writing myself sane

Sorry

2010-09-20T21:03:00.000+10:00

I am alive.

Was officially discharged from hospital today after a weekend of leave. Too much to explain with my currently still somehwhat addled brain. But the story told later will include severe insomnia again. Acute Transient psychosis with the additon of a bunch of anti-pyschotic meds and a week worth of toxic serum levels on my epilepsy meds, because I wouldn't eat for 7 days because a voice told me I wasnt allowed. weekend stay turns into over a fortnight. But an starting to come good and hopefully will be firing my little blogging missives back into the blogo-sphere again soon.

Ugh...politics!

2010-08-21T23:06:00.000+10:00

First off, my Granddad is doing better, and is out of hospital. He still has a lot of health issues he is going to have to take a look at in the near future and at least one upcoming surgery, but at least he's home now, thank goodness.

I got back from hometown, to my current home yesterday afternoon. I think after the stress of last week and family etc, I was just entirely and physically run down. Mentally, I'm not even sure how I stand right now. I was supposed to do a shift at RMH this morning, but I woke up completely and utterly shattered, and was a little worried if i went I would end up having a seizure, so I stayed home to rest.

I'm not sure how much all you Northern Hemispherers know about Aussie politics, not a lot I would imagine..... we're a pretty insular little country down here! Today was election day. Basically, an early election was called, because the Labor party delivered a vote of no confidence in their leader Kevin Rudd, our Prime Minister. The Deputy Prime Minister Julia Gillard took over leadership and became our Prime Minister for about two months, while they organised an early election. Our first ever female Prime Minister. (And a red head to boot, which gives her a double tick in my little y chromosoned, ranga mind)

So, election day. I felt like shite. In Australia voting is compulsary once you turn 18... if you don't show up, they fine you. I once even cast my vote from a booth set up in the Psych Ward! Personally I think its a great thing... it would seem when voting is voluntary in different countries, a lot of the time the people who need a voice, are sadly the ones who can't or don't bother to vote, for whatever reason. But today, I was kind of wishing it was voluntary as I really didn't feel well enough to drag myself to the polling booths. Now, I'm not going to share who I vote for, but I vote based on the party that serves my particular interests (particularly healthcare and mental health) as well as the more global issues ie carbon emissions, the best.

I've been watching the count on tv, and it looks like at this point we may be heading towards a hung parliment. This hasn't happened since, like, the second world war. It's been a really historical few months for politics in Australia. First female leader (although how long her reign is remains to be seen), A prime minister being deposed, as such, by his own party, and now possibly a hung parliment. Its been hard for a lot of Australians to get past the idea that PM Gillard, stabbed Ex-PM Rudd in the back... it's Un-Australian, is the oft-outcry. Then just her sex alone has been a hard thing for some of the older die hard Labor voters to accept (especially with her Defacto boyfriend, not even a husband to keep the little woman in line!!) And finally the sense of betrayal from voters who didn't seem to get that ultimately, in Australia we vote in a Party, not an individual leader...

Anyway, at least one of my insomnia fuelled nights will be taken up with some interesting viewing as we continue to tally up all the votes (I think postal votes could take up to a few days to come in.

Hopefully, I get some sleep though, as I do have a shift at RMH tomorrow, and I really don't want to bail on another shift.

Peace and Love
Ophelia

My Granddad

2010-08-15T19:16:00.000+10:00

I did an emergency drive back to my family hometown last night. My Granddad is in hospital. Last night we were really worried, and we weren't sure whether they would end up putting him on the medi-copter to go to a bigger city, but they've got him stabilised, and now he's just undergoing a lot of tests. He's convinced he's coming home tomorrow or Tuesday at the latest, which at this stage looks pretty damned unlikely, but its a bit hard to convince him. He hates doctors and hospitals, this is the first time he has been in hospital since 1954. The tests so far have shown up some pretty serious health problems, so even if he manages to avoid a city transfer and an operation, he is definately going to have some struggles for the rest of his life. It breaks my heart to see him hooked up to all of the stuff in the bed, he always seemed pretty infallible. My Gran needs some support right now, definately emotional, but also because she is almost blind and needs a lot of help. So I'm here for the next little while. God, I'm so tired!

Becoming a group person

2010-08-13T23:07:00.000+10:00

Like a lot of people with mental health problems, I lean towards isolation. The energy it requires to put on a good 'public' face is just sometimes a little too much. I also am not much of a "group" person. One on one, I do ok, but too many people, I can get anxious and overwhelmed. But I am doing reasonably well at the moment, and really trying to be proactive from a recovery standpoint. (M), my Case Manager took me to visit a Mental Health house with a Peer Support slant last year, when she first started seeing me, but it was just not the right time for me. But, (with further gentle encouragement from M) today I went along to one of the group sessions, to see how I went. And it went suprisingly well. The group was quite small, and they were very welcoming without being pushy. Just "glad you came, hope we see you back again". There are a variety of interesting groups including Art, Music, Women's and Under 30's. And it was not as I had feared (and experienced when I tried one of these places in a different city many years ago) all centred around talking about illness, or worse, competing to see "who had it worst". The focus seems to be about providing social opportunities to those of us who struggle with it, something that gets you out of the house, particularly when all your sane friends are working 9-5. Providing support that is Peer support, from people who have a lived experience of mental illness, and outside the medical framework. Which is a real attraction for me... as I feel like I spend most of my life in either a Doctor's or a Therapists office. A real chance to meet people of similar age and experience, who will accept you as you are at that moment in time. Time will see if the experience continues as well as it did today I guess. I particularly liked when one of the PS workers was talking to me about how they didn't focus on diagnosis, as that didn't define the person, their day to day experiences and general personality were more important. It wasn't denying the impact of the mental illness, but rather looking at it in a broader sense.

I'm quite proud of myself for actually going. The support I recieve through blogging is great, but to be able to get some of that IRL would be good too. And as much as I love ya'all, we can't sit down for a coffee, ciggie and a chat, ya know? So, I guess I kind of achieved two things today...a possible addition of support, socialisation and activity, and a sense of achievement for being able to stepout of my comfort zone and face my fears....

I'm working quite hard on the isolation thing at the moment... taking the opportunity while I feel well to reconnect with friends and increase my volunteer work. My friend (S) and I are going to a Farmers Market tomorrow morning, which I am looking forward too, especially picking up some oh so yummy bannana bread and cheap fresh flowers. The parentals are also coming to stay for the weekend, which means Big Sis will probably be over a lot.... which can create a lot of tension... but I'm going to try not to get drawn into it and just enjoy the time with my mum.

