One of Two

I have expressed fervently my desire not to go down the deep brain stimulation route but the spectre is looming. I met with my psychiatrist today and again he subtly hinted at it, acknowledging my disgust at the idea but at the same time nudging towards it.

On Wednesday I returned home from a week in hospital during which time I had 10 sessions of TMS, with no obvious result. My anxiety is sky high and mood at about a 3/10. I took my discharge medications to my pharmacy this afternoon, the 89 pills of 10mg Neulactil being a strong pull. I think now I don’t have enough of anything to make for a decent overdose, I’d probably get a few hours sleep out of it but I’d rather have several days unconscious. As I try new and old medications to no avail, 100+ sessions of ECT, and TMS and their effect ceases to mend me I’m travelling closer and closer to the final options of deep brain stimulation or suicide. I’d much rather be dead than have my head opened up and meddled with. Please God, send a gunman into the house as I sleep tonight with a mission to kill me and only me, may he be given a medal for extreme kindness to the mentally ill.

My anxiety wasn’t helped by arriving home to completely different dynamics. I knew our new housemate, A, was moving in but I forgot that with every change in housemates there are changes about the house, however minor. I guess it was just unsettling to come home to the lounge re-arranged, a pot plant in a new spot and new stuff in the bathroom. I like A but it would have been a better transition for me if I was here during the move and her first few days in the house. A good thing is that she’s a student, which means sometimes I’ll have company during the day instead of the complete isolation I usually contend with.

I haven’t done any work on my novel since last year. There are two very different directions I can choose to take it in. I’ve written a prelude and a chapter down one path but I think it’s the other I want to take. Decide K!

That’s all for today, my anxiety is causing dizziness and my brain is struggling to think of anything to interest you.

Good Evening.

2/10

Squish!

I’m currently eating my second Oreo McFlurry with extra Oreo in two days. Can I suggest to any visitors to bring me one as a sacrifice when you come over in order to have the best chance at meeting a not insanely depressed K. This is the second thing I’ve eaten today, the first was my breakfast, one piece of toast and one egg.

Today my mood has been a 2 out of 10 and anxiety 8 out of 10 (for mood low is bad and for anxiety high is bad) I’m definitely ready for the TMS top up I’m getting next week. I feel like crying all my moisture out and then freezing it in a cocoon and sleeping in it until I go back into the clinic on Wednesday.

Over the last 10 days I’ve been experiencing psychotic symptoms, but despite being clearly psychotic in nature, my psychiatrist, whom I saw only this afternoon, says they are not actually psychosis. I don’t know what else to call hearing things, feeling my body floating and seeing something clearly but it being wrong. Whatever! At least I don’t have another diagnosis to add to the bag.

I wish I wasn’t such a fucking coward and I could just take our biggest knife and stab right through my throat and enjoy the pain as a last salute to the world.

On an entirely different topic, let me know if you would like an extra body at your Christmas this year. After ours going all wrong Mum said she’s not doing it again and to find a friend to spend the day with.

Ten

Tonight is my last night in the hospital. I wasn't given much notice; my doctor decided only last night. It might have been a compassionate move to save me from a shared room. When you misbehave in here they can move you for your own safety. I think it's just to be dicks. I told the NUM that if he moved me I'd discharge myself. And if I weren't able to discharge I'd just camp in the hall refusing to go into my new room until they either gave my single room back or let me go home. So the naughty thing. I absconded a little bit. By stealth I got out the door, but then came back after about 30 seconds because the reality of the situation hit me - the police would be at the train station before me, and then I'd be taken to the psych ward I most dread. Not long after my return I needed to calm down, and the best way to do that is by cutting myself, so I smashed a mug in my bathroom and planned to cut my leg with the shards. I've got two pairs of black pants and two pairs of black leggings here, so I'd be able just to let it bleed without needing to patch it up and no one would notice. A nurse came in before I was able to do anything, and very shortly after, my doctor. I probably would have got caught anyway, as what I really want is a long gash from elbow to wrist, sometimes I can just feel what it is I need, and that's it at the moment.

