I Used to Bath my Cat

This post is quite graphic, there’s lots of blood, if you can’t cope with that stop here.

Things aren’t great at the moment. I know it’s Wednesday only because it says so in the top right corner of my laptop screen. It is 2:09pm and I am sitting in my pyjamas and dressing gown un-showered for six days. I feel sticky and my hair is wet from grease but the motivation to fix it eludes me. I am forced to wear long sleeves due to the 26 cuts I made on my forearm on Sunday night. My brother and I are silently battling over control of the heating thermostat; he likes the house warmer than I can bear whilst trying to hide my arm. It will be seen sooner or later - these scars will be visible for months - but the longer I can delay Mum’s reaction the better. Sunday night was beautiful I wasn’t in distress I just really wanted to make a mess. I made three long cuts from my elbow to wrist and 23 smaller ones over the veins on my wrist (I didn’t count at the time, that was done later) the bleeding was erratic and at times caught me by surprise necessitating scrubbing the carpet and changing my bedding, thankfully it all came out. There’s something mysteriously beautiful about bleeding, it’s like opening a valve and releasing pressure from the machine that is me. I think this is the primary reason I cut. I feel such a release as soon as the first incision has been made. I don’t know why I like to see the blood, maybe it reminds me that I’m human, but that’s just a guess. From what I’ve read and what various medical professionals have said to me it seems that most people do it for the pain. Not me. If I had access to local anesthetic I’d numb my whole arm/leg/torso, whichever I was planning to slice open, pain is not my friend.

The apathetic state I’m in is not good but there is no help available to me at the moment and really I don’t know what anyone could do anyway; push me into the shower with the taps jammed on and the screen door locked, drag me out of bed after eight rather than 12 hours have passed, dress me and carry me out the front door. But what then, there is nothing to do upon leaving the house, all of my friends are an hour away and most work and study during the day and have happy marriages to keep them busy at night. After writing this I’ll be filling out the form to re-apply for my writing course, that along with a possible casual job will probably help me a lot, but as we saw with my breakdown over starting the DipEd even a little bit of stress causes massive problems for me. I don’t know what the fuck to do, be idle and bored or busy and torn to pieces by stress. I wish I could still do schema therapy, it was very helpful and gave me something to do two days a week.

2:55pm, Mum will be home soon. I might try this showering thing and get dressed to avoid the “what have you been doing all day while I’ve been working” talk.

5:21

I forgot I'd written the last post, so some of this you already know. Sorry.

I write this at 2:55am Sunday 24^th March from Melbourne’s finest psychiatric hospital. I have been here 17 nights, although my total hospitalisation has been 26 days in five different hospitals!

It would appear that I am not cut out for teaching; the stress surrounding starting the course, finding my way around a humungous campus; meeting new people and not to mention the impending work brought my psychiatric health to the lowest point it had been at in many months. My coping mechanism – cutting of course! The aftermath of a little self-harm I can cope with at home, but the increasing suicidal urges I thought warranted a late night GP visit. There is a clinic near my Mum’s home which is open until midnight; I arrived around 10:30pm and left in an ambulance at 12:30am. The GP didn’t feel comfortable letting a suicidal girl who had just been slicing up her thighs go on her merry way. I then got to wait for an hour in emergency, where I was the only person wearing shoes, sure there were only five of us in there, but still, when did shoes become unnecessary?

When I was finally seen to at the hospital I was given a tetanus shot, had my wounds dressed, was assessed by a psych nurse and sent on my merry way with instructions to contact my usual hospital in the morning. Morning came and still feeling keen to end it all I was admitted later in the day. It would seem that my doctor didn’t quite understand the severity of the situation as he granted me unescorted leave from the following day. This means coffee! Great! There’s a magnificent café about a four-minute walk from the hospital, so off for coffee I went. Coffee was followed by some errands and impulse shopping, a lovely jumper and a beautiful, yet practical pair of shoes which I thought would be suitable for teaching rounds; as someone who has trouble finding nice, yet comfortable shoes I confess to buying the beige ones and putting the black on lay-by, a little too expensive to buy them both at once. Somewhere between buying the jumper and the shoes my mood dropped and I thought maybe throwing my-self in front of a tram would be a great idea. No. Trams don’t move very fast, it would probably cause serious injury, maybe life long disability and trauma for the driver and witnesses, best to leave that idea alone. Go for a walk. Mood drops a little more. How else could I die on a street packed with shoppers, business people and the occasional beggar? I can’t; let’s just go back to the hospital; my leave time is almost up anyway.

