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.

Your Day

Two Seroquel before bed because you have to get up early and can’t afford to wait four hours for sleep to come naturally, plus your anxiety picks up as soon as the lights go out and your throat closes up, your muscles spasm and your limbs go numb. Sleep doesn’t come even with the drugs, the drugs you’re only supposed to take a couple of times a week because last time you took a lot of them they made you put on 40 kilos, you’ve gained two kilos since starting them again but you don’t know if it’s the drugs or laziness because you really aren’t being selective with what you allow to pass your lips, plus you’re grieving, maybe it’s normal to give in to your every desire when you’ve just lost your father. Sleep comes but it’s hot and someone has turned off the air-conditioning because they can’t sleep with it on, but you can’t sleep when your body temperature is 800 degrees. You fall asleep again and this time you stay there until the alarm chimes at 7, you turn it off and it sounds again at 7:05 and again at 7:07. Therapy starts at 9:30 in an inner city suburb. You live near three schools which congest the roads in an industrial outer suburb, the drive is long and slow in the morning traffic. You roll over deciding not to go this week. At 9 you wake up with a reasonable amount of energy and think it’s 11 or so, realizing you are wrong and can still make it to therapy, albeit a little late you call and inform the coordinator that you’ll be there at 10. Rush to get ready, don’t forget to check the pets’ water supplies, it’s going to be a hot day. Drive drive drive. No spots in the car park, damn it, but you get a two hour park around the corner. Walk into the conference room and the air-conditioner hasn’t been fixed, they said it would be done by last Thursday. There are 12 sweaty bodies emitting extra heat, great. They’re reviewing all the modes – this is Schema Therapy, right now they’re discussing the happy child, one you haven’t got to yet but you are only at week three. Someone spends half an hour sharing about a traumatic experience from her week and half the group tries to help her deal with it while the rest of you slip in to the detached protector mode and stare at the floor, well you play with your necklace instead but you’re just as detached as the rest of them. Break time, get out of that hot room and move the car so you don’t get a ticket, there’s room in the car park now so you won’t have to move again at lunch. Eat a lamington because all you had for breakfast was yoghurt, which you eat in the car, perhaps that was a little dangerous. Back to group. The coordinators have been able to negotiate a move to the art room, which has a functioning air-conditioner. Now comes a blank, people talk about something, referring to the various modes they tend to slip into. There are a few small pieces of wood on the table – art supplies - you start playing with them, you feel more at ease when your hands are busy. Looking for something to do you start to scratch at your wrist faster harder faster harder faster until there’s blood on your nails. No one has noticed so it’s alright. You go back to playing with the wood but it’s not enough so you scratch pinch pull at the skin on your arm. Somehow there’s now a sheet of paper in front of you, it’s a safety plan contract you’re supposed to fill out and sign. They’re now talking about self-harm and how with this contract we’re committing to taking a set course of action before we do anything to ourselves. You think it’s a little funny that as they’re discussing this you’re bleeding right in front of them. The urge to scratch more is overwhelming, you want more blood but surrounded by people that’s not a good idea so you get up and walk out thinking you can scratch away in the empty dining room. No. You are followed by one of the facilitators, he makes you talk to him, you show him your red wrist and he asks questions you answer with I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know, he’s sick of this but you tell him you really don’t know what to say. He has to go back into the room because he’s leading this section, the other leader who you feel a little more comfortable around takes his place trying to comfort you and figure out what’s going on in your head. You tell her about your disconnect with God and failed attempt at seeking help, she has some advice but can’t understand the situation with its spiritual nature and the complexities you haven’t told her. Back to the group for 10 minutes and it’s time for lunch. This time next week you’ll be heading off to uni, missing the afternoon session. You eat a bad sandwich taking off the cucumber and cringing as you eat ham – something you don’t like to eat because of the use of sow stalls and a general aversion to the meat. Coffee, another coffee. Go next door to change an appointment with your psychiatrist. Two Seroquel, group facilitator sees you taking them and asks what can be done to help you feel better, you suggest euthanasia and walk back to the art room where the rest of the group are waiting, seems you took a little too long getting your caffeine hit. It has been decided to leave the safety contracts to our one on one sessions on Friday as some group members feel a little uneasy about them, you just feel cynical. Game time, two truths one lie. As the name implies it is a game where you tell the group three things about yourself, one of which is a lie, they guess the lie. You get them all right but one and feel quite proud. Home time, you check your phone, nothing from friends, a voicemail from next door wanting to change the appointment you just made an hour and a half ago. Drive drive drive. The neighbours are having a party – yes on a Monday afternoon and a car is in your spot. In anger you print a note in a large font size to place under the wiper blades informing the driver that this is not their house and not to park there again. Mum comes home as you are doing this and removes the note fearing that the driver will become enraged and do something violent, she calls the council instead, they are delighted at the prospect of the 70 parking infringements they can issue on this clogged street. The Seroquel taken at lunch is still active, you’re tired, very tired. Time for bed, but you won’t sleep tonight if you nap now, best to stay up, cut your arm, it’s only bleeding a little from the scratches, you want more. You’re about to start a DipEd and think fresh scars on your arm during teaching rounds might be a little inappropriate and raise questions from curious kids. You write instead thinking you might add to the cuts on your thigh later, no one sees your thighs because they are fat you wear long dresses, skirts, shorts that will cover from the knee up. You started swimming regularly last week to improve fitness and hopefully weight you don’t know if you need to wait until the wounds are fully healed before going again, you hope not because you think you’re going to start cutting regularly again, the compulsion is strong. Something to look up – swimming in a public pool with open wounds.

