Tag Archives: mental health

00:02 – Truth be known, I’m struggling… a lot

10 Apr

[Warning – there is a graphic description of sexual violence in this post]

Since my last post in the early hours of Friday morning I have been quite busy but also, if I’m honest, struggling. On Friday afternoon I went to see my Mum for a little while and to see best friend. We were all going out on the Saturday night for best friend’s birthday and I was trying on my outfit I was planning to wear out up at Mum’s. Seeing their eyes quickly scanning the extent of the scarring on my body felt horrible but then they both started telling me how proud of me they were that I was now being trusted with a month of medication again and how proud they were that I’d stayed out of hospital for so long. They were nice about the scars but I felt utterly hideous and very uncomfortable with them on show so quickly got covered up again.

Saturday night we all went out. All the girls had short tight dresses on – I on the other hand had my legs fully covered and my arms fully covered. I felt a bit out of place so took just a couple of diazepam whilst we were all getting ready at best friend’s house followed by at least four pretty strong vodkas. By the time we got to the first pub around 10.30pm I was feeling a little tipsy… by the time we left the last pub and began to head home at 2am I was very drunk. But it was a strange kind of drunk, I just couldn’t seem to relax properly all night. I couldn’t get hyper-alert-suspicious-paranoid-brain to shut up. I didn’t join in on the dancefloor, I didn’t let a single person buy me a drink, every guy who got within a couple of feet of me I quickly walked away from. I tried to join in with the laughs but my head was somewhere else all night and all I seemed to do was watch the clock and count down the minutes until I could get the hell out of there and back to my safe little house.

Sunday I felt absolutely awful all day. It seems I’m at that age where hangovers don’t feel too bad when you first wake up but as the hours pass you feel worse and worse, not any better. So yeah, Sunday was pretty much spent lazing around doing nothing. I know alcohol is a depressant but this weird state of mind has been on the go since Wednesday when lovely GP decided to trust me with a month’s worth of medication. Every time I open my cupboard door I hear ‘male voice’ telling me I’ve got them there for a reason and it’s not to prove how responsible I can be with them. But then I hear Mum and best friend in my head, telling me how proud they are of me and I hate myself for even giving the tiniest bit of attention to ‘male voice’.

But ‘male voice’ has been very much present over the past week mostly being insulting telling me things like I’m a dirty whore who deserves to be raped again… a stream of laughter by him every time someone said I looked nice on Saturday night… telling me it would be a good idea to take all of those Diazepam and just fucking knock myself out… telling me me I’ve not made my body ugly enough for him yet and to get a blade back to my skin. He’s angry with me that I walked past the DIY store today and didn’t go in and replace my empty box of blades and it is all I keep hearing from him tonight that I WILL go buy more tomorrow or else I’m going to make him so mad that he will have me [insert warning here to very graphic horrible instructions] “cut my tits off” or his other favourite is “someone’s gonna rape you [between the legs] with the sharpest knife I can find” . Pretty fucked up I know but that is the way he speaks, that’s his vocabulary, that’s his way of showing me he is in control, not me. He is particularly violent in his threats and comments and I am not a violent person, but he says things in ways that flash images in front of my eyes of either me mutilating my body badly or hurting someone else. I’ve never really hurt someone else, I’ve had a few bitch fights, hair pulling and that kinda shit… I’ve punched a couple of people in anger… but I’ve never really properly hurt someone to the point where I could do them permanent damage. And I can’t imagine me ever doing something like that but the things he is saying to me scare me, I can’t deny it.

So with all this going on in my head and his voice talking far too much I haven’t been able to sleep again. I stayed up all of Sunday night, all day yesterday until I finally took a handful (not an overdose) of diazepam this morning around 11am and at finally around 1pm I fell asleep until 4pm. I had promised best friend and her kids that I would go out and see them today now they are back from their dad’s, I promised Mum I would go for a walk with the dogs with her and maybe go for some lunch or coffee or something. Neither of those things happened and other than going out a few times today with the dogs I have done absolutely nothing.

I am very very much at crunch time with regards to my part time university course. I have failed the 20% part of the module. The essay part makes up the other 80%. If I was able to spend the remainder of the week studying like crazy there’s a chance I could throw some sort of an essay together but I have an appointment with my rape crisis support worker tomorrow and then it’s best friend’s actual birthday on Thursday. And to be completely honest I have lost all motivation. I’ve lost interest. But then I’ve lost interest in everything over these past few days.

My head feels like it’s going a bit mental again and I am lacking in strength to fight back. All I seem able to do is lie on the sofa or in bed and battle back and forth with the intrusive voices and crazy thoughts. I feel like I have all this invisible pressure around me: be responsible with the medication, prove to them all I can do this, keeping mum and best friend proud of me, keeping ‘male voice’ happy, knowing I’m probably going to be kicked off the uni course and fail at yet another thing.

