Speaking Too Soon

I write to you at the end of day two cold turkey. So far it hasn’t been as bad as I was anticipating, that said there will still be plenty of the drug in my system so the fun will probably start soon. Until now all I’ve had is increased dizziness, increased shakiness, a headache and increase tiredness; I can cope with that. What I can’t cope with, however, is my leg getting sorer and uglier. It’s summer so I’m wearing shorts but it looks like someone has taken an apple corer to my leg. The sores are dressed now but they had some time out on the town this afternoon when I went to buy new dressings. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have this take over your whole body, you’d probably die from the pain before it got chance to block your airways.

I’m trying to make a couple of Christmas cards tonight, it’s hard with the room being on a funny angle, the paper constantly moving and tools jumping out of my hands.

The Rash

Just when things start to look up...

I moved house on Saturday and I love it, I have one house mate and one potential, both I like. On Saturday morning as I was getting excited about the move I noticed a blister on the back of my shin, it was a little sore so I covered it with a band aid and thought little of it – maybe it was from my jeans rubbing against it I thought (although this has never happened before). It seemed the only logical explanation so on I go with the packing and moving saga. After the excitement and stress of the move died down and I was left alone in my beautiful new home I had a nap. I woke up with a new blister a little below the first, at this stage I became worried, firstly thinking it was the dreaded Lamictal rash which means you have to stop the medication – one I think is actually working. Then my mind went into overdrive and started to diagnose me with all of the worst conditions known to mankind; telling myself this was stupid I then returned to the original thought that maybe my jeans had been cruel to me and off I trotted to F’s Christmas party; although I was sore all night I had fun.

Following F’s party I experienced a strange feeling of contentment, this continued throughout Sunday even today. Everything was going well, I enjoyed a party rather than cowering in a corner, Church was good and I even paid attention and did I mention I love my house! The contentment faded as I became troubled by the increasing pain of the blisters and not convinced by my jeans excuse. I rolled on down to the GP and... Stop Lamictal, get off Lamictal, stop it now, no actually wean off it, no stop it now, ummmm I don’t know, call your old psychiatrist but stop it now, no come off it 50mg every three days, that’s what my computer tells me but that’s just for normal discontinuation ummmmmm do that! He was of course a little subtler that that, but it was the general feel of the consultation.

A little about the Lamictal rash: It isn’t just a rash, if ignored it can develop into Stevens-Johnson Syndrome or Toxic Epidermal Necrolysis, both potentially fatal diseases in which the skin detaches from other layers, welts and dies, airways become blocked and it’s just generally bad. The GP’s advice is not to be taken lightly but I think before reducing my dose tomorrow morning I will try to get advice from someone with more knowledge in the area. If the GP is wrong about the rash then I’m coming off a drug which has helped me, if he’s wrong about weaning off it rather than cold turkey then I could advance to one of the above conditions. Be it weaning or cold turkey I’m going to be feeling very sick for the next two weeks so don’t expect much in the way of posts, maybe the occasional ten word whinge!

To K. Merry Christmas. Lots of love, your body.

Some Purpose

I’m still not too sure what to do with this blog, I think I want to talk more about borderline personality disorder rather than just random things going on in my life; there will still be updates on me, I think they are useful and provide a personalised description of what it is like to live with borderline. I suffer also from anxiety and depression, but they are better understood (not by everyone) so I will not include much information or musings about them.

So Borderline...

This is from Wikipedia but my psychologist told me it’s actually accurate because it’s straight from the DSM:

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders fourth edition, DSM IV-TR, a widely used manual for diagnosing mental disorders, defines borderline personality disorder (in Axis II Cluster B) as:^[1][14]

A pervasive pattern of instability of interpersonal relationships, self-image and affects, as well as marked impulsivity, beginning by early adulthood and present in a variety of contexts, as indicated by five (or more) of the following:

1.      Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment. 

2.      A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation.

3.      Identity disturbance: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self.

4.      Impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g., promiscuous sex, eating disorders, binge eating, substance abuse, reckless driving). Note: Do not include suicidal or self-injuring behaviour covered in Criterion 5

5.      Recurrent suicidal behaviour, gestures, threats or self-injuring behavior such as cutting, interfering with the healing of scars (excoriation) or picking at oneself.

6.      Affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (e.g., intense episodic dysphoria, irritability or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days).

7.      Chronic feelings of emptiness

8.      Inappropriate anger or difficulty controlling anger (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights).

9.      Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation, delusions or severe dissociative symptoms

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Borderline_personality_disorder

As stated above, one only needs to display five of these symptoms to be diagnosed as borderline - I lack many of them, thankfully.

A little more information about the actual sufferer rather than just the cold hard facts of the symptoms:

·         BPD is a complex disorder that is often misunderstood.

·         Not all people who harm themselves have BPD. While self-harm is common among people with BPD, not all those who do this have the disorder. People may self-harm for other reasons such as low self esteem, to momentarily express and release emotional pain or even to punish themselves. This may relate to a mental illness, a disorder or emotional problem unrelated to BPD.

·         People with BPD are not ‘bad’. The anger and rejection that people with BPD display mean they are sometimes labelled as ‘bad,‘ ‘manipulative’ or ’attention-seeking’. While things they do may at times lead to confusion, distress or inconvenience for other people, it should be remembered that this behaviour results from feelings of fear, loneliness, desperation, or hopelessness associated with BPD.

·         People with BPD can get better. Contrary to common belief, people with BPD can recover well with appropriate ongoing treatment and support. While there is no cure yet, BPD is a treatable disorder.

http://www.sane.org/information/factsheets-podcasts/160-borderline-personality-disorder

A little aside on self harm as it confuses most people:

The only people I’ve encountered who understand self harm are professionals and people who’ve been there. Self harm is not a half hearted suicide attempt or attention seeking - though often it needs medical attention. People usually do it in areas which aren’t seen by the general public - this is to avoid the attention. There are exceptions to this, sometimes the impulsivity totally takes over and the most convenient area of skin is used, there can also be hesitation marks from when more serious action is considered but when it comes to it cowardice (or sense) wins. These exceptions are the only scars you might get a glimpse of.

Today a friend of mine who I met in hospital joined a facebook group called Borderline Personality Disorder Support Page – I joined too. Through this page I found a few other helpful websites, I will use them to help me write some future posts.

I can’t credit this image to any particular person; I don’t like to use things I can’t reference so to do my best I can say it is from the facebook page of the group just mentioned and can be found in the wall photos folder. It is a little gory, but it tells you more than I could ever write.

A little me update:

My birthday sucked. Coffee with C in the morning was the only saving grace, it just went downhill from there; five valium only just got me through the day. I was very emotional about not having M around to celebrate with me; my dad was drunk (not an unusual occurrence) and not being very nice and I didn’t even have a birthday cake, I was going to make my own but lacked the energy.

Side effects from Lamictal are getting a lot worse. Every afternoon - I think as it’s starting to wear off - I get very dizzy and tired; my vision is becoming poor and I feel dumb; I have a poor vocabulary, no memory and a poor attention span. I saw my GP on Thursday for prescriptions to get me through to my psychiatrist appointment on Jan 12. I asked her if she would be comfortable changing the doses around because this really isn’t a great way to feel. She said she could but was very reluctant as it’s not her area and she could very easily make me worse, so I have to stick it out for one month and one day (not that I’m counting).

I interviewed a prospective housemate today, she loved the house and we got along well, she’s agreed to move in; now I just have to find one more person. Move is on the 18^th, I can’t wait to be back in the East.