Sometimes Coming up With a Heading is Really Hard

Tonight was the first time I’ve self-harmed since October, it didn’t fix anything, I still feel like shit. Church was awful tonight, I feel this huge disconnect to God and being in church surrounded by everyone who’s (on the outside at least) completely fine just amplifies the problem. I can’t sing because I don’t feel genuine about what I’m singing, I can’t seem to make my self pay attention to the sermon because by time we get there I’ve already spent 20 minutes feeling alienated. I tried to talk to one of the ministers after the service tonight but he had to do something else, maybe if I’d fallen on the floor and burst into tears he’d have had time for me, that’s how I feel but tears don’t come easy to me. I want to be closer to God, I want to fully participate in church life and feel something but there’s nothing there, I feel completely alone. I don’t know what the solution is, I just know that something has to change.

Rattle and Dice

Well here I am, awake at 6:43am. I actually woke at 4 something, tried getting back to sleep, tried Ulysses - I'm not actually reading that to force sleep, I want to read it - and now I'm drinking rooibos and vanilla tea and recovering from brushing Rico (the dog), I couldn't find the muzzle so it had to be done very carefully.

I'm seeing my doctor in a few hours and I don't expect him to be dancing around the room with joy upon hearing what I've got to say. My hobbies of the last few days have consisted of not sleeping, staring at walls, yelling at Rico, snapping at my mum and eating very little due to complete loss of appetite and feeling unwell. I was going to take a small overdose yesterday (it's all I have) but then mum called wanting to go out for lunch (Rico had mine). I went to church zoned out for most of it and then went across the road to Safeway to buy some sharps and dressings, then God showed up in the form of two of my closest friends (they're married to each other) from church. I bumped into them at the register and before I had time to hide the contents of my basket I'd been found out. They were gracious enough not to say anything there and instead invited me over for dinner; I accepted, it seemed like a better offer than going home and slicing up my arm, plus I like them. We hung out for a couple of hours, talked about my failed admission and they gently raised the razors issue. I should have agreed to leave them there, but I was in the mindset of needing just to have them in my possession. They prayed for me, God got lots of prayers about me yesterday because a bunch of people met up before church to pray for me too. I know it may seem like it doesn't work but I'd say bumping into those two last night was an answer to prayer for my safety and I'm yet to see the results of their prayers.

My friends drove me home because my vision had gone very blurry, once here I got ready for bed and intended to go straight there, the razors got in the way (sorry friends) I went a little overboard but nothing requiring stitches. I then got a few hours sleep and have now given up on the idea. If this continues I might teach myself Latin, I wouldn't know where to begin, but it would open up a whole literary world to me. I'm furious that I'm too dumb to read Ulysses (James Joyce's this is), well it's not that I'm too dumb, I just haven't had the right education. If my school English teacher were reading this she would say that I couldn't even get a firm grasp of English let alone Latin. My old school teaches it now, too late for me but I'm glad they saw the need for it.

