Mold

I write this post from a shared room with an en-suite so disgusting that I got my house mate to take me home for a shower. This room is in the psych ward of a local hospital. There was a little incident involving too much valium yesterday, and so I’m here. Unlike my last admission to a public hospital, this time it is the psychiatrist who wants to get me into the private system and they are going about it in a more professional manner than I did late last year. I hope to be out of here tomorrow but it depends on bed availabilities. It is counterproductive to have borderline patients in hospital because they usually leave in a worse state than they arrived, but I’m here for containment, not care. I’ve been in a rut for the last month and I need the stress free environment that a hospital provides to pick up a bit. All I have to do in here is wash and dress myself, I was only just managing that at home.

I’m not at the same public hospital I went to last time. I was lucky there, in that I had a private room and the entire facility had just been re-built. Here it is disgusting, but the nurses are much better, you don’t have to linger at a locked door with all of their backs to you for attention, you just knock and they come, or they’re floating around anyway. There is also more to do here, there is an art and craft room which is left unlocked, we have to ask for certain items though. The doctors are better too, I saw the resident psychiatrist last night, she was thorough and friendly. This morning I saw the senior psychiatrist, who made the decision about what to do with me next. He was good, gentle where necessary, firm when I was being elusive and seemed to have my best interests in mind.

My roommate is snoring, it’s a really weird snore, she breathes fast and shallow, she can’t be filling her lungs much at all.

I would like visitors, I have my real phone this time, they don’t confiscate them here. Let me know if you want to come and I’ll tell you where I am and the visiting hours. 

Words

I have two friends with BPD and one with severe anxiety along with some other shit thrown in. All four of us are going through a rough patch at the moment, somehow that makes it feel so much worse. I’m glad I have friends with the same or similar diagnoses – I wish none of us had them, but it is good to have people who understand exactly what you mean without having to use every descriptive word known to man plus a few non-words.

I had a good five minutes of silence trying to come up with an adequate description for my psychologist today about how I feel 95% of the time and what the extremely bad and mildly good which takes up the other 5% sometimes feels like. The best I could do was a less wordy version of the following; Mostly hollow, as though all I have is a ribcage covered in skin, there are things floating around in there which occasionally slap me with a (bad) memory, or providing a little oomph to get out of bed. But a few times a day there is a cold, stabbing feeling and something icy, but hot at the same time fills the void, it hurts, it takes my voice, I feel it not only in my abdomen, but also my spine, my breasts, my shoulders, but for less than a second. The next two hours are spent recovering. But that’s only 2.5% of the non empty time; Happiness, or what I liken to happiness is not much better than the void, it’s just like someone has blown a few small bubbles into me, unlike the other things floating around in there these bang on my ribcage with a pleasant feeling, they might rise to my throat, induce a few words, and then depart.

I don’t need to go to this extent to communicate with my fellow sufferers, no one else can get it like they do. I know that a “bad day” coming from one of these girls is not a bit of stress over a looming deadline, it’s the icy-hot knife lodged in tight.

I’m having a bad week.

Motivation, Medication and Mingling

The heading is as far as my alliteration skills go. I would like to offer you a witty post about the above, but I can’t, so live with it.

I’ve been on a bit of a downward slope for a couple of weeks, as I’m sure my last few posts attest. On top of the general borderline symptoms worsening (the most painful of which is overwhelming emptiness) my agoraphobia has decided it’s time for a visit. I was quite sure that I banished it with such nastiness it would be timorous to return, but it seems I am not the cruel hag I thought. If anyone with agoraphobia ever offers to go to a supermarket for you on a Saturday morning, you ought to marry them. If a prospective director with agoraphobia is ever invited to a theatre company’s season reveal and is struggling to get out of the front door, you ought to drag her there by her hair. (tonight please)

Due to the increase in agoraphobia and decrease in mood my GP, on Friday, decided to increase my Lovan dose. I’ve been on this dose before but my heart protested, we thought we’d give it another try anyway. It takes a while for drug changes to take effect – unless it’s withdrawal, that’s just cruel! So far I’ve noticed no change with the Lovan. I have built up an impressive tolerance to Valium, five tablets did nothing to me on Thursday night. GP thought a replacement might be in order! Murelax, welcome to my life! With a name like that I think I’ll be calling this one by its ingredient name – Oxazepam, I don’t want people thinking I take laxatives every day. I may be many things, but constipated is not one.

