An Open Letter

You scared me at first, I’d experienced strength near your kind only once before, and really, that isn’t worth a mention as you dwarfed it so. I had no control in those early days, you operated how you pleased whether I liked it or not – I did not. Then you grew on me - quite literally – doubling, doubling again, and again, and again, until you reached ten times what I knew of you in those first days. Despite your new strength you didn’t scare me anymore, I’d grown with you. We were good companions; you’d helped others through rough patches and were just what I needed to get through mine, I don’t know if you got anything out of our time together – I suppose you were able to enjoy your power, that you loved seeing what you could do to me, and then there’s the money, it’s only due to a sneaky not quite true diagnosis that I was able to afford you, the poor Australian tax payer picking up the other $95 – was it fortnightly or monthly? I can’t remember. Bitch! You forced me to sleep and made me eat more than logic should allow; because of you I now have stretch marks where there had never been any and I have a new wardrobe full of size “I’m not telling”. There’s no denying the help you gave me, the many hours of rest I wouldn’t have had without you lulling me to sleep, the relative calm that pursued me throughout the day and the knowledge that if things became too much for me I had you there in your full strength, ready to take me away. It wasn’t my idea to send you away, I hated my extra kilos - and true they fell off me once you’d gone - but your replacement was inadequate, then it gave me a hideous rash. There was no turning back, the decision had been made that we needed to part ways and that’s what was going to happen. I knew I’d miss you so I kept as much of you as I could hoarded in my room; it was inevitable that I’d come back, begging for your might to take me away, and you did, for 20 hours. All that I’d secretly stored is gone, they became stricter in rationing my access to you, and now give me the smallest amount available, soon that will be brutally cut into quarters and reduced one quarter at a time, a few weeks at a time. I don’t sleep anymore, nothing measures up to the power you had over me, there is no lingering calm to help me through the day, but I can see my collar bones again! AstraZeneca, thank you for the time I’ve had with Seroquel; can you please give me some more?

Circadin

I got the last appointment with my GP last night, I’m probably not who she would like to be her final patient for the day – I tend to take a lot of time. She got the honour of explaining nerve damage to me and advising where to avoid cutting, she wrote a silly list of reasons not to take another overdose, and put my arm back together – how on earth am I supposed to keep it dry for a week! I’m going to have a big scar, this makes me sad because I don’t like scars, I just want the temporary sight of flesh and blood, not a lifelong reminder that I’m nuts. I mentioned the overdose – I’m extremely tempted to do it again, which is insane; I hated it, I felt disgusting for a week and it’s very embarrassing calling an ambulance for yourself, yet when I woke up I felt completely different to when I fell asleep, 20 hours had passed and I was a new girl. If I do it again I have two friends who may not speak to me again because I’d be a bad influence on them and I suppose you don’t want to be close to someone who might die. If I do it again, and I wake up I won’t be able to tell anyone. I can’t live without these two friends, they get me, they make time for me and they both really like me – it’s hard for me to believe anyone really likes me, they’re just putting up with me because I’m there. I don’t want to take the overdose and I don’t want to lie, hopefully that’s enough to stop me being impulsive. My GP was playing with the idea of another admission but I was adamant that I’m not going back to my local hospital and definitely not to the other one with the awful psych triage nurse. I hope the new psychiatrist accepts me as a patient, then I have a private hospital I can get into easily; it’s not the most glamorous one around, but at least they have cleaners, the place isn’t falling apart and there are plenty of therapy groups. I understand my current psychiatrists non-admission policy, I can see myself giving up completely and becoming even more of a ghost with a long admission; I’ve already lost most hope of getting better, maybe life would pass quicker and easier if I was contained and highly drugged; but I haven’t lost all hope for recovery, I haven’t killed myself yet, the glimmer of hope and fear of consequences have kept me here. Something has to change; I can’t carry on like this.

I have a new drug – Circadin – to help me sleep, it’s just a massive dose of melatonin in slow release form but hopefully it will start to work, it didn’t do the job last night, three hours sleep and annoyingly realistic dreams, it took me until 2pm this afternoon to work out that several events were in fact dreamt, it’s amusing but very annoying at the same time.

I got a HD for my monologue, sadly he gave me the percentage as well, and so instead of just being happy to have a good grade I was a little sad about the extra 17% I didn’t get. I am thrilled to get that mark for one hour’s work, I just need to remember that I didn’t put in the effort and I still did well. The lecturer explained that I would have done much better if I’d included a little more information about the second character. I’ve never had a perfect score at uni, I wonder if I can manage it on the next task.

Saag

My fingers smell like curry – I ate it in naan with my hands.

My tummy is almost normal again, after only three days on less Lovan.

I went to the party, wine helped me relax and it was actually a little enjoyable.

I went to church tonight, I took a sedative in the first five minutes and then zoned out, not the ideal outcome I know, but at least this week I don’t have a friend and the police here.

No self harm since Thursday, it’s been hard, but I’m trying.

Two scenes to write by Wednesday, I think another extension will be necessary unless I have a repeated stroke of brilliance and can write them both quickly and well the first time.

I nearly adopted a cocker spaniel but someone beat me to him, he was beautiful, young and had the right temperament for me.

Last night I watched Let The Right One In, You, The Living, and Fair Game (although I was reading during that one so don't really know what happened) and today I watched Let Me In (American version of Let The Right One In) and was about to start Inception when I realised it would make me late for church. I know I could do much better things with my time, but when feeling low it is better to be very distracted than very bloody!

Bed time.

Party Time

Next week came early!

This is a long post about a lot and not much, I needed to write it for myself and I’m posting it just because this is where I put stuff. If you don’t feel like a long read you won’t be missing anything, but if you do feel like a long read here is a semi stream-of-consciousness, I think it has some worth, it gave me a few surprises – excuse the grammar and punctuation, I can’t be bothered!
Also I started this before midnight, so by tomorrow night I actually mean tonight, that doesn't really matter though...

I feel like a bit of a ramble tonight, too many thoughts swimming around to sit still with. I can’t believe how slowly time is ticking by; this time yesterday L and I were just getting back from a short night out. Maybe it feels like a long time ago because I’ve had four separate sleeps since then... It’s not just today, or even this week though; the year is dragging its feet. I’m supposedly starting DBT in September or January, I was discussing this with my GP today and she was disappointed at how far away that is, especially considering she wrote the referral in January this year, then I realised it’s not even May yet, my brain is towards the end of the year ready to greet in 2012, time usually flies, it’s not supposed to drag on like this. At the very same time things are moving along at rocket speed, it is 11 months today since I lost M and started my hospital encounters. I’m sure there will be a somewhat insane 12 month post probably along the lines of “everything sucks, I hate men, I love men, I hate men, they’re all stupid blind creatures who can’t tell when they’re being flirted with even if you shout it in their face and when you finally get one he crushes your heart and sends you to hospital – note, M didn’t make me sick, he just took away the thing I was staying alive for, I need something more permanent than a man to live for. I digress, actually that’s okay this whole post is a digression. So last night feels like days ago, today feels like a few days, 11 months ago feels like not long ago and a lifetime ago simultaneously, there is so little about my current life which resembles then, but the memories are fresh and raw. How have I had six hospital admissions, four psychiatrists, two psychologists, too many drugs, moved three times, found a new church and lots of new friends through it, started a new course and so much more in what feels like a month? This is actually painful to write, I feel I’ve accomplished nothing in the last year, I have in fact accomplished staying alive – not an easy task when you’d rather do anything else – I haven’t worked, I haven’t improved, I haven’t finished anything, I’ve just existed.