In other news, I am on the third day of my Serepax tapering down. We've just removed the midday dose at this time, but I guess its going well. Mostly it's just a physical anxiety in the afternoons, not really worrying about anything mentally, but the body is responding like I am. Trying to use a combination of relaxation techniques and distractions, reminding myself that its my body's reaction to the medicatio withdrawal and will pass, rather than 'true anxiety'. I've found bubble gum and blowing gum bubbles is a handy trick for redirecting the physical frenetic energy when I am stuck in a place where I can't move about, or when I am trying to concentrate on TV or something.

Peace and Love
xOphelia

How did they survive?

2010-08-08T21:26:00.000+10:00

Our power is out. Not the lights, just everything that requires a power point. (Lucky the laptop has battery power!) I rang Energex and they said the power is delivered on a two phase circuit (?) and because only one of these circuits is out, its a problem with the fuse box, not the electricity supply. Nothing has tripped in the fuse box, so something is just fundamentally damaged. The mains fuse seems to spark on and off. As we rent, I looked up our lease and found the emergency repairs number. But the lease states you can only contact the emergency repairer yourself, in cases of serious electrical faults. What does serious mean? I'm not an electrician? If the mains fuse is sparking as it appears, I would think that's a safety issue... but what would I know? I went ahead and called the Emergency Electricians mobile, to ask advice, as to whether this needed to be dealt with tonight, or we could wait and contact the rental agency tomorrow, but I got voicemail. I've left a message so hopefully he should call back... sigh. In the meantime, we have no tv, no microwave, no dryer etc etc... How did they every survive before electricity??

Here's hoping my house isn't burnt down due to electricity fault tonight!

Its my Blogoversary

2010-08-06T00:21:00.002+10:00

Yup! It's my blog's first birthday! A whole year since I first wandered onto the blogosphere! I hope you've enjoyed the craz-eeeee!

Let's have a look back at the last 365 days...

It took me a while to figure out the whole stat counter gadget thang, so I've only had that installed for about 10 months, but its currently hovering at 5983 visitors... Not the crazy amounts of hits some of the greater blogs out there recieve, but still either ya'all find somewhat I've said interesting or amusing in a tragically pathetic way!
I started this blog with a new therapist (D) who I had been seeing for about a month, along the way I have somehow picked up a Case Manager and a Psychiatrist...well technically I guess I've had 2 Case Managers and 2 Psychiatrists... but (M) and (Dr F), my current MH peeps are pretty damned good (most of the time)
I also managed to (after having avoided hospital for about 18 months) get myself hospitalised 6 times in the last year, spending nearly three months all up in hospital...sigh.
This will be my 209th post... didn't quite stick to my goal of posting every day, but still a fair effort considering the aforementioned time spent in psych ward captivity, no?
I've been on 7 different medications in the last year... I'm still trying to lose the weight from the damned anti-psychotics!
I've had approximately 112 therapy sessions (including phone sessions while I was away). Argh! Even at the sliding scale fee (D) kindly offers me... this has cost me about $3500
I had a boyfriend. I dumped the boyfriend. We got together again. I dumped him again. Yeah... I'm a biatch.
I started volunteering, which I still absolutely love
I completed my Practicuum for Uni against all odds. I then decided to drop out of Uni two weeks later. Seemed crazy, but I still think it was the right decision.
I went horseback riding, highroping, on a trip to Melbourne and Tasmania... seems I do still have a bit of a life afterall.
I also spent countless hours lying in my bed, unable to get the motivation or energy to dress or eat
I got drunk for the first time in six years.... then again, and again.... I think I've managed to knock that bad habit back on the head now...
I discovered twitter...fun
I had my 27th birthday... which I spent in hospital. I'm getting kind of old, eh?
I've had three different hair colours, three different mobile phones and three chest infections...three's the magic number!

Well, that's a few highlights and lowpoints of the year. Laughter and tears. Thanks for sharing it with me. Thanks for commenting and supporting. I kind of can't believe I stuck to it a whole year. I also can't believe how fast the year went. And although I really haven't moved that far forward (my CM and Therapist would jump down my throat for that, apparently they see 'great strides!'), it was a crazy year and I am proud of myself for getting through, and sticking around.

Peace and love,
Ophelia

Driving under water ain't right!

2010-07-31T23:22:00.000+10:00

I discovered today that I don't like tunnels. I mean, I really, really, truly despise tunnels!

See, we ventured over to the northern suburbs today. My lil sis ( also my current housemate), her bf (soon to be my new housemate) and I. Our journey across the river was to look at some of the suburbs to determine where we will be moving to when our lease runs out in a few months.

Now let me say here, I don't actually want to move. I like where we live. I like the freedom I have from me close to a major shopping centre and fantastic public transport into the city. I am comfortable with the people who work with me from the Mental Health district that services the south-eastern suburbs. I like my GP. I like my pharmacist. (When you are on as many medications as I am, and they are dispensed weekly, you develop quite the relationship with your pharmacist!) I can get to my volunteer job easily. I can visit my friends easily. It has become familiar and comfortable and workable. Sigh. But I also like (for the most part) living with Lil sis. I can't afford to live by myself and I would not cope moving into share accomodation with strangers. So, the time has come for compromise. She wants to move in with her bf. He works on the coast. He is prepared to move to the city to live with us, but in order for his work commute to be reasonable that means we need to live on the other side of the city. At first, they wanted to move to one of those "Lifestyle" gated communities, pretty much as far north as you can go and still claim to live in *our city*. You know the places, where they advertise how you'll rollerblade around the fake lake, and take walks every evening... blah blah. As if a physical move suddenly turns you into a fitter, healthier, relaxed, more active person. As if that's all it takes. Problem being, it would take me well over an hour just to get into the city centre.

So we are working on a compromise. Far enough north that bf is closer to work, and can get on the motorway avoiding too much heavy traffic in the morning. But closer to the city and public transport, so that I can stay independent and not totally isolated. It means I will have to move to a different Health District (but maybe by then I'll be discharged from the Mental Health service anyway?), find a new GP/Pharmacist, and getting to work and visiting friends will take a little longer. But it's a pretty fair compromise I guess. I just don't adjust to change very well. Sigh. The good news is that it is actually on the same side of town as my therapist, so if we get somewhere on the right busroute, the travel time there might be reduced.