I am shattered right now. It’s midnight and I pray I can sleep through the night. I need a little bit of energy back, it all feels like it’s been zapped out of me. I am so scared I’m going to let everyone down… things feel slippery yet I don’t know why. I have no plans to take the medication to hurt myself but the self harm urges (cutting) seem to be getting stronger again. If only to shut him up. And not even the remembrance of the major regrets I had after doing it a few weeks ago are enough to keep me certain I won’t do it again… I think in all likeliness I will give in… because I’m weak… pathetic and weak.

Why oh why can life never just be straightforward? Why does it always have to end up mental again in the end?

19:53 – A good day ’til the voices fucked it all up

5 Mar

[edited to add – sorry this post goes on forever, rambles, is all mixed up and probably makes very little sense so I apologise in advance]

This afternoon I met up with lovely social worker and we went for a bite to eat and to have a chat. Whilst I was standing outside waiting for her to pick me up a guy walked past me and the way he looked at me made me feel so uncomfortable. He was pretty much looking me right in the eye from across the street and kept on staring as he reached the other side of the road. While he stopped to let a car past he started looking at me up and down in what felt like a really leering sort of way. Initially it gave me the creeps but a few seconds later as he was crossing the road and about to walk right past me I saw these violent images quickly play out in my head of me pushing him right into a moving car.

Anyway, a few minutes later lovely social worker arrived and it was nice to see her again but from the moment of that guy staring at me my head started playing funny buggers which made me feel like I couldn’t talk properly about stuff. It’s hard to explain, I would start up sentences and find it hard to say anything that actually had any proper meaning to it, like when you go to say something that has a point to it but I’d never get to the point because as soon as I’d start talking ‘they’ would start as well. I felt very anxious when I got in her car (I really don’t know why) but I was trying not to show it and tried to relax. But ‘they’ didn’t want me to relax and during the ten or fifteen minutes it took to get to the cafe I kept hearing instructions to do bad things inside the car. I couldn’t tell lovely social worker this because she’d probably have kicked me out her car and made me walk, but the stuff I was hearing was bad, really quite disturbing, for example when she was on the faster bit of road they were telling me to open the door and throw myself out because I couldn’t be trusted not to say too much to her. So yeah, that was pretty unpleasant however since I got home ‘they’ have actually been happy with me for not revealing too much today.

So we got to the cafe and it was full of people, not one single table free so we had to sit outside. But while we were in the queue the anxiety began creeping in, there were too many people and it was making me feel not good at all, especially not when all I could hear was one direct instruction that I had not to let any of these strangers look me in the eye. I went outside and got a table and once out in the fresh air the anxiety did begin to calm a little.

I didn’t want to risk talking about the content of the chitter chatter and I have been really good and not written on here for a few days and actually really tried my best not to mention to anyone or anywhere what ‘they’ want me to do next. So we chatted about more general things and I told lovely social worker the bits of my uni course I’m struggling to get my head around and she did try to explain what some of the bits meant but my head was like mush and unable to fully concentrate, as is the norm for me at the moment.

In the car on the way back we stopped for a moment so I could get out and have a cigarette. I remember telling her that I feel like I have no sense of belonging at the moment, like everyone I know is either married or has kids. At the age of 31 I feel like they are all in some club that I am not a part of. And all these mental health symptoms and diagnoses and medications make me part of another world but I don’t want to connect with other people in that world in ‘real life’ – I prefer to not go to support groups because I know that any time I am in the psychiatric hospital it drives me mad being around so many other mentalists. Don’t get me wrong I love the online friends I have met through blogging and almost all of them are fellow mentalists but I’ve always had this thing about wanting to surround myself with what I perceived to be the norm but by doing that it only makes things even harder because they don’t understand what it’s like to live a life with mental health problems.

I think that is probably where the desires to find a faith have recently stemmed from – a desire to be amongst people who I can connect with and have something in common with. Where I could sit in an environment and feel as though I belong. Because I don’t feel as though I belong here on Earth with this as my life, I am always aware of being different from everyone else. Do I want to be the same as the people I think of as normal? In a lot of ways yes. But I can’t help but feel like I have too many issues to ever be ‘normal’ again.

Most of my life I have felt different from everyone else probably because by the time of reaching my teens I had already been abused for a number of years, starting self harming and had no fears of walking into an adult world and start smoking and drinking and experimenting with drugs. I didn’t think there was anything wrong with being 14 and having sex with my first proper boyfriend because I’d known for years what intercourse felt like. And I thought it was expected of me, afterall it was what ‘good girls’ did to make guys happy wasn’t it?