There are flats across the road from the hospital, some of them very new and rather high but access must be restricted to residents and buzzed up guests, a random K surely couldn’t get to the top floor balcony with the press of a lift button, it must require a swipe card, key, password. No. K who is terrified of lifts summoned it to the ground, entered, pressed “9” and up up up she went. Not a nice view, but these are council flats, not somewhere you live if you can afford luxurious scenery. How strange, the lift opens onto a balcony, not a hallway lined with doors, just a ledge with doors on one side and a 9 level drop on the other. Relief. A little fear. A little confusion. Determination, I can end it all now with no room for error. But maybe there’s another solution that doesn’t mean dying right now; I don’t know what it is, maybe my nurse will know. Call the clinic “Can I please talk to the nurse appointed to me (K) today?” to the nurse “I don’t know what to do. I’m on a 9^th floor balcony ready to jump but I’m not sure if I should… No I don’t want to come down, I just don’t know what to do, yes you can see me from the hospital, I’m only across the road. No I don’t want to come down.” Hang up. I look over the edge some more, it really isn’t that high, would it definitely kill me? What if it just paralyzed me and left me mentally impaired too, no, surely 9 stories is high enough for death. I can see a few nurses gathering across the road to look at me so I move to the other end of the balcony, there’s a smaller ledge there, one out of their line of sight. A woman exits one of the flats and asks what I’m doing, “Just came up to admire the view” I lie in my most polite tone. I walk back to the bigger ledge, sure the nurses can see me, but it’s further away from the woman. My phone rings “K, come down” I hang up. A police officer appears at the bottom of the building just to watch. I grab my shopping bag filled with shoes and a jumper and decide to see how long it would take to hit the ground. “Don’t drop that” shouts the officer. I drop it and watch in amazement as it drifts slightly to the left as it falls. I think weighing much more than a pair of shoes and a jumper I may fall faster and straighter.

I lean over the edge and just stare at the ground; can I do it? I want to die, there’s nothing in my life coaxing me to continue. I was a little excited about starting this new course and having a real job at the end of it, but the course administrators did a grand job of scaring the shit out of me two days prior; “you’re not education students, you’re pre-service teachers” WTF!!! And really do I want to teach a class where 90% of the kids don’t want to be there, 10% do and only 5% are any good? That’s my experience of high school drama and what if I can’t get a drama position and I have to teach English. This 9 story plunge looks pretty good.

“Hello Mr. police officer, come to keep me company have you? No, I will not come down with you, but thanks for telling that nosey woman to go inside.” We stand admiring the view/drop for a while, he tries to talk me down, he’s quite nice about it. His colleague joins us. “Step away from the edge.” “No.” This conversation continues for quite some time, eventually I decide to obey, I still don’t want to live but something in me must want to, I did after all call my nurse and surely I didn’t think she’d ignore the situation. Down we go, but not off the edge of the balcony, just in the lift – my shopping got all the thrills. I pick up the bag and surprisingly my shoes are unharmed, the box is a little worse for wear.

Apparently trying to jump off a building doesn’t get you walked across the road to your minimal security private psychiatric hospital; it gets you a police car ride to the nearest public hospital with a psych ward. The police hang around for a little while – paper work I assume – while I sit on a bed with a fluorescent pink blanket in an empty grey room with a security guard at the door. Four hours pass, thankfully I have my phone and can speak to a couple of friends, they are very helpful. Psych assessment performed in this cell–like room. Time to move me up to the psych ward, it stinks of urine, the whole ward. Here I spend the next six nights, no unaccompanied leave allowed, which I suppose is reasonable given what happened last time I was allowed out alone. Time passes quite fast, I have two laptops (I need to buy a portable hard drive so I can stop using the old laptop, the new one is nearly full) so I watch episode after episode of Six Feet Under – I’ve seen them all before but thanks to ECT I remember nothing at all. I think my friends realise I’m in quite a bad situation, as more of them than usual come to visit me, some even come more than once. As well as bringing books and their lovely selves they allow me to escape the urine stinking ward for a little while. We go for walks, get coffee, even dinner on one occasion. Unlike any other hospital I’ve been in the nurses are also willing to escort me down the road for a coffee on days I’m not expecting visitors and am desperate for some air. For the duration of my stay I ask every day if I can return to the hospital I came from or its sister hospital which has an ICU ward I could go in if they didn’t feel comfortable with me on an open ward. The hospital I came from is a little uneasy about taking me back, plus they’re full. The other hospital is massive and my doctor can treat patients there too (though I don’t think he appreciates the extra driving it means for him) so after six days inhaling urine fumes I am moved to a private room in the nicest ward in the nicest hospital I’ve been in. Sometimes the food here is even good, most of the time it’s okay, but sometimes it’s actually good!

