A Flat Festive Season

Girl found the best place to spend a 36-degree day

I had a fun combined birthday party with my housemates. All three of us are December babies. It was the happiest I've felt for a long time, aided by alcohol I'll confess, but I wasn't really drunk, just happy drunk. I've never been properly drunk, I don't want to be like my dad even once. The happy feeling didn't last; I returned at midnight after the party to the hospital - they gave me extra leave to go to my own party, how nice of them! I had 10 TMS treatments and it picked my mood up from a 4 to a 5 (out of 10). This is just a bleh number to be at; nothing's joyful, nothing sucks so much you want to stab yourself, you don't feel suicidal, just bleh. I'm back in for another 10 on the 10th Jan, they're going to do two a day, so I may only be in for five days.

I met a man online, met up, no good. He needs friends though so I might contribute there, nothing more. Ideally I'd be with the kind of man who would be attracted to me as I am right now - though not grumpy. I am trying to lose weight but it's very hard on Seroquel, that fucking drug just makes your brain constantly scream I'M STARVING! FEED ME. I definitely look better 50kg thinner but even if I lost it all and was pretty again I'm going to decline with age, so I want a man who loves my brain. My brain isn't all bad, it's funny, friendly, compassionate, loving, caring and very loyal. Maybe I don't want a man who can't look past the fat. I can understand being put off by my illness, but I think it's pretty well managed and if I had something like a good relationship to live for I'd be a lot better. Right now if I kill myself I'd wrestle with myself about the pain I'd be causing the people who care about me, but I'm not sure I could do that to a partner. I think I'd try harder to stay. That's a big burden to place on someone though, so maybe no one wants that.

As I've been so flat I haven't had a single creative thought for a week. Not a word has been written on my novel. My life has just been appointments and a couple of coffees with a friend or two. I went to the church my housemates go to on Sunday as mine was not on that night. It was good to experience a very different style of church. Good sermon. I liked the quality of the music, but the song choice was not what I like, they were nearly all talking about what we are going to do for God or because of Him. I prefer songs simply glorifying God, I don't want to sing something about myself, what if I don't do it - I've lied to God.

Being from an immigrant family means Christmas sucks. There's three of us in Australia. My brother lives with my Mum, and his girlfriend recently moved in, I assume she's having Christmas dinner with us. Mum has two friends who are from the same area as us, the man was actually engaged to my aunty but it ended; they might come for Christmas, but haven't confirmed yet. Mum has a boyfriend (I don't like calling him that, it sounds too adolescent, but doesn't partner mean you're living together?) who she tries to keep secret. I asked if he'll be joining us but he has his own kids to have Christmas with, she said maybe later on in the day. Yeah, so Christmas will be sit down, eat a duck, clean up, read or something like that. I like to watch the Queen's speech, Mum just jokes her way through it but I think it's quite meaningful. This year I get to attend the Christmas Eve service at my church, usually I'm in hospital. It ends after midnight, hopefully that means the roads are quiet for the hour-long drive to Mum's.

I hate this time of year, everyone's busy; right now I just want to sit down around a table or on some couches with a friend and chat about anything and everything. I can't read with my head this foggy and I just don't want to watch anything. I'm listening to music but there's almost permanently a musical background to whatever I'm doing. I might go outside and cuddle the chickens, it's looking like a storm's on its way and my phone has just confirmed this, I've got a little while though.

Sorry this wasn't the most enthralling read I've ever given you, just an update.

Mourning?

Today is a hard day, it's my Dad's 62nd birthday - well at least it would be if he was still alive. I thought I'd be fine, but I cried over my breakfast and then managed to bite my lip for a few hours to stop a repeat. I allowed myself to shed a few more tears when I got home from my psychology session. He was briefly mentioned, but I felt like there were more pressing issues to discuss. It's hard knowing what to feel right now. I guess the answer is whatever you are feeling is right. It's just so confusing. My psychologist and I were talking about emotions taking on a whole new life when they are attached to trauma, they're stronger and harder to dismiss or even accept.

I've been in therapy for nine years now and we've all agreed that I have depression, which is biological and even if I was brought up in the ideal family it would have reared its ugly head. It is worse due to what I've been through though. On top of the depression, I also have anxiety and Borderline Personality Disorder. I can't be bothered searching this blog to find out what I've already told you, so I'm sorry if you've heard it a hundred times. The trauma in my life is from growing up with the emotional abuse from my Dad's alcoholism. I'll make it clear, he didn't hit us, but I was still terrified nearly every night of what was going to (eventually) walk through the door. Often it was late and he'd wake me up with his shouting and very loud music, one time he threw a heap of crockery across the kitchen, smashing plates and bowls on the floor and walls. I hid from him pretty well when I knew he'd be yelling at me. I'm not going to type every incident from the 21 years I lived with him in here, but let's just settle on the fact that I was scared of him.