I actually started writing about time because I was dwelling on a party I’m supposed to be going to tomorrow night, it is for a dear friend who has stuck by me despite the tyranny of distance and the many years since we were in regular contact. I will know most people at the party, but I haven’t seen or spoken to most of them for six years. I am scared of some of them because I used to care so much about what they thought of me, and even though I am now forgotten part of me still seeks their approval. I’ve been thinking about what I’d wear, who I’d talk to when things got awkward, or if I’d just pretend to be very interested in one of the paintings. It even stopped me cutting my arm today because I didn’t want to wear long sleeves or tubi-grip and fresh marks covered in steri-strips isn’t a good look. I don’t know why I care so much, well yes I do, but it’s stupid. I’m not looking to rekindle any old friendships – frankly the drive out there is horrible and I’d be thrilled if my family and this one friend (I suppose she can bring her husband) moved to my side of the city – I certainly don’t want to pick up, I’m not doing a long distance relationship, plus none of them are my type – I definitely have a type! I should be able to go to the party, hug my friend and be a face in the crowd for her; I feel sick at the thought of it. Some of them read this blog, that’s good, at least when they ask what I’ve been up to and I say I’m not working and only studying one subject they’ll know why. To the others I’m the girl who disappeared six years ago, got fat and is now wasting her life, well that’s what they’ll think when they see me, right now they think nothing of me, I’m very much out of sight out of mind. Or maybe I’m wrong, I actually can’t read peoples thoughts, maybe some of them miss me and think of me regularly, facebook stalk me and hope to see me tomorrow; I wish I could believe that, in truth I feel that to everyone, not just this crowd I am out of sight out of mind, even though several people prove this wrong often, my new church really is full of great people, I should probably stop calling it new, I’ve been there 10 months now and am very settled. I don’t think I’ll go to the party tomorrow, I’d rather take my friend out for a nice meal on me and then I don’t have to share her with dozens of other people. To add to my worries is a Lovan reduction starting tomorrow, it’s been playing with my stomach and the higher dose has possibly increased my anxiety, although I think it helped reduce impulsivity which is a good thing. I’m a lot stronger than I think; I went out last night without any issues (though I was a bit of a wallflower – a very pretty one though!) and I got my monologue done when I thought there was no hope. Maybe I can get through a party and even have a good time? I’m going to change my mind 20 times between now and tomorrow night and I’ll regret not going, but I don’t think I can.

Smouldering Keyboard

Thanks F, R, K, L, C and B.

Apologies for the last post, clearly it wasn’t a good night but with the help of a friend my arm got through the night without a scratch. The last few days and nights have been tough and I’ve given up trying to behave, I just don’t care at the moment. Some good things though: I’ve finished my very late monologue (won’t lose marks due to extension), it wrote its self in less than an hour and actually turned out alright; I’ve also had two lovely catch-ups with L - including right now, she’s napping and I am about to - we’re seeing a band tonight, I don’t want to go because I’m tired and want to be a hermit, but I want to go because they are good, L is good, and there are people there I should meet (and I get to wear one of L’s pretty dresses).

I have a GP appointment tomorrow, I should get a referral to new psych and at least talk about dropping the Lovan because it’s screwing with my stomach, though it has been good for the impulsivity and weight – can’t have everything.

No posts until weekend, I am internetless for a few days, but next week I’ll have great speed and lots of data – can’t wait.

Already Dead

I’m writing this post to give myself a little time to cool down before getting the knives out, so bear with me, and if you’re one of the people who keeps sending me rude and/or abusive comments just stop reading here and never come back, please; I don’t like having comment moderation, but I’m not going to allow your drivel appear on my blog. To reiterate, this is not a nice read and may be a little graphic, so stop here if that bothers you. Preamble over.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK! It’s one of those nights where I need the kind of friend whose doorstep I can just appear on and cry on their shoulder for five hours, drinking copious amounts of tea (maybe wine would be better) between tears. I have friends who I would gladly have over here to do that, but I don’t know if any of my friends would allow me to do that to them. I’ve only ever had one friend who I could drop in on unannounced and know it’d be alright, that was many years ago and she is no longer in my life. I won’t get through tonight without self harm, but the severity is still up in the air, urges are very violent tonight, but I do have some will to restrain myself. I mentioned two posts ago that I surrendered my last razor blade at the hospital; that was very good of me to do, but very short sighted. I knew the blade would have to be replaced and I’d been thinking for a while that I need a more damaging weapon, but as long as I had that I couldn’t justify going out and buying something else. I didn’t feel like self harm at the time of purchase, but I needed to have something in the house – I can’t use kitchen knives, it’s just wrong – A late night trip to a 24hr Kmart proved handy, craft knife from the stationary section and box cutter from the hardware section. I haven’t opened the craft knife, but I tested the box cutter last night and it’s great, as sharp as a razor – so not too painful – but stronger and angled so I can get some depth, perfect. Unless I calm down by the end of this post it will be used to make a deep line from my elbow to wrist, I know that will be very visible, but torso hurts a lot and legs don’t bleed enough. I have a two month old gash on my chest and it still hurts.

Church put me in a terrible mood tonight, it was nothing to do with the service, and no one was rude to me. I just looked around and saw all these living, breathing people who seemed to find conversing easy, who could sing to God without internally kicking themselves for not meaning the words enough, people who were truly thankful for what Jesus did for us all those years ago. I am thankful, and I know it’s not about feelings, but I don’t feel a thing, just hollow with lots of bubbles of pain. I couldn’t sit with them, we’re just too different, but I didn’t want to leave - it’s Easter and the very least I can do to say thank-you is to obey the command to not give up meeting with each other – I sat in the foyer where I could still see and hear everything, but could be separate from those I feel so unlike. They’re not uncaring blind Pharisees, four people came to see how I was, I lied, but they cared enough to come; and no I wasn’t wanting people to feel sorry for me, I was in a fairly inconspicuous place, not screaming for attention or pity. From this position I could see the entire congregation, how they communicated with one another, how they engaged and how they looked so alive – yeah the Holy Spirit has that affect on people, but I supposedly have the sprit in me too. Looking at them it dawned on me that I’m already dead; my heart still beats and my lungs still draw breath, but that’s all. I think I died when my brother did in 1991, there may have been short periods of life in me between now and then, but really, I’m gone.  Following the service I put on my best happy face, as I was doing coffee tonight, happy face failed me but I was at least able to get rid of ‘I hate the world and want to die face’. I left as soon as it was polite to do so.

I would have liked to go straight from church to the spot I’ve picked for my train accident, but I don’t like the idea of dying on Easter Sunday, not because of Jesus, but because it’s essentially giving myself a massive tombstone. It needs to be done on an ordinary day, not near anyone’s birthday or other major event. I still think my birthday would be perfect, my parents remember my brother’s birthday, and death day (they’re only three days apart, but still) to only have one day to remember is surely easier. I don’t think I can wait until December, maybe Wednesday will work at least the public holidays are over by then.

I had more to write, but my brain is clouded and I’m looking forward to drawing blood. Sorry for the detail in this post, it may be one I make an exception for and edit when I’m in a saner mood, but right now it’s exactly what I want to say and it did come with a warning; it was your choice to continue reading. Goodnight.

Three Days

My plan was to go to church this morning; because my body has not been allowing me to sleep more than 6-7 hours I decided not to set an alarm, since I’d most likely wake at 7am anyway. I woke at 9:45 – church started at 10. I should have been annoyed, but instead I’m grateful for the first long sleep in a while, I’ll go tonight instead. My cough is still present, but much less severe, I saw a GP on Wednesday evening who prescribed a strong codeine liquid, purely symptomatic relief, but that’s fine with me.