I’ve always been different in one way or another from those around me and the one and only time I felt ‘normal’ was when I was around 24 and I had lost a hell of a lot of weight, I was slim and felt pretty. For the first time in my life I could walk into a clothes shop and know I could wear the fitted clothes and pretty dresses. And then just to add the cherry to the top of the cake I also had a man who loved me. I worked full time and earned my money every month, then soon after I was pregnant, then engaged and planning a wedding. And before it all fell apart that was normal, that was the first and only time in my life where I felt like I was the same as all of my friends. Perhaps it was a little bit too good as it was also during this period that I had a (undiagnosed at the time) manic episode.

Like all good things that have happened in my life that normality soon fell apart and I became the girl who lost her baby and had to bury her son, then I got fat again, I lost all my confidence when I became the girl whose “fiancé cheated on her but like an idiot she’s taken him back” … only to be cheated on by him again. I felt like everyone was laughing at me and my agoraphobia got worse and worse. My depression that I’d struggled with for a little while in my very early 20’s came back with a vengeance, I was barely functioning and the last thing that detached me from the world of normal people was losing my job because my attendance had become so awful.

And from there that was it, I was catapulted into this world of mental ill health. Thoughts plagued with ideas of suicide, of self destruction and self loathing. I felt disgusting and grew to hate myself a little more day by day. Less than a year after my Bipolar Disorder diagnosis I began to hear voices, I became paranoid, I was suicidal and scarring my body a little more with every day that went by. Soon followed my first experience of being detained and shortly after that I was detained again and then had several more suicide attempts and some voluntary admissions to the psychiatric hospital. Everything was too chaotic to ever do any proper work with the psychologist and lovely social worker just rolled with the crises.

The last time I was in the psychiatric hospital I hated the feeling of being trapped so much that I think I managed to develop a bit of a phobia about it and to be honest I think that’s what has kept me out of that place, because whenever I think about it I think of the nurses who don’t give a shit… the boredom of every minute feeling like an hour… the days that pass so slowly… the place where there is absolutely nothing to do other than walking in and out of the smoking area and chain smoking 40 cigarettes a day… slowly driving yourself more and more mental. And for just over a year now I have managed to stay at home, no more hospital admissions but feeling completely alien from all the seemingly normal people around me every single day.

That brings me back to where I was before I went off on that little ramble – having a sense of belonging or a sense of ‘fitting in’. The whole finding a faith thing may have started with the chitter chatter telling me I had to ‘bare my soul and declare my sins’ when Charlie dog was so ill and them instructing me to pray repeatedly in order for Charlie to get better, but now it’s become about more than that. It’s become a search for me to find somewhere that I do fit in and am accepted for just being me. But you see that is impossible, to say I want to feel accepted for just being me when I am unable to accept who I am myself. If I can’t accept me then how can I expect anyone else to? I can’t.

[Sorry this post seems to have gone off at a bit of a tangent – I’ve completely forgotten what the point of this entire post was…]

Anyway…. back to today and seeing lovely social worker… on the drive back home I said something about the chitter chatter and she asked me was it definitely voices and not just my thoughts getting out of control? I couldn’t really explain myself properly to her but did say I know the male voice is definitely a voice because my thoughts are in ‘my’ voice if that makes sense, a female tone like how I talk… not an angry male tone… like the way any of us hear our own thoughts in our head. But the way that I really know what is chitter chatter voices and what is my own crazy thoughts is I try and talk inside my head/think thoughts in my head whilst the chitter chatter is talking and if it stops then I know it’s my thoughts because I can’t talk about two different things at the exact same time. Does that make sense? Like if it was actually my thoughts and not a voice then I wouldn’t be able to have two completely different thoughts at the exact same moment running parallel. That’s the best I can explain it.

So lovely social worker dropped me back home and literally just as I was stepping out of the car I looked at her to say bye and even though I saw her mouth form the shape of the word ‘bye’ what I heard was something different and something I don’t want to write here. Then since I got back in the house I’ve had the TV on and every so often I don’t hear a sentence the person on TV says, I hear the chitter chatter say a random line instead. I know it was the chitter chatter talking over her and that she didn’t really say anything bad but over the past few hours that I’ve been home all I keep hearing is that it would make her happy if she never had to see me again. And it gets louder and faster and it’s trying so very hard to make me believe it is telling me the truth, that I’ve not to refer to her as lovely social worker because she secretly hates me and it’s all spiralling out of control round and round inside my head. Then not only am I being told she hates me but people on the TV hate me too. I argue back if she hates me then why didn’t I pick up on it until the very last second when I was getting out the car, surely I would have picked up on it from the moment I first got in the car?…

I tell the chitter chatter that it is talking shit to me and I won’t believe what they are saying, but for some reason they won’t back down which is crappy because she is a lovely social worker even though I don’t see much of her these days. I don’t want to think she has feelings of hate towards me, that genuinely upsets me and while my head is so confused the only thing I know for sure is that the only hate that is truly real is mine towards the voices for fucking my head up so much. I don’t know how much longer I can realistically live this way… being controlled by something I can’t even see… that I can only hear… why does it terrify me so much to go against what they tell me to do? Why am I so scared of, what is at the end of the day, just a bunch of sounds? Why are they so convincing and believable that the consequences of ignoring or disobeying them feel too much to bear?

