Dumped Again

I'm sorry this blog has taken on more of a diary feel of late, I'm not too sure what to do with it. I want to write about my adventure with BPD and that kind of necessitates the diary tone but I don't like it.

I have been out of hospital since Wednesday - a public one close to my Mum's home. I was sectioned on Monday for smuggling a knife into the hospital for a suicide attempt. I surrendered it before doing anything, but merely having it was enough to freak out the nurses and cause my doctor to throw his hands in the air and give up on me. He has requested a few months without me and when he takes me back he wants to do so with the help of a case manager. The CAT team have visited me twice since my discharge and are dealing with the case management referral. In the meantime I will hopefully be given a new private psychiatrist from one of the only hospitals left open to me, my GP wrote several referrals for me when I saw her on Thursday, she's amazing, I'm very lucky to have a GP as capable and caring as her.

It has been suggested to me that I write about the good stuff in my life, not just the crap; so here's the few recent good events.

On Sunday I attended church for the first time in almost two months. I was on coffee for our welcoming ministry prior to the service so I arrived over an hour early. I enjoy making coffee even if it is only on a Sunbeam machine. Ten minutes into the service I felt the need to leave and maybe even go to an emergency department due to strong suicidal urges and the recurring feeling of inferiority I get at church. As I approached the door a friend caught me and spent the next 40 minutes talking very harshly to me about trying more to help myself and having greater consideration for those in my life who care about me. It was a hard conversation, and a number of times I wanted to either walk away or hit her, but I think she actually said some things I needed to hear. By time we finished talking the service was nearing the end so we sat down to a cup of tea and watched from the foyer. Now for the good... After the service I was not left alone for more than 30 seconds, so many people wanted to speak to me and seemed to genuinely care about me. I got to catch up with some people I hadn't seen since prior to my admission and also with those who came to visit me. I had some nice talks and was even invited to a couple's house for dinner but I couldn't go because I was getting tired and have a long drive back to my Mum's. I left church feeling cared for and glad to have been prevented from leaving earlier.

Another good event:
I spent part of the weekend at Mum's holiday home with my Grandad and Step-Grandmother who are visiting from Mexico. We had a lovely meal and wine at a local winery and enjoyed browsing in the few shops dotted around the place. They go home on Wednesday, it has been nice seeing them but I have no real attachment to them as none of my relatives have been part of my life, having grown up on the opposite side of the world to all of them.

It is currently 6:05am. I haven't slept a wink tonight due to a long afternoon nap necessitated by a high Seroquel dose. My choice was Seroquel or chancing what I would do to myself. My current suicidal urges are frightening, they feel different to what I'm used to, they're darker and feel like they're coming from an outside force rather than a mere thought. I'm stuck at the moment, I can't go to either of the private hospitals I usually attend, I don't want to go public because it's a scary environment, you get little help and if you put a foot wrong they have terrifying isolation rooms to place you in - I'm claustrophobic and being locked in one of them is high on my list of fears.

It may not come across but I do actually want to get better. I was excited about Schema Therapy because I though there was a chance it would work. I now can't do it until they start the next course because you need to be the current patient of one of the hospital's psychiatrists and mine has temporarily dumped me. I just wish he'd given me warning that he was struggling with me; apparently the knife incident was the straw that broke the camel's back, if I'd known it was getting close I could have tried to change my behaviours. I like my doctor and I value the help he's given me, I really would have tried to keep him.

To finish on a different note: I've been terribly clucky lately and would love to find some random (intelligent, educated, creative and at least a little good looking) man to get me pregnant and then never see again - unless he actually wanted a baby and a crazy woman, then maybe I could have a happily ever after family life. Sadly being a Christian doesn't really gel with random sex, sperm donation or single parenting - sperm donation within a marriage where the husband is having difficulty is probably not so frowned upon but I don't know the ins and outs of Christian reproduction rules. Maybe it's time for me to lose the 21 kilos I need to bring me down to a healthy BMI, try to be a little less insane and see if any Christian men look at me twice. I'd made a good start on the weight prior to my hospital admission, I was swimming several times a week and not eating too badly, I've lost 29kg in the last six months(ish) but I put on 40 due to Seroquel - I know I'm back on it, but it's the only thing that really works for me and I'm being careful this time, even weighing myself every day.