Uni starts in 22 days; I look forward to having a reason to get out of bed. My contact hours are very low, but there will be a lot of work to do. At the moment I’m sleeping about 15 hours a day and in the time I’m awake I’m just waiting until a reasonable hour to knock myself out with my night time drugs. I got up at 3pm today, I woke much earlier but just lay there for hours willing sleep to return. I know inactivity breeds inactivity, but I just can’t bring myself to do anything at the moment, including cooking - which I love - I’ve been eating toast and muesli bars. It’s good for the weight loss though, even without any exercise I’m still dropping a kilo a day.

90 Minutes until I have to walk out the door, I can’t be too drugged because I need to network tonight. Sigh.

Love, and the Fortunate Souls That Have Some

I’m in a wallowing mood today, I’m tired, annoyed and disappointed in myself. I am a four year-old who has been denied lollies. Rather than stomp and scream, I sloth and fantasise about blood. In ten days I should have been celebrating my five year anniversary with M, instead I will spend the day helping my lovely C move house. I’m not over the break up yet, but I do feel better about it – not about life in general, but I don’t cry every time he pops into my mind now. I see it as a good sign that I have a crush on two other people, one of these can’t be acted on, but the other, maybe one day – not yet. I have 26 kilos to drop before I can consider myself good looking once more, I have achieved 5 so far, it’s easier to diet when you just refuse to let anything bad into the house (last night was an exception L). I actually think I’m quite good looking when I’m not fat, I don’t think many people can see that in themselves, but I used to be pleased by what looked back through the mirror (except the legs, they’re just gross). If I drop the 26kg I’ll be prettier than when I started seeing M, but I’ll be crazier, maybe someone will still want me. Mmm, I’m not in a writing mood, too busy wallowing – need some mud and wine.

West Side

Today I am at my parents’ house observing the damage left by last night’s storm. I had to guess my way through the last 15 minutes of the drive due to detour after detour. I’m amazed at the difference 44 kilometres can make to a storm, there’s little damage out my way. I have a little puddle on my driveway - out here there are lakes on roads!

My cat is sitting on my feet - which were cold - he knows how to make me happy. My new house has no flyscreens and so he hasn’t moved in, we wouldn’t be able to open any window without fear of him getting out. The screens are being installed soon; I can’t wait to have him with me all the time.

I’ve been a good girl since my last post, no more additions to the partially formed unicyclist and nothing else either. My wrist is healing very well. The cut was deep but tiny, I might even be lucky enough for it not to scar, it was very embarrassing walking around yesterday with a bandage around my wrist screaming out crazy person coming through, thankfully the Dr said I could take it off and just keep the steri-strips on.

Tomorrow I plan to visit my old church, I left there six years ago with a lot of bitterness in my heart - it hasn’t been resolved. I don’t know what I need to do to fix it, but maybe attending a service with an open mind, rather than looking for flaws will help, maybe someone will even talk to me for more than 30 seconds afterwards. I expect I will feel better about going there this time because I have finally settled in another church, whereas in the past when I’ve visited I’ve still been floating. I allow some of these church members to see my blog, I don’t know what sort of response to expect from them – I wasn’t completely crazy last time they saw me! As I’ve said many times, I don’t allow anyone and everyone on facebook to see this, less than half of my “friends” can see these links. I chose people who I thought had a more open mind and not a tendency to gossip. I hope my intuition was right.

I proof read my posts several times before publishing, I know I don’t get it perfect, but I’m amazed I let this through the Written in Ink post: A note to any other mental illness sufferers, never go to Box Hill ED, after my last experience time there this time I chose to drive half an hour for a calmer experience. Don’t bother looking for it, it’s fixed now.

This post has been a little bit of a mess, but there’s little order to the thoughts in my head at the moment (but the thoughts in my toe are crystal), so this is as coherent as I get tonight. Lucy, thank-you for your help arguing yesterday, we should start more blog fights, it was my highest traffic day ever! 

The Next Two Days

I don’t like to post twice in one day, but the earlier one wasn’t planned...

Last night was a little chaotic, it involved a hastily arranged GP trip and an early night. Today involved another (planned) GP trip and a promise not to do anything bad until I see her again next week, we reached a compromise on nothing that requires medical attention (that means I can shallowly finish the unicyclist). I had a good God talk with my dear friend C today, it cleared up a lot things I was confused about, among one of them predestination - God doesn’t want me, I’m not predestined, as much as I might want to be a Christian I can’t because he didn’t pick me. The flaws in that thought are easy to pick out, but it’s still an enticing belief. I mentioned yesterday that being unsure of my salvation keeps me here. C suggested that if I was sure of my salvation that I may want to stick around and show my thanks for it (not her exact words).