Spinster

In a matter of hours I will be 26. Last year I was horrified to turn 25, that’s half way to 50 and I’d achieved little in that time. This year feels worse. I have done nothing at all this year. I have an increased number on my age and nothing to show for it, at 27 my mum had me. Unless I have a drastic character change I won’t be a mother in the next 12 months - and only the tiniest part of me wants to anyway. I like the idea of not having children too late; it means that once they all get to school you are still young enough to pursue our own interests with the time they demand and that you might still have some energy in you to play with grandchildren.

Last year for my birthday M bought me a lovely present and took me on a day trip to Healesville. We had a great time and the day was followed with one of, if not the best meal I have had the pleasure of consuming, this was at Mt Rael. Go there! This year my birthday will be celebrated without M, I will meet my lovely C for coffee in the morning, this will be the best part of the day; I anticipate fantastic coffee given where we are going and you can’t beat C for company. When I return home I will kill a few hours around the house until mum gets home from work and showers me in gifts; gifts I will be grateful for because many of them will help me establish my new home, but they are just things, they won’t change the year I have endured, they won’t give my life purpose, they will just fill my kitchen cupboards.

Yesterday I saw my psychologist for the last time, as she’s going off on a baby making adventure. I wish her all the best, but it kind of sucks as she was the last of my health care professionals from the pre break up and meltdown era. The new psychologist should be good for me, she specialises in borderline, but as I’ve probably already said, I can’t see her until January at the earliest.

I’m starting to think more about the purpose of this blog, I don’t want it to be little more than an online journal, but I’m not sure what I do want it to be. I know I want to continue with it but perhaps in a less ‘dear diary’ sort of way. I have some thinking to do, sadly thinking isn’t my greatest skill at the moment!

I Have a Date

I seem to be having a good week: I’ve been approved for the house I like, the first one I actually liked enough to apply for! I won a lovely lounge suite on eBay, it fits my tastes perfectly; I’ve had a response to one of my house-mate ads and she seems perfect, we haven’t met yet and she hasn’t seen the house (except for the pics) but from what she’s told me about her current house I think she’ll love it, she seems really nice too. I have a new GP close to my new home, she’s great and in the space of two days has found me a permanent psychiatrist, attached to a hospital close to my new home. Down side is I can’t see him until the 12th of Jan, but in the meantime my GP will make sure I don’t run out of drugs. Without my consent my family have booked a holiday to Coffs Harbour from 16th Jan to 23rd Jan; this sucks for four reasons: I am too old for family holidays; I won’t get the alone time I need to stay slightly sane; I hate hot weather and beaches and all that summery crap; and the new psych will need to change my drugs, that is best done as an inpatient but if I’m away I’ll have to do it on my own a few hours flight away from any help.


I hope it’s the drugs doing this and not just me becoming completely stupid; I can’t string a sentence together (in speech) anymore, I find myself stopping mid-sentence looking for the simplest of words, and not just for a moment, the conversation completely halts because I just can’t find a word. My memory is shocking, it’s always been a bit weird, like freakishly good is some aspects and awful in others but at the moment it’s just awful awful awful, mainly short term stuff. I’m becoming increasingly tired, some of this will be due to the extra weight I’m carrying but I just feel like all the life has been sucked out of me. One of the borderline symptoms I relate to most is “chronic feelings of emptiness”; that is how I feel most of the time, like my organs, including brain have all been ripped out and replaced with empty space - that or anger - mostly emptiness though.

Since I can’t have a Great Dane at my new house I’m considering a King Charles Spaniel, I’ve always loved them and I need encouragement to go for walks, what better encouragement than a gorgeous fluffy thing that will look at me with sad eyes if I don’t take it out. The landlord was fine with my cat but I guess a dog is a whole different issue. I’m looking forward to moving my cat out of here, it’s time he remembered who his real friend is, he won’t have a bar of me anymore.

A Slightly Saner Post

I try not to censor myself too much on this blog; which (in part) is why I don’t tell the world of its existence. I write what I am thinking and feeling even in the times when I would be better off taking a bath or a handful of valium! Sometimes I read a post a few days later, turn bright red and resist the urge to delete it; I think it is these posts which make the blog more than just a description of hospitals and drugs, they are the posts which let you see me. I can’t say I don’t mean what I say in them, because often they are written in my most unhindered state, they are the most truthful posts you will find in here.  I look back on them and see the poor logic, the unnecessary stressing about a future which is not written in stone, but I can’t deny the truth in them, they are a record of my journey.

Unless I change my mind about it I now have a home to call my own in a suburb I wish to be in, this brings its own stresses, but the independence will do me good. I really need a new permanent psychiatrist, my drugs are so wrong, I can feel it. I’m considering playing around with the doses myself – something that will probably have me seeing purple dragons, but it may be worth a try. I am feeling worse by the day, and trying not to let my parents see this is tiring, if they knew what my brain was doing to me I wouldn’t get a moments peace and peace is what I need most.

I wouldn’t wish this mess upon anyone but it has been good to hear the experiences of others. There are two women I keep in touch with from the hospital, another from church and I had a chance encounter two days ago with someone I’ve known - but not closely - for many years. It is amazing to be able to talk with these people, unlike anyone else they know exactly what I mean, they understand the muddled thought processes, but despite their own struggles they have wisdom to offer, they can share their baby steps of progress and that gives me a little hope.

I apologise for my writing being messier than usual in the last few posts, I don’t have the energy to edit properly or check 50 times for grammatical and punctuation errors – I usually miss half of them anyway!

That's It!

I’ve had enough of all this shit, being passed from doctor to doctor, psychologist to psychologist, being told some psychs aren’t taking new patients, being told I’m too difficult for others. You have 11 days to say goodbye, my birthday is a good day to die. I think jumping off a very high cliff is a great idea, it’s certain death and quick, I don’t want any of these half hearted overdoses or wrist cuts, I want definite.

So that’s one way of thinking about it, or...

I’ve had enough of all this shit, being passed from doctor to doctor, psychologist to psychologist, being told some psychs aren’t taking new patients, I’m too difficult for others, finding some who charge millions for 5 minutes of their time. How am I supposed to stick it out until everyone’s back from their Christmas breaks? Apart from being a total mess I only have meds until the 24^th of December, and they’re not right for me anyway. I still have no psychiatrist; today’s trip was just for a prescription. I understand I broke the rules at the last hospital, but abandoning me has done more harm than I think they could imagine... So this is supposed to be the or paragraph, but what can my or be? I can eat valium and temazepam until some miracle psychiatrist comes to save the day - though I’m not sure I have enough meds in stock to do that; I can surround myself with my three friends, wear them out and end up with none; I could tell my parents exactly how I feel and never be left alone long enough to pee; Though I think my favourite idea is running away with Lester and living under a tree.

Maybe plan A is better. 

Happy birthday to me, happy death day to me, happy birthdeath day to meeeee, happy birthdeath day to me!

A Wee Bit of Progress

The hospital I was referred to have not given me an outright acceptance or rejection yet, but the intake staff informed me that in the lead up to Christmas many of the psychs are closing their books and may be especially reluctant to take on new ‘acute’ patients. After being informed of this I returned to the GP and asked him to send the same referral to two other hospitals I know of. I asked if he could refer me to two particular doctors I would like to see, but he said he doesn’t have access to that sort of information since he works in South West health and I need help in Eastern health. I can’t wait for e-health to get up and running; I actually can’t remember where the government is standing on that, I think it got the go ahead.