Now I said we had to venture across the river. Thats not strictly true. Lil Sis had the bright idea that instead of taking the bridge, we should take the new, you-beaut tunnel they have built to bypass the city, that takes you under the river. It was horrible. My skin got clammy, I started hyperventilating, I felt totally trapped. Ugh. They spent a fortune on this tunnel bypass, but hardly anyone uses it, even though they've dropped the toll to try and increase the traffic. And now I know why. It's just not natural, driving under all that water. But lil sis thinks its great, because its cheaper than the bridge and you avoid the traffic. So on the way home we took it again. Ugh! It was not a phobia I was aware of until today, but its easily hit the "Top 5 Things that freak me the fuck out!" list.

Too lazy to write a post

2010-07-28T20:59:00.000+10:00

After boasting about my superior intelligence yesterday (joking!) and because after three days straight of therapy sessions, I cannot be arsed to talk about today's, I have decided to put up a stupidity test in leiu of an actual blog post that would require thinking and stuff! I've never really done the meme thing on this blog before, and it definately won't be a regular feature, but hey, think of it as getting to know Ophelia time.

Feel free to ignore or read and laugh at me... whatever floats your boat.

✖]Stupidity Test: (Mark with an X)

[X] Gum has fallen out of your mouth when you were talking.
[ ] Gum has fallen out of your mouth when you were NOT talking.
[X] You have run into a glass/screen door.
[ ] You have jumped out of a moving vehicle.
[X] You have thought of something funny and laughed, realised you were the only one in the room laughing.

So far: 3 outta 5.. Not a great start... hmm

[ ] You have ran into a tree/bush.
[ ] You know that it IS possible to lick your elbow.
[X] You have tried to lick your elbow.
[X] You never knew that the Alphabet and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star have the same rhythm.
[X ] You just tried to sing them.

So far: Ok.. another 3 outta 5... Actually despite my best attempts I can't lick my elbow... can anyone really?

[X] You have tripped on your shoelace and fallen.
[X] You have choked on your own spit. (AND SURVIVED!)
[ ] You have seen the Matrix and still don't get it.
[ ] You've never seen the Matrix.
[ ] You type only with two fingers.

So far: Getting better...2 outta 5, but I got out of the last one on a technicality... I type with 3 fingers!!

[X] You have accidentally set something on fire.
[X] You tried to drink out of a straw, but it went into your nose/eyes.
[X] You have caught yourself drooling.
[X] You've fallen asleep in public.
[ ] If someone says "fart" you laugh.

So far: Uh-oh...4 outta 5 and a flashback to tenth grade when I set the kitchen on fire dousing an oil-pan fire with water... the whole room had to be repainted. Now, the straw thing I do quite regularly, but an extra special trick was back in college when I tried to take a shot from a split shot glass and ended up with a nip of Black Sambuca in my eyes...Smooth mover!
[ ] Sometimes you just stop thinking.
[X] You are telling a story and forget what you were talking about
[ ] People are often shaking their heads and walk away from you.
[ ] You are often told to use your "inside voice".
[ ] You use your fingers to do simple math.

So far: He he... One outta five.. and that one shouldn't count because I am often on heavy duty psychotropic drugs!

[X] You have eaten a bug
[X] You are taking this test when you should be doing something more important.
[X] You have put your clothes on backwards or inside out, and didn't realize it.
[X] You've looked all over for something and realized it was in your hand.

So far: Oh dear... Four outta four...FAIL. Although pertaining to the first, its hard to avoid swallowing bugs when your are jumping out of a plane.. so not really stupidity...that being said.. jumping out of a plane when its your first time ever in an aeroplane... kinda stupid.. so I'll cop that point and shut up.

[ ] Your friends know not to use big words around you
[ ] You tilt your head when you're confused
[X] You have fallen out of your chair before

So far: One out of three... but seriously, who above the legal drinking age hasn't fallen out of a chair. In the most memorable instance, my friend left me drunk and in a chair when she went to call us a cab from a party one time. When she came back I had dissappeared and she assumed I had headed back out to find more liquor at the bonfire... after fruitlessly searching she came back in and realised... yep, I had passed out and slid right off the chair under the table where I was curled up asleep... Ah to be young and still able to drink!

[X] When you're laying in bed, you try to find pictures in the texture of the ceiling (in my curtains actually)
[ ] The word "umm" is used many times a day.

So far: Oh that was my favourite passtime in the psych ward.... says more about the state of the wards OT programme then me, I think. One outta two

"I've done 19 stupid things out of 30"

I think therefore I resist....

2010-07-27T23:46:00.000+10:00

I am a person of reasonable intelligence. Some have said above average intelligence... I don't really know, there always seems to be people out there that are smarter... but my brain has certainly been a strong part of my identity and day to day functioning.

But is it getting in the way? Certainly, I have always known that I have a tendency to over-intellectualise issues as a way of calming the not so rational world of emotions. And in many ways, that's been a saving grace. I am able to rationalise away when people's actions hurt me, rather than acting out from a purely emotional stance, which enables me to save relationships. I am sometimes able to rationalise away unpleasant feelings or moods if they are making functioning in life difficult. It gives the distance needed to react in ways that are productive rather than destructive, ordered rather than disordered and chaotic, fair and rational rather than unfair and irrational. It's part of the grease on the wheels of civilisation, I feel. To act from the evolved, thinking part of the brain, rather than the animalistic instinctual parts, or the slightly more evolved, yet largely unconcious emotional parts of the brain.

But as an annoying American TV therapist would say..."How's that working for you?" Obviously not so well, (see multiple hospitalisations, bucket loads of medication, and three therapy sessions a week) There are things that can't be held in check by rationality and intellectualisation. I have to admit so much of what goes on in my mind has little to do with that small, evolved, intellectual part. And in order to deal with those uncontainable, unrationalisable little gremlins that are running about, I need to be able to talk about them in therapy in their native language... the language of emotions. I am book smart but my emotional intelligence is lacking, to be sure.

Obviously, this came up in therapy today. And maybe it does have a lot to do with why therapy has stalled a little or to reference my previous post become a little tedious. Because there isn't anywhere to go until I learn to speak from emotions. Ugh. I hate emotions. I often will sit there in session and think, I should be feeling something about this, and underneath it I am, I just often can't access it, or identify what it is. When (D) asks me "I wonder what you might be feeling right now?" and I say "I don't know" I am not being difficult, I just can't quite put my finger on it and name it. And then the one of the two basic feelings that I do see to be able to identify 'panic' and less often 'anger' flood in and override the more subtle emotions... sadness, despair, vulnerability, shame.... an endless list.