TMS is finished, I was supposed to have 30, but the Dr running the show stopped it at 28 because it was obviously not working. I have been told it could still work, as it can be delayed. I think I'll just see how I feel while I'm at home and if I want to end it I've got a good method now. I'm only home for ten days anyway, Dr wants to do more TMS on the other side of my head - I had it on the left this time, now for the right. Also, he wants to take me off my antidepressant as we both believe it's doing nothing at all. Still leaves me on seven medications though! Ketamine is still a possibility, Dr has sent multiple emails and was going to call someone today. Dr is going away for ten days - one of the reasons for my discharge, and there have to be seven days at home before a new round of TMS - an insurance thing.

So K, how do you feel about returning to the big wide world?
Thanks for asking. I'm looking forward to catching up with certain friends for whom it is nearly impossible to visit me in hospital. I'm looking forward to getting back into the gym and getting my fitness up to a more respectable level; if that brings about some weight loss too, then great, but I think the weight is going to stay put until I'm off Seroquel. I'm looking forward to sleeping in my own bed. The hospital has upgraded to King singles, and I think my mattress is memory foam, so it's been super comfortable, but there's nothing like your own bed - especially when it's nice and big. I should probably use these 10 days of freedom to go to the dentist, there's nothing wrong but I haven't been this year.

Final thoughts: Don't be surprised to see me with tubi grip on my arm/s. Don't be surprised if I kill myself. Ask me if I want to catch up and I'll probably say yes, the busier I am the better; I've only got 10 days to get through, but that can feel like an eternity.

Choo Choo

Today was my 20th TMS, it was supposed to be the last for this round, but since not a drop of improvement has been found, we're persisting to 25. I think it will stop at 25 and my doctor will have to hound the Ketamine trial people, he's also mentioned deep brain stimulation, which I think sounds worse than it is, I've read a little about it, but I'm not going to do thorough research until the idea is officially on the table.

I seriously thought about killing myself yesterday, (the idea comes up every day, but usually I can shoo it away) I went out on leave and ended up at a train station. I sat there for about 45 minutes just watching the trains go by or stop. There's a sharp corner the train has to come around about 100m from the station, if I lay on it, the driver wouldn't see me until he's on top of me, no time to stop. I say lay, not stand because my plan is to place my head on the track so it gets crushed and there is 0% chance of survival. I'm not looking for another cry-for-help attempt; I want to die! The reason I didn't do it yesterday is that I still had six more TMS treatments to go and I had a glimmer of hope that I may feel once again what I had for those few weeks after the last round. Of course with each day passing and no improvement seen that hope fades. I'm on escorted leave only now, so no train for me until I'm discharged.

Why do I want to end it? Why can't I trust that my doctor will do all he can to help me? Well, I'm just worn down. It's been ten years of depression, and the last seven have been brutal. Doing even little things takes it out of me, writing this is hard when I'm sitting on my hospital bed propped up against the pillows I just want to be hugging. It's a lonely situation to be in as this hospital is 40 minutes from all of my friends' houses and about the same for my Mum. I'm always glad to get a visitor, but I don't beg people to come because I know it takes so long. I used to make friends in here around the art table, but I stick to myself now, I've been burned by hospital friends too frequently. I have one left - that's you L. Today I can't really concentrate, I've tried watching something on Netflix and didn't get far. I'm a quarter of the way through a movie, so I'll have another shot at that once I've posted this. But really, all I feel fit for is curling up under the blankets with some music, or perhaps an audiobook on.

A World Away (from the TMS machine)

I fear my holiday may be over with 19 days to go before the flight home...

I arrived in London on 7/7/17, had a nice few days there before going to Edinburgh for little over a week, where I had a fabulous time. On arrival to Manchester I got to stay with my Aunt and Uncle in their 1640s farmhouse and play with their Great Dane, Bailey and French bulldog, Oliver. I was there for little over a week before coming to my Grandma's while Mum is alone in Italy. The public transport is more accessible from Grandma's than the farm and I don't have Mum to drive me around; I'll be back at the farm upon Mum's return.

I think I've succeeded in doing something every day. I went into the centre of Manchester yesterday alone, I only got a little bit lost. Today I had lunch with my Grandma, Aunt and cousin at a farm with a cafe and shop attached in Uppermill, it was very picturesque, but since there was a handrail in the way of any shots I would take and it was raining I refrained from photo taking. Tomorrow I'm going to my other Grandmother's, I think it'll take three buses. I'll hang out with her for a little while before my cousin and her daughters come to meet us there, we're then going to buy clothes for one of her daughters. Sadly my grandmother can't come as she is housebound. I wish she would consent to move into a home where she can get the care she so badly needs and some company, but her own room so she can also have privacy. I feel bad just flitting into her life for 5 minutes, seeing how happy the company makes her and then pissing off to the other side of the world.

