my Summer break. When we start back at the end of August I have opted to try and do two modules per semester so I still get my six first year modules completed within two years. I don’t know if I’ll manage to cope with that workload but I guess I can only try it and see how I get on. I think it helps if the modules are about something you find interesting and enjoy learning about, the first module I did I really enjoyed so it made it a lot easier to understand but this module I’ve just finished I wasn’t remotely interested in, so it all felt like it just went over my head most of the time.

I was going to start talking about something else that’s been going on lately but I’m already rambling and it probably needs a blog post all of it’s own, the short version is that I have been thinking a lot about finding a faith again. I know it wasn’t that long ago that I was talking about going to church and finding God but I keep on coming back to the same point again. I decided to speak to a devoted Christian a few days ago and the first thing she asked me was why I wanted God in my life. My answer was simple, I want to believe my baby son is in Heaven which means that to believe in a Heaven I have to believe in a God. She answered just as simply back –

“your baby boy will be in Heaven, there is no doubt about it because he was pure and innocent and never sinned – if you want to have any chance that you will be reunited with him then you have to live your life as God would want you to and only then will He decide where you will go when you die – but make no mistakes, if you don’t live your life for God then you have no chance of getting into Heaven”.

So that feels like a massive pressure on me now. There are so many things I do which would be classed as sinning. I definitely don’t live my life in the way that God would be pleased with. If he is real and his son Jesus died on the cross for us then what must he think when I cut up the body He created or even try to kill that body? What must He think when I’ve been in times where I can’t cope and have turned to drink or drugs to block it out? What must He think when I’ve been a bit manic and spending money recklessly or having sex with some random person? There are sooo many things I do wrongly, in God’s eyes and I have found myself on more than one occasion asking for His forgiveness. But again I come back to ‘what I deserve’, and I deserve to hurt and be punished. I deserve to suffer. I don’t think I even deserve God but the idea that I may never be reunited with my beautiful little boy is too painful to bear, it really is (oh here we go, tears running down my face again).

Anyway… I guess I have rambled on long enough and also I’m finding it hard to stick to a point I just seem to be blabbering on all over the place. My head’s a bit pickled, it’s up then down, up and down. I don’t know what I’m going to feel from one moment to the next. The fact that I’m self isolating again is a sign things aren’t great, the constant thoughts of self harming probably also show things aren’t great. But I am keeping it very superficial purely because I cannot face A&E right now. I barely leave the house apart from to walk the dogs and I try to see people the smallest amount possible. I’m making excuses up all the time as to why I can’t do this or go there and it’s funny because the less texts I reply to and the more times I ignore calls, the less and less those texts and calls come through. It’s as if people can see I just cannot be bothered so they are just leaving me alone. Which is good and it is what I want, yet it does make me feel even more isolated and lonely. And that feeds the ‘I don’t deserve it anyway’ thoughts more and more.

So it looks like it’s going to be a quiet bank holiday weekend for me. At least we have some sunshine at the moment and I can go and hide sitting on the beach while the dogs play around and have no one bothering me… Speaking of the doggys it is time for them to get their dinner and go another little walk soon so I’ll stop rambling now and and wish you all a nice weekend instead…

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]

 

20:55 – Cutting, voices, appointments and ramblings

16 Jan

It’s been a few days since I last posted mainly because I’ve been feeling absolutely shit and hiding away from the world again. Just me and the voices cut off and locked away in our own little world.

I was supposed to have an appointment with my support worker from Rape Crisis yesterday but I didn’t go. I don’t know why, my head was feeling too messed up and I spent most of the afternoon and evening yesterday cutting random words into my skin (more like scratches – no medical attention needed). Anyway, I regret not going now because I then remembered that she isn’t in the office for the rest of this week and now I won’t be able to see her until next week sometime, and I do actually find the appointments with her help, even though some of the stuff that comes out of my mouth in that room are pretty fucked up at times.

Today I had an appointment with new CPN. I’ve moaned about her a bit in recent posts but today she allowed me to talk about some of the bad things rather than making me only talk about good things. She asked me what the best thing was that has happened in the past week and I told her that I got my final semester one essay result today and passed the module with an overall 68% which isn’t too bad considering my concentration was absolutely fucked whilst I was trying to study for and write it. Now that the tutor’s have marked it, it gets sent to the Exam Board for them to confirm the mark. I’m kind of hoping they might find another 2% to award me as I believe anything above 70% is an A and that would of course be nice.