Sorry I know half of the stuff I’ve wrote probably doesn’t make a great deal of sense and I really didn’t mean to ramble on for this long, I guess I had a lot of stuff to get off my chest. I feel like such an awful person for even giving these horrible voices a second thought, but they are so real that no matter what I do I just can’t hide from them…at all…ever. And maybe that’s what I need to accept – that they are here to stay and always will be. It’s pretty clear that realistically there is only one way left to get rid of them now.

18:50 – My Crazy Bipolar Life is 3 today!

13 Dec

celebrating3years

Today the 13th of December 2012 marks my little blog’s 3rd anniversary. I can’t quite believe that what started off as me just needing somewhere to write down my thoughts one lonely day back in December 2009 has lasted this long! I have started a lot of diaries in my life but this has by far lasted the longest and it has certainly been quite a journey since that first post I wrote…

I wonder if I would actually have believed anyone if they had told me back then that over the next three years I would make attempts at ending my life, experience some of the darkest, most bleak and miserable depressive episodes, that I would permanently scar my body quite badly through self harming, that I would experience psychosis or that I would experience a number of hospital admissions both voluntary and being detained under the mental health act.

There have been some laughs along the way, although unfortunately they have been pretty few and far between. There have been a couple of hints of hypomania but the various anti-psychotics have kept full blown manic episodes away. If only they could be so effective at controlling the voices that never seem to properly go away, although they do kindly whisper from time to time.

I’ve experienced the frustrations of getting to a place where I felt like I had a good care team round me to losing one member of it who I valued enormously,  then trying to work with temporary staff, to then getting back to a place where I have someone permanent to work with again. In the last three years I have dealt with psychiatrists, psychologist, social workers, CPN’s, GP’s, hospital nurses in A&E, hospital nurses on medical wards and hospital nurses and doctors in the psych hospital.

I have caused a lot of upset to people I care about, I have scared them by being so out of control with my emotions and actions, I have occasionally broken down in front of people and shown my tears and tried to share some of the pain inside of me. I have felt guilt and shame because of my behaviours but once or twice had a ‘meaningful’ hug with someone, where for a brief moment I have felt like they understood and actually they weren’t judging me.

Have I made any progress over the three years I have been writing my ramblings and random thoughts down? I’m really not sure. In some aspects yes – for example – the part time university course I’ve been doing over the past 3 months has given me something positive to try and focus on. But it’s hard, not so much the work itself than the complete lack of concentration I experience so often which makes studying extremely frustrating at times.

The other positive is that my agoraphobia has improved very slightly. I can travel further now than what I could three years ago, although not massively, but when my head is feeling calm I can now travel for about an hour in quiet areas that I’m familiar with. Three years ago even a journey of five minutes could have me starting to really panic. I honestly don’t know if I’ll ever overcome this phobia completely, although it would be lovely to think that by the time we reach 2015 (in another 3 years) I could be in a place where I could go shopping in cities and go on holidays and attend family events and so much more.

I know having two positive things is better than having none, but in many ways I don’t feel as though I’ve made much progress at all. I still haven’t found the ‘right’ combination of medication or talking therapies and sometimes I wonder if there will ever be a day where I will be the person who is helping someone with a mental health problem rather than be the person needing the help. Will I stick at the university course over the next three years? By then I could be a good way to getting my degree. Will this little precious corner of cyberspace that I ramble in still be here in three years? I really truly couldn’t imagine not having it now. I have ‘met’ some amazing human beings through writing this blog – there are a couple of people who I have never met but would most definitely consider a friend for all the support and encouragement that they have given me even when they have been trying to deal with their own head crazies. Three years ago I had no idea that such a supportive mental health blogging community existed and I’m so glad I found it; even though I write some posts when I’m unwell that I go back to read some time later and think “oh my God I sound completely bonkers” very few people have ever judged me, the majority have been incredibly supportive and made me feel like I ‘fit in’ somewhere.

I never thought that anyone would have been interested in reading what I had to say and even now looking at the screen and seeing “79,634 visits since December 09” – I just think wow – of course I know there are blogs out there with hundreds of thousands and even millions of hits, but I genuinely never even expected to see 80 people read my little blog let alone almost 80 thousand. And even though a lot of posts have been full of self pity, there have been many more where all I’ve wanted to do is to have a place where I could express what was going on inside my head and it’s quite touching that so many people have followed in my little journey with me and even more so that so many of those people have said that they understood or could relate to what I was talking about. Much as that makes me sad in many ways (I wish no one else ever had to feel like this) but through writing this blog I feel a little less alone and a little more accepted for just being me.

