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.

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.

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.

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.

The Overdose V

It was nothing to fret about dying’s potential over. 54 tablets aren’t going to do that, especially if prompt treatment is sought.

I wasn’t in a terrible mood that day; I had come from an appointment with my psychiatrist, which went well. And I had a therapy class in a few hours. I went into my bedroom and saw the bottle of Clonazepam and something in me just said “take all of them, the lot, now.” I counted them to see how many milligrams I’d be taking – 108. Not that I did anything with that information; I didn’t Google “100mg Clonazepam overdose. I decided I was anxious and should use the pills appropriately and take 3 (a little more than prescribed, but ok) to calm myself down. Only the three pills hit my hand and my mind screamed out “what are you doing, take all of them, you’ve already got them out.” So I did.

Within a minute I’d decided to call an ambulance. I was home alone and if I caught a taxi I might pass out on the way to the hospital and then both me, and the driver would be in trouble, or the taxi might not even arrive before I’d passed out. I felt guilty using ambulance resources for something self inflicted, but it was the only safe way to get there, and by time we arrived at the hospital I was in need of help getting out.

I was put in Short Stay, totally bypassed the Emergency Department and then there’s a massive blank. I was later told when asking why I hadn’t seen a doctor yet that I had actually seen two. I asked if that happened when I was unconscious but they said I hadn’t lost consciousness, so I don’t know what to make of that chunk of lost time and invisible doctors and the mysterious cannula in my arm. Throughout the night and following day the psychiatric triage nurse came to see me many times. He seemed keen to get rid of me. I had to ask a nurse if I could stay the night since I could hardly walk, my request was granted. And then they kept me until 3pm the following day anyway.

I went home with the knowledge that I’d be admitted to the first available bed in the clinic I frequent so I got to packing. I don’t remember much of those few hours. A friend, D, came over with some dinner for us to share – I’d forgotten she was coming and my housemate had to wake me up. D is great. I think after that I just did the last bits of packing and slept.

In the morning I received a call telling me there was a bed on the elderly ward sharing a room with an 84 year-old woman who would be going home the following day. I said I’d take it. I needed the hospital care; I could still hardly walk.

I kept taking tiny naps in the taxi, but he needed me to tell him the side street the hospital entrance is on, so I couldn’t just sleep until we got here. It was a challenge staying awake in a nice smooth humming taxi whilst drugged to the eyeballs with what I would later learn is a benzodiazepine with one of the longest half-lives.

I’ve been here nine days now, only the last four have I felt more normal. I’m still in the elderly ward, but the morning after my arrival they moved me into a private room. It’s the same as every other room in the hospital except there’s a chair in the shower, which I have to move out of the way. Though I’ll admit for my first shower here I actually needed it as I couldn’t stand long enough to wash my hair and not fall over washing my legs and feet. The sedation from the overdose wore off slowly over a week. My doctor restricted me to the ward to have my meals delivered by the kitchen to the special elderly dining room up here because he didn’t trust me on my feet. I’m still having my breakfasts up here but the last three days I’ve started going down to the main dining room and choosing my food like everyone else, not ticking it off a list a day earlier. During the earlier days when I was quite sedated a friend, R, came to see me and I had to ask her to leave in the end. Usually I love company and I don’t want it to end and I hadn’t seen her for ages but I felt I was about to fall over. D came another day and I was very groggy but better than when she’d come to my house. It’s embarrassing that people have seen me like this. There’s my mum as well, she just ranted on about how selfish I was and the damage I’d done to my organs – untrue according to my doctor.

You may be wondering why I’m still here if the sedation has worn off and I’m safe on my feet again. That’s the suicidal ideation; it’s strong at the moment. My doctor is trying to get me to make a pact not to do it for three months and then after three months hopefully I’ll have made some progress in life and I can commit to another three months. The idea is accepting that in those three month periods there are going to be some very strong urges and times I just can’t cope, but I’ve made this pact that I’m not going to exit and instead work through it with my doctor or other health professional. I haven’t been able to agree to this yet because I see my life being only weeks longer, not months. If I was sent home today I wouldn’t kill my-self but next time the awful crushing feeling came on or I was overtaken by hopelessness I wouldn’t hesitate, providing I had a plan - which at the moment I only have the outlines of.

I have good friends and I’m very grateful for them, three came yesterday and one only just left, I’ve known her since I was 14 and I’ll be 30 in a few weeks. Friends aren’t enough to keep me alive. I need something to make up a life, some purpose and the absence of this pain and the thoughts.

Depression and Anxiety Together Bringing You One Fine Week

I feel like after naming my last post Breakthrough and rhapsodising about what it is to feel again that this should be a positive post. But since a record 32 people read that post, and I’ll probably just get my usual 7 today I think I’ll just tell the truth.

I have been fighting anxiety off like a flock of hungry birds and all I have are some sticks made of benzodiazepines. My psychiatrist just gave me some stronger ones but I have to take them sparingly. In the last few days the depression has been getting stronger too, it’s the staying in bed, not being able to move, ignoring the world kind. I’m not going to church tonight even though that’s exactly what I need, I just can’t put myself up to the hour drive and the pretending once I get there. I need my friends to come to me (Thanks L), to sit with me in my PJs and drink tea.

I do a very good job of pretending. I went out yesterday and I felt genuinely good during some one on one time with my friend B.H but then the group part got too much and I had to put on pretending hat and I left before the second part of the evening began.

I woke at 11 this morning, made a coffee and returned to bed where I read until 2, that was nice. I want to go back but I’ll save it for tomorrow when Mum’s at work and I can stay there all day without question.

My Psychiatrist is going away, I’m not seeing him again until the 11^th of July. He’s made other arrangements for me, but I’m still quite scared. I’ll be looked after if I come crashing down, just not by him.

Freedom. Coming Soon to a Girl Near You.

First shower since Wednesday proudly brought to you by bathroom, enjoy the wetness!

Unless I have another meltdown and start swearing at my Dr and saying I’d like to annihilate the whole world I’m going home on Thursday! Lithium seems to be doing its job, I’ve been a lot calmer since starting it only five days ago and have even experienced a bit of happiness. Yes, I’m still unwell, but two days short of seven weeks is an adequate admission. Having had no unaccompanied leave this whole time has been hard, but it was necessary, I can’t afford to do something stupid while I’m out and have this hospital ban me too. I’m running out of hospitals.

53 days until I leave for the UK. I’m still terrified, but now looking forward to it too; it will be nice to see everyone and I can’t wait to bask in Edinburgh’s glory once more. I’ve decided against going to France, it’s a bit tricky with our other commitments, and having been in here so long I’ve been unable to exploit C for French lessons and I don’t want to be the arrogant tourist who just expects everyone to speak to them in English because you know they all know it anyway.

Three friends have visited me while I’ve been in here, one of them a few times – good job A! Some have had legitimate reasons for not being able to come, others have at least made the effort to SMS, but many I’m disappointed with. I think if I get into this supported accommodation place - which is in a totally different area to anywhere I’ve lived - I’ll sever ties with a lot of people, find a new church and just start anew. I believe I have a fundamental flaw that pushes people away, or flashes a “danger danger, back away” sign, so maybe wherever I go people won’t love me en masse, but I think I can do better than my current situation.