I don't know what else to write, I seem to be angering people with my posts lately and I fear I've overlooked something with this one which will cause someone greif. I'm sorry but please remember what I've got to work with at the moment, a severely depressed, sleep deprived and hungry (although not feeling it, but I must be) body

Flowers From God

God gave me some flowers yesterday, they're lovely. You may think he can't do that but he can through other people. Last week the woman who was praying with me had a vision of God giving me some flowers, so she bought be a bunch and gave them to me - well not in person, I left church early last night so a friend dropped them around on her way home. They came just at the right time; I left church because I was feeling really down and out of place and was home alone thinking of taking all my pills when there's a knock at the door and sweet smelling flowers shoved (not literally) in my face. Today I got through with my mum taking me out for lunch and walking and bathing Rico; tonight has been spent watching House, Dance Moms (trash, but addictive) and The Simpsons. I'm waiting for my sleeping pills to kick in so I can be rid of another day but it's been over an hour. Tomorrow I'll be able to speak to the person replacing my Dr for the week and hopefully something can be done to stop this downward spiral before it gets out of hand

Religion Resolution

I had a long chat with a well respected woman at church last night, the best bit was a bible verse she pulled out of thin air for me; Jeremiah 6:16 This is what the LORD says: "Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls." But you said "We will not walk in it." The ancient path being that walked by God with his footprints, basically follow God and my soul will find rest. I admitted that I felt I was at a stage where I could easily walk away but she encouraged me to keep going.

L moved in today, the house was a flurry of activity for most of the day; S is moving in tomorrow, so the fun will continue. It's actually like having three people move in at once because I've got two and a half months worth of stuff to bring back from hospital (and my little break in between the two admissions). I ate junk food today, I've been trying and succeeding to eat healthier lately since I've gained so much weight, maybe tomorrow I can get back on track, though we are planning household celebratory drinks...

AFES

This showed up on Facebook today, it was shared by one of my friends, who I know also suffers; but it made me a little bit angry. It's the first Christian literature I've come across concerning depression and anxiety, and it is so shallow, with its ultimate point being "there there, God will come back in the end and everyone will be better". Well that's kind of one of the reasons I want to kill myself, everything will be better then! I think I'm also angry because God has done nothing to make me better, or even give me a reprieve, he's given me a few good friends which I'm grateful for, but TMS made me better, and before that Epilim, both have high success rates, so it's no miracle that they worked. Maybe God planned for me to get better this way and to have a rough journey, but I'm not happy with it. TMS has made me really teary, I cry at the slightest thing now, including writing this, I used to have tear ducts of stone...
I've had a bad week and am still in hospital, I was supposed to leave yesterday, but now it's hopefully Saturday. I still think TMS worked because I'm managing bad situations in a much more mature way than I would have without it; and I've had a number of challenges to test me whilst I've been here. I have two new house mates now, L is one of  them, I can't wait to be living with her and our house will look amazing because she has art and can make it and has an amazing photographer as a best friend.

It's My Party And I'll Eat if I Want to

I had a little birthday gathering today, it was poorly attended, as have all my parties been since birth (except my 21^st which was held very early) due to end of year celebrations, Christmas parties and family gatherings clashing. Still, with over three quarters of my guests missing and the weather being a tad on the cold side I had a nice day. I’m missing church as I write, I had a nap and overslept...

I haven’t written for a while, that’s because I don’t want to bore you with “The Adventures of Rico and K The tale of how a mentally ill girl and her anxious dog navigate life” It would include walks, window frame scratching, rolling in dead birds and both characters sleeping far too much. I still don’t have much to say, but thought I’d record my party. I started taking Seroquel again, it’s already putting weight on me and making me lethargic, my choice is taking an appetite suppressant or stopping the drug; stopping would be annoying because it has lifted my mood further and decreased my anxiety, in my brain I think I’m quite normal with this concoction of drugs (Lovan; Abilify; Epilim; Seroquel; Circadin; and Imovane) but it may be that my body isn’t so happy with it.