Sometimes I really wonder about the future, sometimes I really wonder how much more of a future I will have but every so often something or someone will come along and will give me just the tiniest bit of hope or strength to fight on through another day.

The next three years… I don’t expect them to be easy and I reckon it’s going to be another long journey… I don’t know if one day things really will all get too much or if one day they will start to get easier… but maybe, just maybe, I’ll manage to come out the other side of this a stronger person. Who knows what the future has in store… I guess the only way to find out is to stick around and see where it all ends up…

Thanks for sharing the last three years of my life with me, it really does mean a lot. Every comment means a lot, just to know that someone has taken five minutes out of their day to read what I’ve rambled and then taken the time to offer advice, to say they relate, or just to give words of support… Without it I would probably have given up on ‘My Crazy Bipolar Life‘ a long time ago.

Now who’d like to blow out my birthday candles?

Don’t forget to make a wish 🙂 xxx

3rd_ann

 

 

P.S. I’ll write a ‘proper’ post later about seeing lovely GP yesterday, medication increases and some other ramblings…

22:04 – Phew! Today is almost over!

1 Oct

Well the interview went well, the woman was very lovely and easy to talk to. I spoke about my Bipolar and how I’m trying to overcome the Agoraphobia; how it is getting slightly easier to travel around our county but going to cities etc still isn’t something I’ve managed to conquer. I decided there was no point in hiding that from her as the last thing I’d want to happen is to be matched with a child and then be asked to take them somewhere that I can’t go to. But she was totally fine with it all and said I spoke passionately about becoming a volunteer  and my aims for when I complete my Uni course. She also said that she got the impression from talking to me that if I felt my mental health was heading towards a bad place she was quite reassured that I would tell her so other arrangements could be put in place for any child I was working with; she said as I’m open and honest about my conditions she has no reason to think I wouldn’t express any concerns I had about my own mental health should it ever be an issue, so that was good.

We spent a good hour and a half together before she went off to meet a befriender who lives locally to have a catch up; if I’m approved I will be the 3rd child befriender covering our part of the county. We talked about some example situations of the types of situations children referred to the befrienders service may be living in. I had a good idea of what they might be, for example young carers who need some time to be a kid, children trapped in a drug and/or alcohol addicted household who need some time out away from it all, households where there is domestic violence, or maybe just a case of a child having a sibling with an illness which means the parents have to devote most of their attention to that child so it gives the sibling a chance to have some time devoted to them as well.

So the next step is to wait on her receiving my two references and once she has received them she will put in the application for my PVG/Enhanced Disclosure Certificate. That is basically a certificate to show I have no criminal convictions (which I don’t) and it checks your background to show you are a safe person to work with children or vulnerable people. I have already phoned them to ask if the fact I have been detained under the mental health act will show up and they said they do not check your medical history. However there is one thing I’m slightly worried about and that is that I attended a Vulnerable Adult meeting at the police station after some events happened a couple of years ago and basically anything that they find out about you that is non-criminal they then make the decision on whether or not that information should be passed on to the potential employer/voluntary organisation.

I’m sure it will all be fine, I have never been in any kind of trouble so I’m not too worried. My only involvements with the police have been the Vulnerable Adult Protection meeting and going with the woman from rape crisis a couple of months ago to discuss reporting the sexual assault.

Once they receive my Disclosure Certificate then I can start training and then wait to be matched with a child. She said the full process shouldn’t take more than a couple of months, so I might get started with them by the end of the year.

What else has happened today?… I got my medication sorted out and I got a second copy of my gym application form and handed it in. This evening I have just sat and watched the soaps on TV. I’m just about to take the dogs out for their bed time walk and it is pouringgg with rain…ugh. I hope to get some proper sleep tonight as I am meeting my social worker tomorrow and going to meet the co-ordinator and the volunteer from advocacy who are going to assist with my housing application. I did have an appointment after that to see the woman from rape crisis but she text me this evening asking if we could swap to Friday afternoon.

I am relieved the interview is over with and went well, I’m glad I have now been able to put a face to the lovely woman I’ve spoken to on the phone a few times over the past month and feel much more comfortable with her now. I will be even more relieved when I meet the advocacy girls tomorrow and see what suggestions they come up with for helping push my housing application a bit further.

For now though it is dog walking time (in the rain) then medication time and with any luck a few hours sleep later on.

Glad today is over with – but in a good way!

10:58 – It’s ‘Interview Day’ – eek!