She asked me loads of questions about the module I’ve just finished and I wasn’t sure whether she was just trying to engage me in conversation or if she was trying to use up as much time as possible talking about the “positives” so that there wasn’t much time left when she finally asked what hadn’t been so good over the last week. I told her about going to see lovely GP last Wednesday and about my medication being increased. I told her about the fear and sadness I felt at hearing the mocking voice that makes all the derogatory comments becoming more male in tone and this scaring me that I wasn’t in control of that voice, not in the way I can deal with the giggle.

I told her that I’d become pretty upset last night, I was angry and emotional and tried to talk to the male voice, to ask what he wanted from me, to ask him to stop it. She said I have to try and laugh at it, disagree with it, ignore it, drown it out with loud music in my headphones… but… not talk to it as I was showing it respect that way and encouraging it to speak to me… in turn distressing me even more.

When our hour was over and I left the appointment I felt a bit mixed up. On the one hand I didn’t feel quite so deflated as I felt after last week’s one. I felt she listened a bit more this week, but I still felt like I left the appointment with lots of crap swimming round my head and then actually wished I was still there in the appointment so that I had the opportunity to just get it all out. But by this point I was almost home and I came back feeling angry with myself that we had wasted about half an hour talking about my university course and that half an hour I could have used to tell her about my head crazies. But the thing is that when you’re actually in the room with her she very much leads the conversation and I don’t know why, but I find it very very hard to try and change the topic of conversation over to something that I actually need to talk about.

So on my way home I went into the chemist and picked up my weekly prescription, and when I got home and was putting all the little boxes in the cupboard I suddenly had a passing thought that I could just to swallow the lot of it. But I knew I didn’t want to overdose, I didn’t want the consequences of it, so I put the medications safely in the cupboard… And then I cried. A lot. I felt really confused over what I wanted, about the voices I’m hearing, about the massive intense self harm urges, about whether I was capable of carrying on with my university course even though it is only part time and from home I just didn’t have the belief in myself that I could do it and then began to doubt if I even wanted to keep on doing it. Stupid eh when I know I passed my essay with a semi decent grade.

I haven’t even told anyone that I passed. I haven’t phoned or text my Mum or best friend. I’ve known for two days now that I passed and yet my CPN is the only one who knows. Why? Because to tell my Mum or to tell best friend or to write it as a facebook status means people will all say “congrats” or “well done” and I don’t want to see messages saying I’ve done well at something!! And if I tell them then they will expect me to be all happy and smiling and I feel like I’m all out of fake smiles for the moment. I’ll tell them when I find the strength to smile (if only temporarily) again.

So that’s been my last few days. Nothing very exciting. No more appointments until next week and still a week to go before I start modules 2 & 3 for semester two of the course. My Mum is off work this week and has text me a couple of times to ask if I’d like to meet up and do something but I just don’t really want to see anyone, not even family at the moment 😦

Anyway. Time to go and try to find something to do with myself for the next few hours before bed. I might try and have a shower, it’s been a good few days since I last had one. Showers tend to feel pretty pointless… when you’re already feeling like a ‘dirty’ person yet you get in one because someone has said in a cheery voice that it’ll “make you feel better” but, in reality, you know that no matter how much you scrub and wash, you aren’t ever going to feel any cleaner or any less dirty.

My head feels very noisy tonight and to be honest I just want a break from it, just a little bit of peace for a while, please.

 

23:17 – An emotional rollercoaster today

1 Jan

Today has passed at a snail pace. Every time I thought another couple of hours must have passed I would check the clock and it would really only be about half an hour that had passed. The only times that time has moved so slowly have been when I’ve been in hospital.

My thoughts began to spin out of control mid afternoon. I became very irritable and my best friend kept phoning and I kept hitting the phone onto silent, I just couldn’t answer it. I’m not sure why, I think it was because I was sure she would know there was something wrong and then start insisting I go out and talk to her or play with the kids to distract myself.