Mum was and still remains a stone. If that woman has an emotion it's hidden underneath a mountain. I couldn't share my fears and shame with her. I attended a Christian school where everyone came from a perfect church- attending family, of course not true, but it felt like I was the only one with this dirty secret that my family wasn't perfect. It was made worse by the church when I started attending of my own accord when I was in year 9. There the families were on a higher level of perfection and I just felt that I was somehow tainting the place. I told no one except the one girl who invited me to the church. (she probably told her dad, who was/is the pastor, so I'm sure more people than I thought knew). Not having anyone to talk to has made the emotional abuse so much worse, I didn't have extended family as we moved to Australia from England when I was 3. My Grandma was a great support on our most recent trip. I think about how much better things would have been had I been able to talk to her whilst growing up, and for Mum to have some support if she wanted to get a divorce.

Mum says I blame Dad too much for where I'm at now, but my doctor puts a lot of blame on him, and her for failing to be emotionally available and for tearing me away from my extended family. (If you're reading this Mum, I know you thought you were doing the best thing). You can't raise a healthy child in an environment where it doesn't know what to expect each night, where it has to keep secrets and has no support.

An aside. In year 10 my Dad was getting home late most nights and playing music very loudly whilst shouting at Mum. I think it's understandable that most mornings were slow. I got to school late most mornings and my bastard of a homeroom teacher, instead of taking me aside and asking how things were at home just kept giving me demerits and detentions.

So today on his birthday, I'm lost. He was a drinker right to the end. I remember one apology, he was trashed on my birthday and the next day went and bought me a beautiful pearl necklace, which I still wear on occasions. I am similar to him in that way, I show my love through gifts. He loved me and showed it in his own way, but that doesn't wipe out the damage he caused.

If my Mum reads this I'll be in so much trouble for telling all of you this. I don't let Mum see the links but I think she snoops around sometimes.

I'd like to add that since leaving the church of my youth I've been open about Dad and I'm not a dirty stain on the church, I'm part of a body of believers who love and help each other.

I have nothing else to say.

Happy Birthday Dad

Writing. Stuff. Moving

I've been in the clinic for three weeks and three days. At first I remained very depressed and had my leave taken away a few times and all my stuff put in the nurses' station. I'm much better now, still having the suicidal urges, but I don't think they'll ever go away. I've had 14 TMS sessions and the last four days I seem to have picked up. I know this because people are commenting that I actually look human (they say it in nicer words than that) and I've finally started writing my novel. I had quite a lot of backstory and character development written, but I was too scared to start the actual story. I've finished the first chapter (first draft only, I'm sure it'll change) and made a start on chapter two, I think chapter two may end up being later in the story, but for now it's two. I've got just under 2000 words, which I know isn't a lot, but it's what most of my uni assignments were, so it feels good to have pumped that out quite quickly.

I had some company today, the 6pm minister and a friend, D, came to have communion with me, and then D and I went out for lunch. I'm not too bored at the moment, I'm watching Stranger Things, just two episodes a night, I had to re-watch season one a bit quicker than that so I could be ready for the season 2 release yesterday. I bought a new sim card for my old phone and got a good data deal, so I have better internet than usual when I'm in here. I use the phone as a hotspot. It's pretty crazy that there's no patient WIFI in here in 2017, nearly 2018. There is hope though.

I'm (again) considering a move to Edinburgh. I'm going to ask my psychiatrist if he can get a phone number for any NHS psychiatrists over there. I've sent off an e-mail to a clinic, it looks like the NHS doctors are all in hospitals though. I've emailed my church over there to ask if people often put up notices or ask around for flatmates and just letting them know that I'm looking. I have some very good friends here, but I just don't feel like Melbourne has much to offer me. I always get a feeling of belonging when I'm in Edinburgh. I haven't looked into the courses on offer or if I'd have a hope in hell of getting in, but Edinburgh University is one of the good ones.

I know this is a sudden ending, but my night meds are kicking in, so good night.

Only Five Stitches

I don't know the train timetable for my local station, and I haven't scouted out the best way to get to a train without actually jumping off the station platform and traumatising everyone on it. I feel like making the trip down there once darkness has EVENTUALLY fallen tonight - fuck you daylight savings!

I had a bad day. Woke around 6 am and just stayed in bed because it is warm there until 8 am when I could stay there no longer. Breakfast, French lesson and then carved up my arm. Appointment with my support worker followed by a lucky to get appointment with a GP at my clinic, but not my GP as she's away. Five stitches, lots of steri-strips and some antibiotic cream on a wound from Saturday and off I went. Lunch. Appointment with my psychologist - that went well - and she's seeing me again on Friday because I need some extra support to make it to Sunday when I go back into the clinic.

I've been exhausted since about 1 pm, and I couldn't sleep when I tried to nap. I'm going to follow hospital timetable and take my meds at 8 pm, which will have me asleep for 9 (hopefully).

I went to church last night and had a lot of trouble with the crowds and having to sit still for so long. I went out to make myself a cup of tea and got roped into serving on supper as there was only one person doing it. I planned on going to the train station afterwards but had a good conversation with one of the ladies in the church. It should have made me feel worse given the content, but it was nice just to have a long conversation with someone. I need that tonight, but absolutely everyone is busy. (sorry if I didn't call or text you and you're a friend, my brain is foggy right now. You can call/text me though)

My eyes hurt, I need to close them.