All was going swimmingly until I decided to hang myself and then decided no that’s a bad idea, I’ll ask a nurse for help instead. Oh ICU is full, that’s a shame, sedatives aren’t working so you’re sending me to an emergency department; great! Third ambulance ride in 10(ish) days night spent in a very noisy short stay unit of a local (not psych) hospital, thankfully I brought ear plugs. The following day I returned here after multiple psych assessments declaring me safe enough to be in a psych hospital and not stuck in a medical hospital. Fourth ambulance ride in 11(ish) days. I return to the same ward only to be placed in a shared room as the toilet in my room isn’t flushing properly. I can put up with that for a night until the following day when the plumber is coming. The plumber comes and I’m not given my room back because I’m too high risk and will be safer sharing. Fuck that! I was told I’d have it back, I’m getting it back! So to the nursing manager I go and the room is mine again… For a few days; suicidal urges return and this time there is a bed in ICU so off I go leaving most of my stuff behind, as it isn’t expected to be a long stay. ICU is boring, it’s a small, locked ward, you can’t even go to the dining room, meals come to you. Two nights pass and my doctor deems me well enough to return to the open ward but my room has been taken and I’m put in a shared room, not such a terrible thing as there’s no one in the other half of it, for one night. On Thursday I am joined by R; a lovely girl who I really like -except for her snoring and her refusal to flush the toilet; thankfully she always puts the lid down so I just flush before use and I don’t have to look at her waste.

Somewhere in all this I’ve had four sessions of ECT, after the third I forgot why I was in hospital; the building / police saga, the whole lot but it came back with a little prompting. My doctor thinks the ECT has lifted my mood and I think he’s right, but I’m still getting strong urges to self-harm, not so much to suicide, though it does cross my mind a few times most nights. I’m writing this now (at 5:04am) because I was lying in bed thinking about pouring boiling water all over my arm but I really don’t want to tonight, it’s my lovely friend’s baby shower tomorrow (well today) and I’ve been given extra leave so I can go, I don’t want to either lose my leave or rock up to the party with a bright red arm. I should be out of hospital by next weekend, probably sooner – Dr doesn’t think keeping me here just for self-harm risk is worth it, the worst of the suicidal-ideation is over (I think) so maybe home time it is.

It has taken me over two hours to write and proof read this, do excuse the errors. I don’t proof read well at 5am.

Today is two months since my dad died. Wow, I don't know how that happened.

Work

I had my first job interview in 3.5 years last week and I screwed it up royally, I was super nervous and spoke like a mouse, not good for a call centre job! Despite this I was offered a second interview but I wonder if she changed her mind, she was supposed to email me some forms and I haven't received them, also I haven't heard back about the date and time of the next interview. A friend today said that with my voice I'm probably not suitable for working the phones because I'm not bubbly, it's true, I speak with little expression these days it's too much of an effort to give any more to the conversation than the mere words, I didn't used to be like that and I wonder if I'll ever get the old me back. I'm really down at the moment, I got rejected for another job today (also call centre), I'm 27 and I can't even get a simple call centre job - a job I've done well in the past for three seperate employers. Maybe I'm just not ready to be working, I mean it's impressive that I'm still alive maybe I'm pushing my self too hard, but I feel lazy doing nothing (arghhhhh). In October unless I get really sick again I'm going to lose my disability pension, I need a job before then and I also need to be in better health so I can manage the load of uni and work, the idea terrifies me, suggestions anyone?

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).

Word Stew

My vision has returned enough to be going on with daily life, but I still have to strain to see up close, and I have to rest my eyes frequently. I’m now completely off Zeldox and Cogentin, so far it doesn’t seem like I’ll need a replacement, I’m actually fine! I wonder if I might be coming to the end of all this, the prospect scares me, because if I’m well then it means I’ve got no excuse not to be working and studying hard. I worked two days this week and I was watching the clock from the moment I arrived, I need work I find interesting and challenging but I won’t find it unless I keep doing well at uni, which I won’t finish for another 7.5 years if my study load doesn’t increase. I’m already thinking of dropping my one and only subject for this semester, the eye thing set me back two weeks, I have no creative energy and deadlines are flying by...

Snot and Hills

L came over tonight and I cooked a full meal for maybe the third time this year, it was good too. I’m suddenly full of a cold, it came during the night and cold and flu tablets are doing nothing at all for it. I spoke to the hospital today and in their words ‘it will be a couple of weeks’ until I get a new psychiatrist and they can’t admit me before then. I’ve asked my GP to put me on bed brokers if she can – I only left a message for her, so I don’t know what the answer is, but they can get you a private bed anywhere and set you up with a psych, they did it for a friend with only a few days to wait. I’m not too desperate for an admission, which is why I haven’t been carted off to a public hospital, but I think I’d benefit from one at the moment as I’m having huge mood dives, strong impulses, increased anxiety and I’m still having trouble sleeping. It would be nice to make a significant improvement before next semester starts; I’m doing at least two subjects and need to maintain a distinction (preferably HD) average.

I’ve just been poking around on realestate.com, I wish I could afford a helicopter and rental for multiple helipads in areas I frequent. I found several properties in the hills I would love to live in and the rent is so cheap; but in such beautiful surrounds and with a huge drive to get anywhere I’d quickly give in to my inner hermit and never be seen by anyone. Maybe my move to the hills will have to wait until I have a man to push me out the door and someone has been kind enough to give me their helicopter (and flying lessons, helipads, fuel).