1 Oct

The day has finally come where I am having my interview today to join the Child Befrienders as a volunteer. The co-ordinator lady who runs it all is coming quite a distance to meet and interview me and I am soooo nervous! I don’t know why, as I proved to myself I could interview without turning into a rambling mess for the Uni course and just recently my CPN did a pretend interview with me in preparation for today and said I done really well.

I know that if I take a little Diazepam before she comes that should take the edge off the anxiety and help me appear more relaxed. I think deep down my worry is that she might ask when the last time was that I had any sort of depressive episode and to be honest I think I’m still in one, hence all the self harming lately. And I’m scared that if she asks something like that then I will stumble and it be obvious that things haven’t actually been too great recently.

The thing is that I don’t want to lie to her, I was open and honest from our first telephone conversation that I do suffer from Bipolar Disorder but that I was now doing this Uni course and wanted to do some voluntary work which would be in the area of things that I would eventually like to have a career in; and child befriending is an absolutely ideal opportunity for me. I really truly hope that I have got all the self harm urges out of my system and that I will begin to stabilise out a bit again over the next few months – I won’t be able to start working as a befriender for a few months anyway as I will have to do some training and it takes a while for the Disclosure Check to come back. I also need to supply two references, my CPN is going to write one for me and I am going to ask a friend to write the other one (this is of course providing that I am accepted onto the next stage of the application).

The co-ordinator phoned me this morning to check today was still suitable and I said yes, but also reminded her that my flat is kind of mid-renovation at the moment and that by the time I would be volunteering with them I’m very much hoping I won’t even be living in this flat any more, and will instead be in a little one bedroom house in a quieter area nearby. So she asked me if I wanted her just to pick me up outside my flat and we could go to a little tea room or something and have a chat there, I said that would be great, it makes it all feel a little less informal and a more relaxed style of interview. Though I did say to her that if we needed somewhere more private to talk she was more than welcome to come to my flat and talk here, so long as she didn’t mind that things were a bit of a mess at the moment!

Gosh, my Dad will be so annoyed with me, he told me to get the living room and kitchen cleaned up, to wash my windows and make the place look as best as I could despite there being no flooring and various other things at the moment. He spent all weekend painting the bathroom for me so now every room in the flat has been freshly repainted. I even picked up a pretty bunch of flowers last night to put on the table to brighten things up a bit. But I get such anxiety at the thought of people coming into my flat and even though I intend to spend the next hour cleaning up just in case she does come up here, I’m kind of hoping we can just sit in a quiet café or something.

Relaxed atmosphere = relaxed me. Well as relaxed as I can be when I’m meeting someone new for the first time and knowing I’m getting interviewed! But I have spoken to her a few times on the phone now and she sounds really lovely, she is so friendly and easy to talk to on the phone so I’m hoping she will be the exact same in person. I just have to keep going over all the reasons in my head why I want to join their organisation and volunteer with them and keep remembering this is an opportunity to work with vulnerable young people and not only will I enjoy it and find it challenging but rewarding – it will also be something really good to put on my CV when I complete my Uni course.

So I have just under 3 hours in which to have a shower, get dressed, tidy and clean the living room and kitchen, walk the dogs and calm the fuck down!

In other stuff… last night I went to take my meds and realised there was an empty diazepam strip in the cupboard but no 300mg Quetiapine tablets. Somehow I have manage to throw out my last couple of Quetiapine instead of the empty diazepam strip. So last night I had 3 x 200mg Quetiapine and had to take two of them and cut the 3rd one in half so I could take my 500mg dose, so I phoned the GP surgery this morning and tried to explain to the receptionist that I now have no Quetiapine left and don’t collect my weekly prescription until Wednesday and could she please ask GP to prescribe me 2 x 200mg Quetiapine and 2 x 300mg Quetiapine for today and tomorrow. That was 2 hours ago that I called and she said she’d phone back asap and let me know.

I also phoned the local gym as it has now been over a week since I handed my form in and still haven’t got an induction session date and the receptionist said that she couldn’t find my referral form anywhere and the girl who I’d handed it into isn’t back until Wednesday. So she’s asked me to ask my GP for another copy of the form grr. Nothing can ever be straightforward can it!

Right I suppose I better get cleaning and stop messing around writing blog posts that has just wasted half an hour of cleaning time now that it’s almost 11.30am – she is coming at 2pm – I need to get a move on!

Wish me luck!

Little update – gp phoned me so got the medication situation sorted. She is also going to print off another copy of my gym referral form to hand in to them. Living room and kitchen half cleaned but already looking better. Nerves are really kicking in now so have taken a little break to gather my thoughts and have a couple diazepam. Only an hour and a half to go now and still to have a shower get dressed and walk dogs. Time to get moving again!

22:27 – My Gratitude List

29 Sep

I am writing this post after discovering a new blog I hadn’t read before which can be found here: http://myjourneywithdepression.wordpress.com/

The blog is entitled “All that I am, all that I ever was” and as I haven’t read enough of it yet, I don’t know if this is taken from one of my most favourite songs Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol. Maybe I should ask Addy the writer of the blog and who, if you click on that link, you will find recently wrote a gratitude list.