I know I talk very lightly about self harm and suicide; it’s not because I think them minor issues, but because for me they are common, constant thoughts and to not talk about them is to omit a large chunk of my head space. I think talking about it frankly is not a harmful thing for me, or for others. More people struggle with this than anyone realises, people you would never imagine even considering it have at least tried it. I hope that when you are confronted by this issue from one of your loved ones, having read about it from my perspective will help you understand them a little better. If you don’t think you know anyone who has or is struggling with this, you’re wrong, or you don’t know many people.

I hit a vein last night, I thought it would scare me, but it didn't, this worries me, I’m only annoyed by the ache it has left.

Reply to a Fool's Comment

Thanks for that! I don’t welcome closed minded comments here and it will be deleted in a few days, but first I will give my other readers the opportunity to read my response. If-fact so you don’t delete the comment yourself in the mean time I will insert it at the bottom of this post and then delete them both.

You seem to be a bit of a psychiatry cynic, to a degree I used to share those sentiments but when you have seen firsthand the efficacy of drugs and therapy it is a little hard to remain so. If I stop taking the drugs I won't be able to leave the house or eat anything (though that might do me some good), because I will believe most things have been poisoned and that people are following me. My brother and I shared the same traumatic upbringing – though I was born early enough to enjoy the really shitty stuff – he was diagnosed with ADHD at four – many years before I became ill, and his current antics are an adolescent expression of ADHD with a mixture of other shit thrown in. When I said he was following in my footsteps I did not mean that he was mimicking me, but that the combination of nature and nurture seems to be producing a similar result. In-case you missed the sarcastic note I am not proud of this. If I could have moved him out with me when I left at 21 I would have gladly raised him myself to save him from this. I'm not putting my parents through anything, what they don't know won't hurt them, as far as they're concerned I'm fine, he’s the one causing the stress at the moment.

I agree that I have too much time on my hands and I hope my return to uni next month will help with this, in fact I’m sure it will. And I do not try to be happy, sometimes happiness comes to visit but I do not mourn its departure. Next time you get gastro, or any other debilitating virus tell yourself to buck up and go for that run you’ve been putting off, you may then see how ridiculous that advise is.

                    Anonymous said...

Grow up! You should be ashamed of yourself putting your parents through this. Now your behavior has affected your baby brother. We all go through Hell. My mother told us kids when were full of self pity and wanting to die, "you don't have permission to kill yourself". Simply put and to the point, I have never forgotten that. Stop being selfish and channel your self-hatred into something positive like poetry, or write a play. You are studying drama or theatre, aren't you? Get off the drugs they're feeding you and buck up, stop trying to be happy and just keep moving forward. You have too much time on your hands.

Written in Ink

I write this post (originally) with a pen on a sheet of A4 being supported by a bacteria ridden clipboard kindly provided to me by my nurse in the Maroondah Emergency Department. A note to any other mental illness sufferers, never go to Box Hill ED, given my last ordeal there, this time I chose to drive half an hour for a calmer experience.

I am now sporting a belt comprised of dotted bloody lines, a yacht on my abdomen and a series of lines and circles highlighting my least favourite torso sections. If I was a better drawer it could have been a tattoo design, but as it is my yacht looks more like an umbrella suspended in a salad bowl. I spent some time in here tonight playing Mr Squiggle to see what I can do to improve my umbrella in salad bowl look – I’ve discovered I can turn it into a unicyclist on a tightrope.

Returning to my peaceful abode following the family holiday calmed me down and cheered me up a little, so I put my decapitation-by-train plan on the backburner and focussed my energies instead on hosting a magnificent house warming party – something I believe I succeeded in doing. The joy was short lived. Within an hour of my last guest leaving I was given the task of stopping my brother committing a murder-suicide. He ran away after discovering his girlfriend had found someone else and decided it would be a fantastic idea to kill the new guy and himself. What angry teenager answers the phone to their parents, but their sister, maybe. The next little while was spent relaying messages between he and our parents, who had of course contacted the police by this stage. I’m so proud; my little brother following in my footsteps, though my anger is only directed inward...

The last few weeks have been rather stressful, the house mate hunt topping the list – thankfully that is now over. I tried distracting myself today and was successful for a while but eventually gave up. It went well to begin with, I went to see a friend, took myself out for two good coffees and then got home and out of nowhere decided my hips, back and abdomen needed a little something to liven them up. After about half an hour of fun I had the will power to stop. I wanted to do a lot more and would have if I stayed home, so I used my moment of sanity to jump in the car and drive off to Knox Private, only to find that their ED has zero mental health facilities and I’d be better off at Box Hill or Maroondah, Box Hill is chaotic, dirty and everything an agoraphobic girl doesn’t need. Despite being public and also in a densely populated area the Maroondah ED is immeasurably better than Box Hill, I was seen within five minutes and given a bed within ten, a Dr, not a nurse tended to my wounds and spoke with me at length. The bad bit has been waiting for the psych nurse to come and decide my fate; it seems there are a few of us in here tonight for her to deal with. Three valium later and I still have a raging beast trying to destroy me from within.