To Do List:

Find a man

Become best friends with a dissatisfied helicopter owner

(or) Get ridiculously rich and buy a helicopter

Get a job

Learn to fly

Find beautiful property

Purchase animals for menagerie

Have a throne made so I can survey my property and animals in comfort and style

Crawling

I got a lovely email at 5am from my lecturer asking for the part of the final assignment I hadn’t handed in, my favourite part being “it doesn’t have to be very good, you’re only a few marks away from a HD anyway” and that’s without the whole assignment! I wrote it in an hour and a half whilst playing with S. I’ve never written a script treatment before (or read one) so hopefully it’s enough to get those extra few marks for a HD.

GP called about an hour ago, as predicted she couldn’t get me a private admission without a private psych to admit me, she asked if I thought I was bad enough to go public, I said no, I think I’d rather be left to my own devices than go there again. It shouldn’t be long before I have a new private psych, but once I’ve been accepted it might be a little wait for my first appointment, and even then I might get another who doesn’t admit BPD scum like me!

I met a staghound crossed with a golden retriever today, he took my breath away. Rico is great and all, but my heart really belongs to the giant dogs. Great Dane, Staghound, Saluki, Irish Wolfhound; I’d gladly own a few of each when I have my massive house, a good million acres and servants to care for my menagerie.

Good iz Me

I iz a good riter, yes? Yes! Over the last three days I’ve spent a total of 2.5 hours on my script, that’s pretty slack, but Mr lecturer dude and da klass loved it. I’ll stop the spelling and grammar errors here, it doesn’t suit me. For the first time since starting this project I’m actually thinking of producing it, I could enter it in Short and Sweet but I would have to enter as an independent theatre company if I want to direct it myself, or surrender directing rights to whichever short and sweet director chooses it (if any). So who wants to be in my theatre company? I found out today that I can start my PhD much sooner than I thought, I just have to do six coursework subjects, swap to research and then ask to have my project upgraded to PhD – that means making it a bigger project, but since I already had a small one and  a large one in mind, that’s no problem.

I fell over on my doorstep Monday afternoon, there is a narrow ramp and my foot slipped off the edge, I landed strangely and hurt my knee and back, I think the knee will stick around for a while. That’s two falls in two days, I fell very ungracefully at church Sunday night, walking from carpet onto hard floor in new boots with slippery heels, thankfully there was a chair next to me which I was able to grab hold of and slow the fall. Insomnia is back in all its glory, the last five nights have been awful, Sunday night / Monday morning I fell asleep around 5am, woke about 8, slept for a half an hour and then woke after a very realistic dream in which I’d confronted the housemate we don’t like and thought it had really happened. Eventually I got up at 1pm after on and off sleep. I’m staying at my parents’ for a while because it’s hard to look after yourself on no sleep, I need to go to their GP tomorrow and ask for Imovane; that’s the sleeper which gave me hallucinations last time I took it, but I’m quite sure that was because of Lamictal, I’d taken Imovane previously without any issues. Rico is here with me, he’s great with the cats, they’re still pretty scared though.

A Job

I’ve been looking at jobs this week, a few have caught my eye but I am definitely not up to working full time and any position I took would have to be under someone understanding enough not to fire me for regular sick days, this is why I’m on the DSP - such jobs are hard to come by. I almost applied for an arts coordinator role at a semi-local council, it was only  three days a week, was a largely creative role with some basic admin thrown in, but they ideally wanted someone with disabled youth experience. I’m not the most patient person you’ll ever come across, this (along with the fact that I don’t want to) is why I’m not going to be a teacher, a lot of people from my undergrad go on to teaching, at least that way you can get an okay income from doing something at least slightly related to your field of interest – I’d rather be fully immersed in my interest and forget the politics of education and kids who don’t want to be there. I’d lecture, take workshops etc at uni, but that’s different because (hopefully) they’re there because they’ve passed an audition so have some talent and a desire to learn. It would be nice if I could motivate myself enough to do four subjects at a time, power through my masters and then start my life as a writer/director and lecturer (if I have to lecture for the money which I probably will unless pop culture suddenly changes to align with my interests).

So if you come across any part time jobs which would suit a drama graduate part way through her MA (writing), do let me know. Understanding employer a must!  

This is the first day since quitting the meds I’ve seriously thought about going back on them. I’m feeling more violent – I haven’t acted on it, but it’s simmering away and I'm just generally down. I’m down to my last 13 Oxazepam after taking three tonight, sedation feels good, oxaz is all I’ve got to fall back on, might have to start stealing daddy’s valium...

Day Six

I am the alpha dog!

I haven’t enrolled in dog training yet, but I’m implementing a few strategies using the Alpha dog method. Rico has a bit of food aggression and I’d like to get rid of it rather than avoiding him when he’s eating or munching on a bone. Starting this morning I’ve been making sure he sees me eat before him and then sitting with him, asking him to sit and then putting small handfuls of dry food in his bowl, patting him whilst he eats, when he finishes each small handful he is asked to sit again and gets another if he obeys; he got used to it very quickly and is already showing improvement. He doesn’t get to sleep on my bed anymore because the alpha dog gets the best sleeping spot and doesn’t share, I still let him in my room but he has his own bed. He also has to walk behind or beside me on the lead and sit before passing through a door – and I get to go first. I don’t like not letting him have a roam about on the lead (I’ve got a 5m retractable one) but that’s only temporary until he knows I’m the boss. I liked having him on my bed, but he is much bigger than Lester and I think I’d like the freedom to roll over if I so desire.