I seem to have gotten better at identifying the physical elements of the emotions and with (D)'s help linking them to a named emotion. Sadness sits around the jaw, tight and wound. Shame creates a bodily feeling of disconnection... a rejection of the physical self really. But still there is an inherent disconnect between the naming and basic somatic reactions and any deep understanding of what the emotion actually is.

Looking back at therapy sessions this evening, I have come to realise how much I employ intellectualisation as a defense mechanism. Arguing semantics, being pedantic as a form of deflection, looking for the flaw in each persuasive arguement my therapist makes, much as I used to try and tear apart the opposing teams position in High School debate. Not really caring so much about the position I am taking, but more about negating the position she takes. Deflect, deflect, deflect. Anything to keep her, and more importantly myself away from peering at the primal wounds. And so often I haven't even realised I am doing it.

But what do I do? How do I make myself drop this defence? Recognising it is a good first step, admitting it to (D) and allowing her to call me on it another good step. But beyond that... how do I speak this language I just don't understand? I don't know how to communicate these things. Even this blog post... entirely rational and intellectualised.

Let's give it a try... At the moment I feel... pretty tired (ok, so that's more physical)... hmm, a bit anxious... but my mind immediately jumped to rationalising that as the fact its late at night, which is the worst time for me so I generally feel a bit anxious at this time of night. Ok...why anxious? Nights are a time where I feel vulnerable, like I am open to attack, I feel quite childlike like a little kid terrified of the boogie man in the cupboard, 90% of you knows its not there, but the other 10% can't be that certain. Ashamed, because I am a grown woman who is still afraid of childish things like the dark and the monsters that inhabit it. Fearful... it always sits in the pit of my stomach until dawn breaks or I fall asleep. Sigh. I don't know. Is that the way you do it? Maybe typing them isn't the way to acknowledge the feelings. Maybe I would be best to just lie quietly and let them come, yep thats fear, that's what it feels like, now let it flow on and feel what comes next? Maybe thats one way to start learning this language in a way that's more about understanding then just knowing the words. Does that even make sense?

I am so confused right now... and I really don't know how to start chipping away through this so we can start doing the things we need to be doing in therapy.

Peace and love
xOphelia

Tedium

2010-07-26T23:41:00.000+10:00

Tedium: The quality or condition of being tedious; tediousness or boredom.
[Latin taedium, from taedre, to weary.]

Therapy was ok today. Unsuprisingly, some of the content focussed around the conversation we had about Borderline Personality last session, and the feelings this aroused. We spoke a little about the split between the purpose of the Public Mental Health team (my PsychDoc and Case Manager) and her, my private therapist. She purported that there should be no split, and anything that was impacting on me re: Public Health, was important to consider in therapy as well. More specifically, I had stated that I wasn't really all that interested in discussing the Borderline diagnosis with her, as I didn't feel that it impacted in anyway on the therapeutic process... PH was the place where diagnosis, medication and day to day coping skills were paramount, and therapy was more for understanding the motivations behind behaviours. I kind of felt like we were wasting time talking about it.

As the conversation continued, evidently I let out a rather large sigh. Cue thera-speak... "I wonder what is going on for you right now, behind that sigh?" (Sidenote: Why can't they just talk normally? How often do you say to the average person "I wonder why you chose this movie"? Just ask directly...I can take it, and its a little less irritating) Anyway, I told her that I was just feeling a bit fed-up. Not with her particularly, just with therapy in general. Walking into the room three times a week, and talking about things that more often than not recently, feel pretty unimportant. It felt tedious, and I didn't particularly, in that moment want to be there.

This resulted in an examination of what tedium was, was it felt like and when I had felt it before... a conversation that in itself felt pretty tedious.

The thing is... I don't feel like it is that important to look at in any great depth. For any human there comes times whether it be in relationships or work, where the act of doing the same or similar thing over an over again created a tedious feeling. It's natural, but it passes. Something will happen, that will break the monotony and spark a new engagement. In therapy, sometimes it is just the tedious task of poking around and hitting all the boring, non-painful areas for a while, until you hit a raw spot... and then the tedium breaks and there is room for growth or new insights. The only time I think the feeling of tedium is particulalry worriesome is if it persists and nothing sparks that break, or if you react to the tedium in a maladaptive way ie. this therapy is boring and wearisome in this exact moment, so I'm going to quit and never come back.

Sure the feeling is certainly a signpost in the therapeutic space that we're a bit off track, but if we keep pushing on eventually we'll get back on track again. IMO. Not a big deal. But everything must be examined within an inch of its life, whether important or not... so we'll be continuing this conversation in therapy tomorrow, no doubt, as we ran out of time today.

Re-reading this post it has a slightly snarky quality... but you know, I'm just a bit fed up. It will pass.

The mighty mighty benzo

2010-07-26T01:19:00.000+10:00

Aside from the diagnosis issues to discuss with PsychDoc on Tuesday, we are also looking to start withdrawing me from the Serepax. A little scary, but I'm really keen to try. Ultimately, research has proven that Benzodiazepams are really not the best drugs to be on long term... and I have been on one or another benzo for the past 10 years. My first script was Temazepam, which did sweet f.a., to be honest. That was followed by a brief affair with Valium, but we parted ways after just two doses as it made me feel incredibly disconnected from myself and the world and nauseous and dizzy to boot. Xanax was my buddy for a good number of years, but that was cut short by the Psych after my admission to hospital last year, when they changed me over to Serepax, as it was longer acting. I only ever took the Xanax to stem off major panic attacks, so pretty much left to my own devices, I would often go weeks without taking any, and when I did, it would just be one or two. When they changed me to Serepax to help with anxiety and insomnia I was prescribed 3 doses a day.... so in the end, even though the Public Health System doesn't like Xanax, as being shorter acting, its more likely to be abused, I have actually ended up taking more benzos under their guidance than when left to my own discretion... oh well. In addition to this, I take Clonazepam twice a day in conjunction with my anti-epileptic meds. So yeah, me and benzos? Old Pals!

I can't stop taking the Clonazepam as it helps significantly with my seizure threshold. But I never intended to be on the Serepax for this long, particularly taking it three times a day. And I've been bringing up the idea of ceasing it for about 6 months now, but there always seemed to be some crisis or upcoming event that made it advisable to hold off on cessation. But things have evened out a lot more over the last two months or so, so it is time to try.

