Another One

My last overdose was September last year; I couldn't go a whole calendar year without one; that would just be irresponsible! Wednesday night saw my belly greeting a rather small overdose. I took my self to hospital just to avoid scaring my housemates and to stop myself wetting the bed if I ended up unconscious for longer than expected. I think I was out for 17 hours, then they just kept me until I could walk and had a psych assessment. I saw my psychiatrist today, we chatted about it briefly but there were other things I wanted to discuss, like my hopeful misinterpretation from my Mum saying that my illnesses are all my own fault and that Dad wasn't perfect but much better than I remember. My Dr is very good at putting things into perspective and validating my feelings.

I've got two and a half hours to fill in until I see a friend for the night. I'm feeling rotten right now, but at least I have seeing her to look forward to.

Three Weeks out Two Weeks in

I'm at home now, discharge was on Saturday. I'm a bit miserable, to tell the truth. I've hit a hurdle in my story, so I've only written a tiny bit. I'm close to 9000 words now, but I'm not writing the story as it will be read, rather just how the plot emerges. When I've worked out everything that's happening I'll re-write probably in a different order to slowly reveal things about my main character and her task. I've decided that she will have a very long life and will have a very important job to do and will live until she finds someone worthy to pass that on to.

I'm probably not moving to Edinburgh, the NHS is very bad for mental health and private insurance excludes pre-existing conditions, so I'm stuffed. Also, the disability support payment is a fraction of what I'm on here. My ongoing fear of becoming homeless would exhibit its self within a week of my arrival and all my money being spent. Speaking of homelessness, I'm terrified that our lease won't be renewed in March and the boys want to live closer to the city and I won't be able to find anyone around here to live with because who wants to live with an unemployed nut case! So back to Mum's an hour away from all my friends, my GP, my psychologist and I'd lose my support worker, whom I really rely on. March, please don't come! We might get notice either way before the end of the year so we won't be so surprised either way, I'm just the eternal pessimist.

I don't have enough to fill in my days at the moment. I have a medical appointment of some kind 4 days of the week, but they only take up an hour. I went to the gym yesterday, but I'm not fit enough to work out for ages without drowning in a pool of my own sweat. Tomorrow's going to be a hard one, only one appointment at 2pm, so I'll feel awful in the morning and then again in the late afternoon. If I have the money I might go to the gym, but I'm seriously broke until Saturday.

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The TMS doctor has decided I'm going to have three weeks at home, then two weeks in for 10 sessions of TMS, and if it works that'll be my life. I hate life.


By the way, you can leave comments on this blog. I moderate them before they get published, so if anything is accidentally said which would reveal my identity to any random person I can choose not publish it. You all know who I am, but Google wouldn't lead you here if you typed in my name, and I want to keep it that way.

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.

I'm Too Happy to Buy Bottled Death

I'm writing this mostly for myself so I can remember that good times are possible.

I got home from hospital on Thursday, my last two TMS treatments being on Wednesday, and I feel good, verging on great. I woke up this morning smiling because I'd slept a 10-hour night right through with no extra sedatives; do bear in mind though that I had my normal sedatives - Neulactil, Stilnox, Seroquel and Lorazepam. I had a rather freaky dream, but not of the scary kind, so I didn't wake up troubled. My housemates and I just went to Bunnings and walking down the chemical aisle I briefly thought "If I drink that I could kill myself" but I pushed it out of my head really fast, normally I'd be thinking about whether or not I should buy it to keep handy for a really bad day or series of days.

Right now I'm letting my brunch digest before I go to the gym for the first time in my life. My support worker was able to get me $7 casual sessions at a nearby(ish) gym. I'm terribly unfit at the moment and I want to be able to walk more than 10 minutes when I'm in the UK so I can explore places, especially Edinburgh, it's quite hilly and the best bits are high up. When I get back my doctor is going to try to get me off Seroquel so I can drop some weight - an impossible task when taking Seroquel; currently I'm 113.5 KG, size 20. Somehow the change from size 18 to 20 felt really traumatic, much more so than going from 16 to 18. I'd like to drop some weight before the trip but I really don't think that's realistic now with it being only 10 days away, but hopefully if I go to the gym every day or every second day my fitness will improve a bit.

That's all I've got to say for now.

Happy K signing off!

Where's The Off Button?

I got in early this year, the first admission for the year at 11:30 am 1/1/17!  Since my last post I've been home and back here again following another overdose, there was some drama with the doctors in the hospital the day after I woke up; my support worker is helping me make a formal complaint. I'll write about that here when it's done with. Between the last admission, which was only 6 days, and this I spent about 2.5 weeks at home. There was no event preceding this admission, no overdose, no acts of self-harm; just a mood dip which started off gradual and then on Friday 30/12 took a huge dive. Though I wouldn't have thought it possible to go much further down, on Saturday it did just that, and I sent the simplest of text messages to my Dr asking for an admission, he arranged it within half an hour despite it being NYE, and here I am.

Depression isn't just feeling sad; sadness hardly has a role in it. It's an inability to think of anything but the void inside you. Moving feels like you're carrying a full-grown German Shepherd on your back. I went out for a coffee on Monday and on my way back to the hospital I felt what energy I had sapped. I was ready to sit down in the car-park I was walking through and appear to be a homeless person who'd picked a very unusual begging location. I know this isn't possible, but I was at a depth of depression whereby I felt my heart could willingly stop beating to save me from this feeling. I made it back to the hospital and just curled up cuddling my pillow - also how I spent NYE.

 I'll be seeing my doctor this evening, and I'm hoping to say more to him than when he came in on Monday, I was too down for conversation, he basically got yes and no answers from me. 

I can't write any more. I have loads to say but not the presence of mind to do it.

Anxiety Demon

I took my night meds about an hour ago so I may drift off whilst writing this…

I was triggered to write because I thought, “maybe there’s some sort of creature / demon who is actually getting his belly filled up from eating all my anxious thoughts.”

Just now I was lying in bed thinking about our living situation, and really it’s all gone wrong too fast. The landlord is moving back in in January or February, there are three of us wanting to stay together, one maybe and one no because he’s getting married (good enough excuse).  So I was lying in bed worrying about that and also where I will live long term. I love the Eastern suburbs, I love the trees, the lake around the corner from my house and the birds – we get Rosellas hopping along our balcony ledge every day. They make me smile. The health care is better in the East too. The public mental health service is rotten in the West and they treat you like a criminal; when you go to see your case manager you have to talk to the receptionist through a tiny crack in the window separating her from the potentially murderous patients, the chairs are all plastic and the floors hard. I was never offered anything like I have over here, my mental health support worker who comes to see me once a week, though we often go out for coffee and casually talk about my goals and how she and her organisation can help me achieve them. I greatly value the support I’ve had through my support worker and the agency. I’m taking up pottery through them soon. No such thing exists in the West. Unprompted my doctor said on Wednesday that my move to the East has been very good for me. From the nature point of view, services and being closer to my friends and church. I’ve been in two of my local public psychiatric hospitals – public is never fun, but they’re both much less terrifying than the one I’ve been to in the West.

I’m scared of moving back West, which could happen due to us housemates all needing to find somewhere – maybe I’ll fail and end up back with Mum, maybe in the future I’ll choose to live there for other reasons. But with no support, very few friends, no hills, very few trees and a truly scary local hospital if I have to go public it will be challenging. I think the solution is a LA style risen road network of 30 lane roads (with 150kph speeds) going everywhere so there’s never any traffic and you could get from East to West in 20mins. Just the little pollution and ugliness issues to manage.