Yesterday was nice; I got to hang out with R and her beautiful daughter. R has a lot of experience in dealing with nasty situations, so I asked her to help me script my phone call to the psych triage manager. The complaint will be done in writing, but a phone call is the first step, sadly when I called she was in a meeting and went straight home from there, it’ll be Wednesday before I got to speak to her. I’ve decided to ask for a written apology (though R says organisations are often reluctant to admit fault in ink, so it may be verbal) and for career counselling / specific training regarding personality disorders for the person responsible, several people have reminded me that professionals often hold a prejudice against personality disorder sufferers, and thinking back to the night I can see that’s what it was.

Today I celebrated not feeling sick for the first time in weeks by eating three toasted hot cross buns for breakfast, deliciously naughty! It’s amazing the impact my physical condition has on my mental state, this is the first day in weeks I haven’t felt completely terrible. I just attempted a haircut, fringe is passable, I gave up on the rest after taking a big chunk out of the left side, curls are great for disguising things like that...

Since this is a bit of a nothing post I’m not going to link it through facebook, it’s just here for history’s sake.

The Hospital Monster

After many weeks of coughing to the point of vomit and feeling exhausted from head to toe, sleepless nights and worsening symptoms I cracked. I don’t cope well with my mental health issues at the best of times, but putting the burden of physical illness on top of that is just cruel. I haven’t self-harmed for three weeks and one day, but the urges were powerful and violent last night. I feel disappointed after a self harm incident that all I have to show for it is a bit of blood and not much pain, so lately I’ve been thinking it would be nice to have a souvenir e.g.: a nipple, a toe, the end of my nose, a chunk of flesh bitten off wolf style, a cut right through my cheek; obviously I am aware that all of these are very bad ideas but it’s frightening what can be done on impulse.

Having experienced thoroughly useless results with the CAT team on the phone in the past, and repulsed by my local hospital, I drove to the next closest public which offers psych services. I must add that prior to this I tried to get see my GP but she’s booked until next week and the entire clinic was booked last night. I was hoping that at the hospital they could offer me some relief for the vomiting-cough, shaking, hot and cold spells and my mental anguish, I was mistaken. The triage nurse was lovely and thought I’d made a good choice to go there rather than stay home, the DR couldn’t hear anything in my chest, but he didn’t do any further investigation and left me as I was, but he understood my anguish and went to fetch the CAT team; he came back to check on me, apologised for the delay and offered me sedatives etc. Four hours later I was greeted by the psych nurse – I think I actually hate her.

She asked what I was expecting from them; I was hoping for an overnight admission, a drug re-assessment - because I think the recent changes are involved in my physical state – and basically just containment until I was feeling safer. But in my half asleep state (it was 1am and I hadn’t slept the previous night) I just said “euthanasia or a padded cell”. She snorted and said to be realistic, I then attempted to explain the situation. She wouldn’t listen to me, she made huge assumptions and didn’t take note of my corrections, and then this beauty of a line emerged from her lips: “It’s not like you’re dealing with a psychotic illness, it’s just depression, anxiety and borderline, you need to try harder”.  I was livid but maintained composure, I explained that I’m seeing my psychiatrist fortnightly, psychologist weekly, GP fortnightly, currently being assessed for DBT, taking my meds as prescribed, and coming here tonight instead of acting on very strong self harm urges; that I had reached the point in the combination of conditions whereby I could no longer suppress the ever present urges and I needed help. Again she said I wasn’t trying hard enough; through tears I managed to utter that I’m doing all I can. I said I wasn’t going to listen to anymore of this, got up and left, she asked “if you storm out of here now, am I going to be seeing you again shortly for self-harm?” my reply “You won’t be seeing me again.” I left balling my eyes out – and just so you know I’m not a crier - that was the first time in many months (excluding a few drops over M recently), I was vomiting from crying and coughing, shaking head to toe and nearly crashed my car on the way home, partly because I wanted to kill myself and also because I didn’t have the will or strength to drive well.

I arrived home in the same state I left the hospital, but mercifully, exhausted; pills, teeth-brushing and bed followed. I surrendered my last razor blade at the hospital (it was being stored in my handbag) so there was nothing other than kitchen knives to hurt myself with, though temptation was strong I didn’t yield. I was blessed with seven hours sleep, the most for a week. I have an appointment at my usual clinic, though not with my DR tonight, I’ve started the process of making an official complaint about my treatment last night and so far today I’m not feeling too terrible, though far from good.

Usually a post takes quite a while to write, I’m obsessed with making sure it’s readable, somewhat eloquent and I endeavour not to reveal my stupidity. This wrote its self in about 15 minutes, I haven’t had to go back and edit, just a proof read. Lesson learnt: Trauma is good for writing.

Toast

4:40am. I hurt from coughing. My body is exhausted but my mind won’t let it sleep, the sedatives don’t work and I can’t take more Seroquel (a definite sleep success) because it will ruin all the effort to get off it. 4:41. It has been a semi productive night, I read several Bible passages, I’m working my way through John – though I did start in the middle. 4:42. It’s been a long time since I’ve made any effort with the Bible, or even prayer; I’ve read it twice in a few days now. 4:43. Since I’ve been so out of the habit of reading it I just let it fall open to somewhere in John 4:44 (I think it’s my favourite gospel) and took it from there 4:45. I’m not a slow typist, I’m just tired and thinking slowly. 4:46. Small group was fantastic last night – it was just a dinner, but we all got chatting and it was just 4:47 lovely to have a very casual time to laugh, eat and exist together, no leaders present, I suspect that would have (4:48 and I didn’t just wake) changed the atmosphere. 4:49 I’m tired. 4:50, I’ve been writing ten minutes and have only a short paragraph which isn’t even complete. The other thing I did to make my sleepless night productive was 4:51 to fill out a more detailed character description for my original character – Francis. I made Nicola last week and she is complete and capable of living a 4:52 life out in the real world, Francis was lacking, I didn’t know her well enough. Now that they’re both complete I shouldn’t have trouble making them talk, just trouble 4:53 making myself open the file and start typing. It’s bizarre, I love creative writing, I’m good at it, but I can’t start. I don’t enjoy blogging 4:54 as much as I enjoy anything creative, but I find it very easy to do even in the worst of moods – or now in exhaustion, pain, boredom and resignation. 4:55. 4:56. 4:57 – Had to google a few things.

My stomach has 4:58 just alerted me to the fact that it is empty, I dare not eat now and provide myself energy, I want to sleep, maybe it will be easier if not 4:59 in pain, but maybe food will wake me more. Conundrum. I forgot to mention, I don’t have whooping cough, just a virus which has stuck around 5:00 for five weeks and seems to be getting worse; surely there is a point when my body has to start being nice to me 5:01. 5:02. My mind isn’t coping well 5:03 with the added burden of physical illness, but I’ve still not succumbed to the blade, as tempting as it is 5:04 it really achieves nothing. Mum drove me to my appointments today so I didn’t have to make everyone on the tram sick, the DBT assessment 5:05 went well and provided I’m still interested in two months time when I go back for my second chat it’ll be go. The next term starts in September and the following in January 5:06, I may not get in the September one, but that’s the one we’re hoping for. The epic assessment was followed by coffee with mother whilst I almost 5:07 fell asleep and then a very short session with my psychiatrist; I can see his brilliance, but I’m not convinced he’s for me, maybe I’m scared that 5:08 he might actually help. There’s a weird fear attached to recovery from mental illness, I want it greatly, but it is unfamiliar territory and if achieved 5:09 it will be different from anything I’ve ever known, even in childhood. 5:10.

I would appreciate it if my friends could make an effort to contact me this week and coerce me out of the house. I feel a hermetic period approaching 5:11 and it’s hard to bring oneself out of that.

There is a 5:12 possibility I’m a little more sleepy now, so I will end here and make attempt four at sleep. Good morning. 5:18 post proof read and publishing.