New psychologist will see me, despite my referral being from my old doctor, but she can’t get me in until the new-year; in the meantime I will try to get some sessions with my usual psychologist. It has been hard being home, I’m supposed to be honest about how I’m feeling so my parents can help me, but how do you tell your mum that you feel like stabbing yourself in the heart? Today and yesterday have been quite bad, last night was improved by a visit to my friends’ house, good distraction and great to see her. Tonight my distraction is writing this, watching crap on my laptop and probably playing a mind numbing computer game, I know I should be reading but I get so tired and my attention span lasts five minutes, I’m going to be screwed if I go back to uni next semester; but I’m aware that I’m not getting any younger - I’ll be 26 next month and all I have to show for it is an undergrad degree. (An aside in the topic of birthdays, I’ve been thinking that one’s birthday it is the most considerate time to die, because then your loved ones only have one hard day per year). The longer I delay getting work good experience or better qualifications the less chance I have of ever having true independence and being able to do work I enjoy - rather than just something menial to pay the bills. I’ve been thinking more and more that I am likely to spend my life alone, who’s going to want a 90 kilo crazy woman who could do anything rash at any given moment; and the poor children would have a genetic predisposition to mental illness, plus being raised by a totally unstable super controlling devil mother. The Poor things.

In other news, my cat is a traitor. I go away for a few weeks and I’m no longer his preferred legs to sleep on. 

The Candle

I considered deleting the last post due to embarrassment, but I have decided to leave it up as a marker of where I’ve been

-

The 7^th floor was locked.

As predicted, here I am writing to you from my tiny bedroom, but Lester has made himself comfortable IN parents’ bed despite it being 24° in here. On our way home from the hospital mum and I ducked into old hospital to pick up a few things I left there. One of my favourite nurses pulled me aside and gave me details of some great clinics with psychiatrists and some other good hospitals; she also thought I’d dodged a bullet by not getting into the hospital I was planning to go to. She said it’s awful treatment wise, it just has a pretty environment and it’s very very money driven.

I was discharged with a prescription for only two weeks of drugs, which means I need a new psychiatrist pronto! I saw my parents GP yesterday and he has written a referral to the hospital the nurse suggested. I may not need to be treated as an inpatient, but it’s good to have a psychiatrist who is attached to a hospital so when / if you need to be admitted you can see the same person. I hope to be an outpatient, I went house hunting today and I really look forward to having my own place to settle. I can’t move on with my life whilst I’m stuck in a psych hospital, but I also can’t move on with my life if I don’t have one. Conundrum. 

Rejection

I received news about half an hour ago that new hospital has refused my admission – I guess they think I’m going to run around stabbing people. Fair enough.

I don’t see any light at the end of this horribly long tunnel I’m in. My mother is coming to pick me up in an hour and I’ll be going home with no psychiatrist, in drug limbo and with a psychologist I no longer have an active referral to. Maybe I just won’t bother. I can’t promise this won’t be my last post, the 7^th floor roof is looking pretty good at the moment, but as we all know I am a coward and can’t follow through with anything, so I guess I will be writing to you tomorrow from my small bedroom with my lovely cat sitting on my feet.

Bye for now.

So Long Firefox

Firefox and I have been having a little tiff lately; it has come to the point at which our relationship needs to end. My new blog layout looks exactly (more or less) how I want in Explorer, which I shamefully admit I have been using on and off. Today I logged into this blog (and looked as a visitor) with Firefox to find that everything is different and to be frank looks like utter shit. I’ve now installed Google Chrome in the hope that I can have good web browsing without the hassle of Explorer and the outright war with Firefox. My relationship with Chrome is about five minutes old, but the blog looks as it should. I guess I have a bit of customising to do before I’m happy with Chrome.

Hospital update – The new hospital didn’t get back to us before close of business yesterday so I had another night here. They better get this dealt with today I can’t stand the wait. Even if they won’t take me, at least I have an answer and I can try the few other options which remain.

I know this was a pretty boring post I’m just having a public vent. Sorry for wasting your time.

Oh Crap

Hospital limbo continues even now on the day I am supposed to be transferred, it seems the new hospital are really not happy about the fact I took a knife into the last hospital; a understandable concern but I really need their help, and I’ve agreed to have zero leave if they take me. I will find out later this afternoon. If they don’t take me I will be sent home today, with no psychiatrist (since I’ve been dumped), in medication limbo and feeling totally messy. This couldn’t get much worse, so if you’re the praying type a little help would be appreciated

Done!

I don't have photoshop so have to make do with Paint.NET, it's ok, but I'm no pro. New header is the result of many hours work, just to alter the main colour and colour in the tree. This will be infiltrating my dreams for days

Simplified Look

Since changing my blog template several months ago I have been quite unhappy with it. I usually abide by the less is more rule, hence a new layout. The colours will probably change in the following days as I can be bothered doing it now; and the title image will definitely be undergoing drastic colour adjustments.

A little update on hospital limbo, it looks like it’s all go for a move on Monday to the private hospital I want. I still can’t believe the effort it took to arrange this, you’d think once this hospital got whiff of the fact I’m insured they’d be keen to get me out of here.

One Proactive Girl (or Always Always Always Always Always Be Insured)

As I mentioned a few weeks ago - then without the experience to back up my statements - it is a good idea to get private health insurance as soon as you are diagnosed with a mental illness. I would actually suggest getting it now so you don’t have to worry about waiting periods, it’s not that expensive in the scheme of things and it will save you from what follows -plus elective surgery waiting times, being on a ward post-baby and much more. (I don’t work for insurers by the way). Let me tell you about my current experience in one of our states’ (better) public hospitals.

I was admitted here at 1am Tuesday morning, lightly sedated and in a little shock due to the nature of the situation. I was quickly examined by a doctor of some kind, vitals checked, tummy poked(?), given more meds and sent off to bed. The following morning I was seen by the psychiatrist who un-sectioned me. Good so far, but the session with that psychiatrist lasted only 10 minutes and didn’t go into drug discussions, even though I was right in the middle of a changeover. There are no therapy programs here and no regular talks with nurses. That 10 minute talk was the last I saw of any doctor until this afternoon when I kicked up a storm. Post storm I was able to see one of the junior doctors. During the session with this doctor there was a quick question about how I was going but nothing in-depth. I then informed him that I had been on the phone to the private hospital I wish to be admitted to, already given them my insurance details and basically arranged my admission, all he had to do was write the referral. He understood my frustrations with the public system - everyone knows it’s crap - so he agreed to get the senior psychiatrist to write the referral, though he couldn’t guarantee it would happen. With this half hearted response in mind I thought it might be worth having a word with my truly amazing GP. We spoke for 10 minutes or so and she agreed that this situation is awful and said she would get on the phone to both the hospital I want to get into to speed up the admission process and also call here to give the senior psychiatrist a kick up the bum – something I know she followed through with as my nurse told me. So hopefully I’ll be out of here tomorrow and into a hospital which offers care and therapy rather than a secure facility in which to stare at walls. People laugh at the benefits of therapy, especially art therapy, which is my preferred type; but it really is beneficial and I’ve learnt so much about myself, my illness and I’ve been reminded that I’m not the only person in the world. If nothing else the therapy programs at the last hospital provided two positive ways to pass two hours of the day. Hopefully hospital number 4 (in 6 days) will provide the same, if not better. I just have to hope they accept me – they know about the reason for my sectioning - that they have a room available and that I get assigned to a good psychiatrist. I think it will be okay, I’m trying to have a little hope.