I wrote one scene last night and another tonight, they took less than an hour each and I can’t tell if they’re any good. I can pick the quality of other peoples work, but I think whatever mark I get for my work will always come as a surprise. I’ll submit both of them tomorrow and hope they scrape a distinction – I need at least distinction average for my first six subjects.

GP in the morning, I don’t think she’ll be happy with my Lovan abandonment but she’ll be glad I’m off Seroquel. A friend pointed out to me today that I risk losing her support by stopping the meds, I hadn’t thought of that, but I’m willing to start taking them again if she really wants me to and I don’t have a history of going off meds.

Circadin

I got the last appointment with my GP last night, I’m probably not who she would like to be her final patient for the day – I tend to take a lot of time. She got the honour of explaining nerve damage to me and advising where to avoid cutting, she wrote a silly list of reasons not to take another overdose, and put my arm back together – how on earth am I supposed to keep it dry for a week! I’m going to have a big scar, this makes me sad because I don’t like scars, I just want the temporary sight of flesh and blood, not a lifelong reminder that I’m nuts. I mentioned the overdose – I’m extremely tempted to do it again, which is insane; I hated it, I felt disgusting for a week and it’s very embarrassing calling an ambulance for yourself, yet when I woke up I felt completely different to when I fell asleep, 20 hours had passed and I was a new girl. If I do it again I have two friends who may not speak to me again because I’d be a bad influence on them and I suppose you don’t want to be close to someone who might die. If I do it again, and I wake up I won’t be able to tell anyone. I can’t live without these two friends, they get me, they make time for me and they both really like me – it’s hard for me to believe anyone really likes me, they’re just putting up with me because I’m there. I don’t want to take the overdose and I don’t want to lie, hopefully that’s enough to stop me being impulsive. My GP was playing with the idea of another admission but I was adamant that I’m not going back to my local hospital and definitely not to the other one with the awful psych triage nurse. I hope the new psychiatrist accepts me as a patient, then I have a private hospital I can get into easily; it’s not the most glamorous one around, but at least they have cleaners, the place isn’t falling apart and there are plenty of therapy groups. I understand my current psychiatrists non-admission policy, I can see myself giving up completely and becoming even more of a ghost with a long admission; I’ve already lost most hope of getting better, maybe life would pass quicker and easier if I was contained and highly drugged; but I haven’t lost all hope for recovery, I haven’t killed myself yet, the glimmer of hope and fear of consequences have kept me here. Something has to change; I can’t carry on like this.

I have a new drug – Circadin – to help me sleep, it’s just a massive dose of melatonin in slow release form but hopefully it will start to work, it didn’t do the job last night, three hours sleep and annoyingly realistic dreams, it took me until 2pm this afternoon to work out that several events were in fact dreamt, it’s amusing but very annoying at the same time.

I got a HD for my monologue, sadly he gave me the percentage as well, and so instead of just being happy to have a good grade I was a little sad about the extra 17% I didn’t get. I am thrilled to get that mark for one hour’s work, I just need to remember that I didn’t put in the effort and I still did well. The lecturer explained that I would have done much better if I’d included a little more information about the second character. I’ve never had a perfect score at uni, I wonder if I can manage it on the next task.

Smouldering Keyboard

Thanks F, R, K, L, C and B.

Apologies for the last post, clearly it wasn’t a good night but with the help of a friend my arm got through the night without a scratch. The last few days and nights have been tough and I’ve given up trying to behave, I just don’t care at the moment. Some good things though: I’ve finished my very late monologue (won’t lose marks due to extension), it wrote its self in less than an hour and actually turned out alright; I’ve also had two lovely catch-ups with L - including right now, she’s napping and I am about to - we’re seeing a band tonight, I don’t want to go because I’m tired and want to be a hermit, but I want to go because they are good, L is good, and there are people there I should meet (and I get to wear one of L’s pretty dresses).

I have a GP appointment tomorrow, I should get a referral to new psych and at least talk about dropping the Lovan because it’s screwing with my stomach, though it has been good for the impulsivity and weight – can’t have everything.

No posts until weekend, I am internetless for a few days, but next week I’ll have great speed and lots of data – can’t wait.