He has inspired me to do the same. At a time when I seem to be a constant emotional crying mess, I want to take a deep breath and clear some headspace and write down all the things I am grateful for. I dare say I may want to add more to this list, but for now here goes…

My Gratitude List  I am grateful for:

  • My wonderful parents who have supported me tirelessly and endlessly throughout my 30 years on this planet. More than anything for their support over the past 5 very hard years life has thrown at me.
  • Having a roof over my head and a flat that I moan endlessly about, but one which keeps me warm, gives me somewhere to sleep (even if it is currently a 2 seater sofa) and allows me the luxury of electricity to blog, watch TV, have clean clothes (when I remember to wash them), to have nice hot showers (when I remember to throw myself in them), etc
  • My dogs. They have their moments of driving me mad when they burst into random barking at completely random things, but their unconditional love for me, their complete dependence on me, the way they just seem to sense when something is wrong and come and cuddle into me makes it all worth it. They have kept me alive on so many occasions and I never understood the love you could have for animals until I got my two monkeys.
  • Being accepted onto my Uni course even when I was upfront and honest that I have mental health problems and they could so easily have used that against me. But they didn’t and they have given me tools to distract myself (though they don’t always work quite yet) and have given me hope that I will actually have a future, and not just a future but a career doing something I feel so passionate about.
  • My two best friends. One who I talk about often on here, who is always there for me despite not really ‘getting it’ sometimes when it comes to my mental health and not exactly being the most sympathetic of people. However she has given me two little boys who call me Aunty E and as stressful as they can be, they never fail to put a smile on my face. I feel like a real Aunty to them and that is nice. My other friend who I still class as a best friend despite not seeing her in agessss is someone who shared a lot of crazy (in a fun way) times with me. She says the right thing at the right time, she listens when I need an ear, she is able to put a sensible head on when needed and give me supportive advice. I miss her loads but am also so proud of her; things weren’t going how she wanted them to in life and she took a big leap of faith and moved far away but it paid off. And now she has totally changed her life around for the better, she is one of the cleverest people I know and I have so many fond/funny/crazy/lovely (and a few emotional) memories of times we’ve spent together and I hope there will be many more in the future. She is just one of these people who you know will be a friend for life. I’m grateful for friendship.
  • For being free of psychosis. God those episodes were some of the worst times of my life. When your thinking has been totally taken away from you and replaced with beliefs that those you love, strangers in the street, people who care for you – when you end up in a place of believing and I mean truly believing that they are out to hurt you, they are conspiring against you, that you must be vigilant and cautious of them, when you accuse them of the above…. and none of it is true apart from in your own head. I am grateful for being free of psychotic episodes and the people I threw accusations at still sticking around despite all the horrible things I said to them during those times of being so acutely ill.
  • For the experiences of love within relationships with partners. Even though they have all ended and I have been single for rather a long time, I do hold some good memories of how it felt to be loved, to be wanted, to be desired and cherished, to be treated like a princess and everything just feeling so perfect at the time. There have been some good guys in my life and as this list is all about being grateful I’m only going to mention those good guys and not the ones who almost destroyed me.
  • For the opportunity of being pregnant. For the experience of watching a baby growing inside me. For knowing what it feels like to have a bump and to feel a first kick. For understanding that complete and utter unconditional love you have for this little person developing inside of you that you have never met but you love them with all your heart. For getting to be a Mummy even though my angel went straight to Heaven, for having those moments with him that I did, for seeing complete perfection in front of me and knowing that I helped create it.
  • For all those times where I could so easily have slipped into addictions when messing around with drugs, especially when back in January this year I did the most stupidest thing I have ever done in my life and used heroin for two weeks. For getting help at just the right time and being saved from falling into an addiction with that drug. I’m grateful that I have a completely (illicit) drug free body and am so much happier without that kind of shit screwing up my already screwed up head even more. I am grateful for sobriety from drugs and being able to control my alcohol intake to probably less than once a month.
  • To the staff who work at a&e who have quite literally saved my life on a couple of occasions. Who haven’t judged me but instead pulled me out of overdoses safely and taught me that deep down I do value life. For the numerous times I have turned up there bleeding and confused, embarrassed and ashamed, and they have comforted me and patched me up to live another day. To the emergency ambulance service who did help save my life the night I took the most serious overdose I’ve ever taken when I truly thought that was it, I was going to die as I heard shouts in the a&e emergency treatment room of crashing blood pressures and “she’s losing consciousness”. I thought I was a goner. But I’m still here. I’m grateful we have such a good ambulance and a&e service for such a little town.
  • To the other professionals I have worked with in the past and continue to work with into the future. To my social worker and to my GP mainly, both for being so lovely, so supportive, so understanding. For giving me time when time was what I needed, for giving me advice at the right times, for trying repeatedly to get me to believe in myself when all hope was almost lost, for making me feel for those ten minutes or that hour that I was the only person in the world who mattered and pulling me out of some really deep dark holes. I’m grateful to them.
  • Music. I don’t know where I’d be without it. Lyrics are sometimes what makes a regular song turn into the most beautiful, touching, moving piece of music you have ever heard. When you listen to words being sung and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, when you feel those goose pimples down your arms, when you can cry your heart out because somebody has composed lyrics that resonate so much with how you are feeling in that moment. Music has been a distraction, a comfort, something that’s made me happy and something that’s made me sad. But I couldn’t imagine not having it in my life, so I guess what I am really grateful for here is having the ability to hear, as without it I would never have heard some of the most amazingly beautiful little masterpieces that have ever been created.