A Non-Fiction Short Story

The last five days call for a little explanation:
It all started on a balmy Sunday afternoon when this reclusive girl was tired from the previous days’ house hunting marathon. Reclusive girl had been using all of her energy to behave in hospital for two and a half weeks and had now run out. This resulted in a smashed mug, a pair of nail clippers and a tree on her leg. Her doctor was most unimpressed, but as it was Sunday he could not see her until the following evening. All was unwell in reclusive girls’ world. Monday afternoon was coffee time, unfortunately reclusive girl was allowed out for this coffee trip. The coffee was very good, as it is nine times out of ten. The home-wares shop across the road was calling the name of this girl, so heeding the call across she went, purchasing a very large and sharp knife following a little browsing. On return to the hospital the knife was locked away safe and sound in her cupboard, but again it called her name. Together the knife and the girl created quite a mess. The nurses were most unimpressed (and a little freaked out). This was only a short time before the doctor was due to see her. Doctor was most unimpressed and sectioned reclusive girl.

After some swift packing - and help from the super-hero C - reclusive girl was shipped off in an ambulance to the revolting Box Hill emergency department. No beds were available in any nearby psychiatric wards, so reclusive girl was forced to wait six hours in a very loud, ugly, loud, loud, loud emergency department with a security guard at the door ensuring she went nowhere. A small dose of Seroquel enabled reclusive girl to nap for a few hours. At 12:30am an ambulance arrived to take girl to a psych ward with a newly available bed – how this happened so late at night, she doesn’t know. Girl feared the worst since she was now in the care of the public system, under section with minimal rights. She was most delighted to find a newly built ward and a single bedroom with a lockable door (from the inside) waiting for her. As it was past 1am and girl had already been sedated she was keen to go to bed, but first had to undergo a little medical check and quick interview and take her normal night-time meds. Nurses were kind enough to let girl sleep until she woke naturally at 11:30am.

After lunch girl saw doctor number two – a psychiatrist. Doctor decided to remove the section as it seemed a little heavy handed, and by this stage girl was quite calm. Girl is unsure of what is happening next, a transfer to a hospital closer to her parent’s house is likely, but not confirmed. Girl has not seen a doctor since Tuesday and is a little confused. Some of her fellow patients are a little scary so reclusive girl stays in her room with the door locked apart from short journeys to make tea or coffee and to eat meals.

Answer

Imovane!
If you want an interesting visual experience try the following cocktail:
200mg Lamictal
200mg Seroquel
40mg Lovan
15mg Imovane
Note: You may also need a dose of fucked up brain chemistry, available from your parents.

Red Mesh Spider Horse Thing

Tomorrow should be home day but I see no end in sight. Medication re-jigs have gone terribly; mood has plummeted, agitation and anger has sky rocketed and self harm urges are becoming much more violent – I’m not acting on them don’t worry. Last night I saw a flood of bright red shapes and figures moving around the room and circling me (I was wide awake – I was standing up). At first I was utterly terrified, but once I realised it was purely visual I relaxed a bit and tried to interact with it – I could push it, I could let it crawl up my arm, and if I blew it would move away the way you’d expect a spider-web to move but then return. It only happened in the dark; as soon as the lights came on it disappeared, but I tested it a number of times to see if it would come back, and each time I turned off the lights there it was but in a different form each time – often quite sinister looking. I don’t know what to make of it because technically for something to be a hallucination the person experiencing it has to believe it is actually happening, whereas I was completely lucid during the experience. Don’t get me wrong, I am completely freaked out by the episode and wonder if it is from medications, the nature of my illness changing or even a spiritual attack – though I would think if it was a demonic thing I’d be terrified throughout and if it was an angelic thing there would be a complete absence of fear and a feeling of comfort. I was certainly not comforted, but not terrified for very long, eventually I was able to play with it a bit... Confusing, yes!


Post your thoughts below, I’m interested to hear what you think. The nurses said they haven’t heard of anything quite like that before and I am yet to see my doctor today.

I don’t have much else to say, come visit, I’ve only had two non-parent visitors (thank you to A and C) Oh actually I do have a little more to say. I’ve been house hunting and have come across one which I’m currently applying for and I hope to inspect several others on Saturday, the big challenge will be finding house-mates (and a garden big enough for a great dane and a nice outdoor entertaining area and a huge kitchen and a separate laundry all within the Blackburn area - don’t like my chances!)

Happy Birthday Lester

I wrote a poem in art therapy yesterday, I won’t share it here because I am a terrible poet; instead I’ll tell you about the experience. The therapist took our class into the garden where we were encouraged to touch, smell and observe the general scenery. After a little look and feel around I sat under a butterfly bush (?) with purple flowers; it resembled the head of a snake and smelled of blueberry. So I wrote about this snake teasing me with his lush blueberries, when I have to eat fake ones (my new drug is blueberry flavoured). I enjoyed the experience and the poem came out quite freely, I might try a little more next time I feel inclined.

My medication is being increased and changed to a morning dose rather than night because we think it is interrupting my sleep. Despite taking sleeping pills I keep waking around 2am and then again at 5:30. I think I will be here longer than the two weeks planned, I’m only half way to the treatment dose of the new medication and once I get there we have to see if it actually does anything and how high it needs to be within the treatment range. I’m also having problems with my antidepressant and I have to come off or reduce my anti-psychotic / sedative, all this in 8 days, I don’t think so!

I had a good visit with my mum tonight and a random patient (M – not the ex) sat with us and talked, it was actually great having M there, she is from Northern Ireland and so had some things to talk to my mum about, and of course we had a lot to talk about since we are in a similar predicament. A patient who was in here last time with me has returned following major surgery. She had a huge risk of not surviving it so it’s great to see that she made it though and is well on the road to recovery.

Generally I’m feeling pretty crappy, I’ve been having more trouble than usual with large groups of people, and so have been staying in my room. I skipped lunch today and took my dinner to my room so I could avoid being in a full dining room. If I had it my way this hospital would be empty except for me, one of the good nurses and my doctor -and my cat, it’s his 3rd birthday tomorrow.

Five of Three

I write to you on day five of admission number three. A new drug – Lamictal - has been added to my cocktail, the plan is that once it is up to treatment dose the Seroquel will be reduced or eliminated because it is making me put on weight, and although it does sedate me it doesn’t seem to be doing anything for my mood. I can’t say much about Lamictal’s effects yet because I’m only half way to treatment dose, it needs to be introduced slowly to reduce the chance of catastrophic side effects (yippee). There are not as many people around my age (who aren’t here for drug and alcohol - they’re kind of scary) this time, so I don’t have anyone to talk to. I don’t really feel like I should be here because I’m not too bad at the moment, but it is best for the drug change to be supervised, especially once I start coming off the Seroquel. And maybe it's best to keep me away from high structures.

I went to an open house on Saturday, it was beautiful, but I think I need to stick to looking at three bedroom places; a four person household would be too chaotic for my liking. It’s a hard decision to make because the four bedroom houses typically have proper gardens – something I want – and possible room for my (yet to be acquired) Great Dane. I’m starting to feel a little torn between settling in the Blackburn area – near church and friends, or heading back out to the hills where it is beautiful and the surroundings alone lift my mood, I could probably get a rental with a much larger garden there too, but I’d almost certainly bump into M at some point. I wish I could hurry up and get over M, it still hurts like it happened yesterday, just minus the shock. I’ve been reading a book recommended to me by my psychiatrist, I Hate You, Don’t Leave Me and it is becoming more apparent that a relationship with me is a curse to be avoided, also that I shouldn’t reproduce. Life minus spouse and spawn is not what I envisaged.

To end on a positive note, I think my attention span is improving, I hadn’t been able to follow a newspaper article, let alone a novel... Before the breakup with M I was reading The Iliad and I hadn’t touched it since, until this week. I’m following it well and I remember what had happened in the previous (hundreds of) pages, I really didn’t want to go back to the start. I’m glad I’ve already read Agamemnon, The Iliad would be harder to follow without the knowledge I have from Agamemnon.