While I was in Manchester yesterday I bought myself a new watch from Selfridges. I saw it last week with Mum, but she talked me out of buying it because it's Selfridges, therefore it's a humungous rip off; but in the meantime I've seen many similar, and frankly not as nice in other shops for a similar price, none lower, some quite a bit higher. So here it is.

I started this post saying my holiday is over, well, that's because I'm worn out; not from too much activity, from my mood and my need for a TMS boost. I finished TMS on 22/6/17, 36 days' ago. I should be in there now for maintenance. I'm so tired. I've had two naps today, one either side of the family lunch. I'm not at risk of doing this, but my mind keeps telling me to slit my throat and wrists, the throat for suicide, wrists just to see the blood. I'd never do it here, my family would have no idea what to do, if they found out, it may be summer but it's currently 14 degrees and raining so I'm wearing long sleeves. I'm wondering more and more about psychosis, I'm already on two anti psychotics, yet these urges to hurt myself are more like voices, I feel the physical pull but then there's an argument, it only contains my voice, but the other creature pulls me. I can't describe it so I'll stop there.

I've got three days coming up in the North of Wales with my Mum, Aunt and Grandfather. They're going to be pushing me to go on day trips and get angry if I waste the trip - and therefore Mum's money by staying in bed. I just don't know if I can do a whole day anymore.

Not Quite The End

Almost two weeks' ago, Sunday the 4th of September I took 231 Seroquel 100mg tablets (23.1g). I wasn't planning on waking up, but I did. After taking them I sent a message to my doctor, not asking for help, just to thank him for looking after me for 5 + years. He immediately called me, and I answered. I wasn't at home as I didn't want my housemates to find my body, he talked me into telling him where I was, and he called an ambulance. I really did want to die, so I know I shouldn't have answered the call, but I also didn't want to be alone. I spent the next five days in an unconscious / semi-conscious state with lots of hallucinations. I had a few falls because I kept trying to get out of bed when I couldn't really walk due to the drugs and a seizure brought on by the drugs. My arms are looking more normal now, but they were very bruised, and there is a bone in my wrist that was suspected broken in one of the falls, but the X-ray came back fine.

I've been in my usual psychiatric hospital since Saturday; I was very lucky that they were able to get me a private room the morning after discharge from the medical hospital. I just flatly refuse to come into a shared room no matter how urgent it is, it's not therapeutically beneficial having to tip toe around, and I don't like being in complete silence, so I usually have music playing, something that a roommate wouldn't be too fond of. Because I had no medication for the whole five days I was in the medical hospital (I also didn't eat until the Thursday night) there have been some alterations to my usual meds, the biggest being I'm totally off Seroquel, and they halved my Lithium. The Lithium is being returned to its normal dose as of tonight, thankfully! A few years' ago my doctor tried to take me off Lithium and it was a disaster, I went a little wild. At the moment on the lower dose I'm very flat and don't want to do anything at all, I've spent most of today lying on my bed listening to music either staring out the window or at the wall depending on which side I'm lying on.

I've had all the preliminary tests for ECT done, so I can start at the end of next week if my doctor approves it. He's in London at the moment so I won't see him until Wednesday. I like the doctor who's filling in, but it's not the same as having the opinion of someone who knows me so well (and probably saved my life). Usually when I have ECT I'm severely depressed, which you'd think I am at the moment given that less than a fortnight ago I tried to end my life, but it's not quite that despondent feeling I'm experiencing, it's more so just flatness and profound hopelessness; still I think ECT would be beneficial, so I will be asking for it and if he says yes we can go straight ahead.

I sent off an enquiry about getting a therapy dog today. The restrictions on me getting just a regular dog are that I spend so much time in hospital so it's unreasonable to ask my housemates or Mum to look after it for me. Also I'm renting, and though my current landlord would probably approve a dog it would restrict future houses I could apply to rent (ours is being demolished next year). A therapy dog is allowed anywhere, including hospital, and landlords can't say no. I'd benefit from a constant companion, someone to talk to (even if it can't necessarily talk back) and the responsibility of taking it for walks and generally caring for it. My housemate, R would be concerned about the safety of our chickens with a dog, but I think it would be well trained and not likely to eat or chase the chickens.

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.