Armed police have no place in hospitals.

This little saga comes on day five of my Seroquel reduction, only a tiny reduction, but one none the less. I saw my new psychologist for the first time on Friday, she seems good but first appointments are always stressful. She said “For someone like you I like to have weekly sessions.” I think tipping point today was my GP calling to inform me it would likely be months before I can get into DBT at Melbourne Clinic – the silver bullet I’ve been hanging on for.

I wish I was a little more sure of my salvation, and positive that suicide wouldn’t land me a prized spot in hell. Headless K seems like a nice idea, though it would destroy my parents and give my brother an ace role model!

Ink on paper – three pages, almost illegible I doubt I need to worry about this falling into the wrong hands.

A List

This isn’t a very long list, until recently I wouldn’t have been able to name one, but here we go. Good things about singleness:

• I can have as many crushes as I like, three is the current count!
• I can fantasise about my future menagerie, with or without a partner who would also like a menagerie.
• I only have my own insecurities to deal with.
• I can diet without something beautiful being eaten in my presence (although I was usually the culprit).
• I get to watch any movie I want, be it at the cinema or at home – though finding someone to accompany me is now harder.
• Without the reality of partner’s career as an anchor I can fantasise about doing almost anything with my life, anywhere in the world.

Feel free to comment, I could do with some additions.

Postscript:

• I can cook with mushrooms, and not omit tomatoes from salads

Return of the Hermit

I received a call at 4:20 this afternoon asking why I was not at my psychologist appointment. Somehow I left our last conversation with the understanding that my appointment was this Friday at 4 she, however, left the conversation with the understanding that my appointment was today at 4:15. I am fortunate that she has a spot available on Friday anyway, but that is very lucky, you don’t miss appointments with such a busy person who could have got their $150 an hour from someone else. One more offence and I’ll be dumped by her too!

It is nice to be home enjoying my solitude, yesterday I didn’t leave the house and saw only my house mate and a man who came to test the smoke alarms. Today was rather busy, I had two catch ups with friends (in the same cafe), bought some vases and flowers and went shopping for a coffee table – I want a massive one which will suit my lounge suite, it is proving difficult to find. Now I’m at home for a short respite before braving the public again to buy salad ingredients; I’m trying to eat as little as possible without passing out, I’m sick of being morbidly obese. I dropped 4kg before Coffs and put on 2kg there, I’m not impressed. The two coffee dates didn’t help my cause today, I only had poached eggs, but I shouldn’t have had the bread. I’m putting off doing the shopping because I currently want to decorate my abdomen and I don’t have razors, I don’t know I’ll have the will power to not buy them and once they’re in the house it’s party time! This is where my food phobias come in handy, I can’t use kitchen knives for such a purpose because then I’d never want to cook with them again, so I can’t just do it on a whim; also my house mate has had a few vege chopping accidents and despite being thoroughly cleaned I couldn’t knowingly use the same knives. On a positive note I’m feeling better than I was a few days ago, sure I want to slice my belly open, but I don’t want to get decapitated by a train today.

I’m interviewing a potential house mate tonight and hopefully another tomorrow, I’m really keen on tomorrow’s, she seems lovely and she comes with a dog!

Pass the Razor

I write this post from Coffs Harbour on the second-last day of a rather ordinary family holiday. The only truly enjoyable thing has been going up to a town called Bellingen (think Sassafras in Victoria but a bit bigger and quieter) where I enjoyed the best rocky road to pass my lips and a surprisingly good coffee - served to me of all places in a vintage clothing and furniture store; the lounge suite was sold from under us and promptly replaced by another one. The scenery here is lovely, and our resort is right on the beach, but I’m really not a beach lover, I just like to walk in the shallow water and listen to the waves.


Unfortunately I feel myself becoming more unwell, the shock of that last psych appointment hasn’t worn off, and has been inflated by my GP’s assurance that BDP never goes away you just learn to manage it. I don’t know how you are supposed to manage constantly feeling like an empty shell, surging waves of anger, self hatred and the constant desire to be dead. It has been hard, but good being constantly surrounded by people this week, I’m quite sure that left to my own devices I’d have added a few more scars to my collection. I’m trying to behave myself until uni starts in March, maybe I’ll love it and have a small reason to live. I don’t want to destroy myself between now and then so that I need another semester to recover. I should have started this course mid last-year; I’m already six months behind the grand plan

This has been one of the hardest posts to write, every sentence slithering its way onto the screen only to be scowled at, deleted, re-written and then deleted again. My head is so full, I feel I could do with Dumbledore’s pensieve (I’m currently reading the Harry Potter series for the first time, I didn’t see the films either).