That's all for now, there is little happening, so little to write about.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow is day one of approximately 14. Here we go again.

Surprise!

They do like to spring things on you at this hospital of mine. I was told yesterday that I needed to be re-admitted and there would be a wait of around a week. That’s fine, I just need to try and behave until then. This afternoon I receive a phone-call “Can you be here by 4:30?” that’s worse than last time’s 6pm “Can you be here by 10am?” I said I would go in today but then he explained that they only had a shared room available, I am not sharing a room so I have to wait. Given they seem to like surprising me with only a few hours to get there I’m going to do most of my packing tonight so I’m ready to go at the drop of a hat. This admission will be about 2 weeks, maybe a little longer since it’s for a drug change-over. This will bring my total hospitalisation time for this year up to 3 months and 1 week - that’s a lot.

Comfort

A nice end to a bad day

Bolte Bridge

You know how yesterday I said there would probably be more admissions in the future – well I was right. There was a little incident last night involving two separate stops on the Bolte Bridge, a police car and two ambulances. It ended with me spending the night in the Royal Melbourne, seeing my psychiatrist this morning (which was scheduled anyway) and being told I’m going back to the psych hospital as soon as there’s a bed (probably next week). I don’t think I was actually going to do anything last night, I just hoped that by peering at death I might be frightened into realising that I wanted to live, or sure that I didn’t – just something that’s not this fog I’m in now. I was driving towards the exit for the bridge and my car almost took its self there, it was very impulsive (the first time).

For your information the bridge isn’t actually that high, I’m not convinced you’d die on impact with the water and drowning is not how I want to go! The design is also kind of inviting to jumpers, if you got over the (low) handrail you could just slide off like a playground slide, a little bad design I think – or one last pleasure for the people who now can’t jump off the Westgate thanks to the fences.

Post bridge episode: I’m home and have to try and behave for a while, there are many impulses which need to be ignored. I feel a little silly because I called the cat team on myself (I was stuck and confused, I didn’t know what to do next); I feel guilty for worrying my parents, and angry that it didn’t achieve anything. The upcoming hospital admission won’t be as long as the last one, this will be a focused drug re-jig, I think he already has some ideas in mind and he suggested that it should only be a two week stay – it’s better than 7!

I wasn’t going to post this, it’s very personal and I can’t make people un-read it if I change my mind; but this blog is where I’m honest. So here I am honestly saying that life is hard at the moment, I wish I could see it getting better, but I can’t. I really think this is it for me, emptiness, loneliness and the inability to jump – meaning I have to live with it for the rest of my natural life...

Always Be Insured

If you are ever diagnosed with a mental illness, and you don’t have health insurance make getting it your top priority. Australia’s public mental health care is woeful; it exists mainly to stop repeated emergency room presentations. One good thing Medicare has introduced in recent years is the cover of 12 psychology appointments per year, it’s not enough, but it’s something. When I was discharged from hospital I was given a pile of forms and receipts, I learnt that this year my insurance has paid out close to $50 000. My first admission was $15 000, my second $24 000 and there have been a lot of outpatient sessions and psychiatrist fees on top of that. That $50 000 is just for my mental health, there have also been tests, scans and chiropractic fees, oh and dental! I just got off the phone with my insurer I have increased my level of cover. I had a $500 excess per year and I had to pay extra to the hospital for a private room, I’m now fully covered for a private room and have no excess, even with the extra fees it will save me a lot for future admissions – sadly I expect there will be more.

In the recent health reforms mental health was completely overlooked and it affects so much of the population. I am fortunate to be insured. By myself I wouldn’t be able to afford it, but my parents are generous enough to continue supporting me despite being nearly 26. To be poor and mentally ill would be devastating, the worst of the worst get admitted to public hospitals, the rest suffer with minimal treatment, or in the case of men, go to prison. I haven’t been reading it recently, but there is an excellent health blog called Croakey, it is hosted on the Crikey website. During the health reforms they had posts almost daily about public mental health care (or lack of it). Have a read if you’re interested, at the moment they are talking about Medicare locals and how all that will work, I can’t be bothered reading it, go back a couple of months for the mental health stuff.

Well. It’s 1:12pm I’m still in my pyjamas and I stink from not showering in days; I might go and do something about that. I have to brave the big wide world today (visiting a friend and going to small group).

General Update

I’m home. I was discharged last Saturday (9th Oct). The new medication was increased and the higher dose has started to prove its self useful for my anxiety, but not so much for my mood, I also think it’s giving me auditory hallucinations (it’s hard to tell if they’re actually hallucinations and if the drug is responsible), if so I expect when I see my psychiatrist on Tuesday he’ll take me off it. Unfortunately my mood isn’t as chemically broken as my anxiety, so the drugs don’t do a lot for it; I say unfortunately because that means fixing it is a lot harder. I have a referral from my psychiatrist for a new psychologist because the one I’ve been seeing has not filled me with confidence in her abilities. The new one is supposedly very good with borderlines; I guess she’ll have fun with me. I was rejected by the outpatient service for the DBT class because I expressed concern about being patronised. Being rejected for DBT for borderline is akin to being told you can’t have your inflamed appendix removed until it gets a bit better by its self (it won’t will it!)

I have started looking for somewhere to live around the Blackburn area, I don’t expect it to be easy. I attended my first ever open house on Friday, there were so many people there, people who would probably be more attractive tenants than me. The house was beautiful, below budget and in a great area; but the garden was only just big enough for the washing line - I’d like to have entertaining space and the possibility of a dog – it seems the houses with garden space are only in my budget range because the house its self is awful. I might have to be less picky or just find an existing share house to move into (cat = problem), I can’t put up with living with my family for much longer, Mum is being too protective, I feel suffocated.

My church small group sent me flowers and a lovely card this week. I haven’t been for about 10 weeks so it’s nice to know I’ve not been forgotten, I’ll try to make it tomorrow, I’ve been feeling terrible today so I can’t be sure that I’ll be able to, but I’ll try. I’ve organised to see a friend from the hospital before small group, this is a perfect arrangement because it means I can head over there before peak traffic starts, I have more than one reason to do the drive and I get to see B (my friend)

It’s been nearly five months since M (ex) decided he didn’t want me anymore, it still hurts like it happened yesterday, sometimes I forget that it happened at all and then suddenly I realise that he’s not my boyfriend anymore. People say it takes about a year to get over something like this, I’m almost half way and I don’t see or feel much progress.

Sorry this post has been a bit all over the place, I was laptop-less for a while (fan clogged) and as I said I feel terrible today, so my thoughts are a little wild.

Re-Posted Privacy Note

I have some new readers so I'm re-posting a note on privacy.

I’ve had a few people mention how open I am being about everything by linking this blog to facebook and posting the link fairly regularly etc. I’m not as open as you think. My facebook settings are personalised to prevent a lot of my friends from seeing those particular comments, and the link is also hidden from a lot of people. “Ahh”, you may say “but I can see them and I haven’t seen you in years”; well that means that I view you as someone who would not think less of me because of this blog, and even though I haven’t seen you for a long time I don’t mind you reading this. I also don’t view my-self worthy of being gossip fodder, who would be interested!


I have not listed my name on this blog and I would appreciate anyone who chooses to leave a comment to just refer to me as K and not mention anything else which could easily identify me. Thank you.