The Tenth Sin

My adventure today was returning some DVDs without coming into contact with people, the 20 metre walk from the car to the shop and back was rather pleasant. Mood very low today, sparked by a bit of jealousy over something I feel like a horrible person for being jealous about.

I don’t know if I should continue with uni, I don’t think I have it in me to get through the masters, let alone do well enough to follow it up with a PhD. I haven’t written anything for the course since Wednesday and the little I did before that I am now not so happy with; neither of my characters wouldn’t turn to prostitution even if she were starving, they now need a new place to meet briefly and a new deepest darkest secret each. I know brothel just sounds like tacky ill thought out shit, but it was looking interesting. I wish I could just walk into the MTC and demand they hire me to direct lots of their plays and pay me well for it until I feel like retiring – but where’s the adventure in that...

I HATE THIS FUCKING COUGH

Quarantined Girl

Yes.
Waiting for test results, but probably.
Don't know yet - hurry up!


My Dr was kind enough to shove a stick up my nose and down my throat to test for whooping cough - which she is quite sure I have – and then asked me to avoid people for two days... Day one of quarantine has been pretty good, I watched three movies, two of which were set in the future – one of which either really sucked or was brilliant, I haven’t made up my mind yet. I’m not allowed to see people until I’ve been on my new antibiotics for two full days, since I only just took the first one that takes me to 9pm Monday. I have DBT assessment at 9am Monday and psychiatrist at 12pm and I have to get there on public transport – do I put the health of the people at risk or not? I’ve been walking around with it for a good month anyway. If you’re over 20 I suggest getting a booster, you’ll have to pay but it’s better than being sick, the antibiotics don’t actually get rid of it, they just make it safe for you to be out in public. I’m so tired but I can’t sleep much and I want a hug but I can’t see anyone (and I only have two friends it’s not weird to be hugged by). I need a new boyfriend, I love physical affection, but it’s hard to get when single; although as I said yesterday animals are great for it, I wish Lester was here now, or a nice man who likes being a headrest (can I ask for both?).

It's old now, but mildly relevant. Enjoy.

Adoption

I almost adopted a cat from the RSPCA today, as we were just getting down to the finer points of the transaction the volunteer thought it a good time to mention that she (the cat) dislikes other cats and Lester wouldn't be able to live with me, now, or in the future. Lester is currently at my parents’. I don’t have the heart to move him because he loves playing in their garden and he wouldn't be allowed outside here because he could easily get out; he is completely trapped in their garden and allowed out just long enough to have a little fun; he’s also become rather friendly with the kitten I got them for Christmas, they shadow each other and may prove to be inseparable. I’m still waiting to hear from the agent if I can have a dog here, I think that will make all the difference to my physical and mental health. There’s nothing like the companionship of animals, their love is close to unconditional, they encourage you to go for walks (I don’t really enjoy walking dog-less) and when the world is a dark, lonely place you can rest your hand on their side and feel their breath expanding their body. I held a rabbit a few weeks ago, I was feeling quite agitated and the sensation of its breathing calmed me considerably (then it hopped off to someone else’s knee!) Tangential paragraph I know, but I’m not in a good writing mood, more a stream of consciousness mood. Here comes paragraph two, what will it hold.

It has been a tough week, on top of my brain problems I have a pesky cough, which I was told could quite possibly be whooping cough if the antibiotics proved ineffective – it’s day five and I’m either the same or a little worse. Shit! Coughing so hard that it takes all your effort not to vomit is unpleasant, back to the Dr tomorrow, she won’t be happy to see me on a Saturday - that’s when they make more money - and out of the kindness of her heart (or the knowledge that I’d probably attend less frequently if she didn’t) she always bulk bills me (it’s not a bulk billing clinic even for concession); I’m happy to pay, especially on a weekend, but it might be a little awkward walking into her room and saying that she is welcome to charge me the same as everyone else, who am I to tell her what she can do! I think I’ll keep my mouth shut. It became a little overwhelming tonight coping with the discomfort and physical exhaustion of the cough and trying to keep my head together, but I got through without resorting to drastic measures, it was jolly hard. It has been two weeks and three days since a blade last touched my skin, I have no idea how I’ve managed it but I can’t help feeling a little proud. This is the first time since my hospital expulsion and Dr dumping that I’ve made any effort to ignore the urges. I’ve also stopped covering my arm, and it’s embarrassing, I don’t want to keep adding to that mess, it’s very obvious what it is. If anyone ever asks I think I’ll say I had a fight with a dragon and came out victorious with only these few marks to show for it – everyone will believe that won’t they! It really doesn’t matter because no one ever asks, it’s outside our social norms to do so when the answer is so clearly going to be something awkward...

That’s it for tonight, hope it read okay, I’m not in a careful mood. Next post: Did the Dr bulk bill even on a Saturday; is it whooping cough, an annoying infection or the plague; and am I allowed to have a frikkin dog yet?!

Wash Your Mind Out!

It has taken six weeks, but I finally have two solid characters, an eighth of a monologue and a sordid plot. I didn’t set out to write about students working as prostitutes to get through uni, it just kind of happened. At least both characters left the oldest profession upon graduation and weren’t tempted by the incredible pay for only a few hours a week; aren’t they good girls – one’s even a cop, but we won’t be hearing from her, this time it’s the dietician talking. Research was interesting – did you know there are detailed reviews of Melbourne’s finest brothels at your fingertips, my mind needs a shower.

A Setback

You all know by now that I’m pinning my hopes on DBT; since January I’ve been told that I’m likely to start in May – wrong! The very earliest is September, but that doesn’t look too promising because that’s the next one and I’m not even on the waiting list yet. I wonder sometimes if my whole life is just one big punishment for “the sins of my fathers”, there’s not much devotedness in my bloodline and plenty of outright rebellion. Things never go smoothly for me, this isn’t just woe is me thinking, but well observed fact; good things don’t happen, but on the occasions they do they don’t last. I knew M and I wouldn’t get married because that was something that was happening to everyone around me, and I don’t get the same things as them; you may call it self-fulfilling prophecy, I call it my curse. I try not to dwell on it because that just makes it more likely to continue, it just confuses me so much. I am a good friend, very loyal and honest (maybe a little too honest), I’m a good girlfriend, loving, caring, fun and sensible, I’d like to say Godly, but not so much at the moment; but the things that make me good are overshadowed by my expectation to have the same in return, and the need to be loved enough to make up for a mostly loveless life. When I am feeling suicidal it is not because of how I feel about that very moment, but rather what I feel in that moment about the future. Some days I can hold a little hope and imagine a life that isn’t completely worthless, other days all I can see is a lifetime of loneliness and mediocrity. I want to be loved, or I want to excel in my field, both would be grand; at the moment I’m just a thing.

Hello There

It has been a lazy week, but somehow still a semi busy week. I’ve withdrawn from my fiction writing subject, just leaving script writing to focus on. I haven’t done any work and it’s now the end of week five of semester; I’ve created two characters, one of whom is weak and needs to be disposed of and that’s all I’ve got to show for five weeks. On Monday I started the next step in my Seroquel reduction, this one isn’t going so well, I’m emotional, really missing M (I cried for the first time in months on Thursday) and sleep is interrupted punctuated by bad dreams and then I’m restless and fidgety during the day. I’m torn, I want to come off Seroquel purely because of the weight issue, but I don’t like having these extra emotions, numbness is bliss in comparison.

