Welcoming V

We’re getting a new housemate, as our relatively new J - who will be greatly missed - is off to get married very soon.

I’m not long home from a session with my psychiatrist; we talked about an admission at the end of next week, just as a respite, but I refused because I don’t want our new housemate, V’s first impression of the house to be “Oh, one of them is in a psychiatric hospital, well that’s just great!” She knows I have depression and spend time in hospital, as we all agreed she should know something about what to expect from me, but I didn’t mention the BPD and anxiety. It’ll come up in conversation, but not until I’m ready. BPD’s a crappy diagnosis with so much stigma attached to it; and because I have the co-morbid conditions of depression and anxiety I can’t really separate symptoms to adequately describe the experience. I can give you this: Right now my mood is about a 4/10, but largely I’m numb, urge to cut 7/10, urge to OD 8/10, but strength to refuse urges: 8/10 for OD and 7/10 for cutting, so it’s unlikely I’ll be doing either of those things today. I have things on this weekend I’d like to be conscious for, but I could get away with some cuts.

I just worked out that by the date I feel it’ll be acceptable, with the new housemate in mind, for me to go back in I will have been out of hospital for 12 weeks, that’s a very long time for me. I’ve had the one night in Short-Stay after the Seroquel overdose, but we’re not counting that. I may not last till 12 weeks, but I don’t want to scare V away. Really I should have gone in a couple of weeks ago when I was very low and used that time as a respite as well as a safety net. I’m a little scared that by postponing the admission I’m going to have a meltdown and destroy things with V more than my absence would have. Choices.

May

For once I’m not writing from hospital, or straight after an OD, or freshly stitched. This is just a few little updates and thoughts.

I had a meeting with one of my church’s ministers a few weeks ago to discuss the many things about church and Christianity I’m struggling with. One of his suggestions was to arrive at church late so I miss the big chunk of worship right at the beginning. Worship makes me feel very isolated, I feel separate to the congregation, like they’re having this two-way conversation with God and actually feeling Him and I’m just standing there watching people sway, raise their hands (not much of that in my church) and I’m just reading words off a screen, analysing them for their scriptural accuracy and then sometimes repeating them in my head as a prayer if I think I might mean it. I can listen to a sermon, my concentration doesn’t always hold out, but it doesn’t get me distressed; worship has me wanting to run away, it really highlights to me how numb I am. I arrived 25 minutes late last night and I’d missed the Bible reading at the start of the sermon, so I might try 22 minutes next time. There’s still the three songs at the end, I could leave early but then I wouldn’t get to talk to anyone.

I had about eight weeks on Dexamphetamine, I’m still on it but reducing the dose by half a pill a week until I’m off it; it’s an ADHD drug, but with some people it helps with mood and energy, both of which it did for me. I felt the best I have for a very long time, I cut down the amount I was sleeping to about that of a normal person and was starting to look for a little bit of paid work. Then it stopped. My doctor told me it may not last, so I wasn’t really surprised, but I think I wish I didn’t have that good period because it’s made the come-down really hard, I had that glimpse of what things could be like and now it’s gone. All of last week I was in emotional distress, I woke up holding back tears every morning (I can’t actually cry even if I want to, so only metaphorically holding them back) and got through the days in a zombie like state. Since Saturday it’s just been numbness with a touch of distress here or there, but that wishing for death, crushing sort of feeling has eased. I can’t keep this up, it’s been about seven years now that feeling numb is akin to most people’s feeling good, there is no good, it’s numb or feeling like I have to die or tear off my skin.

Just to add another great thing to my life, I’m having minor surgery on Thursday to remove a giant cell tumour from my right middle finger. The surgeon said it’s 95% likely to be benign. I sometimes get a little bit worried, but it’s a tiny percentage. I’m totally fine about dying, but there are better ways to go than cancer and the horrible treatments that come with it. I won’t have much use of my right hand for a week after the surgery as my finger will be bandaged and I won’t be able to get it wet. My left hand is stupid; I’m not looking forward to brushing my teeth left-handed.

A Few Words on Trust

Yesterday I awoke feeling like I needed to die. I wasn’t upset about anything, everything just felt wrong.

I argued with myself for a while before giving in and going to a pharmacy to grab a huge box of Seroquel. That box took my collection up to 4. I can get two more off that same script but they have to be 21 days apart.

Knowing that I might have had enough for suicide but only borderline, I instead decided to use just under half a box (40 pills) to make myself unconscious. I’ve taken that exact amount of pills 4 years ago and it had me unconscious for 20 hours in the Emergency Department; this time I went straight there after taking them. I was attended to quickly. Sadly because I got there so fast they were able to give me activated charcoal – awful stuff. They monitored my heart all night as it shot up to 157bpm at one stage. My Lithium levels came back a little low too, so I’ll be talking with my psychiatrist on Friday about that – and also what the hell made me do this –

I appreciate my housemates, they care for me and I should do better for them than a single half-baked message saying, “I’m in ED due to another OD, might be a night or two.” I didn’t even try to soothe her worries, I’m not sure though how I could have at that moment as I could hardly move to pick my phone up. I’d prefer not to tell anyone about these single night trips as they’re always after an OD and it worries people. I want my friends to enjoy my company and not to sigh when they see my name popping up on their phones. I don’t know how to ask for help before doing something stupid. People have jobs, jobs and kids or study. This makes them hard to contact last minute when I may be distressed.

As I just said, I appreciate my housemates, and I trust them enough to tell them when I've done something stupid. But I’ve overdosed 3-4 times while I’ve been living with them and it makes them worry. I don’t know if I can be as blunt as to say “Don’t worry, if I ever do kill my self it will be at xxxxx, you won’t be the ones finding the body." I do wonder if they fear finding me dead, so I want to allay those fears. I will die somewhere quiet with lots of trees and maybe a lake. I have a good place in mind.

My other housemates know of my situation and are not happy – more scared than angry – and I don’t know what to do; a few years ago my two housemates left because if it. I don’t want to get kicked out of here or asked not to join them in the new house. I think we just need to have a frank discussion.