Fodder

Hopefully I’m leaving on Friday or Saturday. Lovan has been introduced to my drug cocktail, it is one of the older drugs, but still of the current era of antidepressants. I don’t know if it has started working yet, but it has definitely helped with the Pristiq withdrawal, probably because it deals with some of the same chemicals. All I know is that physically I feel a lot better. Mood is also better which is at least in part thanks to not feeling so bad physically. I miss how good Pristiq was with my anxiety, I’m back to thinking my food and beverages have been poisoned if I turn my back on them for any amount of time.

I made it to church tonight, it was good to be there with the people, I need to make sure I don’t drift away from it / them or I’m going to be totally lost. I found it hard tonight, I looked in the mirror afterwards to find lots of pinch marks on my collar bone (one of the things I do when I’m anxious). Tonight they had a guest speaker from some Christian agency for disabled people. The talk didn’t sit well with me and I now kind of feel like I and all other people who aren’t quite right are ripe to be used as Christian reward fodder. “Hey God, I invited a crazy person to dinner, one extra Heavenly reward please!” The speaker dude by no means said that, it’s just a thought that worked its way into my head while he was speaking and it stuck. There are a few good deeds I’ve done and never mentioned so I could save them for Heavenly rewards. Is that wrong? It can’t be because there are even instructions about it in the bible, right from Jesus’ mouth in-fact. Matthew 6:1-4 "Be careful not to do your 'acts of righteousness' before men, to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven.  2"So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honoured by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. 3But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, 4so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.” I’m not going to argue with Jesus, but feelings are not fact and I feel like reward fodder.

Withdrawal

Sorry if I've written this in Giraffe, I'm not all here today

I write to you today from my noisy hospital bed, the hospital is undergoing some minor renovations – why I do not understand since this whole ward is being gutted next year. I am currently in withdrawal from Pristiq - the antidepressant I’ve been on since November last year. My psych made the decision to take me off it because it wasn’t working well enough, a higher dose would have been ideal but I experience unpleasant side effects on that dose. I have also had two consultations with another psychiatrist; mine is feeling a little lost. Since admission I have become worse and none of the drug cocktails he’d tried had done anything to help. On Friday night I got up to a little mischief and as a result I was heavily sedated against my will. When I saw my doctor the following morning he revoked my leave, this means I can’t go for coffee anymore, even if I’m escorted by a parent or friend, also no church. It was the Friday night incident that prompted my psych to seek a second opinion on my condition. The psychiatrist giving the second opinion was very thorough, talking with him took all my energy, but I think he got a few things out of me that I’ve neglected to tell my usual psych. The two of them will meet this afternoon and then I’ll meet with my psych this evening and find out what the next step is. I’d put my vote in for forced euthanasia.

Some positives to bring about a little balance:
F came to visit on Saturday night we had fun making a mask together for a party she was going to. The only tools we had on hand was a little fabric, some swimming goggles and double sided tape - not even a pair of scissors. We ripped the fabric, and cut it when necessary with one of her keys, wrapped it around her goggles (which sat on her forehead, not over her eyes) and then used a different, more transparent fabric as a veil down to about the tip of her nose. The end result was not too bad - she even got compliments at the party! Last night C came to visit me. C never fails to bring a smile to my face and I am totally comfortable around her; even when going through withdrawal and feeling dizzy, bloated and generally off. F and C are great, I love them lots.

No idea about discharge date yet, I suppose I’ll get some sort of inkling tonight. I’m not looking forward to starting the new drug, the first three weeks can be hell.

Endless Tunnel

Last week I was told by my doctor that I’d be out by half way through the next week; it didn’t happen. I’m two days short of five weeks in here and it doesn’t look like I’ll be going home any time soon. The last six days have been very hard for me, my medication keeps getting changed, nothing drastic, just dose and time-of-day alterations but they’re really messing with me. Medication isn’t solely to blame though; I can’t see any light at the end of this massive tunnel I’m in, so I don’t even try to help myself move through it. If the tunnel never ends why not just sit and paint the walls?
      Painting the walls is pretty much what I have been doing and why I’m not getting out of here soon – I am in fact lucky that I haven’t been transferred to a non-voluntary hospital. Avoidance of said hospital is my prime motivator in the task to stop painting the tunnel. Perhaps this tunnel analogy is wearing thin and becoming a little Freudian, but meh I can’t be bothered re-writing.

I made it to church this week, my taxi was only 20 minutes late, even though I ordered it two hours in advance. I got a lift home from a lovely church lady and her daughter. This week’s service was a healing service. I decided to go up for prayer; I’ve always been sceptical about God healing people physically in this age. But the God of the bible is the same God we have today, the speaker emphasised that it is the faith of those praying, not the faith of the one needing the healing that was important. The story of the Centurion with the sick servant was used to back up this idea. Anyway, nothing happened for me there, or in the following days. Everything continued to get worse and my suicidal thoughts increased a lot. I got it in to my head last night that perhaps God had chosen to heal me by letting me die and be with him - totally unsound theology I know. I maintain that I don’t want my last act on earth to be a sin, that sin being murder of self. I do not belong to me, I belong to Christ and by committing suicide I’d be stealing from him, kind of....

Tomorrow two of the three girls I’ve made friends with in here are leaving. Neither of them is better but they are better-er than when they came in, I will miss having them to chat with. I will definitely keep in touch with one girl - I will call her L, the other I’m not too sure about. The remaining girl I will call B, she will be here for a while yet, her situation is complex and awful for her. I’m glad I’ll still have her company though. Hopefully she’ll be granted leave soon so we can go out for coffee together. On my coffee walk today I found a second-hand clothing shop specialising in high end fashion, like stuff you’d pay several hundred for new. Some of it was still very expensive, but some not too bad, and all in excellent condition. I didn’t buy anything, but there was a jacket which caught my eye...

I seem to have lost a day this week, there are some events I just can’t place and everything feels wrong. I have to keep checking that it is in fact Thursday. I think it’s Monday that my mind has erased, I’ve just now realised why, that’s the day I was highly agitated and not quite here. Tuesday was a little better and I went for my usual coffee walk and bought myself some flowers – for the second time since I’ve been here. Visitors seem to have decided that people in psych hospitals don’t deserve as many flowers as people in normal hospitals. Although my friends are mostly poor and flowers aren’t cheap, so I suppose I can forgive them.

Bye for now, come visit me, get details by pm’ing me through facebook.

K

24 Days of Hurdles

I’m still here. This admission looks like it is going to be longer than my last one. The hurdles to freedom are tough to clear; I have to gain a better understanding of, and accept that I have to deal with B.P.D. I am not yet at the stage where I can accept the help being offered to me, this is because I can’t see the outcome being good, and it is a lot of work. My doctor wants me to do the outpatient D.B.T course, it takes 12 months and it’s hard. I am not good in talking groups, I feel patronised, I get frustrated, I get angry and then, often, I leave. I expect that I will be back in here a few more times, there’s no way they have cured me of my attraction to sharp and hot things. I don’t know what impact further admissions will have on my participation in the outpatient program, or if they will just accept that I’m not ‘cured’ and turn a blind eye to future bodily experiments – the latest of which was a big impulsive haircut, it didn’t turn out too badly considering looking good was not the aim.

Today I had two coffee dates, one with F - it was lovely to see her. It has been a short friendship with F but I value it highly, she is kind, wise and fun. The second coffee date was in the same cafe, only 15 minutes later with R – a recently discharged patient, we had a good long chat and far too much caffeine.