Dr F is quite supportive of this, and is open to discussing the ways in which we can best taper it down. There are a few inherent issues. Usually they switch out the serepax with valium, and then taper off the valium, but as mentioned, Valium is no friend of mine, so I've chosen to taper down with out any crossovers. We also have to be careful, as withdrawing off Benzos can lower the seizure threshold for a while, but I have some room to play with my Epilim Dosage, which should hopefully counteract this.

I'm on the lowest dose for each of the three doses... 7.5mg, which is half a tablet each time... so it doesn't leave much room to half the dosage. So, we figured that I will just start skipping the lunchtime dose to begin with. I've had a bit of a trial run last fortnight, and whilst I definately felt more agitated and anxious in the afternoon, it was certainly manageable. Because I'm on weekly meds, Dr F wants to make sure I have enough tablets each week so that I can take the lunchtime tablet if I need to. But she's also quite rightly concerned about me hoarding them. Frankly it would be a temptation... not because I'm suicidal right now, but because Ive been on weekly meds and thus without the safety blanket of stored meds for so long now. When she expressed her concern, I admitted I wasn't quite sure if I trusted myself. So, I'm going to propose she writes ONE script with the extra dose (adding up to 3 and a half extra tablets, nothing I can do with that), and I will give the extras to my sister to mind, unless I need them. And after that she writes the script for just two dose, unless we discuss otherwise. I know part of recovery is being responsible for my own well being, but part of being responsible, I believ, is knowing the areas you can't yet be trusted and asking for help.

So, she has talked to me about how important it is to withdraw slowly... but frankly I didn't think it was going to be too huge a deal. I mean I did ok for those couple of days last fortnight, and although I've been on this particular Benzo for nearly a year, its a reasonably low dose, and I still have the Clonazepam and my anti depressant in my system. But then I made the mistake of looking up Benzo Withdrawal....oh, internet, sometimes you are a Pandoras Box!... Some of the side effects of withdrawal allegedly include:

abdominal pains, aching, agoraphobia, anxiety, blurred vision, body vibrations, changes in perception, diarrhea, distended abdomen, feeling of unreality, flu-like symptoms, flatulence, food cravings, hair loss, heart palpitations, heavy limbs, increased allergies, increased sense of smell, insomnia, lethargy, loss of balance, metallic taste, muscle spasms, nightmares, panic attacks, paranoia, persistent & unpleasant memories, severe headaches, shaking, short term memory loss, sore mouth and tongue, sound & light sensitivity, speech difficulties, sweating, suicidal thoughts, tinnitus, unusually sensitive, fear

This was one of the shorter lists. On some sites, there are those who seem to hold it responsible for everything from cavaties to the hole in the ozone layer... I don't know, its hard to find accurate information. I mean flatulence? Seriously? I think even when the side effects are written up on legitimate sited, the information is still derived from patient reporting, and there is a population of patients who just make the weirdest connections in their minds between vague somatic complaints and medications. Its hard to know which ones are valid. And then of course there is the fact its all planted in my mind.... you start thinking maybe my ears are ringing just a little, oooh and my mouth is dry, definately dry and that light is getting a bit bright for my eyes. Short story, I would have been better off not looking it up. And I know this from past experience... so why do I continue to do it? Sigh. We will just wait and see what the next week brings...

And in the meantime... if I do cut the cheese... I can just blame it on my benzo withdrawl, instead of the long suffering, unfairly maligned cat :P

Hurt and confused

2010-07-23T01:05:00.000+10:00

So. It rears its head again. Borderline Personality Disorder. I was at an appointment with my GP on Tuesday, and we were looking for the latest letter from the PsychDoc. My GPs computer is set up so that the patient can actually see information as it is pulled up. I don't know why, and I'm kind of wishing now that it didn't. Anyway, she pulled a letter that turned out to be from last year when I was with BabyPsychDoc Douchebag, rather than the lovely Dr F that I see at the clinic now. And the top line stated (I'm not sure of it verbatim) basically that patient has diagnosis of PTSD and Borderline Personality Disorder (although patient has expressed discontent over the latter diagnosis). Sigh. Patient did not express 'discontent', patient was never actually formerly given the diagnosis, tested for the diagnosis or had it explained in any way. Patient only found out about the diagnosis attached to her name when she saw it in the hospital records whilst in a neurologist appointment. Patient tried to (rather calmly and rationally, I may add) ask for confirmation and justification of this new added diagnosis, only to be met with noone who would actually admit to being the one to put said diagnosis in her file!

That was last September. Although it pissed me off, I let it go, because a) it didn't seem to be impacting in anyway on my course of treatment (as stated before BabyPsychDoc at the time was a complete and utter douchbag for many reasons, a classic line of his was "you seem to be doing better, but its always hard to tell with 'you people' WTF? But I was changed to seeing the Consultant Psych, until the new registrar replaced him, and she is really quite good) and b)to confront it to aggressively would be to affrim the stereotypes that surround the diagnosis...we wouldn't want a female patient who is actually proactive about her mental health treatment and advocates for herself now would we?

This time, I was pissed and I wanted to do something about it. First, this is now outside of hospital records and in my general medical records which follow me forever, having a chronic medical condition, I need to keep my medical records intact, and although current GP is lovely and it doesn't affect the way she treats me at all, there are others in the medical field who will stigmatise based on this diagnosis...thats just the sad truth of it. If I'm ever in a court case (God knows for what?) it can be supnoead (sp?) If I wanted to adopt etc etc...none of these are issues at the moment, but when you are thinking of something that follows you FOREVER. Second, it creates a distrust in the mental health system I'm supposed to derive support from. It is blatent dishonesty. What other diagnosis would it be acceptable to just sneak into somebody's records and NEVER discuss it with them. How am I supposed to trust what they say with such a fundamental omission in play. This is how it should be. Clinician sees signs and symptoms of a particular disorder, they test their hypothesis against the DSM and through testing. (I've never undergone any of the accepted tests for Borderline diagnosis ie Perry Borderline Personality Disorder Scale) and once they are supported in their diagnosis, they then (here's the important part) sit down with the patient, share their findings and opinions, explain the diagnosis and share the current treatment plan.