Church is going well, still not too keen on the small group – people are great, content not so great; that said I did leave early this week I didn’t think I’d be missing much just a DVD on how big the universe is and therefore how great God is, I already knew that and didn’t need a sugar high mega church pastor to tell me, plus I felt like the walking dead. I’m making some new friends and kind of looking forward to attending services, still can’t bring my-self to sing but I’m taking myself along for a weekly Jesus injection and maybe after a while I can learn to self administer injections between Sundays. I failed to leave the house, or even open the blinds yesterday but today made it to a movie with one of said new friends, followed by coffee, church and “meal for mission”. I think these activities make up for my non day yesterday. Oh, I cooked too, I never have the energy or motivation to do that anymore but I’m getting sick of living off weetbix and toast.

I’ve been very well behaved since coming out of hospital, despite feeling worse with the med reduction etc I haven’t added a single scar to my collection, my poor arm needs some healing time anyway. If I make it until Tuesday it’ll be two weeks – that’s an achievement! 

Chillin' With Lester

I’m a free woman. No private beds were available and the psych at the public thought I’d be better at home anyway; I agree, it’s easy to get comfortable in hospital (though not that one) and I feel safer now than I did on Tuesday.

A lot of people seemed to take exception to Tuesday’s post, may I remind you that this is where I write with honesty, I may reflect on a post a few days later and see the folly in it, but I don’t remove it because it allows the various states of my mind to be seen by you lot. So reflections on that post: Suicide needs to be discussed more openly and I’m trying to do that. The post was written when I was feeling particularly awful, so it lacked reason, but it was nevertheless honest. My musing that the chances of me living or dying are 50/50 was probably incorrect, that was more of a reflection on how I was feeling at the time. I need to find things to live for rather than reasons not to die, I don’t want to hurt my friends and family, that’s my reason not to die; I don’t find enough pleasure in those relationships to live for them though, I think that’s a BPD thing, I like a few intense relationships rather than a lot of casual ones, I think what I want out of a relationship can’t reasonably be asked of anyone and I can see that as one of the things which drove M (ex) away.

My mum suggested yesterday that perhaps uni is a bad idea at the moment since I’m finding the prospect of making a phone call overwhelming, let alone attending classes, doing coursework and submitting assignments, sadly I think she’s right. I wanted to ease back into uni with just one subject in first semester and then pick up another in second semester, but the one I wanted to pick up had a prerequisite this semester, so I had to do both. I’m definitely not dropping the course, but maybe one subject would be best for now. I really don’t know, the work is easy, I should be able to handle two, but I’m not, plus it’s past census date so I’m paying now anyway.

Please don’t let the comment moderation put you off, I like hearing from you, I just don’t need 20 abusive posts from a stranger (I hope it’s a stranger anyway).

Flaky Paint

I’m back in the public psych ward, I was supposed to be moved today, they supposedly had a bed for me at a private last night but it has somehow disappeared. I expect like the last two times I’ve relied on bed brokers it will be over a week and then no one will take me. Whether I have a bed or not I’m going home tomorrow and will wait for a private bed from there. It won’t be a long admission, I just need to sort some things out, as I’m sure you can tell. I missed both classes this week, completely my fault, I could have chosen to fall apart tonight instead of just before class on Tuesday. Mum came to bring me some things this afternoon, she’s upset and confused and I don’t know what to say, I’m grateful that she’s bothered to learn about it all so she no longer tells me to just snap out of it and cheer up, though I know that’s what she wants.

I’m moderating comments as of today, just for a little while, don’t let it put you off. I want to get rid of whoever was trying to upset me today. I’ve deleted all their comments but it was targeted insults at the insecurities I’ve made known on this blog; I’m pretty sure it’s just a random, although there were a few details which scare me. I know I shouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing they upset me, but I want the rest of you to know why you can’t comment as usual (for now). 

Spectacular

Good things can’t last, I knew this as I wrote the last post, having just come from the pharmacy where I purchased a nice variety of wound dressings; I was actually looking forward to it...

I think I’m going to have a few days as an inpatient somewhere - probably public since my private psych has a no admissions policy for me and my kind. Contact me if you’d like to visit, I’ll have my mobile, maybe not my computer right away though. I anticipate admission this evening, I don’t know how long for.

In other news; small group was interesting last night, we had a get to know you time. Unless I wasn’t paying attention I’m the only one from a non-Christian family, I’m also the major cynic of the group. I touched on the subject of me being completely crazy but didn’t go into details, most of them have access to this blog so it’s not really necessary, the leaders and one group member don’t though. I think I want people to know the severity of it, but I hate actually saying the word suicide, it’s fine to write suicide suicide suicide, but saying it is a different matter. There is a high possibility that I won’t be around for a long time, I told my mum last week to get used to the idea that Dad and I are both going to die soon (he has cancer). I don’t want anyone to be too upset or shocked in the event of my death, but I don’t want people to distance themselves from me while I’m still alive because they fear losing me, if there’s no one to hurt there is nothing to keep me here. I’ve seen how suicide affects those left behind and I don’t want to be responsible for that, maybe if it doesn’t come as such a shock it’s not as bad, I don’t know. It’s 50/50 with me, don’t be surprised by my death or my long life.

One Week

Last night marked one week since I last hurt myself, I was going to do it just before bed but had no energy and no dressings so I just went to sleep; aren’t I a good girl. I’m feeling a lot better re overdose now, my brain is working again and I don’t constantly feel nauseous. As awful as it was, the temptation to do it again is high, because it worked. When I woke up I only felt physically awful, mentally I was fine, and I know now that I don’t fear death. The things holding me back are; two friends who have said they would end the friendship if I did it again, the fact that it would make me fall behind at uni – I’m already behind but the work is very easy and I should still be able to wrangle HD’s (cocky eh) – and that I’d have to use over the counter meds in massive doses and I have no idea what they’d do to me. I don’t fear death, but I do fear being physically or mentally impaired to the point where I am unable to end my life, I need to have that control.

L is still in hospital, I miss her and I hate knowing she’s not well; this illness stinks. I’d like to be better or dead, better takes a very long time and dead makes people sad. I know L wants the same, I don’t want her dead, but I know better takes so long and it is hard to achieve, DBT had better work for me and someone better find something to work for L, because the world needs her in it.

I’m writing a big post based off this Croakey article and all the others it references, plus a few others. It’s been a while since I did a nice researched, informative post; I’m not full of energy and need to work on uni when I am, so it might take a week or so, but there’s something for you to look forward to if you like that kind of thing.

How Much am I Worth?

I’ve been poking around the Medicare website. This year, excluding hospital admissions and treatments the kind tax payers of Australia have forked out $2033 for my mental health. The cost of admissions and emergency room treatments is nowhere to be found, but four separate nights in emergency, plus a week in a psych ward would add up I think. That’s in the last three months alone; in the last 12 months the kind Australian tax payer has spent $10 975 on my mental health excluding numerous hospital admissions, emergency room presentations, ambulances and our beloved PBS. My health insurance has taken most of the burden, paying in excess of $50 000 last year, and a bit this year. So including insurance that’s almost $61 000 plus I’d guess at least another $15 000 in the excluded expenses spent in 12 months to keep someone alive who doesn’t want to be, what do you think about that?

No Answer

The answer to my desperate search for knowledge of my unconsciousness was “not much”. I was in the hospital for 20 hours, unconscious for at least 15, it would be weird to go back and ask wouldn’t it? My GP didn’t get any discharge papers, that’s odd, maybe they’re a little slow getting them out, I just want to know! I’ve continued to feel lethargic, dizzy, nauseous and headachy; this wasn’t helped by having a wisdom tooth removed this morning. I hope the tooth is responsible for me feeling worse today, it’s so hard to tell what is responsible for what; last night was my first dose of Seroquel post O.D, so that could be a contributor, I also had to take two Yaz on Sunday night because I’d missed one, they cause all of the above symptoms too. I missed uni again today, there’s no way I could have gone feeling like this, I had a short but severe dizzy spell whilst driving home from my psychologist appointment, I thought I was going to faint – and I was at a major intersection! I’ve spent the afternoon either in or on bed, currently on! I’ve been having even more bizarre dreams and nightmares this week. I just wrote one in here but deleted it because it’s too messy to read, suffice to say that within one dream I was a hospitality worker, a rescuer, a wannabe celebrity, a child and an adult traveller in America looking across an ocean at a huge ski resort with no lifts but it was in one of the southern states where they don’t get snow.