And you know what was crazy? Right there in that moment I didn’t want to be distracted, I wanted to feel every single horrible emotion, I wanted to feel them one by one and see how much damage it would do to actually sit and listen to everything in my head rather than try and escape it. So I sat and cried. I paced the room. I flicked through TV programmes. I took the dogs several short walks. I washed some clothes. I hoovered. I smoked a ridiculous amount of cigarettes.

I tried to make food but realised the few items in my fridge had gone out of date yesterday so I called for some Chinese food as it was the only place open. Started eating it then thought I was going to be sick with each big wave of anxiety that overcame me. That reminds me, a psychologist I saw once upon a time once said to me the best thing you can do is start eating something when you feel anxiety coming on because one of the very first things that happens physiologically when we become anxious is our mouth’s become dry so if you start to eat something (even some chewing gum just to produce saliva) somehow tricked your body into a state of confusion: you can’t be relaxed enough to eat and in fight or flight panic mode, so theoretically you should start to calm down (or give into the anxiety and dump the plate of food like I did). I don’t know if it works or if it’s just some old wives tale, I do know when I’m very anxious the last thing on my mind is sitting eating a nice plate of food when my stomach is churning, when I’m having hot flushes and my heart is palpitating like crazy and I have the overwhelming urge to escape.

So who knows… maybe it does work…

This state of anxiety and irritability/restlessness carried on through to the early evening despite me taking some Diazepam to try and calm down a bit. By this point the repetitive voice in my head was “cut”… followed by the obligatory giggle. It made me feel really quite distressed because I couldn’t make it stop and when it won’t stop I start panicking that it’s not “my voice” or “my thought” it’s one that’s out of my control again. I decided to not even fight it and went to my little hiding place and took out two brand new stanley knife/box cutter blades. I sat pushing the flat side of the metal against various parts of my arms and legs, then I turned the blade on it’s side and ran it across my skin (but without applying any pressure at all) just to get the memories to rush into my head of how it feels when I do push down deep and actually cut. And the more time the blades spent in my hands the more the anxiety began to build up thinking about having to go to A&E if I allowed myself to cut to the my usual level.

I put the blades back and guess what? I cried again. AGAIN. I lay here on the sofa a snotty sobbing mess holding a cushion tightly against me then sat up and just rocked myself until all the intense emotions seemed like they were finally leaving.

So it has been a pretty rotten day but one that is now almost over. It’s about 10.45pm just now and I’ve taken my medication and night time Diazepam. I’ve just been out giving the dogs their last walk of the night and I am now sitting here feeling totally drained. My head hurts from all the crying, my eyes are puffy from all the crying and my mind is emotionally shattered from all the crying.

The only person I have spoken to all day was the delivery driver who dropped my Chinese food off and that was just to mutter the words “thank you”.

I don’t know what stopped me from cutting today, mostly it was the complete state of fear I seem to be experiencing whenever I think of anything hospital related at the moment, but also because I got a text message from my Mum saying that my Aunt and Uncle and Grandma are all coming to visit tomorrow and asking me if I’d like to join them for dinner. I eventually text back saying yes I would go. Some time ago I wrote a post saying that my Aunt had sadly been diagnosed with Ovarian Cancer, well that is her just finished 6 months (I think?) of Chemotherapy as well as having had surgery to do a complete hysterectomy and removal of various lymph nodes and things that are also in that area. And due to the fucking agoraphobia and not being able to get to Big Scary City where my Aunt lives this is actually going to be the first time I will have seen her since her diagnosis. So if she can have gone through all of that and feel well enough to travel the couple of hours to my parents house for the night then I’m sure I can battle my head demons for a couple of hours and try to enjoy a meal with them. Plus it’s been ages since I last saw my little Grandma and I do miss her a lot. And she’s getting old now, I think she’s about 88 bless her.

So, as I was saying, getting that message to say they were coming was another thing that seemed to stop me from cutting. Even though the wound would have been somewhere they would never have seen, this is the first year for quite a while where I’m actually going to have something that I can talk about during dinner. And I didn’t want to be sitting there with a sore arm or leg knowing that there were a load of stitches just under my clothes. One advantage of doing this University course is that it gives people something to talk to me about and takes the attention away from my mental health. Every time I have to see people that I haven’t seen in a while I always get asked what I’m doing with my life and this time I’ll be able to tell them about my course and what I’ve been learning and where I hope it will lead. Even if the voice in my head is laughing at every sentence that comes out my mouth and starts mocking me I am determined I will get through one meal and actually have my family thinking I’m not a completely lost cause after all. I want them to finally hear about something positive in my life and not be like “oh she’s STILL not well” even if I don’t entirely have much belief in myself about the course, I still want to be able to say the words that I’m doing something with my life.

