A Flat Festive Season

Girl found the best place to spend a 36-degree day

I had a fun combined birthday party with my housemates. All three of us are December babies. It was the happiest I've felt for a long time, aided by alcohol I'll confess, but I wasn't really drunk, just happy drunk. I've never been properly drunk, I don't want to be like my dad even once. The happy feeling didn't last; I returned at midnight after the party to the hospital - they gave me extra leave to go to my own party, how nice of them! I had 10 TMS treatments and it picked my mood up from a 4 to a 5 (out of 10). This is just a bleh number to be at; nothing's joyful, nothing sucks so much you want to stab yourself, you don't feel suicidal, just bleh. I'm back in for another 10 on the 10th Jan, they're going to do two a day, so I may only be in for five days.

I met a man online, met up, no good. He needs friends though so I might contribute there, nothing more. Ideally I'd be with the kind of man who would be attracted to me as I am right now - though not grumpy. I am trying to lose weight but it's very hard on Seroquel, that fucking drug just makes your brain constantly scream I'M STARVING! FEED ME. I definitely look better 50kg thinner but even if I lost it all and was pretty again I'm going to decline with age, so I want a man who loves my brain. My brain isn't all bad, it's funny, friendly, compassionate, loving, caring and very loyal. Maybe I don't want a man who can't look past the fat. I can understand being put off by my illness, but I think it's pretty well managed and if I had something like a good relationship to live for I'd be a lot better. Right now if I kill myself I'd wrestle with myself about the pain I'd be causing the people who care about me, but I'm not sure I could do that to a partner. I think I'd try harder to stay. That's a big burden to place on someone though, so maybe no one wants that.

As I've been so flat I haven't had a single creative thought for a week. Not a word has been written on my novel. My life has just been appointments and a couple of coffees with a friend or two. I went to the church my housemates go to on Sunday as mine was not on that night. It was good to experience a very different style of church. Good sermon. I liked the quality of the music, but the song choice was not what I like, they were nearly all talking about what we are going to do for God or because of Him. I prefer songs simply glorifying God, I don't want to sing something about myself, what if I don't do it - I've lied to God.

Being from an immigrant family means Christmas sucks. There's three of us in Australia. My brother lives with my Mum, and his girlfriend recently moved in, I assume she's having Christmas dinner with us. Mum has two friends who are from the same area as us, the man was actually engaged to my aunty but it ended; they might come for Christmas, but haven't confirmed yet. Mum has a boyfriend (I don't like calling him that, it sounds too adolescent, but doesn't partner mean you're living together?) who she tries to keep secret. I asked if he'll be joining us but he has his own kids to have Christmas with, she said maybe later on in the day. Yeah, so Christmas will be sit down, eat a duck, clean up, read or something like that. I like to watch the Queen's speech, Mum just jokes her way through it but I think it's quite meaningful. This year I get to attend the Christmas Eve service at my church, usually I'm in hospital. It ends after midnight, hopefully that means the roads are quiet for the hour-long drive to Mum's.

I hate this time of year, everyone's busy; right now I just want to sit down around a table or on some couches with a friend and chat about anything and everything. I can't read with my head this foggy and I just don't want to watch anything. I'm listening to music but there's almost permanently a musical background to whatever I'm doing. I might go outside and cuddle the chickens, it's looking like a storm's on its way and my phone has just confirmed this, I've got a little while though.

Sorry this wasn't the most enthralling read I've ever given you, just an update.

Mourning?

Today is a hard day, it's my Dad's 62nd birthday - well at least it would be if he was still alive. I thought I'd be fine, but I cried over my breakfast and then managed to bite my lip for a few hours to stop a repeat. I allowed myself to shed a few more tears when I got home from my psychology session. He was briefly mentioned, but I felt like there were more pressing issues to discuss. It's hard knowing what to feel right now. I guess the answer is whatever you are feeling is right. It's just so confusing. My psychologist and I were talking about emotions taking on a whole new life when they are attached to trauma, they're stronger and harder to dismiss or even accept.

I've been in therapy for nine years now and we've all agreed that I have depression, which is biological and even if I was brought up in the ideal family it would have reared its ugly head. It is worse due to what I've been through though. On top of the depression, I also have anxiety and Borderline Personality Disorder. I can't be bothered searching this blog to find out what I've already told you, so I'm sorry if you've heard it a hundred times. The trauma in my life is from growing up with the emotional abuse from my Dad's alcoholism. I'll make it clear, he didn't hit us, but I was still terrified nearly every night of what was going to (eventually) walk through the door. Often it was late and he'd wake me up with his shouting and very loud music, one time he threw a heap of crockery across the kitchen, smashing plates and bowls on the floor and walls. I hid from him pretty well when I knew he'd be yelling at me. I'm not going to type every incident from the 21 years I lived with him in here, but let's just settle on the fact that I was scared of him.

Mum was and still remains a stone. If that woman has an emotion it's hidden underneath a mountain. I couldn't share my fears and shame with her. I attended a Christian school where everyone came from a perfect church- attending family, of course not true, but it felt like I was the only one with this dirty secret that my family wasn't perfect. It was made worse by the church when I started attending of my own accord when I was in year 9. There the families were on a higher level of perfection and I just felt that I was somehow tainting the place. I told no one except the one girl who invited me to the church. (she probably told her dad, who was/is the pastor, so I'm sure more people than I thought knew). Not having anyone to talk to has made the emotional abuse so much worse, I didn't have extended family as we moved to Australia from England when I was 3. My Grandma was a great support on our most recent trip. I think about how much better things would have been had I been able to talk to her whilst growing up, and for Mum to have some support if she wanted to get a divorce.