Toast

4:40am. I hurt from coughing. My body is exhausted but my mind won’t let it sleep, the sedatives don’t work and I can’t take more Seroquel (a definite sleep success) because it will ruin all the effort to get off it. 4:41. It has been a semi productive night, I read several Bible passages, I’m working my way through John – though I did start in the middle. 4:42. It’s been a long time since I’ve made any effort with the Bible, or even prayer; I’ve read it twice in a few days now. 4:43. Since I’ve been so out of the habit of reading it I just let it fall open to somewhere in John 4:44 (I think it’s my favourite gospel) and took it from there 4:45. I’m not a slow typist, I’m just tired and thinking slowly. 4:46. Small group was fantastic last night – it was just a dinner, but we all got chatting and it was just 4:47 lovely to have a very casual time to laugh, eat and exist together, no leaders present, I suspect that would have (4:48 and I didn’t just wake) changed the atmosphere. 4:49 I’m tired. 4:50, I’ve been writing ten minutes and have only a short paragraph which isn’t even complete. The other thing I did to make my sleepless night productive was 4:51 to fill out a more detailed character description for my original character – Francis. I made Nicola last week and she is complete and capable of living a 4:52 life out in the real world, Francis was lacking, I didn’t know her well enough. Now that they’re both complete I shouldn’t have trouble making them talk, just trouble 4:53 making myself open the file and start typing. It’s bizarre, I love creative writing, I’m good at it, but I can’t start. I don’t enjoy blogging 4:54 as much as I enjoy anything creative, but I find it very easy to do even in the worst of moods – or now in exhaustion, pain, boredom and resignation. 4:55. 4:56. 4:57 – Had to google a few things.

My stomach has 4:58 just alerted me to the fact that it is empty, I dare not eat now and provide myself energy, I want to sleep, maybe it will be easier if not 4:59 in pain, but maybe food will wake me more. Conundrum. I forgot to mention, I don’t have whooping cough, just a virus which has stuck around 5:00 for five weeks and seems to be getting worse; surely there is a point when my body has to start being nice to me 5:01. 5:02. My mind isn’t coping well 5:03 with the added burden of physical illness, but I’ve still not succumbed to the blade, as tempting as it is 5:04 it really achieves nothing. Mum drove me to my appointments today so I didn’t have to make everyone on the tram sick, the DBT assessment 5:05 went well and provided I’m still interested in two months time when I go back for my second chat it’ll be go. The next term starts in September and the following in January 5:06, I may not get in the September one, but that’s the one we’re hoping for. The epic assessment was followed by coffee with mother whilst I almost 5:07 fell asleep and then a very short session with my psychiatrist; I can see his brilliance, but I’m not convinced he’s for me, maybe I’m scared that 5:08 he might actually help. There’s a weird fear attached to recovery from mental illness, I want it greatly, but it is unfamiliar territory and if achieved 5:09 it will be different from anything I’ve ever known, even in childhood. 5:10.

I would appreciate it if my friends could make an effort to contact me this week and coerce me out of the house. I feel a hermetic period approaching 5:11 and it’s hard to bring oneself out of that.

There is a 5:12 possibility I’m a little more sleepy now, so I will end here and make attempt four at sleep. Good morning. 5:18 post proof read and publishing.

The Tenth Sin

My adventure today was returning some DVDs without coming into contact with people, the 20 metre walk from the car to the shop and back was rather pleasant. Mood very low today, sparked by a bit of jealousy over something I feel like a horrible person for being jealous about.

I don’t know if I should continue with uni, I don’t think I have it in me to get through the masters, let alone do well enough to follow it up with a PhD. I haven’t written anything for the course since Wednesday and the little I did before that I am now not so happy with; neither of my characters wouldn’t turn to prostitution even if she were starving, they now need a new place to meet briefly and a new deepest darkest secret each. I know brothel just sounds like tacky ill thought out shit, but it was looking interesting. I wish I could just walk into the MTC and demand they hire me to direct lots of their plays and pay me well for it until I feel like retiring – but where’s the adventure in that...

I HATE THIS FUCKING COUGH

Wash Your Mind Out!

It has taken six weeks, but I finally have two solid characters, an eighth of a monologue and a sordid plot. I didn’t set out to write about students working as prostitutes to get through uni, it just kind of happened. At least both characters left the oldest profession upon graduation and weren’t tempted by the incredible pay for only a few hours a week; aren’t they good girls – one’s even a cop, but we won’t be hearing from her, this time it’s the dietician talking. Research was interesting – did you know there are detailed reviews of Melbourne’s finest brothels at your fingertips, my mind needs a shower.

Hello There

It has been a lazy week, but somehow still a semi busy week. I’ve withdrawn from my fiction writing subject, just leaving script writing to focus on. I haven’t done any work and it’s now the end of week five of semester; I’ve created two characters, one of whom is weak and needs to be disposed of and that’s all I’ve got to show for five weeks. On Monday I started the next step in my Seroquel reduction, this one isn’t going so well, I’m emotional, really missing M (I cried for the first time in months on Thursday) and sleep is interrupted punctuated by bad dreams and then I’m restless and fidgety during the day. I’m torn, I want to come off Seroquel purely because of the weight issue, but I don’t like having these extra emotions, numbness is bliss in comparison.