This post has taken about six hours to write – on and off – interrupted by naps, reading, stressing about missed uni classes, eating, feeling sorry for myself and that’s about it. It’s 9pm and I think I’m going to go to sleep, I can’t do uni work in this state, maybe if I get up early I can avoid looking like a fool in class tomorrow. 

Sabotage

I apologise for the messy writing of late, I haven’t been editing, and only doing quick proof reads. I’ll start putting in a little more effort when my head, stomach and tooth stop hurting.

It’s 11:30pm, (well now it's 12:26) I’m in bed annoyed because I can’t sleep and chewing on Mylanta because my innards hurt. Never overdose on anything, it’s awful. Memories are starting to come back of things I said and did before I was unconscious, how agitated I was, I begged to be unhooked because I needed to fidget. I yelled at the triage nurse from the trolley-bed-thing that I’m allergic to Lamictal, because I thought I overheard the paramedic say that they should give me some. Because my Lamictal allergy was only discovered in December I forgot to mention it in the do you have allergies question, my answer is always “yes, Erythromycin” but my new answer needs to be “yes, Erythromycin and Lamictal”. I’m seeing my GP in 13 hours, I hope the discharge papers have reached her, I have no idea what happened in the 12ish hours I was unconscious, if it was the drugs or if they knocked me out, or both. I had an ultrasound and a catheter, I must have been very unconscious to not feel or remember that. I don’t remember seeing any doctors, just lots of nurses and CAT people, I don’t remember waking up, I thought it would be like coming out of surgery, I’ve always remembered how I woke up and who was beside me. As I was leaving I asked a nurse if any doctors had actually seen me and she said, “yes, heaps of them”. In the past when I’ve left hospitals there has been a chat about what’s next, and what exactly happened and I’ve been given a letter for my GP, and in some cases a letter for me with instructions re meds. I had to ask if I’m supposed to continue my normal drug regime or give my body a rest, the answer was to keep taking them, I can’t believe they were going to send me on my merry way without even telling me that! I have so many other questions, I want to know what happened every second I was out, if there’s any long term damage to worry about, but I was far too hung-over to ask at the time. I’m pretty sure discharge papers are done electronically now. I hope GP has all the answers tomorrow; this not knowing is actually the worst part of the whole ordeal.

I’ve learnt from it and won’t do it again as an act of self harm, if I do it again it will be on a much larger scale for a definite suicide, probably next to some train lines so I can be heavily sedated before it comes. I don’t think I fear death, a big part of the “why” behind this was to figure out if I did. I asked one of the nurses if I could die from this and her reply was “well you did take 4g of Seroquel and your heart’s doing 170, so yeah, maybe!” It didn’t fuss me, I just lay there while they all flittered around. Before I took the pills I prayed because I knew it was a bit of a gamble and I’m hardly Christian of the year material. I didn’t bother asking God for help, I don’t know if He does that directly, and I’d already tried many Christian friends, I didn’t tell any of them there was a problem, which I should have done, it’s hard to remember that people can’t read my thoughts. I don’t believe suicide is a golden ticket to Hell, but rather a sin just like all the others, God hates it as He hates them all. My last act on Earth would be sinful, but I don’t see how that’s any different to “Fred” committing any old sin and then dying of a heart attack before he got chance to ask for forgiveness, I doubt that “Fred” (if Christian) would be destined for eternity without God.

Even though I’ve said I’ll never do that again for self harm, I found myself wanting to tonight, as horrible the ordeal was, it worked, when I woke up I didn’t feel emotionally shit – just physically and I don’t care if I die! Thankfully there’s only my weekly supply and some scripts in the house, if I picked up the scripts I’d have a lot, but I think I’m going to throw them away.

I think my psychologist will call this an act of self sabotage (I’m great at it) uni was going well, I was a little bit happy – we can’t have that! I’m going to have another go at this sleep thing everyone’s raving about.

Sorry Mum

According to The Age (online) Japan is all better now; it's time to worry about Libya. By the way, did you know Christchurch mended its self? Herald Sun has one banner linking to older articles, otherwise it's Libya Libya Libya! ABC saves the day with one non-melodramatic article. I guess over the next week Japan will mend its self just like Christchurch (and Haiti, Pakistan, QLD, and all the others I can't remember because they're no longer the most exciting thing to report on) We’re like children with a new toy bigger than her others, which are left to the moths.

I caved in to the OD temptation, I tried really hard, I put it off for over three hours after writing that post and I only took about three quarters of what I had (not that it would have made much difference). No complaints about the ED this time, I was asleep almost the whole time – thankfully that included when the put the catheter in, removal just felt odd. My heart exceeded 170bpm. The last things I remember before falling asleep are being very agitated but I couldn’t move because I was hooked up to multiple machines, I kept begging them to take them off so I could move. I remember the arterial line going in – didn’t hurt at all, but I don’t remember the IV. Apparently they did an ultrasound at some point. After I woke up the CAT team tried to talk to me but I couldn’t speak, it was like my tongue had been anesthetised and I kept drifting off and being rudely woken again, he gave up and a few hours later one of his colleagues came back, I was a little more talkative, but not a great deal. End result was coming home at about 4pm yesterday stumbling around everywhere. They didn’t give me charcoal, said it’s ineffective for these drugs, if they pumped my stomach I was out and they didn’t tell me about it. From what I could gather all they did was give me heaps of fluids to wash it out and monitor me. I’ll think twice before doing that again. In about half an hour I’ll be driving to see L, not sure if I should since I’m not quite steady on my feet, but I’ll try.

My tummy hurts....

Four Grams

I don’t have a massive drug stockpile, it’s hard to build it up when you’re on weekly dispensing, good to have a few old scripts lying around though. All I have is 4g of Seroquel, 65mg of valium and 360mg of Oxazepam – I wouldn’t dream of taking too many Lovan, no one wants serotonin syndrome. I’ve never really seen the point in overdosing as a type of self harm; suicide, sure – you just have to do a good job of it; but why ingest a heap of pills and then call for help? Well, it’s a near death experience, you can’t be sure what will happen, the ambulance might be late, the hospital might screw up or you could just be unlucky and have a lower tolerance than you thought. I don’t think my little stockpile is suicide worthy, I’ll leave that one to the train – or I could build a guillotine, that way I don’t have to traumatise a train driver. In-case you can’t tell this isn’t a good day, and over such minor incidents. I have a few forms to fill in, an upcoming house inspection and a near dead car, the car is topping the list because it makes getting to uni hard – the public transport bit isn’t too bad, it’s all the stuff I have to carry. My laptop was bought as a desktop replacement, not really to carry around everywhere, so it is powerful - for its time really powerful, the battery lasts less than two hours and it weighs 4.5kg – Idiot! I am also missing my ex a lot at the moment, maybe not him exactly, but the idea of him; hugs that last more than 2 seconds, a kiss, a shoulder to sleep on, a hand to hold, a dinner date, someone who knows all of me and still loves me, though I guess I didn’t really have that last part or we’d still be together...