The only bit I’m not looking forward to is hearing about all of my cousin’s wedding plans or all the little stories about her little toddler. Baby type talk is a big trigger. The wedding that is too far away for me to go to because of the stupid agoraphobia but one that every single member of our families will be at, apart from me. That topic of conversation is also likely to be one that would make me feel quite anxious and upset.

OK I think it’s time for bed now. Please let tomorrow be a better day and run smoothly with no embarrassing anxiety attacks or similar mentalisms. I just want to be able to cope for a couple of hours, take part in their conversation, enjoy a meal with them and then come home again.

Simple as that.

(Nothing is ever simple, I should know that by now)

Goodnight folks x

13:03 – New Year’s Day & All Alone Again

1 Jan

So here we are, a new year has started and I wish so much that my very first ramblings in 2013 could start off sounding – positive/happy/stable – any of them would do.

But the reality is that I went to bed around 1am and left the room completely dark apart from one little candle flickering away next to my bed. Outside there were still fireworks going off and lots of drunk (but happy) sounding people all shouting happy new year to one another. I reached into my bedside drawer and got out a photograph of my little angel and using the light from the candle I gently stroked my fingers over his little face, his hand, his little mouth and I couldn’t fight the tears… then was crying so much I couldn’t see the photo any more so held it tight against my heart and cried with so many emotions going around and around inside me.

I woke up just before 7am this morning and as I opened my eyes there was the photo just lying on the pillow next to me and I couldn’t fight it or control it, the emotions overtook me again and I before I’d even had the chance to wake up properly I was sobbing my heart out again. And with every tear that rolled down my cheek there would be a horrible thought that accompanied it, the overwhelming sensation of being completely alone, knowing I was entering another day with no one around me, where I’d probably not see anyone or speak to anyone all day. It would just be silence, other than the noise in my head. And usually this is good, being left alone is what I spend so much time trying to achieve, but I just felt this completely unbearable deep sadness when I woke up this morning that this is my life… a 31 year old woman, single, mentally unstable, still unable to grieve properly for my angel despite it approaching six years, still feeling completely trapped by my own mind.

It all started getting too much, the really bad thoughts were whirling around and they were starting to scare me. So I got up and immediately got dressed and took the dogs for an early morning walk. I didn’t see one other person outside. Then again it was only around 8.30am. I came back home and put the TV on (for background noise if nothing else) and now all I feel is lots and lots of anxiety. I never want to see people, I do everything I can to shut people out the majority of the time, I ignore phonecalls and text messages and anyone who comes to my door. I want to hide away and rot in my own mess but for some reason being alone with my thoughts is really quite scary at the moment.

So yeah, 2013 isn’t exactly starting on a very happy note, but I don’t want these horrible thoughts in my head telling me to do bad things to myself. I’m really not too sure how today is going to pan out, I guess it depends on how much effort I put into fighting back.

Sorry for yet another depressed and self pitying post, I hoped my first post of 2013 could be one where I was happy and full of new year’s resolutions, but I am very much struggling to see anything positive about the year ahead at the moment. However I do hope that this will change and that I won’t have a repeat of last January where things went downhill so quickly that I had overdosed within the first week and ended up in the psych hospital by the middle of the month.

For the time being, all I can do is concentrate on getting through today, minute by minute and hour by hour trying to keep myself safe (from myself) and not let the bad thoughts win. But that is so much easier said than done. They grind me down until I believe everything they say and when you are ground right down to nothing it is so very very hard to do any kind of ‘fighting back’. So I guess I just ‘ride with it’ and try to control things to the best of my ability.

Ah fuck, here come the tears again. Where the hell did they come from??

OK, I think it’s time to stop writing now.

Before I go I just want to say Happy New Year to you all, and thank you for all the words of support and encouragement you gave me throughout 2012… I wonder what 2013 has in store for us all…

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