It’s an odd experience being well (enough), I don’t want to kill myself anymore, I don’t want to hurt myself anymore, the very thought of doing so scares me. I want to drop this drug weight so I have more energy to physically do things, I want to look like I did a few years ago so I’m not completely repulsive to men; I want a boyfriend so much, I hate being single but there’s a shortage of eligible Christian men, let alone good ones. Sometimes I want M back, it wouldn’t work (and he wouldn’t have me) but I miss the feeling of love, it’s weird, I felt it even though he said he stopped loving me two years before the relationship ended. Maybe what I felt and miss was my own love for him. I gather if you love God as much as you should you’d have a similar feeling, kind of safe and warm, but I’m still getting there. I don’t know how to move on from being acutely sick, I can’t do much with the lethargy, and my anxiety still peaks under pressure, but I fear I might get bored and self sabotage again if left where I am. Next semester I’ll pick up another uni subject, that should help, one online subject isn’t much to keep me occupied, two on campus should help my dilemma. I’ve volunteered my services to Mind Australia to be the person I wish I had in the depths of my illness to someone else – a person to say it doesn’t go on forever and with patience you can come out the other side. I just hope I stay on this side; there are many middle aged and elderly people in the hospitals, apparently you don’t stay well forever either (I might not tell the people I work with that bit).

Gone Cancer Gone

At the end of 2009 my dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer, towards the beginning of last year he was told it had advanced to a pelvic bone, there’s not much you can do once it’s in the bones, but he’s been receiving pretty intensive treatment anyway. He had an MRI last week - it was test week in our family! Dad’s was a full body, he was in that tube a jolly long time and he hated it, his oncologist whom he probably loathed at the time wanted to see where else in his bones the cancer was. The answer, nowhere, not even where it started! So daddy is no longer an advanced cancer patient, he’s just got normal prostate cancer, which is a much smaller burden for him to carry. I think writing this I felt some kind of appropriate emotional response, which is an answer to some pretty intense prayer I received on Saturday, or a very delayed processing of daddy’s illness, or both, probably both. 

A Setback

You all know by now that I’m pinning my hopes on DBT; since January I’ve been told that I’m likely to start in May – wrong! The very earliest is September, but that doesn’t look too promising because that’s the next one and I’m not even on the waiting list yet. I wonder sometimes if my whole life is just one big punishment for “the sins of my fathers”, there’s not much devotedness in my bloodline and plenty of outright rebellion. Things never go smoothly for me, this isn’t just woe is me thinking, but well observed fact; good things don’t happen, but on the occasions they do they don’t last. I knew M and I wouldn’t get married because that was something that was happening to everyone around me, and I don’t get the same things as them; you may call it self-fulfilling prophecy, I call it my curse. I try not to dwell on it because that just makes it more likely to continue, it just confuses me so much. I am a good friend, very loyal and honest (maybe a little too honest), I’m a good girlfriend, loving, caring, fun and sensible, I’d like to say Godly, but not so much at the moment; but the things that make me good are overshadowed by my expectation to have the same in return, and the need to be loved enough to make up for a mostly loveless life. When I am feeling suicidal it is not because of how I feel about that very moment, but rather what I feel in that moment about the future. Some days I can hold a little hope and imagine a life that isn’t completely worthless, other days all I can see is a lifetime of loneliness and mediocrity. I want to be loved, or I want to excel in my field, both would be grand; at the moment I’m just a thing.

Oxazepam My Friend

Who needs a whole box of valium when you have Oxazepam, two pills of this gift from science and the world is a better place, a slower place, but better all the same. I saw new psychiatrist today – the mind reader – it wasn’t as scary as last time and only lasted 20 minutes, future appointments will be 60 minutes. The expected public transport fiasco was no fiasco at all. It is certainly better living in the East, no car in the West means total isolation (at least where my parents are). I followed my appointment with three beautiful coffees and a very meaty lunch with R and her beautiful daughter S. I haven’t had the will to cook lately, mainly eating bread and soup, it’s an achievement if I manage to boil some pasta and throw some sauce at it. Since I’m trying to drop weight - not pick it up - takeaway isn’t an option. Lovan is going up on Monday, and another Seroquel reduction is imminent, that means bye bye kilos, but hello more nightmares.

I really miss C, I haven’t seen her for about a month, it’s usually no longer than a fortnight. She now lives about 45 minutes away – possibly more and is very busy with uni, work and being a wife. I shouldn’t miss L, it’s not like we’ve been friends for that long, and I’ve still been seeing her, but I do miss her, I guess it doesn’t help knowing that she is sick, not making progress and in a horrible place. I won’t be living with her again, but the week we had together was great, the sister I never had and without all the family crap in the way. I feel like I’m not good enough to be her friend, all her others are these super creative, amazingly attractive and totally uninhibited people. I’m attractive when I’m not fat, but I dress so plainly; I’m creative, but I haven’t done anything special with it, and I have the ball and chain of Christianity holding me back. I wouldn’t give my faith up just so I could be a little more impulsive, but since I’m not currently in a good place spiritually the whole thing seems like more of a burden than a gift. There are days I wish I’d never heard of God or anyone called Jesus and I could live as I please without fear of eternal consequences; but then I know I’m fortunate, so many people will never hear, or understand/accept, they will spend their lives wondering what the point is, they will spend their death apart from God. I shouldn’t wish that upon myself and be so ungrateful for Jesus’ sacrifice; but this is where I write the truth, and that’s how it is.