Mum says I blame Dad too much for where I'm at now, but my doctor puts a lot of blame on him, and her for failing to be emotionally available and for tearing me away from my extended family. (If you're reading this Mum, I know you thought you were doing the best thing). You can't raise a healthy child in an environment where it doesn't know what to expect each night, where it has to keep secrets and has no support.

An aside. In year 10 my Dad was getting home late most nights and playing music very loudly whilst shouting at Mum. I think it's understandable that most mornings were slow. I got to school late most mornings and my bastard of a homeroom teacher, instead of taking me aside and asking how things were at home just kept giving me demerits and detentions.

So today on his birthday, I'm lost. He was a drinker right to the end. I remember one apology, he was trashed on my birthday and the next day went and bought me a beautiful pearl necklace, which I still wear on occasions. I am similar to him in that way, I show my love through gifts. He loved me and showed it in his own way, but that doesn't wipe out the damage he caused.

If my Mum reads this I'll be in so much trouble for telling all of you this. I don't let Mum see the links but I think she snoops around sometimes.

I'd like to add that since leaving the church of my youth I've been open about Dad and I'm not a dirty stain on the church, I'm part of a body of believers who love and help each other.

I have nothing else to say.

Happy Birthday Dad

Another One

My last overdose was September last year; I couldn't go a whole calendar year without one; that would just be irresponsible! Wednesday night saw my belly greeting a rather small overdose. I took my self to hospital just to avoid scaring my housemates and to stop myself wetting the bed if I ended up unconscious for longer than expected. I think I was out for 17 hours, then they just kept me until I could walk and had a psych assessment. I saw my psychiatrist today, we chatted about it briefly but there were other things I wanted to discuss, like my hopeful misinterpretation from my Mum saying that my illnesses are all my own fault and that Dad wasn't perfect but much better than I remember. My Dr is very good at putting things into perspective and validating my feelings.

I've got two and a half hours to fill in until I see a friend for the night. I'm feeling rotten right now, but at least I have seeing her to look forward to.

Three Weeks out Two Weeks in

I'm at home now, discharge was on Saturday. I'm a bit miserable, to tell the truth. I've hit a hurdle in my story, so I've only written a tiny bit. I'm close to 9000 words now, but I'm not writing the story as it will be read, rather just how the plot emerges. When I've worked out everything that's happening I'll re-write probably in a different order to slowly reveal things about my main character and her task. I've decided that she will have a very long life and will have a very important job to do and will live until she finds someone worthy to pass that on to.

I'm probably not moving to Edinburgh, the NHS is very bad for mental health and private insurance excludes pre-existing conditions, so I'm stuffed. Also, the disability support payment is a fraction of what I'm on here. My ongoing fear of becoming homeless would exhibit its self within a week of my arrival and all my money being spent. Speaking of homelessness, I'm terrified that our lease won't be renewed in March and the boys want to live closer to the city and I won't be able to find anyone around here to live with because who wants to live with an unemployed nut case! So back to Mum's an hour away from all my friends, my GP, my psychologist and I'd lose my support worker, whom I really rely on. March, please don't come! We might get notice either way before the end of the year so we won't be so surprised either way, I'm just the eternal pessimist.

I don't have enough to fill in my days at the moment. I have a medical appointment of some kind 4 days of the week, but they only take up an hour. I went to the gym yesterday, but I'm not fit enough to work out for ages without drowning in a pool of my own sweat. Tomorrow's going to be a hard one, only one appointment at 2pm, so I'll feel awful in the morning and then again in the late afternoon. If I have the money I might go to the gym, but I'm seriously broke until Saturday.

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The TMS doctor has decided I'm going to have three weeks at home, then two weeks in for 10 sessions of TMS, and if it works that'll be my life. I hate life.


By the way, you can leave comments on this blog. I moderate them before they get published, so if anything is accidentally said which would reveal my identity to any random person I can choose not publish it. You all know who I am, but Google wouldn't lead you here if you typed in my name, and I want to keep it that way.

Writing. Stuff. Moving

I've been in the clinic for three weeks and three days. At first I remained very depressed and had my leave taken away a few times and all my stuff put in the nurses' station. I'm much better now, still having the suicidal urges, but I don't think they'll ever go away. I've had 14 TMS sessions and the last four days I seem to have picked up. I know this because people are commenting that I actually look human (they say it in nicer words than that) and I've finally started writing my novel. I had quite a lot of backstory and character development written, but I was too scared to start the actual story. I've finished the first chapter (first draft only, I'm sure it'll change) and made a start on chapter two, I think chapter two may end up being later in the story, but for now it's two. I've got just under 2000 words, which I know isn't a lot, but it's what most of my uni assignments were, so it feels good to have pumped that out quite quickly.

I had some company today, the 6pm minister and a friend, D, came to have communion with me, and then D and I went out for lunch. I'm not too bored at the moment, I'm watching Stranger Things, just two episodes a night, I had to re-watch season one a bit quicker than that so I could be ready for the season 2 release yesterday. I bought a new sim card for my old phone and got a good data deal, so I have better internet than usual when I'm in here. I use the phone as a hotspot. It's pretty crazy that there's no patient WIFI in here in 2017, nearly 2018. There is hope though.

I'm (again) considering a move to Edinburgh. I'm going to ask my psychiatrist if he can get a phone number for any NHS psychiatrists over there. I've sent off an e-mail to a clinic, it looks like the NHS doctors are all in hospitals though. I've emailed my church over there to ask if people often put up notices or ask around for flatmates and just letting them know that I'm looking. I have some very good friends here, but I just don't feel like Melbourne has much to offer me. I always get a feeling of belonging when I'm in Edinburgh. I haven't looked into the courses on offer or if I'd have a hope in hell of getting in, but Edinburgh University is one of the good ones.

I know this is a sudden ending, but my night meds are kicking in, so good night.