I'm not saying that I flat out refuse to accept such a diagnosis. I have issues with the diagnosis itself on conceptual grounds. 5 out of 9 criterion to meet the Disorder. Two people can share 1 symptom and be diagnosed with the same disorder. Statistically there are over 2000 variations of criterion combination that could justify a diagnosis. It just seems to be a very broad brushstroke to me. And any diagnosis that has a 75% female, 25% male split certainly has to be examined in the light of sociological context. That is, behaviour accepted as normal for men, being pathologised in females. Takes us right back to Ancient Greek times when women were thought to suffer from "wandering wombs". It is not at all a far reach to say the broadness of this diagnosis has led to it being used as a wastebin for "difficult" female patient who have the audacity not to respond to the righteous treatment of hubristic practioners, because of course it could not be that their treatment is actually inadequate. And the stigma that comes from such a diagnosis just serves to marginalise and suppress a population that quite often has already had a lengthy history of marginalisation and mistreatment, and should be treated with empathy and understanding. Does Borderline Personality Disorder exist? Most certainly. And it can debilitating for those who do classically fit the criteria. I read some fantastic blogs from people who have accepted this diagnosis, and find it to be helpful in explaining why they see and engage in the world the way they do. Does it automatically apply to anyone with an XX chromosome that self harms? According to the DSM it shouldn't..... but in reality it does.

So, jumping off my soapbox now. Because this is about me. Does it apply to me? My gut says no. After extensive reading, my mind says no. But I am reasonable and open to hearing the professionals opinions. If I can get them to talk to me. I spoke to my Case Manager (another lovely lady) this morning during our appointment and told her what I had seen, and let her know that I was going to bring it up at my appointment with Dr F on Tuesday, that I just wanted to get all of it out in the open, rather than it being dealt with in an underhanded way. I have no idea if it is the enduring opinion of the professionals or just the work of Dr Douchebag. I was just letting her know in case she wanted to be at the appointment, as she has been my Case Manager since the time of Dr Douchebag when this letter was written. She was quite supportive about it, without ever actually saying whether or not she agreed with the diagnosis. She is a psychologist and they can't actually diagnose here in Australia, and really I guess its probably not her place to speak for the team. I think she understood my frustration about the manner in which it was handled, although she did express how incredibly difficult it is to get something like that removed from one's record. I think she still felt it was important for me to find out once and for all, and to feel like there was a transparency in my treatment and not a me versus them thing going on. She also said that if it were her, given the implicit stigmas that can be attached to this particualr diagnosis she would want to ensure that it was thoroughly assessed and valid before it was attached to her file. So all in all, a positive response, and I am sure it will be the same with Dr F. Not necessarily that they will agree with me, but that they will at least be open and honest with me about it... and that's all I ask.

But then.

I went to therapy. (D) is a private psychologist, with no link to the public system. She asked what had been going on over the last few days, and I let her know, about my talk with (M) and the upcoming appointment with Dr F. Now, keep in mind, I didn't actually ask her whether she thought I had this disorder. Why? Well, first because she has stated before that she feels that there is overly too much emphasis on labels and that it takes away from the ability to truly 'see' the person. And second, because I didn't want to know. Seems a bit hypocritical, no? I want full disclosure from the Public Health professionals, but I don't want to know what my therapist thinks? And maybe it is. But her opinion is NOT written down in my records, she cannot officially diagnose me, so her opinion can't hurt me in that sense. But it can sure as hell hurt me in a more practical sense. Unfortunately, I guess by bringing up the conversation she assumed I wanted to know her opinion, and I did nothing to dissuade her from that assumption. Totally my fault. Well, 99% my fault. So she proceeded to give me her take. First, labels tend to be more of a distraction from seeing and understanding the person (see I do know her!), second that she has issues with Borderline Personality as a disorder, for similar reasons to what I mentioned above. But that she does believe that people can suffer from (and I'm paraphrasing) a disorder of their sense of self... I do love how she believes that semiotics make much of a difference at all. And apparantly, a good part of her studies, she focussed on Borderline Personality (a disorder she has issues with, so I'm a little confused) And she does think that some of the criterion I don't think I fulfill, I actually kind of do. For instance, abandoment issues. I certainly don't display the traditionally thought of "Borderline" behaviours around it... ie lack of Object Constancy etc... but that you can't have the experiences I did in infancy and childhood, and not have abandonment issues. She admitted she couldn't quote the DSM verbatim, and would have to have a look at it, and would be happy to bring it in and go through it with me. At this point, I had gotten pretty quiet.... and yes, a little hurt and upset. I told her that I didn't want her to bring it in, and in fact, I hadn't asked her opinion. At which point she stated "I'm a little confused", to which I replied "Me too".

So that's the sum of it. I think I would have been better not knowing her opinion. And now I'm kind of stuck between not wanting to know anymore and needing her to actually explain her position because I don't know if she thinks I have it or not, and now its the elephant in the room. And yeah, my feelings got hurt. But I also have to buck up and be prepared to face the truth, whatever that is, and part of that is being prepared to listen to others opinions. So i think I need to hear her out in full, and of course (M) and Dr F as well, and then test those opinions against my own. Afterall, logically, living with a mental illness, whatever it may be, can distort ones own perceptions and insight. It doesn't mean I have to just unreservedly accept others opionions, but, if they've shown themselves to be trustworthy, and they have taken the time to know me, and try to understand me, which all three of these women have, then I should at least listen.

So, for now, I'm left hurt and confused

Itty Bitty Tanties

2010-07-13T21:22:00.000+10:00

Ok, so maybe I threw a little, eensy, weensy, tiny tantrum in therapy today. Highlights included telling her to back off, stop patronising me, screwing up my fists and lasping into a sulky, scowling silence for the last 15 minutes or so of the session. And yes, it probably is still a good thing therapeutically, working through transference issues and having the chance to experience and express (however clumsily) anger in the safe containment of the therapy room. But ultimately I'm left feeling like quite a prat, and am feeling quite embarrassed at the prospect of going back. And I maintain, for today at least, THERAPY SUCKS BALLS.

Had my PsychDoc appointment, and it went pretty well. We're going to put off the benzo withdrawal for a fortnight or so. With the current little slump I'm experiencing, its just better to wait until things stabilise a little. But then hopefully, we'll start a slow withdrawal process, and sometime (in the hopefully near future) I will be completely off the Serepax.

Other than that I'm just trying to focus on keeping a positive attitude. Its just a little slump and it will pass. It doesn't mean that things are spinning out of control. I will sleep again. And I will feel happy again. This too will pass.

Spoke to Case Manager (M) and she said to give her a call if things continue to be a bit down, otherwise I will see her next week. I guess a part of me just doesn't want to admit to them how low I am feeling, because I want to be able to handle it myself, there isn't really any particular problem that they can help address, and probably a little bit of pride as well.... I was doing so well, I hate that I wasn't able to keep it up.