Time to call the dentist, one of my teeth is crumbling away, doesn’t hurt because the nerve has been removed, but it’s giving me a headache. Thankyou Seroquel for dental destruction! 

The Next Two Days

I don’t like to post twice in one day, but the earlier one wasn’t planned...

Last night was a little chaotic, it involved a hastily arranged GP trip and an early night. Today involved another (planned) GP trip and a promise not to do anything bad until I see her again next week, we reached a compromise on nothing that requires medical attention (that means I can shallowly finish the unicyclist). I had a good God talk with my dear friend C today, it cleared up a lot things I was confused about, among one of them predestination - God doesn’t want me, I’m not predestined, as much as I might want to be a Christian I can’t because he didn’t pick me. The flaws in that thought are easy to pick out, but it’s still an enticing belief. I mentioned yesterday that being unsure of my salvation keeps me here. C suggested that if I was sure of my salvation that I may want to stick around and show my thanks for it (not her exact words).

I know I talk very lightly about self harm and suicide; it’s not because I think them minor issues, but because for me they are common, constant thoughts and to not talk about them is to omit a large chunk of my head space. I think talking about it frankly is not a harmful thing for me, or for others. More people struggle with this than anyone realises, people you would never imagine even considering it have at least tried it. I hope that when you are confronted by this issue from one of your loved ones, having read about it from my perspective will help you understand them a little better. If you don’t think you know anyone who has or is struggling with this, you’re wrong, or you don’t know many people.

I hit a vein last night, I thought it would scare me, but it didn't, this worries me, I’m only annoyed by the ache it has left.

Red Mesh Spider Horse Thing

Tomorrow should be home day but I see no end in sight. Medication re-jigs have gone terribly; mood has plummeted, agitation and anger has sky rocketed and self harm urges are becoming much more violent – I’m not acting on them don’t worry. Last night I saw a flood of bright red shapes and figures moving around the room and circling me (I was wide awake – I was standing up). At first I was utterly terrified, but once I realised it was purely visual I relaxed a bit and tried to interact with it – I could push it, I could let it crawl up my arm, and if I blew it would move away the way you’d expect a spider-web to move but then return. It only happened in the dark; as soon as the lights came on it disappeared, but I tested it a number of times to see if it would come back, and each time I turned off the lights there it was but in a different form each time – often quite sinister looking. I don’t know what to make of it because technically for something to be a hallucination the person experiencing it has to believe it is actually happening, whereas I was completely lucid during the experience. Don’t get me wrong, I am completely freaked out by the episode and wonder if it is from medications, the nature of my illness changing or even a spiritual attack – though I would think if it was a demonic thing I’d be terrified throughout and if it was an angelic thing there would be a complete absence of fear and a feeling of comfort. I was certainly not comforted, but not terrified for very long, eventually I was able to play with it a bit... Confusing, yes!


Post your thoughts below, I’m interested to hear what you think. The nurses said they haven’t heard of anything quite like that before and I am yet to see my doctor today.

I don’t have much else to say, come visit, I’ve only had two non-parent visitors (thank you to A and C) Oh actually I do have a little more to say. I’ve been house hunting and have come across one which I’m currently applying for and I hope to inspect several others on Saturday, the big challenge will be finding house-mates (and a garden big enough for a great dane and a nice outdoor entertaining area and a huge kitchen and a separate laundry all within the Blackburn area - don’t like my chances!)

Endless Tunnel

Last week I was told by my doctor that I’d be out by half way through the next week; it didn’t happen. I’m two days short of five weeks in here and it doesn’t look like I’ll be going home any time soon. The last six days have been very hard for me, my medication keeps getting changed, nothing drastic, just dose and time-of-day alterations but they’re really messing with me. Medication isn’t solely to blame though; I can’t see any light at the end of this massive tunnel I’m in, so I don’t even try to help myself move through it. If the tunnel never ends why not just sit and paint the walls?
      Painting the walls is pretty much what I have been doing and why I’m not getting out of here soon – I am in fact lucky that I haven’t been transferred to a non-voluntary hospital. Avoidance of said hospital is my prime motivator in the task to stop painting the tunnel. Perhaps this tunnel analogy is wearing thin and becoming a little Freudian, but meh I can’t be bothered re-writing.

