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!)