I’m sure there are many more things I could (and will) continue to add to this list over time. But for now, it may have taken me almost three hours, but I have a visual list in front of me of things that I am truly grateful for and that make life worth living for one more day in this crazy world. It has actually been really difficult to think of things to be grateful for, if it was a list of things that had hurt me, caused me pain or upset, depressed me, made me anxious over… I could have kept on writing all night long. It’s surprised me that I managed to come up with as many things as I did.

For now, this is my gratitude list. And guess what? I haven’t cried once whilst writing it, I have smiled a few times and felt touched at others. I thank Addy for the inspiration to write this and really force myself to look deep within and I hope that my list might inspire you to write one of your own. It would be lovely to see at least one other person whose blogs I follow write one too and have someone else who might not be in the best place right now be able to identify at least a couple of things that they are grateful for in their lives.

20:40 – Just had a realisation

5 May

I have just realised something and I am now sitting here in tears. I couldn’t explain to anyone why I want to move house so badly; well I could give some reasons but I couldn’t fully explain it. And suddenly (after a couple of glasses of wine) I find myself in tears because what I said at the very end of the last post is it. It is the reason why I want to move so badly. Because this house is a house of firsts, a house of pain, a house with too many memories keeping me trapped. I need to free myself from it, but actually freeing myself from it might be one of the hardest things I’ll ever do – because it means closure.

It was in this very room I’m sitting in now that I fell both in and out of love. It was in this room that I cried with happiness at the first sight of my engagement ring – it was in this room that I clung to my ex and felt like I had actually seen his soul as I saw the pain in his eyes as we came home from the hospital with our empty arms after losing our baby. It was in this room when I self harmed again for the first time in years. Where I was sectioned under the mental health act. Where my best friend found me dissociated and covered in blood. Where I’ve shot, smoked and snorted drugs to try and detach from the world. Where my relationship ended. The first place we kissed and the last place we screamed.

And I won’t even get started with the memories the bedroom brings…

I am trapped in the past in this flat. There has simply been too much that has happened here and if I am ever to find a future I need a new starting point, one that isn’t tainted but is clean and fresh. It means saying goodbye to the moments of going into my bedroom and just lying on the bed staring at the space where the little swinging crib was, it means saying goodbye to the place I not only began losing my son but also the place I conceived him and got that positive pregnancy test.

That is all in the past though. Leaving this flat will give me a little bit of closure to the pain that I’m reminded of just by looking at something so simple as a patch on a wall, the pain of occasionally opening a drawer innocently and finding a love letter sent from the man I sat in this room waiting on whilst he served in Iraq. The man I was totally dedicated to. That part of my life is over now and has been for three years. My son has been gone for five. I have been in here for six. The only thing that’s been consistent from me first moving in until this present moment is one of my little dogs, he has been there through everything, if only I could have seen myself how he must have seen me sometimes.

I think it will hurt like fuck closing the door on this place, like I said I’m crying just thinking about it, because closure hurts right? I just need to get it into my head that closure doesn’t mean forgetting, it means being able to move on and keep the precious memories in my heart.

And that’s my realisation on why I need to say goodbye to this place and start afresh.

And you know what, for all the people who think I’m fucking crazy when I talk about my voices, well it was Lucifer who helped me realise all of this. He helps me, people might not get that because I do ‘bad things’ as well to make him happy but he also talks so much sense. Lucifer is my ruler and you know what, I’m fucking proud to say that.

Anyway I shouldn’t get ahead of myself, it could take a year or so to get a new place but it’s finally like someone has just switched a lightbulb on and made me realise the core, the pit of my sadness here, rather than just all of the things that in comparison are just an annoyance.

Protected: 21:06 – Whispers

27 Mar

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Protected: 22:06 some great news!

31 Jan

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Protected: 18:29 – new year on the psych ward

1 Jan

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