I made it to church this week, my taxi was only 20 minutes late, even though I ordered it two hours in advance. I got a lift home from a lovely church lady and her daughter. This week’s service was a healing service. I decided to go up for prayer; I’ve always been sceptical about God healing people physically in this age. But the God of the bible is the same God we have today, the speaker emphasised that it is the faith of those praying, not the faith of the one needing the healing that was important. The story of the Centurion with the sick servant was used to back up this idea. Anyway, nothing happened for me there, or in the following days. Everything continued to get worse and my suicidal thoughts increased a lot. I got it in to my head last night that perhaps God had chosen to heal me by letting me die and be with him - totally unsound theology I know. I maintain that I don’t want my last act on earth to be a sin, that sin being murder of self. I do not belong to me, I belong to Christ and by committing suicide I’d be stealing from him, kind of....

Tomorrow two of the three girls I’ve made friends with in here are leaving. Neither of them is better but they are better-er than when they came in, I will miss having them to chat with. I will definitely keep in touch with one girl - I will call her L, the other I’m not too sure about. The remaining girl I will call B, she will be here for a while yet, her situation is complex and awful for her. I’m glad I’ll still have her company though. Hopefully she’ll be granted leave soon so we can go out for coffee together. On my coffee walk today I found a second-hand clothing shop specialising in high end fashion, like stuff you’d pay several hundred for new. Some of it was still very expensive, but some not too bad, and all in excellent condition. I didn’t buy anything, but there was a jacket which caught my eye...

I seem to have lost a day this week, there are some events I just can’t place and everything feels wrong. I have to keep checking that it is in fact Thursday. I think it’s Monday that my mind has erased, I’ve just now realised why, that’s the day I was highly agitated and not quite here. Tuesday was a little better and I went for my usual coffee walk and bought myself some flowers – for the second time since I’ve been here. Visitors seem to have decided that people in psych hospitals don’t deserve as many flowers as people in normal hospitals. Although my friends are mostly poor and flowers aren’t cheap, so I suppose I can forgive them.

Bye for now, come visit me, get details by pm’ing me through facebook.

K

Eternity

This weekend I went on the ladies retreat with my new church, I suddenly feel like a grown-up; it wasn’t a young adults retreat; I wasn’t leading on a youth camp; it was the ladies. Being there with 70 or so women was nice, the ages ranged from 18 to 80-something, which was good because there aren’t many older people in attendance at the evening service it was an opportunity to meet them. We learnt about eternity from a perspective I’ve not thought of before, and I have come away with two things to (try to) constantly keep in mind... In the light of eternity does it matter? And what’s important is that when I and others die that we know Jesus. These are both very simple statements, but if constantly kept in mind they will drastically alter the way I live and think. There are days where I desperately want to die, but the pain I feel now, both the grief over M and the pain caused by illness is temporary and in light of eternity will not even register as a little blip; but the offence caused to God by ending my life would be massive. One of the big turn offs of suicide for me is that I don’t want my last act on earth to be sinful, God made me  and I have no right to destroy his creation. I don’t believe that suicide results in being sent to hell, but it is a big two fingers up to God that will have eternal consequences; though perhaps it is different in the case of serious mental illness, where you are not really in control; just like we’re not going to be punished from dying of cancer I wouldn’t think we’d be punished from dying from the consequences of severe depression or if in a psychotic state etc. I can understand that many people will disagree with me there, but unless we argue that mental illness isn’t real and its effects are not devastating I can’t imagine how my statement could be wrong... I’ve drifted away from my initial point, I’m not even sure if I had one so maybe this post can just be a little rumination.

That's Right, God Made Them Too

I constantly have to remind myself that God didn’t just make me and all those other lovely people who fill - or partially occupy - the churches every Sunday. God also made the woman who stank of cigarettes and filth; he made the pharmacist who messed up; he made the people who can’t drive. Maybe these people, filth and all please him more than I do with my strong opinions and self loathing. You don’t have to smell good to have faith.