Church is going well, still not too keen on the small group – people are great, content not so great; that said I did leave early this week I didn’t think I’d be missing much just a DVD on how big the universe is and therefore how great God is, I already knew that and didn’t need a sugar high mega church pastor to tell me, plus I felt like the walking dead. I’m making some new friends and kind of looking forward to attending services, still can’t bring my-self to sing but I’m taking myself along for a weekly Jesus injection and maybe after a while I can learn to self administer injections between Sundays. I failed to leave the house, or even open the blinds yesterday but today made it to a movie with one of said new friends, followed by coffee, church and “meal for mission”. I think these activities make up for my non day yesterday. Oh, I cooked too, I never have the energy or motivation to do that anymore but I’m getting sick of living off weetbix and toast.

I’ve been very well behaved since coming out of hospital, despite feeling worse with the med reduction etc I haven’t added a single scar to my collection, my poor arm needs some healing time anyway. If I make it until Tuesday it’ll be two weeks – that’s an achievement! 

No Answer

The answer to my desperate search for knowledge of my unconsciousness was “not much”. I was in the hospital for 20 hours, unconscious for at least 15, it would be weird to go back and ask wouldn’t it? My GP didn’t get any discharge papers, that’s odd, maybe they’re a little slow getting them out, I just want to know! I’ve continued to feel lethargic, dizzy, nauseous and headachy; this wasn’t helped by having a wisdom tooth removed this morning. I hope the tooth is responsible for me feeling worse today, it’s so hard to tell what is responsible for what; last night was my first dose of Seroquel post O.D, so that could be a contributor, I also had to take two Yaz on Sunday night because I’d missed one, they cause all of the above symptoms too. I missed uni again today, there’s no way I could have gone feeling like this, I had a short but severe dizzy spell whilst driving home from my psychologist appointment, I thought I was going to faint – and I was at a major intersection! I’ve spent the afternoon either in or on bed, currently on! I’ve been having even more bizarre dreams and nightmares this week. I just wrote one in here but deleted it because it’s too messy to read, suffice to say that within one dream I was a hospitality worker, a rescuer, a wannabe celebrity, a child and an adult traveller in America looking across an ocean at a huge ski resort with no lifts but it was in one of the southern states where they don’t get snow.

This post has taken about six hours to write – on and off – interrupted by naps, reading, stressing about missed uni classes, eating, feeling sorry for myself and that’s about it. It’s 9pm and I think I’m going to go to sleep, I can’t do uni work in this state, maybe if I get up early I can avoid looking like a fool in class tomorrow. 

Sabotage

I apologise for the messy writing of late, I haven’t been editing, and only doing quick proof reads. I’ll start putting in a little more effort when my head, stomach and tooth stop hurting.

It’s 11:30pm, (well now it's 12:26) I’m in bed annoyed because I can’t sleep and chewing on Mylanta because my innards hurt. Never overdose on anything, it’s awful. Memories are starting to come back of things I said and did before I was unconscious, how agitated I was, I begged to be unhooked because I needed to fidget. I yelled at the triage nurse from the trolley-bed-thing that I’m allergic to Lamictal, because I thought I overheard the paramedic say that they should give me some. Because my Lamictal allergy was only discovered in December I forgot to mention it in the do you have allergies question, my answer is always “yes, Erythromycin” but my new answer needs to be “yes, Erythromycin and Lamictal”. I’m seeing my GP in 13 hours, I hope the discharge papers have reached her, I have no idea what happened in the 12ish hours I was unconscious, if it was the drugs or if they knocked me out, or both. I had an ultrasound and a catheter, I must have been very unconscious to not feel or remember that. I don’t remember seeing any doctors, just lots of nurses and CAT people, I don’t remember waking up, I thought it would be like coming out of surgery, I’ve always remembered how I woke up and who was beside me. As I was leaving I asked a nurse if any doctors had actually seen me and she said, “yes, heaps of them”. In the past when I’ve left hospitals there has been a chat about what’s next, and what exactly happened and I’ve been given a letter for my GP, and in some cases a letter for me with instructions re meds. I had to ask if I’m supposed to continue my normal drug regime or give my body a rest, the answer was to keep taking them, I can’t believe they were going to send me on my merry way without even telling me that! I have so many other questions, I want to know what happened every second I was out, if there’s any long term damage to worry about, but I was far too hung-over to ask at the time. I’m pretty sure discharge papers are done electronically now. I hope GP has all the answers tomorrow; this not knowing is actually the worst part of the whole ordeal.

I’ve learnt from it and won’t do it again as an act of self harm, if I do it again it will be on a much larger scale for a definite suicide, probably next to some train lines so I can be heavily sedated before it comes. I don’t think I fear death, a big part of the “why” behind this was to figure out if I did. I asked one of the nurses if I could die from this and her reply was “well you did take 4g of Seroquel and your heart’s doing 170, so yeah, maybe!” It didn’t fuss me, I just lay there while they all flittered around. Before I took the pills I prayed because I knew it was a bit of a gamble and I’m hardly Christian of the year material. I didn’t bother asking God for help, I don’t know if He does that directly, and I’d already tried many Christian friends, I didn’t tell any of them there was a problem, which I should have done, it’s hard to remember that people can’t read my thoughts. I don’t believe suicide is a golden ticket to Hell, but rather a sin just like all the others, God hates it as He hates them all. My last act on Earth would be sinful, but I don’t see how that’s any different to “Fred” committing any old sin and then dying of a heart attack before he got chance to ask for forgiveness, I doubt that “Fred” (if Christian) would be destined for eternity without God.