Thank-you for reading this epic post. The sun has risen and I think I'll have another attempt at this sleep thing. 6:36am!

Doctor Whore

I can’t start writing a blog post until I have  a title; often I go back and change the title, there just has to be something there before I can write. Today’s starter title is Hgjhgjgh – the first few letters my hands pummelled blindly on the keyboard. This will be the last post I advertise on Facebook for a while, a friend and I are having a Facebook rest together, so if you want to keep reading this you’ll have to follow or check it every so often.

Two years ago I started having dreams and a few days later something from one of the dreams would happen; A few examples: I went to my old chiropractor in a dream and it had turned into a huge super clinic, in reality I dropped in a week or so later to pick up some x-rays and it had changed significantly. In another dream Krispy Kreme was going out of business, the next day The Age documented their economic downfall and multiple store closures. Dad smoking an electronic cigarette, the next day an article about battery powered cigarettes to help people quit.  And this beauty two nights ago; attending a seminar in a very large auditorium, I took my seat but didn’t realise until it was too late to move that my chair was a good 60cm higher than all the others. Luckily the people either side of me were quite tall, so I didn’t stand out too much, but then they left and everyone else was down by my waist, I felt awkward. Last night in church I was wearing boots with a little heel, usually that’s not a problem because I’m not exactly a giant, but short people sat either side of me, no problem when were seated, but when we stood I was the tallest in the row and didn’t like it. I don’t believe I can dream the future, but I think my subconscious gleans little bits of information and gives them to me in dream form, scary at first, now amusing.

GP again today, as I expected all the scans and x-rays were fine; I’d prefer something to be wrong so it can be fixed rather than niggling problems that won’t go away. While it is possible, maybe even probable that the tingling down my left side is somatic (basically anxiety caused) GP insists I see a neurologist to rule out MS and a couple of other things I didn’t remember because I’ve never heard of them. I’m completely un-worried, even if I had a massive inoperable brain tumour, I wouldn’t give a damn because it would bring death closer. MS would suck, it shortens your life anywhere from a bit to a lot, but in the mean time it destroys you. My Grandad’s first wife had MS, it caused her to choke on her food and that’s how she died. GP is still trying to get me a private admission, she’s making four calls tonight and if they fail there is the option of going public, but that’s really only for crisis containment, they don’t do anything to make you better, just protect you from yourself. I might need to do that, it’s getting tiring constantly fighting the urges, it’s only a matter of time before I give up.

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?

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.

Flaky Paint

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

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

Re-Posted Privacy Note

I have some new readers so I'm re-posting a note on privacy.

I’ve had a few people mention how open I am being about everything by linking this blog to facebook and posting the link fairly regularly etc. I’m not as open as you think. My facebook settings are personalised to prevent a lot of my friends from seeing those particular comments, and the link is also hidden from a lot of people. “Ahh”, you may say “but I can see them and I haven’t seen you in years”; well that means that I view you as someone who would not think less of me because of this blog, and even though I haven’t seen you for a long time I don’t mind you reading this. I also don’t view my-self worthy of being gossip fodder, who would be interested!


I have not listed my name on this blog and I would appreciate anyone who chooses to leave a comment to just refer to me as K and not mention anything else which could easily identify me. Thank you.

A Note on Privacy

I’ve had a few people mention how open I am being about everything by linking this blog to facebook and posting the link fairly regularly etc. I’m not as open as you think. My facebook settings are personalised to prevent a lot of my friends from seeing those particular comments, and the link is also hidden from a lot of people. “Ahh”, you may say “but I can see them and I haven’t seen you in years”; well that means that I view you as someone who would not think less of me because of this blog, and even though I haven’t seen you for a long time I don’t mind you reading this. I also don’t view my-self worthy of being gossip fodder, who would be interested!

I have not listed my name on this blog and I would appreciate anyone who chooses to leave a comment to just refer to me as K. Thank you.