Uni is going well, if I choose to  I can spend tonight doing some work and thrill the pants off the class next week, I’m not often confident, but I can own this course – if I do the work. I could also spend tonight in ED drinking activated charcoal and pissing off my parents. I hate that you can’t have no next of kin on the forms, maybe I should give them false details, though I suppose they’d find them eventually...

Don’t be alarmed by this post, I’m too much of a coward to do anything, and even if I take my whole stockpile the worst it’ll do is charcoal and a heavy night’s sleep (I think).

Oxazepam My Friend

Who needs a whole box of valium when you have Oxazepam, two pills of this gift from science and the world is a better place, a slower place, but better all the same. I saw new psychiatrist today – the mind reader – it wasn’t as scary as last time and only lasted 20 minutes, future appointments will be 60 minutes. The expected public transport fiasco was no fiasco at all. It is certainly better living in the East, no car in the West means total isolation (at least where my parents are). I followed my appointment with three beautiful coffees and a very meaty lunch with R and her beautiful daughter S. I haven’t had the will to cook lately, mainly eating bread and soup, it’s an achievement if I manage to boil some pasta and throw some sauce at it. Since I’m trying to drop weight - not pick it up - takeaway isn’t an option. Lovan is going up on Monday, and another Seroquel reduction is imminent, that means bye bye kilos, but hello more nightmares.

I really miss C, I haven’t seen her for about a month, it’s usually no longer than a fortnight. She now lives about 45 minutes away – possibly more and is very busy with uni, work and being a wife. I shouldn’t miss L, it’s not like we’ve been friends for that long, and I’ve still been seeing her, but I do miss her, I guess it doesn’t help knowing that she is sick, not making progress and in a horrible place. I won’t be living with her again, but the week we had together was great, the sister I never had and without all the family crap in the way. I feel like I’m not good enough to be her friend, all her others are these super creative, amazingly attractive and totally uninhibited people. I’m attractive when I’m not fat, but I dress so plainly; I’m creative, but I haven’t done anything special with it, and I have the ball and chain of Christianity holding me back. I wouldn’t give my faith up just so I could be a little more impulsive, but since I’m not currently in a good place spiritually the whole thing seems like more of a burden than a gift. There are days I wish I’d never heard of God or anyone called Jesus and I could live as I please without fear of eternal consequences; but then I know I’m fortunate, so many people will never hear, or understand/accept, they will spend their lives wondering what the point is, they will spend their death apart from God. I shouldn’t wish that upon myself and be so ungrateful for Jesus’ sacrifice; but this is where I write the truth, and that’s how it is.

Time to call the dentist, one of my teeth is crumbling away, doesn’t hurt because the nerve has been removed, but it’s giving me a headache. Thankyou Seroquel for dental destruction! 

Uni Appointments Home Car

To my new readers (oldies skip to next paragraph)

I have just enabled a lot more people to see these links through facebook. Due to the nature of the blog I don’t want certain people reading it. You will notice that my name is nowhere on the blog, or in my profile. I am anonymous to anyone who stumbles upon the blog, known only by those I allow to see the facebook links. 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.

                                                      Main Post

I am usually happy with myself if I achieve one thing per day, it can be as small as getting out of the house to run some errands, or as big as going to uni. Yesterday I went to the bank, followed by medicare; I drove 45 minutes to visit L, we had coffee and stared at the yummy Irish barista (his coffee is pretty bad). I then walked 20 minutes to my psychology appointment, stopping by an art supplies store on the way; I talked and listened for a very long hour, and had coffee across the road with F immediately after. On my walk back to the car – which I’d left at the hospital – I went to medicare again, had lunch and got lost for 20 minutes. I then drove to uni, stopping on the way to let my car cool down because it doesn’t like the new water pump and now wants to explode. I got to uni 10 minutes early and sculled a vodka and coke to take the edge off my car worries, attended class, resisted the urge to leave early due to the fact that everything around me was changing colours and I completed six writing exercises.

Today I have achieved brushing my teeth, though it took until 3pm to talk myself into it. I should be in class right now but can’t face the thought of leaving the house and carrying the world’s heaviest laptop, plus books on public transport. Tomorrow I have to leave the house for a psychiatry appointment; it’s not optional unless I fancy a huge cancellation fee. It is going to take a walk, a bus, a walk, a tram and another walk to get there. You may do that every day to get to work, if so I congratulate you, I’d rather hide in the wardrobe all day talking to the daddy long-legs’ that I haven’t bothered to evict.

Degrees

I’m waiting for glorious medication induced sleep to kick in. It has been an acceptable weekend. I had to make a late night trip to my parents’ on Friday so I could get my car fixed on Saturday morning, it ended up happening this morning, but oh well – free water pump and labour thanks to daddy and his mechanic friend. I dislike my car, it was purchased for me without consult, and while it was a significant upgrade from my previous car, I don’t appreciate it. I am not a mother of four, or a 19 year-old petrol head, I don’t need a Falcon. Hopefully when my brother turns 18 in August he’ll inherit my car and I can have some say in what I get... Hopefully. I know it sounds horrible complaining about a gift, I just would have liked some input.

I think church was good tonight, I was feeling a little anxious, but I listened. Lesson learnt: Prayer is a very important evangelistic tool. I went to the water closet during prayer time, it was in groups and I didn’t want to talk, plus I hadn’t looked in the mirror for ages and my hair felt funny. I had a few good chats afterwards and actually stayed long enough to get kicked out. I then arrived at the after party dinner, where I met four new people, two of whom I spoke with quite a lot, it’s amazing how small Christian circles are, I’m sure if I added them on facebook we’d have dozens of mutual friends. I have actually looked them up, but thought it too stalker-ish to add them mere hours after our meeting, but now that I think about it a little more, this is worse...

Ahha! Hello medication. It is time for sleep now.

The Worst Time to Post. Have a Fun Friday Night

Ewww, what a week. I am currently drained of energy, lying on my bed where I have been all day and night except a trip to see L and another to the Dr to get my torso put back together. Coming off Seroquel is awful, my latest reduction was a rather big one and has brought with it nightmares of the kind where you wake up in a jolt screaming; nausea; headaches; intermittent sleep and significantly lowered mood – although the mood is quite possibly the Yaz. So far the only pro to the Seroquel reduction is weight loss, Seroquel is the main reason I put on 20kg last year. With less Seroquel and more Lovan I’ve dropped 7kg, so I’m well on my way back down. I remember a conversation with a friend when I was 19, at the time I was a size 10-12, depending on the brand etc. I said to her that I didn’t need to worry too much about putting on weight, because I’d never buy anything above a size 12, and therefore if I reached a 14, my choice would be to walk around naked or drop the weight, stat! I didn’t hold myself to that, maybe I need a different punishment for next time.

I’m thinking of significantly reducing my facebook “No No No” list. L and I were discussing how very open her blog is yesterday, the pros outweighed the cons; basically if people don’t like the real her they can piss off! It’s something I need to think about more because I don’t want to risk future employers getting their hands on it, and definitely not family members.

Thanks to the few people who commented on Wednesday’s post, I welcome more on that, it’s still got me thinking. 

Uni, L and Church

I am feeling quietly confident about uni having met my competition. Yesterday was fiction writing, I won’t do so well in that, but I’m going to breeze through script writing. Much to my delight the unit chair has changed and the subject is now going to have a little more focus on the stage; The previous unit chair only wrote for film and TV, so that’s all she focused on. My drama degree came in handy today – I’ve seen scripts from the other end. My brain is still in mush mode, I just can’t focus on anything for more than a few minutes.

L is a little better but not home yet. I didn’t see her today but will have lots of L time tomorrow. I’m also going back to my house tomorrow; it’s time to start looking after myself again.