We'll Help You When You're Better

Today I saw who I thought was my new psychiatrist, I had been looking forward to the appointment thinking it would be the start of getting better. I was wrong, he isn’t taking new patients and it seems my GP referred me to him only for a review, not ongoing treatment. It was a thoroughly useless appointment, after an hour and fifteen minutes I left with the advice to keep taking the medications I’m on, try and get myself into DBT at the Melbourne Clinic, then, once I’m no longer suicidal and struggling with self harm try and get another psychiatrist to see me. I understand his logic, he said that sometimes it is worse for a patient to have lots of medical contact because it reconfirms the idea that they are sick and then they start acting out their diagnosis more. He thinks it is better for me to deal with it myself and get on with life, I wish it was that easy. Basically it’s up to me, I have to decide to get better or get a move on and kill myself. Do any of you have a magic ‘get better now’ potion?

Art Envy

I am currently suffering from art envy, it has been growing slowly but received a boost on Monday during a visit with my friend L, who is suffering almost the exact same illness as me. Despite her illness L continues to perform, create and live. I love her, I envy her, I want to possess the drive and raw talent she has (and the contacts). It has been over a year since I did anything even remotely to do with theatre; I haven’t even been writing, I have grand ideas for plays but I haven’t put them on paper, and I yearn to be back on the stage. I’m not a brilliant actor, but I love it and I don’t completely suck; I am a much better director though. There are countless ideas dancing around in my head, screaming, whispering all longing to get onto the stage. I don’t have actors, a space, the energy or the nerve to just get out there and make art. For three years I have been sitting on a fringe show, not being bold enough to get my act together, afraid of failure –the worst fear an artist can possess, multiple failures are a certainty in this field, something I need to accept and live through.


In March I commence my masters in literature and writing; I am aiming to get into the research strain, which will enable me to do a creative project and will be an acceptable pre-requisite to later do a PhD. I fear this plan is a mistake, and instead of taking the clear cut path through higher education I should be getting my ideas on the stage now, and I can do that because typically my ideas for the stage are very visual and contain little, if any dialogue. Plays like these won’t require the ability to write elegantly; but a time will come when I want dialogue and I will lack the ability to make it beautiful. I could forget about writing entirely and direct the plays of other writers, but I don’t think I’d be satisfied because it’s not entirely mine; I can put a lot of myself into it but I can’t completely possess it, it’s asking enough to let the actors do their thing rather than directing with an iron rod (that’s bad). I think this means the course is a good idea, though I may need to get off my bottom in the meantime and get my fringe show off the ground. Fear rears its ugly head again.

I Have a Blog?

Sorry for my absence, I’ve been completely drained lately so don’t have the strength to research anything meaty to post and there’s little personal happenings worth posting about either. Here are a few short updates:

•  Withdrawal is over, but the rash remains and my vision is still impaired, I've gone from being slightly long sighted to slightly short sighted in very little time.
•  I’m seeing my new psychiatrist for the first time on Wednesday; hopefully he can do something for me, I don’t know how much patience I have left.
• Christmas was boring, the only excitement was of the negative kind, and that was to find I’d been robbed of nearly my entire kitchen – food included!
• I’m not usually one who cares about the year coming to an end, but good riddance to 2010! It won’t be hard for 2011 to be a better year. I welcomed the New Year with my dear friend C and four others, it was nice.
• I’m getting a dog whether the landlord says I can or not! I’ll hide all evidence of its existence prior to house inspections. I think it will be allowed though, it looks like there has been one here in the past.
• I viewed my blog for the first time on a desktop PC and I was mortified to find that my header is almost fluorescent. It seems my laptop screen isn't great. I haven’t bothered to dull it down yet because I’ll have to do it on my parents’ computer and that’s just annoying. Sorry for the brightness – it blends well with the background on my screen, just maybe not yours.

Speaking Too Soon

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

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

The Rash

Just when things start to look up...

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

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

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

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

Some Purpose

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

So Borderline...

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

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

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

1.      Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment. 

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

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

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

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

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

7.      Chronic feelings of emptiness

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

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

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

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

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

·         BPD is a complex disorder that is often misunderstood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A little me update:

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

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

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

Spinster

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

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

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

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

I Have a Date

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


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

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

A Slightly Saner Post

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

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

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

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