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.
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.
ReplyDeleteDOUCHEBAG,
ReplyDeletewho ever the fuck anonymous is can fuck off and grow a brain, if you had ANY idea about suffering mental illness and the pain it puts you through then you would NEVER write the above statement. it's people like you that CAUSE suicides and create endless problems for people trying to get better, trying to work through AN ACTUAL FUCKING ILLNESS, A DISEASE.
How dare you attack someone at their most vulnerable. Go fuck up someone else's life, wait til you have to deal with mental illness, and if you're a parent, I feel incredibly sorry for your children. It is you who should be ashamed.
Lucy, you're wrong to assume that I'm not familiar with pain, suffering, and suicidal ideation. It's not mental illness, it's called life. Whoever said it was supposed to be easy and filled with joy. Who hasn't contemplated suicide? My intention was not to drive Reclusive over the edge. Reclusive, actually handled the post quite rationally. She is not as weak and fragile as you'd like to believe.
ReplyDeleteI know she's not weak and fragile, she is incredibly strong, but that doesn't mean that insensitive comments like the ones you make aren't potentially dangerous.
ReplyDeleteI also speak from experience and watching my best friend commit suicide a month after being told to 'buck up' as you put it, by a psych he saw is enough to fill me with rage for people like you who seem to assume that mental illness is just a mood when you get down in the dumps, at least that's what one gains from your first comment. mental illness is not called life, it's called mental illness for a reason. something is wrong with your brain when you see things, when you wont drink water from the tap because you 'know' it's been poisoned, when you are surrounded by wonderful people and a wonderful life and yet still feel completely empty. I have seen happiness, and I know that what I feel when I am sick, is not life, it's an illness that needs to be mended, fixed, helped, anything.
When you reach a certain age you know that life isnt filled with joy and is not just a walk in the park, that doesnt mean that what reclusive is going through is something she needs to snap out of, or just buck up.
My response may have been irrational, but I spoke from utter disgust and grief because the comments you made are what is wrong with society and mental health. To be honest, from what I have gained of your comments, you are the kind of person that I despise.
I don't see depression as a mood like being down in the dumps. I see it as an intrinsic feature of an individual. The mental health profession and the pharmeceutical industry have you convinced that it's an illness.
ReplyDeleteNow if you believe your water is poisoned that's paranoia, perhaps schizophrenia -- definitely a true mental illness.
Have you reached a certain age at 21 to know that life isn't filled with joy? It's common to be surrounded by wonderful, loving people; to have everything going for yourself and still feel unhappy. So what? Expect nothing and you will never be disappointed! Winston Churchill suffered from melancholy. For the longest time I strove to be happy, but after suffering devastating losses (those closest to me dying), all I want is peace.
Anonymous, I don't think this is a good blog for you to be commenting on, by all means continue reading, you may be educated, but your comments aren’t helpful. Many of my readers are fellow sufferers, and though you claim to have some understanding of mental illness, your proclamation that "seeing things in water is paranoia, perhaps schizophrenia -- definitely a true mental illness" exposes your ignorance. The water incident Lucy referred to was my own, and is not schizophrenia, but severe anxiety which is controlled beautifully by Lovan. Though Lovan fails to control other my symptoms, at least I can now finish meals and beverages, and exist in the world without constant fear of catastrophe.
ReplyDeleteI don’t think Lucy or I strive for happiness, but merely to get through each day without causing heartache to those who love us; some days this is harder than others, and on those days we find our own ways of coping. Emptiness is the problem, not a lack of happiness. It’s a total lack of anything, with the occasional raging beast pounding on your rib cage, the hourly stab in the heart and the constant whisper that you don’t belong here.
I'll respect your wishes, Reclusive. You write well. I wish you would see your own potential and what you can give to the world. Just keep that empathy for others in the foreground. Don't ever do anything to yourself that would destroy the lives of others. Perhaps one day you will look back and find someone who is going through the same stuff you're experiencing now and will have a better message for them.
ReplyDeleteBTW, the water in Oz sux, I wouldn't drink it either. LOL