How to Continue

I'm starting to wonder if being such an open book on this blog is a good idea; it's handy that my friends already know what's going on, so I don't have to tell the same story over and over and we can actually talk about them, but that is also the problem. I need people in my life. I need to be encouraged to get out of bed, leave the house, and to participate in life. I think some of my friends find me a little hard to cope with, and maybe these friendships would be healthier if they didn't know what I'm thinking as much. I don't have a desire for shallow friendships, but other people do, they spread themselves thinly across many relationships and when one becomes too intense they back off. I'd like to think that I don't spend all the time going over my woes during friend dates, it's true that I rarely have anything positive to say, but there's nothing positive to report on. I don't think I'm a happiness black hole, you can be happy around me, I'm not going to feel it with you but I won't take it away; if I think I'm dampening a mood I'll leave, not drag everyone down with me, in some situations this isn't appropriate so I'll try to act the part or camouflage myself into the crowd.

I fear that people are going to know too much about me without actually knowing me. I meet someone, we become facebook friends, they read my blog, maybe that's then the end of their desire to really get to know me, they've already discovered my dirty not-so-secret secret and don't have my personality and fun memories of me to put it into context with, it just stands alone, K – the borderline, anxiety & depression sufferer. K the cutter, K the overdose girl, K the drain on the economy. There is a bit of normality in me, a bit of fun and far too many ideas. I will never be satisfied with lots of shallow friendships, but maybe my friends will never be satisfied with intense K. I'm not going to stop blogging, but give me your opinion; do I make it less personal, more analytical and creative or keep it as is and accept the consequences?

Hurt Me Instead

I just had to share this because it actually made me laugh, and that’s a huge achievement. These are two coping mechanisms for self harm urges taken from the A Safe Place For Cutters blog  Post: Managing Urges Part 3 Releasing Anger, June 21, 2009 http://cutterssafeplace.wordpress.com/page/3/

Feeling: Upset, Frustrated, Depressed, Angry, Creative
Method: Dolly Dearest
Description: Buy a doll from Wal-Mart (or any other store) or make your own out of cloth–just something simple. Now, whenever you feel like self-harm or some other negative behavior, take out the doll. Cut it. Tear the poor things arm off if you have to. Now, here’s the important part. Sew it back up. Focus on the stitches, on making sure that Dolly will hold together. Keep doing this until the urge passes.

Feeling: Angry, Upset, Frustrated, Aggressive
Method: One Dead Bear
Description: Have an old teddy bear laying around that needs a little tough love? Then grab him/her and throw them in the floor. Punch them around. Throw a book, a pencil, a family member (haha) at them until you feel better. Then maybe give the poor guy a little kiss.

The doll one might work for me, I don't think I'd have the heart to abuse a teddy; I'd have many more sleepless nights without the existence of teddies.

This Is Not A Diary

I got some sleep last night! As per the recent pattern I woke up after only three hours, but this time I got back to sleep within one hour and I stayed there for about five hours. I don’t feel amazing, but definitely better than I have all week, hopefully tonight goes well too; I’ve had no caffeine at all today – very hard for me.

  

I called the hospital my possible new psychiatrist consults at and it sounds like she is taking new patients, so hopefully my referral is interesting enough for her, I’ll find out on Monday or Tuesday. I’ve realised this blog is taking on too much of a diary tone, that was never my intention; I’ve just been too messy to write properly in the last few months. I have some creative writing I could publish but I think I’d rather keep it to myself for now. A few months ago I said I was writing an analytical piece on some Croakey articles, that’s about half done, my brain turned to mush and I stopped. So to make up for the diary-ness of late, here’s a dream from last night. My new drug is making dreams more realistic and intense.

A maze like shopping centre, with an adults only food court – despite few of the shops being licensed. My dad knew which of the guards checked ID and took my brother to the door with the lazy guard, they got through but within a minute a middle aged Asian woman approached him and asked for ID, he showed her something on his wrist and she smiled and said not to worry. Dad was gone and Mum, brother and I were in a huge car exiting the labyrinthine car park, presumably of the same shopping centre. Mum caught a glance at my wrist, my sleeve had crept up a little; she was furious and wanted me to cut her nose five times to show me the pain I’m causing her. Shocked, I refused, we argued loudly, after a while I said I’d rather put a big gash in her cheek than five little ones on her nose – she was happy to let me do it but I refused. We argued more and eventually I said I couldn’t hurt the one person who is trying to help me ( a note to my friends, this is a dream, you are all great), I felt embarrassed that I’d told her I need her. End of Dream.

I hope this isn’t’ an insight to my soul, I don’t hold any violent thoughts towards other people. My own self harm urges are becoming increasingly violent, but I’ve never considered hurting anyone else. It’s interesting that I revealed I need my mum, I would never say this aloud, but unlike the violence part I think this might be true... I’m at their house at the moment because I can’t look after myself and it’s been great, I got some sleep in a bed with fresh sheets (I can’t be bothered changing mine), I’ve been able to cuddle Lester, I got fed, I may not love the quality of conversation but there are people to talk to.

Old and New

This was written last night - computer didn't like the internet.

After another mostly sleepless night I find myself at my parents - by choice; I don’t have the energy to feed myself, showering takes a lot of will power and basically I think if I stayed at home in this state I’d die of dehydration on the couch because I couldn’t be bothered getting water - Okay that may be a slight exaggeration, but that’s how I feel. I’m not consciously anxious, but I must be, I’ve been having little panic attacks whilst trying to sleep, I think it’s just anxiety about another sleepless night, which of course is not going to help me.

I haven’t heard if the potential new psychiatrist has accepted me or not, I hope it doesn’t take long I feel like tearing all my skin off because you know there’s a whole new person under there, I just have to get rid of the top layer.

Today included a catch up with an old friend, an attempted nap and a catch up with a not old friend over a great coffee followed by a very unhealthy meal (my third serving of chips this week!) and then an agonising drive out West; things move around in my field of vision at the best of times, they practically dance when I’m like this, making driving quite the adventure.

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).