Even though I’ve said I’ll never do that again for self harm, I found myself wanting to tonight, as horrible the ordeal was, it worked, when I woke up I didn’t feel emotionally shit – just physically and I don’t care if I die! Thankfully there’s only my weekly supply and some scripts in the house, if I picked up the scripts I’d have a lot, but I think I’m going to throw them away.

I think my psychologist will call this an act of self sabotage (I’m great at it) uni was going well, I was a little bit happy – we can’t have that! I’m going to have another go at this sleep thing everyone’s raving about.

Uni, L and Church

I am feeling quietly confident about uni having met my competition. Yesterday was fiction writing, I won’t do so well in that, but I’m going to breeze through script writing. Much to my delight the unit chair has changed and the subject is now going to have a little more focus on the stage; The previous unit chair only wrote for film and TV, so that’s all she focused on. My drama degree came in handy today – I’ve seen scripts from the other end. My brain is still in mush mode, I just can’t focus on anything for more than a few minutes.

L is a little better but not home yet. I didn’t see her today but will have lots of L time tomorrow. I’m also going back to my house tomorrow; it’s time to start looking after myself again.

I’m rather disappointed in my small group; Monday was our first meeting and I was so clearly a mess and no one even tried to talk to me about it. I don’t know what sort of signals I was putting out, I think I was a bit disassociated at the time, but to be in the presence of 10 or so Christians when in such a mess and for no one to even ask if I was ok is really awful. I think one of the men wanted to say something but he didn’t know what (P.N, that’s you), maybe they were all like that, but I left bleeding, dreaming of suicide and highly drugged, with not even a pat on the back. I know most of the people in the group at least a little, and none of them are heartless, maybe I’m just too difficult, maybe I’m expecting too much. I don’t know, I just know I don’t feel like it was a supportive environment to be in half an hour after my friend had just been whisked away to prevent her suicide. I should have stayed home with her sister, at least I could have cried and cut there - these scratches are awful, I wouldn’t have done that if I had a razor blade handy (and not been in a family home surrounded by people) I’ve since started taking razors and dressings with me everywhere. If you ever need a band aid (or steri-strips) I’m the girl to ask.

I don’t get a lot of comments on this blog, but I’d like to hear from my Christian readers on this one. Am I being too hard on my small group, should I keep this sort of stuff quiet and just talk to my psychologist and the friends who actually want to know, or is it ok to let people see me when I’m hurting? Beyond church employees e.g. pastoral carer what should my expectations be for support; and how can I as a crap Christian and sick person be of any use to the church in return?

It Begins

Tonight I’m having an L free night (she’s out having fun with people I don’t know) and tomorrow will also be L free. I’m still at L’s house even though she’s not; she thought it would be best if I stayed here tonight since I’m at the beginning of a drug reduction. Tomorrow I will go to a house-warming for lunch, followed by church if I have the energy and then I will spend the night at my own home. Monday is the first bible study group for the year, and then Tuesday is my first day of uni. I’m going to start spending the odd day at my own home to get used to looking after myself again. It’s been good here; I’m sure if I’d gone straight home from the hospital I’d be back there already. I’m really quite terrified about my new psychiatrist taking me off everything but the antidepressant.

I’m a little scared about going back to uni, I’ve looked at the online discussions already happening between students and lecturers, I feel so inferior. I know I’m not going to fail any of these classes (unless I give up – but that’s different) but I need to do very well so I can switch to research, and putting that aside, I need to do well for my ego. I know I’m not going to attain perfection, but that’s what I want. I need to read more, I’ve got my set readings, but I need to stop spending so much time on Facebook and staring at walls, and read every great work of literature – I may need to slow time and get some replacement eyeballs to do this, but that’s possible isn’t it?!

Mental State:

Bad. Cutting every day, mostly mild; I want to get my hands on a hypodermic needle so I can get venous blood with just a little stab, rather than having to search for veins inside a cut. Blood is all I want, pain is just annoying, I want to see my whole arm and torso turn red and then I’ll be satisfied (until the next day). Yeah I know that’s disgusting, you can stop reading if you don’t like it. I seem to be in the minority of self-harmers who don’t like pain, I put up with it because it gives me blood. To get my hands on a needle would be fantastic, I’m pretty sure you can get them with a prescription, or just buy them online. I think my GP may prescribe them for me because it would be the lesser of two evils. I’ve read some medical journals giving advice to GP’s about self harm and one was to offer hygienic suggestions if the behaviour is clearly not going to stop – worth a shot I think.

Not a very positive post, but I’m not going to make up happy shit to please you. My more morbid posts seem to get more visits anyway, so I’m just giving you what you want.