I tried to go to church on Sunday but the nurses somehow screwed up ordering my taxi, they then cancelled it and I ordered one for myself, it got to 15 minutes after the service had started and I decided to cancel the taxi because I would have missed 35 minutes of the service even if the taxi rolled up at that moment. I was very disappointed, but I’d had a busy day with my mum - including a minor freak out in a crowded shop. So maybe it was better for me to avoid being around another crowd that day - even if it was a holy crowd! The young adult minister has been to visit me and he has tried to come a second time; I am impressed with the effort he and others have made to help me not feel excluded. This Sunday (if I’m still in here) I will make a second attempt at getting a taxi to church but F will be able to bring me back afterwards, she’s busy with coffee ministry beforehand – how great is that, my church has a coffee ministry! It’s not as trivial as it sounds it’s actually a great idea.

One Angry, Dizzy Girl

Dad took me out to lunch today, it was good. Afterwards I set up a mail redirection since I moved out of my flat at weekend. I’m a little scared about not having the flat anymore, it means I have nowhere to flee if I can’t stand my family anymore. I’ll be looking for a rental in Blackburn or Blackburn North when I get out of here, somewhere I can settle for five or so years, probably more. I don’t want to move again until it’s time to buy my own home. Given that I intend to be there for a long time the new house must feel like a home and not just somewhere to lay my head at night, it must be big enough for Lester to stretch his legs and it would be a bonus if it had a decent back garden so I can consider getting a dog. I would love a great dane, but in a small suburban garden it would be cruel unless I took it for 57 walks a day. My grand plan with the house is to find a three bedroom and in the period between being accepted as the tenant and moving in to find two people to move in with me. I’ve been looking at properties in that area and I can easily afford what I want if it’s three bedrooms and three people paying the rent. I would prefer only one house mate, but if I’m lucky / blessed with good people it could be good.

I still don’t know when I’m getting out of here, but I think it will be soon. My doctor admitted today that he no longer saw the benefit of my admission, and I’ve never really seen it. I’m angry about this because I feel worse now than the day I walked in, I’m on more drugs, I'm constantly dizzy and tired and I feel like there is even less hope for recovery. So from my point of view this admission has been a disaster and the only benefit is that it has kept me away from sharp things for a few weeks.

Update 24601

Normally I do about three proof reads to try and get my punctuation somewhere near right, I can’t be bothered today so forgive me and try your best to understand the following:

I moved into a nice new room yesterday, it is much bigger than the crusty old room I had, I don’t have to share my en-suite anymore and the decor is modern but nice. The down side (there is always at least one) is that my neighbour snores terribly loud. I can hear him clearly through the walls - and they’re solid, not just plasterboard – he sleeps a lot during the day, not just at night and when he’s awake he watches television at a high volume. The pros still outweigh the cons because I have ear plugs and can play music to drown out the television.

Today is the first day that I haven’t felt completely terrible; maybe my new drug cocktail is starting to take effect. Until now all I’ve felt from the increased drugs is tiredness and a touch of dizziness – not unsurprising when you’re changing your brain chemistry. An old friend came to visit today, it was great to see her. Three of my five visitors (excluding family) have driven a long way to see me, I am grateful. I don’t have a discharge date yet, I don’t see it being too soon as the reason for admission hasn’t been resolved, drugs alone can’t do that.

My neighbour just turned on the TV, I’m trying not to hate him.

Drugs, Diagnosis and Meeting

Last night my doctor met with my parents again, he was kind enough to let me sit this one out as last time was a disaster. The meeting seems to have gone well, he got information from them about me and they got to hear some things that I don’t have the strength to tell them. I am having another drug increase, this time of the pristiq, that’s the antidepressant. Last time I was on this higher dose it made me quite agitated and sped up my heart but the Seroquel should take care of that this time. When my antidepressant dose changes I tend to be a little wild for a few weeks so please forgive any insane posts or conversations for those of you who talk to me. Doctor finally told me that I do have borderline personality disorder, on top of anxiety and depression. Borderline is a tricky beast and I can’t explain it to you, if you’re interested Sane has a good factsheet about it.

I’ll probably be in hospital for another few weeks - it’s one week today. Please visit me, I’ve not had many.

Three Months On

It is three months today – well tonight around 8pm – since I lost my love, my M. Since coming to hospital this time around I haven’t shed a tear, whereas even up to the day before admission I was crying heavily every day. I don’t know if I’ve suddenly got over the whole ordeal, just a little bit, or if I’ve buried the hurt further than I had been able to. I am leaning toward the latter due to the suddenness of the change. Although this may not be a good thing I am enjoying not seeing that ghastly creature with puffy eyes staring back at me from the mirror.

One good thing has come out of the breakup and that is the discovery of my new church, I wouldn’t have found it without the suggestion from pastoral carer here, and I wouldn’t have come here without the breakup. In the next few months I hope to find a nice place to rent near church, somewhere I can share with two other people and where I can have a dog and my precious cat. I don’t have a dog yet so I also hope to get a Great Dane puppy in the next few months, the house will have to come first. That is my ideal plan, I also have a more sinister plan which tempts me greatly, but which I am terrified of. At this point in my life I wish I knew nothing of God, had never heard of Jesus and thought there was no eternity; under these circumstances I would happily take my own life today, but I am blessed to know the Lord. The blessing is also a burden, for I know that eternity can either be very good or very bad. I don’t believe that suicide sends one right to hell, but I don’t want my last act on earth to be sinful and I haven’t done much in my life to please God, I’ve accepted salvation and rested on my behind ever since, I think that would place me on the periphery of Heaven.

I don’t know if I have the strength to battle on through this illness and I don’t know if I have the courage to end my life, knowing that it won’t actually be the end. I am truly stuck.

Sorry for the depressing post, I’ll try to write something chirpier next time. K.

Hospital Food

The food in here varies more than you could imagine. Last time I was here I had one of the best roast dinners I’ve had the fortune to consume, but also some of the blandest and outright revolting food I’ve come across. The food so far in this admission has been rather pleasant. Today for lunch I had roast lamb and salad in a mountain bread wrap and I asked for some of the roast potatoes which were meant to accompany the other meal. The wrap was quite nice, but the potatoes were amazing, simple, yes, but so good. I’ve always had a thing for potatoes, I couldn’t live off them as I’m sure they lack nearly everything one needs to survive, but I could definitely eat them every day.

Day Four

I write this at the end of my fourth day in hospital, I’ve seen more familiar faces and plenty of fresh ones. I hate my therapy group and look forward to there being an available place in art therapy, the talking groups run at a snail’s pace and I feel slightly insulted by them, plus I disagree with a lot of what is said. I understand that a therapist can’t stand up and say that all hope is lost and we should prepare for a mass suicide, but they are overly optimistic and I don’t think there’s much truth to what they say. From a Christian point of view the therapy is crappy too, very self focused; I suppose you can’t expect much else from secular therapy. I think I’ll sit therapy out until I can get into the art one and have a chat with the pastoral carer on Friday to make up for my absences, my doctor may not like this approach though.

I had a nice chat with a patient today I will call him R. R was here last time I was and was re-admitted one day before I was this time around, he seems very friendly and smart, he’s the first person I’ve spoken with at length since admission so it was a breath of fresh air, I hope to speak with him more in future, though this may be hard since I rarely leave my room.

My night time medication was increased by 50% last night, this is Seroquel, the drug which sends me to sleep whether or not I’m lying down (refer to 8/6/10 post Seroquel and 11/6/10 post Seroquel 2). I’ve read about the drug many times, but I don’t know what it actually does for me except send me to sleep. My doctor is keen to change the antidepressant too, this scares me a little because it means I have three weeks of dizziness and wild moods to endure and then it’s entirely possible it won’t be the right drug for me and will have to be changed again. This is all too much for a K to deal with.

Please visit, it’s lonely here, just contact me first for details and to make sure I’m up to seeing people.