I’m rather disappointed in my small group; Monday was our first meeting and I was so clearly a mess and no one even tried to talk to me about it. I don’t know what sort of signals I was putting out, I think I was a bit disassociated at the time, but to be in the presence of 10 or so Christians when in such a mess and for no one to even ask if I was ok is really awful. I think one of the men wanted to say something but he didn’t know what (P.N, that’s you), maybe they were all like that, but I left bleeding, dreaming of suicide and highly drugged, with not even a pat on the back. I know most of the people in the group at least a little, and none of them are heartless, maybe I’m just too difficult, maybe I’m expecting too much. I don’t know, I just know I don’t feel like it was a supportive environment to be in half an hour after my friend had just been whisked away to prevent her suicide. I should have stayed home with her sister, at least I could have cried and cut there - these scratches are awful, I wouldn’t have done that if I had a razor blade handy (and not been in a family home surrounded by people) I’ve since started taking razors and dressings with me everywhere. If you ever need a band aid (or steri-strips) I’m the girl to ask.

I don’t get a lot of comments on this blog, but I’d like to hear from my Christian readers on this one. Am I being too hard on my small group, should I keep this sort of stuff quiet and just talk to my psychologist and the friends who actually want to know, or is it ok to let people see me when I’m hurting? Beyond church employees e.g. pastoral carer what should my expectations be for support; and how can I as a crap Christian and sick person be of any use to the church in return?

A Midnight Post

This will be short, I’ve just had Temazepam, Lovan, Seroquel, Yaz, and earlier 6 Valium... I lost my new sedative, I really needed it tonight, hence the 6 valium – they didn’t work! As of tonight Yaz has been added to my cocktail because it seems the worst of my self-harm and suicidal ideation happens in the few days before my period – so let’s get rid of it!

L was admitted to hospital in the bat of an eyelid tonight. Within half an hour everything went to being bad to beyond terrible and her being rushed away. This was all happening as I was preparing to go to my first Bible study of the year; I got there late as a result, spoke a little gibberish to a few people and realised there were children around and my wrist was un-covered, so then had to attempt to hide that. I spent the prayer time scratching off a few layers of skin off the back of my wrist, it looks disgusting. Great first session! I’m still at L’s house, it’s horrible without her here – not because here is bad, but because she should be here and she’s not out having fun, she’s out in a shared room in a dark hospital feeling like crap. Tomorrow we were going to have a half-day in Prahran, seeing our psychologist – we have the same one - and between her appointment and mine getting my lip pierced. I don’t want to do it without her so I’ll wait until she gets out, plus she wants to get her nose done at the same time.

Tomorrow is day 1 of uni. I’m scared, I feel like shit and my brain is going to be elsewhere during class. I don’t even know which subject I have – should probably check that.

Sorry for another not amazing post, I have no passion for anything at the moment and trying to make this interesting is just not a priority.

It Begins

Tonight I’m having an L free night (she’s out having fun with people I don’t know) and tomorrow will also be L free. I’m still at L’s house even though she’s not; she thought it would be best if I stayed here tonight since I’m at the beginning of a drug reduction. Tomorrow I will go to a house-warming for lunch, followed by church if I have the energy and then I will spend the night at my own home. Monday is the first bible study group for the year, and then Tuesday is my first day of uni. I’m going to start spending the odd day at my own home to get used to looking after myself again. It’s been good here; I’m sure if I’d gone straight home from the hospital I’d be back there already. I’m really quite terrified about my new psychiatrist taking me off everything but the antidepressant.

I’m a little scared about going back to uni, I’ve looked at the online discussions already happening between students and lecturers, I feel so inferior. I know I’m not going to fail any of these classes (unless I give up – but that’s different) but I need to do very well so I can switch to research, and putting that aside, I need to do well for my ego. I know I’m not going to attain perfection, but that’s what I want. I need to read more, I’ve got my set readings, but I need to stop spending so much time on Facebook and staring at walls, and read every great work of literature – I may need to slow time and get some replacement eyeballs to do this, but that’s possible isn’t it?!

Mental State:

Bad. Cutting every day, mostly mild; I want to get my hands on a hypodermic needle so I can get venous blood with just a little stab, rather than having to search for veins inside a cut. Blood is all I want, pain is just annoying, I want to see my whole arm and torso turn red and then I’ll be satisfied (until the next day). Yeah I know that’s disgusting, you can stop reading if you don’t like it. I seem to be in the minority of self-harmers who don’t like pain, I put up with it because it gives me blood. To get my hands on a needle would be fantastic, I’m pretty sure you can get them with a prescription, or just buy them online. I think my GP may prescribe them for me because it would be the lesser of two evils. I’ve read some medical journals giving advice to GP’s about self harm and one was to offer hygienic suggestions if the behaviour is clearly not going to stop – worth a shot I think.

Not a very positive post, but I’m not going to make up happy shit to please you. My more morbid posts seem to get more visits anyway, so I’m just giving you what you want.

Contact

Taking inspiration from L’s blog I have set up an email account for anyone who wants to ask questions or discuss something in a non-public manner. I will not reply to abusive tirades – be nice. onereclusivegirl@yahoo.com 

How it Shines

This one is a bit all over the place, it was written over three days and I’ve been feeling really yuk for all of them.

Our no self harm pact didn’t last very long. I made it longer than L, but I was more deceptive - which upset her. L told me right away and I came to help her clean up. I was caught – twice. That night made me realise how much I mean to her. I knew she cared about me, why else would she demand I stay with her post release. But to see her cry because I had deceived her, and that she felt a sense of failure to help me tore at my heart. Tears don’t come easily to me (break up with M excepted), I shed a few on Tuesday because I’d hurt my friend, my friend who wants to know the truth when she asks how I am, my friend who (gently) beats me up when I feel like smashing my arm into a wall, my friend who cuts my hair when I want to cut off my head, my friend who actually understands all this shit.

As I discovered on Tuesday with L, It hasn’t been instilled in me to be emotionally honest. Emotions are dangerous things that should be hidden or lied about. On Tuesday I could have told L that I was feeling terrible – the sort of terrible she understands – but instead I told my torso and wrist that I was feeling terrible, then L walked through the door! I saw her disappointment, felt a little bad about it and then did it again later in the night. This time she was distraught. I’m in her home being looked after by her and I can’t confide in her, I instead confide in a piece of metal. We talked, we cried and we talked some more. I realised that L wants to know me, to love me, to help me. I can let her know what is usually hidden or spread out. I don’t need to hide or lie.

I grew up in a home where talking openly about feelings was not expected, nor encouraged. I had no right to be sad, because I had a roof over my head, and food on my plate – what more could you want? The complexities of being human were not addressed in the way we lived. Deep thought was not encouraged because I was just day dreaming – wasting time, television was god. My parents don’t ponder, everything is very shallow in their world, an invisible illness is too hard to talk about. As a seven year-old - I was left to my own devices dealing with the loss of my brother, any mention of him remains taboo. Small things could be discussed with my mother, such as crushes and why no one liked me – it was my fault, I must be mean without realising it. As he got older my replacement brother (sorry S if you’re reading – I don’t really view you that way) became more of a confidant, there is a massive age difference and some problems, but by his age of seven or eight we were able to talk about family matters in a way we couldn’t with anyone else. Throughout my teenage years and into young adulthood I trusted no one completely. Different people could be told certain things, and if ten people were amalgamated into one then that monstrosity would know all of me. Then I met M.

I thought I trusted M completely with my emotions, I told him everything and don’t think I ever lied to him, but I couldn’t express, nor could he understand the storm inside me. We all have our secrets, and I don’t care about them, emotional honesty is what I’m on about. Emotional honesty is what I’m learning about with L, it’s hard for me.

For my Christian readers, I know what you’re thinking, that’s a different topic and has not escaped my attention.