The End.

Seven Weeks And Three Days

It looks like this is going to beat my longest admission of nine weeks. I'm now at seven weeks and three days in here, plus the six days I spent in the medical hospital.

I've had two courses of ECT - that's 12 sessions and unlike usual they did nothing to help. My doctor has put me on a new drug - Reboxetine (Edronax), I'm still on a fairly low dose, these things have to be increased slowly and also take a while for the results to become evident. I'm looking forward to seeing if it will have any positive impact on me on a higher dose and with more time.

I can't function at the moment; I'm spending the majority of my days lying face down on my bed hugging a pillow. I missed lunch today, but I went out for coffee and a muffin with a friend; that will be my activity for the day. By the end of the outing I was exhausted (If you're reading this K, I really did enjoy seeing you). All I could think of was bed by about the halfway point. Yesterday I remained in my pyjamas until about 4pm, maybe later. The most I did was watch 3/4 of an episode of Bob's Burgers, I could watch the rest now but writing this is taking all of my energy - so don't expect this to be a good read, not that they're ever fun!

Since my last post, many physical things have changed. It turns out my wrist was broken - well fractured - it was the pisiform. The GP here in the clinic said that in her 36 years of practice she's never seen a fractured pisiform. I had a month in a cast, but it's getting re X-Rayed tomorrow because we suspect it's not healed. I really don't want more time in a cast.

I had an ultrasound that found a large ovarian cyst that needs to be removed due to its size; often they can be left, but not this one. I think this will be my 6th surgery.

I had a chest CT scan because I was coughing so much I was vomiting and struggling to breathe, it was suspected to be a flare up of my asthma, but it doesn't look that way. Still, I'm on four inhalers for now. The CT came back clear.

I don't think I've felt this depressed for a very long time, not for long periods, there are always very short stints, but this is consistent. I can wake up and think " Oh thank you, I'm okay" and then as soon as I see the first person or hear a noise the flatness re-appears and the dark thoughts return. I've promised myself that I will never go back to a certain public hospital, which is where they send sectioned patients from here, so I have that motivating factor not to injure myself either in the hospital or while out on leave. I have suicide plans but the only one that will definitely work will traumatise someone else, so I don't want to do it. If I try one of the ones that may fail I could end up back in that awful hospital. So despite feeling intensely suicidal, I'm actually quite safe.

A few weeks' ago a minister from my church and a man from my small group came to take communion with me; I was very touched by that. I value communion greatly; I find it to be a physical reminder of what Christ has done for us and a physical way to connect to the church, not just your own, but the entire Christian church. It also forces prayer and reflection prior to taking it, both being things we can cast aside due to other things in our lives. I have plenty of time to pray, but I spend it feeling so caught up in how awful I'm feeling that often the best I can manage is "God please forgive my sins and please help me"; sometimes even just "God I need your help". I know God would rather us acknowledge we need Him than try to do life on our own, so I try not to feel too guilty about my lack of prayer life, but I would like it to be more substantial.

That's all I've got to write now.

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Bye.

Carrot

I don't go to one of those churches with flashing lights, smoke machines, music designed to hype you up and sermons that always have you leaving feeling special. I don't agree with artificially bringing on hysteria in order to fake a spiritual experience, and thus raise attendance. But I do feel in need of a little carrot, it seems like my church is all stick. None of us will ever be good enough, but we don't need to be because when God looks at us he sees Jesus' blood rather than all our inadequacies. I like communion for this reason, it gives us a physical reminder that we are cleansed, not by our own achievements, good works and lack of sin, but by His blood. We only do communion monthly in my congregation (I'd like fortnightly), I've started putting the dates in my calendar so I actually go that week. The most reminding I've had lately that God actually loves me has come from an elderly woman who forced her company upon me in a cafe, and whom I later bumped into whilst serving at a dinner for the underprivileged at her church.  People say encouraging things, but it usually feels just like words which the last seven years of my life bring doubt upon; this woman has the gift, gets under my skin.

At the moment I need affirmation of God's mercy. I'm still in hospital, as it doesn’t feel safe to go home. There's enough of me that wants to live that I'm not absconding and going home to kill my self, but left to my own devices at home the strong, negative power within me would have me dead in a couple of days. The sensible thing to do would be to go home and immediately grab my drug stash and hand it in to my pharmacy. I can't. The part of me that wants to stay alive is small and scared of living; so it needs an exit plan. What I need is the assurance that God's mercy is greater than the sin of my final act on Earth being murder of self. I don't believe that if we fail to confess a sin we are not forgiven for it, we can't remember everything we've ever done and thought. So perhaps suicide is just another un-confessed sin. It does take away from God the power to teach through suffering, and perhaps (but I believe unlikely) to glorify himself through healing. But suicide is much like dying from any disease, it's the illness that kills you. In my case BPD, depression and anxiety. Is it a sin to die from an illness? A friend, K, learnt a lot about grace last year and has given me droplets of it. I think God understands. And I think we've got church and small groups quite wrong.