Admission # 4543986

Here I am in hospital again; I arrived on Saturday following three days of panicked medical practitioners and a visit from the CAT team (really it should just be CAT, because the T stands for team, but it sounds incomplete without adding team on the end). I am very fortunate to be here, after the incident in my last private admission I should be black-listed, but they agreed to take me on the condition that I have no leave - which I am fine with as I don’t trust myself out and about anyway. Precipitating my admission was an overwhelming sense of hopelessness, which is still present, a very detailed and certain to work suicide plan and severe social phobia. The suicide plan still exists, the only reason I’m not bent on carrying it out is that my mother has already lost her husband this year, and perhaps losing her daughter so soon would be unpleasant. I can’t win with the social phobia, I get extremely lonely, but the idea of being around people is terrifying. One-on-ones are fine, but only my mother has been to visit. The dining room is hard, so many people talking at once, and I can’t always get a table to myself. Unlike Vic Clinic – which I’m now banned from – this hospital is mostly private rooms, and they’re quite nice, so staying in my room is not the grim experience it is at Vic Clinic.

Medication-wise; I’m withdrawing from Zoloft, which sucks; re-introduced to Valium, which takes the edge off the terror of venturing into the dining room and therapy groups. My psychiatrist hasn’t yet decided whether to start me on a new anti-depressant or to see how I go without, since historically they tend to make me worse, but do improve my anxiety. ECT is unlikely because of the damage it has inflicted on my memory, I’m willing to have it though because I figure the damage is done, so why not ruin it some more. (Plus I really like the anesthetic).

That’s all for this update.

Next Time You're in a Womb Don't Try to be Different - Just Grow Normally

PAIN! Do you think if euthanasia was legal in Australia hip dysplasia would be a qualifying condition? Oh fuck it hurts right now. My kind physiotherapist and GP have both blessed me with the news that this is only going to get slowly worse over many years, eventuating in a hip replacement, and if I’m lucky it will only be the left side. Today I got to experience two other types of pain also. I had my breasts squeezed in a torturous instrument commonly known as a mammography unit, but I think it should be re-named mammary pancake maker. That was followed by a very long ultrasound, which kind of made up for the pain, as it was sort of like a massage, only sticky. To accompany the hip and boob pain I’ve also been enjoying the normal every day emotional pain, the knowledge that I am merely a hollow pile of skin bone blood and fat. On the fat front, I’m trying a new tactic, only mandarins after 4pm – since I get up at 12, that should work.

I sung at church last night for the first time since fish decided to walk. I also beed nice to people.

I’m going to find somewhere warm and soft where I can sob in pain now. Maybe I could have it cut off...

I can't sedate you

Five weeks and two days in four hospitals, most of that time spent in the private I don't usually get to go to as my psych works out of a different one. I'm having more ECT,  not sure how many are left.  I'm currently on 4mg of Lorazepam, 100mg  of Seroquel, 15mg Imovane and I think 1mg of Xanax. I still feel angry, violent (don't worry only towards me) and super impulsive. I left the hospital for the second time without leave today, only this time I didn't get caught. I bought sharps and put them to use when I got back - nothing serious and they've been surrendered now. I have a few fears around suicide, mainly to do with eternity. I'm sure eternity in hell would be much worse than what I'm living with now. But maybe God would still accept me. Big risk.

My New Room Smells

I’m writing and it’s not 4am, let’s see how this goes…

I had 23 hours in ICU, ending at 10pm last night, thankfully my doctor didn’t think I needed to be in there. There’s a bit of self sabotage going on, I was given unescorted leave and told home time was approaching in about a week, so what do I do? Buy razor blades of course and then instead of using them inform a nurse that I have them and want to slit my throat. I do this a lot, get suicidal make some gestures and then call for help. I could/should have jumped off that building but instead I called my nurse and help arrived shortly after. Every time I’ve taken an overdose I’ve taken myself to hospital and I’ve never made any really deep cuts, I’ve only hit a vein once. I see progress and then ruin things. Maybe I don’t want to go home; I get constant attention in hospital, I see my doctor every second day, nurses enquire about my wellbeing twice a day and I’m surrounded by people who ‘get me’ – not that I talk to that many of them. Doctor and I came up with a plan to conquer this cycle. Home on Sunday regardless of what I do (within reason) and leave from tomorrow also regardless of what I do.

I think I’m going to live until I’m 80 and be miserable for the whole time.