Anyway, Lil Sis and I got some boxed sets...so we'll be watching Outrageous Fortunes, True Blood, and the first season of Glee for the forseeable future.

Peace and love
xOphelia

Arghhhhh!

2010-07-13T14:10:00.002+10:00

Argggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggh! Therapy sucks balls. That is all.

I don't wanna and you can't make me, so there!

2010-07-12T23:02:00.000+10:00

So feeling much better. Sleep seems to be slowly improving which is fantastic. Had a bit of a funny converstion with Lil Sis this evening:
Me: Why is it that the "Woman's Day" (an Aussie Magazine) is only released weekly and the "Woman's Weekly" is only released monthly?
Lil Sis: Well, it wouldn't sell very well if they called it "Woman's Monthly"
Me: Touche, Grasshopper, Touche....

Therapy was interesting today. We got talking about my little irrational crying jag on Saturday night. I mentioned that I knew what had triggered it off (a movie I was watching) but that wasn't really the reason I kept crying. The crying jag was completely out of proportion with what I had seen. That being said, I really wasn't entirely sure of what was behind it... but it was more than what I had seen on the TV. Here is where it got a bit tricky, because obviously her next question was what I had been watching that upset me. And I didn't want to tell her. She assumed it was because I was embarrassed and I let her think that. But it was actually not that at all. The truth was, I knew if I told her what it was, she would read way more into it than was necessary, and we would be caught up in a conversation I didn't want to have. I'll share it with you, my dear readers. The movie I was watching was "MASH- the movie", quite an oldie. The scene that upset me was when Hawkeye was in a bus, trapped behind enemy lines, and they were trying to keep as quiet as they could so the soldiers wouldn't know they were there. But there was one Korean woman with a baby that wouldn't stop crying and was putting them all at risk of being found. So in desperation, she smothered the baby to death. It was really quite horrible. And of course if I shared this with (D) than what direction do you think the conversation would take. Mother who sacrifices her child for her own survival. Easy to see where that would lead to in a therapy situation.

So, I didn't tell her. Which she accepted, but of course then we had to examine why I didn't want to tell her. Sigh. I felt myself digging my heels in even harder, which was not helpful and really, I was starting to annoy myself. I felt like a petulant child. But I also didn't feel like I could do anything about it. I knew I was being childish, but I couldn't stop myself. So I did the next best thing. I talked to (D), she pulled the old therapy chestnut "what's going through your head right now". And I answered honestly, that I felt like I often was behaving like a petulant child, and that I didn't know how to stop myself, and be open and less stubborn so that we could actually have productive session. We spoke about it for a while, and she posited that when a child behaves like that it is away of them creating that seperation of self from a parent, and maybe I was doing it to create that seperation of self from her in the therapeutic process. Which annoyingly, made sense. Freaking transference. If I was to talk about this process to any of my friends, they would just think its bloody weird. And it is. But it is helpful. Sigh.

Anyhow. I'm applying to volunteer in the children's ward across from the RMH, which I think is a good step toward filling my life with productive and meaningful stuff. Job Hunt 2010 still goes on. Hopefully I should hear back from the Disability Employment Ofiicer soon. Tomorrow, I've got therapy again and then an appointment with Psych Doc. And then in the afternoon Lil Sis and I are going to go shopping for new DVD BoxSets to keep us entertained. Any suggestions?

Peace and Love
xOphelia

I've been thinking....

2010-07-10T21:30:00.000+10:00

I have quite a few blogs that I read through Google reader. Some are other "mentals", some are more information based sites, humor sites etc etc. I love flipping open my laptop to see what awaits me in my Google reader each day, and there are a few blogs I get quite excited about when I see a new post in my tool bar. The blogs I read give me a number of different things... laughs, a feeling of "i'm not alone" and "oh, you too?", some inspire, some fill me with awe.... and recently, one in particular has been invoking a sense of "what the?"

Of course, its kind of a given in the Blogosphere that people write their own reality and sometimes that doesn't match up with ... let's say, reality reality. And people may tweak parts of their persona they are not happy with or are ashamed of. But what I really don't get are the people who out and out lie.

Especially about mental illness. Like its a badge of honor. A contest to see who can appear to be the most screwed up. Who has the absolute worst life. Newsflash. Mentalism is nothing to be ashamed of... but its certainly not a bowl of cherries, either. And why put so much effort into fabricating such an elaborate lie. Especially since, like most lies, it becomes more and more transparant as time grows on.

Certainly I tend to suspend my disbelief for the most part. Its a messed up world, and people certainly have unique histories and experiences, that I can barely fathom... but that doesn't make them any less real. This is the first time that my BS-meter has just sounded such loud alarms that I can no longer ignore the discomfort I feel reading this blog. I approach each knew post with a sense of trepidation and "what now?". I leave feeling insulted and patronised that this individual expects me to swallow the bollocks they are posting.

I guess its not restricted to the internetz. I have found myself simarly discombobulated when meeting people on the psych ward. ON THE PSYCH WARD! Why the hell would you take the charade of mental illness to the extent that you get yourself admitted, indeed actively seek admission, to a psych ward? It boggles my mind. But there have certainly been situations when I know, the other patients know, hell, the staff even knows these 'patients' are full of crap. Other patients certainly seem to be better than the staff at assessing who the 'fakers' are. But a person says the magic words "I'm suicidal" or "I hear voices", and they have to admit them. The first time at least. And for sure, often we can put on the most fabulous of fronts despite how crappy we feel. Certainly often the safety of the ward and the acceptance of the patient milleau is therapeutic and leads to positive lifts in the mood and symptoms of an individual. But don't tell me that you are barely sleeping at all because of your mania, when I walk past your room every night to hear your snores reverbrating down the corridor. When you miss every single breakfast because you are sleeping in. When you spend two hours talking perfectly normally and fluently to me, only to put on rapid speech and attempt to model disordered thoughts when a nurse sits and talks to you. You aren't that good an actress.

Why does it bother me? I mean really it doesn't affect me in the slightest. Well, it is somebody who is draining already limited resources and directing them away from people that need them, I guess. But I also guess that even if these people don't have the mental illnesses they claim to have, there is certainly something going on there to require such (and God, I hate this phrase, but I can't think of another) attention-seeking behaviour! And, for sure, I would rather a bunch of people who don't need the help recieve it, than one person who really does need it get pigeon holed with the attention seeking label and not get the help they need. But that's part of the problem. These people with their foolishness, create such an atmosphere of skeptacism and mistrust between mentals and the MH professionals, that people in need do fall through the crack. So many of you in the blogosphere are examples of this. The cynacism and unhelpfulness of those whose jobs it is to help. But I can imagine being taken for a ride over and over again, it must eventually wear down even the most caring of professionals!