Familiar Faces

I thought it was a little soon for me to be back in hospital, I’d only been out seven weeks. Imagine my surprise when the first person I saw when I walked through the door was here last time, then on my way to my room I almost bumped into another person from last time, a lovely lady who was in my art therapy class. Over the course of the past two days I have seen no less than six people I recognise, some of them I suspect have not been home at all.

I think I’ll be here longer than I initially thought. My doctor wants to change my medication and mentioned a ‘non medication alternative’, which I’m hoping isn’t ECT, but apparently it is very effective...

I don’t have much else to say yet. It gets a little lonely here so feel free to visit. I’m not going to post details on the blog, so private message me through facebook or send a good old fashioned email and I’ll give you the visiting hours and name and location of the hospital. If any of you have invented an invisibility and muting collar for animals I am still in need of one, I was unable to find one during my last minute shopping trip.

Rush

This had to be done in a hurry because until today I thought I'd be going in early next week, at 6:30 tonight the hospital called and asked me to be there at 10am tomorrow!

Pre-Admission Shopping List

• Mattress topper in-case I am put in one of the nice new rooms with the rock hard beds. Refer to 23/6/10 post Five Mattress Protectors Don’t Make a Hard Bed Soft

• Ear Plugs in-case I am put in one of the rooms near the nurses station or one of the rooms near the main road.

• New earphones, the apple ones are too big for my ears and constantly fall out and my awesome koss ones got damaged from me sleeping with them on last time I was in hospital.

• New summer pyjamas in-case I am in one of the nice new rooms with the rock hard beds and the central heating which doesn’t get turned down at night.

• A big knife to defend my-self from the mean en-suite heater hog in the room next door, who wants to kill me in my sleep, (Refer to 22/6/10 post The New, New Room) this will need to be carefully concealed to get past the admission bag check, any smuggling tips would be greatly appreciated.

• New winter pyjamas and slippers, these were bought for me last time and they are far too bright, pink slippers and bright blue pyjamas – yuk!

• Tea and coffee bags, they have bad tea and only instant coffee, but there’s a great cafe only a short walk away.

• Something to make my room smell pleasant.

• An invisibility and muting collar for Lester so he can come with me.

• Hand soap, you’d think being a hospital and all they’d be pro clean hands, but no. Provide your own soap or it’s gastro for you my lovelies.

• Chocolate, just a little bit, they feed us far too much in there.

• Audio books, don’t have the brain power to remember anything I read so hopefully these will help me not rot my mind with movies and television

• And after that last comment about rotting my mind... A handful of weekly movie rentals

Hi Ho Hi Ho It's Back to Hos-pit-al I go

So I mentioned yesterday that I had some not so great news... Following some disastrous home decorating it has been strongly suggested that I return to hospital this week. I wanted to wait until I had confirmation before posting it on the blog, but it still seems a little up in the air regarding admission date. It could be as early as tomorrow if some other person’s discharge meeting goes well, otherwise it should be early next week. Hopefully I won’t be in there for a month this time, but I think a short break from reality will be good for me.

Boring K

Sorry I haven’t been posting as often lately, I don’t feel I have anything of worth to say, all I can offer you right now is a little update.

My time has been spent driving between appointments, working on my art therapy book and wasting time watching television shows on my laptop. I’ve finished Six Feet Under and Lost, and I’ve watched seasons one and two of United States of Tara. Church is still going well, small group is great – although I wagged last week – and the people are lovely. I have a new friend who I will call F and she lives only three buildings down from me, we get along really well. My last three Friday afternoons have been spent teaching drama to 8-11 year-olds at a drama school I went to as a child. It was only voluntary work but I need to learn some teaching skills, it’s over for now but I might return next year, I’ll explain why that’s over in my next post. I have a little news of the not so good variety.

Alcoholic Flowers

I wanted to drown my sorrows so a couple of friends and I went to a local liquor store, it’s just a quiet, dingy stand alone shop in Monbulk. I went in alone whilst my friends went to get some bits and pieces from another shop, we left our circa 1985 blue van parked outside the liquor store. I wandered over to the red wine section and helped myself to a lovely bottle of shiraz which I proceeded to drink from the bottle as I searched for something appropriate to share with my friends. Over the course of about half an hour I wandered through the shop completely alone, the attendant was ducked behind the counter using the phone and there were no other customers. I finally chose a bottle of scotch and decided not to bother with another wine for my friends. I placed the wine - which I had been drinking - and the scotch on the counter, as the attendant went to bag them we realised that I had already drunk all of the wine so I only needed to take the scotch with me. It occurred to me that I had consumed an entire bottle of wine in no longer than 30 minutes, I was filled with the undoubtable knowledge that I would never again feel the effects of alcohol, there would be no drowning of sorrows for I had become immune to the effects of alcohol. My attention was drawn back to the task at hand, I had to pay for the items before I could indulge in self pity. I worried that I may not have enough cash but my fears were allayed when I saw the eftpos machine. The total for the wine and scotch came in at exactly the amount of cash I had in my purse, but I thought it would be good to keep the cash so I paid with my card instead. My card was swiped through the machine, but it didn’t work. The attendant called to one of the other staff members, she came over but didn’t know what the problem was. Out of the corner of my eye I saw some movement to the left of the counter, an intoxicated, unkempt man stood up and walked to the back of the shop to use the lavatory, he was apparently another staff member. Considering how quiet the shop, and indeed the town is, there really is no need for three people to be rostered on at the same time. It would seem the man read my mind, for when he emerged from the lavatory he announced he was going home and walked out the front door. After a few more attempts at paying with my card it was clear that the eftpos machine was not going to work and I paid in cash, feeling very lucky to have the correct amount. Disappointed I left the shop with a light purse and a bottle of scotch. As I approached the van I saw that something was wrong, just in the half hour I’d been in the shop the van had been painted with childish looking flowers and trees, dismayed I walked around the van surveying the damage. I reached the back and found the culprits sitting inside the boot, they were three girls dressed in worn out loosely fitting clothes, their ages I could not guess. There was no anger in me, despite the damage they had caused to the van. I got in the van through the side door and sat with them to chat. They were local girls who lived at the end of the road which ran beside the liquor store, that road is very steep, so steep that a person can’t walk up or down it unaided, but somehow it is fine to drive on... The girls are from a very large family, there ere in excess of 15 children, I don’t know the exact number because the girls didn’t tell me, they just pointed to the big red van a few meters away and said the people in it were all their siblings, they were mostly young children, but there were a few teenagers too, they were all dressed alike, in worn out loosely fitted, light coloured clothes. The girls explained that the drunken man in the liquor store is their father and they had been sitting in the big red van waiting for him to finish work. They normally don’t leave their home, their parents prefer to keep them isolated, but this day they all went to work with dad. Despite leaving the shop, their father hadn’t yet returned to the van to take them home. I assumed that the girls would be very naive about the world, they had been home schooled and hardly left their home up on the steep, un-climbable hill. My assumption was wrong, despite their isolation they were very informed and held good conversation. The older of the girls, whose age I still don’t know had just returned from studying in the UK, it seems the enforced isolation has its limits, she was expecting some friends from uni to arrive in Australia later that day and was excited about them coming to stay with her family up the big steep hill. As we were getting into the conversation and starting to enjoy one another’s company their father returned and they had to go. I was saddened by the prospect of never seeing them again – I was not game to drive up that hill – but the older girl told me I’d see her the next day because our brothers are on the same football team, I just had to go and watch his game. I didn’t even know that my brother played football but I agreed to meet her there. The big red van full of children departed just as my friends got back from their shopping. My friends loved the floral additions to our old blue van. One of my friends went into the liquor store to use the lavatory while we waited for her in the van.

One of my milder dreams.