Sigh. I don't know. Really, I just need to learn to let it slide off and not bug me so much. As much as it feels incredibly insulting.. its not directed at me. And in the end, I don't have to read it, I don't have to listen. So I won't. I've deleted this particular blog and their caricaturised, overdramatic, histrionic postings from my reader. Maybe I'm wrong about them... but me not reading won't hurt them any, and it will make me feel better.

How do you guys deal with people (on the internet or real life) who set your BS alarm into overdrive with their "mentalism?" Not the people who just misuse the terms 'depression' and 'anxiety' but those who seem to actively construct lies and grossly exaggerate and fabricate?

Musings on dependency

2010-07-10T17:15:00.000+10:00

I have spent a lot of the last 12 months in therapy terrified of becoming overly dependant on (D)'s support and the therapeutic process. The psychodynamic therapy we are undertaking is somehow a lot more confrontational in this aspect than my previous therapy ever was. Whether this is indicative of a different type of therapeutic alliance or the difference in therapeutic orientation, I'm not sure. Perhaps a little form column a and a little from column b?

Trust and attachment are intrinsically intwined with dependency in my mind. If I allow myself to be open enough with a person, to share parts of myself and allow myself to accept and derive comfort from the relationship between us, if I allow myself to believe, that maybe, just maybe... I can trust that this person is going to stick around and not turn from the 'darker' aspects of me and my life... if I can believe that any of this is possible, than certainly I would want it, need it even and I wouldn't want to let it go. Always that belief that I would overwhelm people with my needs if ever I was to allow them to show.

Dependency, of course has developed a bit of a bad rap. Even amongst some of the MH professionals who really should be able to look at the issue a little less simplistically. Dependency is for infants and children, as adults we should apparently be able to look out for ourselves. At least this is the message we are given. In the public health system, "service users" may find themselves fighting and (sometimes losing) to access the services that they feel they need. The MH system creates an atmosphere of fear, fear of dependency on hospitalisation, fear of too much dependency on individual professionals, fear of dependency on medication, fear of dependency on benefits... the list goes on and on. And some of them are valid fears in certain situations. But the blanket, knee jerk reaction to these, and the suggestion that any form of dependency is regressive and not mentally healthy is unhelpful.

Yes, for some people and it some situation hospital can foster an unhealthy dependence on an 'unreal' world. I think that's a possibility for anyone who is hospitalised. The world outside can feel scary and unsafe and full of decisions, that to suspend those responsabilities and know that you are at least physically safe for a while is certainly tempting. And it can be hard to know when you are actually 'able' to handle these things in the real world on your own. And of course, we have all heard the blanket dictate that anyone with a personality disorder will not benefit from hospitalisations (never mind if they have co-morbid depressions, suicidal ideations, psychosis etc) It's such a simplistic approach.Each situation should be looked at individually, rather than unbendable policies being enforced because of the bad rap of dependency. I myself have never had any issue really with accessing hospital care, but I read all the time about blogger friends who do, because of their labels, and it just seems so stupid to me.

Whilst I have not had much trouble accessing hospital care, my fears around dependency spring up in other areas. Dependency on medication. Now this is a funny one. Because whilst the MH professionals seem to make such a huge deal (rightly so) about the addictiveness of the benzos, it doesn't prevent them from dosing me up with them, and everytime that I have started to try and reduce my dosages, it has been at my suggestion rather than theirs. So on the one hand they help to create this fear of dependency, but on the other hand they continue to hand me medication, at times (not so much lately) it feels like hand over fist.

Within Case Management in the Public Mental Health system, I did undergo a little bit of stress at the end of last year in regards to being discharged from the service. The accepted thinking of the service is that they want to a) develop the individual's ability to soothe, contain and problem solve themselves and b) create a system of support that is community based rather than based on the mental health system. Fantastic in theory. But what I have found is that even while focusing on my ability to soothe, contain and problem solve myself, there are times when I am able to do this and times when it is a bit harder. In relation to developing community support, its great in theory, but the reality is that the average 'everyday' person is just not equipped with the skills, experience or ability to distance themselves as MH professionals are. So, some dependency on the service is necessary, and unless my MH issues disappear, potentially this dependency will exist for quite a while. But it waxes and wanes. I don't feel the need to pick up the phone and ring my case manager for every little issue (or even some of the big issues), we have cut contact back to once a fortnight, unless something comes up and that will probably reduce even further as things continue to go well. So, I think I am dependent on their being their as a safety net, but I don't feel its an unhealthy dependency.

Then we get to therapy, ah....therapy. The dependency that can be fostered in therapy is probably the scariest, because (D) has so much information I have trusted her with, so much insight into my thought processes and feelings, that she really has the potential to hurt me big time. She is a person who consistantly supports, holds (emotionally) and cares about me. Encourages me and helps me to learn. Sound familiar? Yup, as much as I hate to admit it, she has taken on a somewhat motherly role in my life. And what happened with the last mother in my life? Let's see... I was a dependent infant, and she was emotionally and physically absent due to her PND. She entered into a realationship with a violent alcoholic and allowed him to physically and emotionally hurt her babies, once again failing those who were dependent on her for protection She then (as a way of coping) withdrew entirely from those dependents abandoning them into an environment where secrets and darker, traumatic abuses could take place. So.... yeah.... feeling dependent + a person who acts in a motherly fashion = big fears of reenactments of past traumas and let downs for me. I do a dance with (D) of throwing up my cast iron shell, and letting in tumble and letting her in. Is the dependency I'm experiencing with her a bad thing? From a psychotherapeutic aspect of course all the transference issues that are brought up allow for great opportunities to explore, reexperience positively and grow. But she is not my mother, and I am no child. What kind of dependence is reasonable and sustainable? I guess this is where the boundaries come in. And (D) is pretty good at making those clear and keeping to them I guess. Sessions are consistently within the same frame. Time, structure, she's never late, always dependable. Contact outside of session is thoughtful and purposeful, whilst still flexible enough around times of crisis. The other big hurdle was me. Accepting that I need this woman, that I rely on her and thats ok. But I still keep my eyes open, still put all information and suggestions through my own validity tests and don't rely on her for *all* of my emotional needs, because a) she is only human and b) as important a part of my life as she is at the moment, by very defination she will not/should not be around for ever, and will never be a solid presence in my real day to day life. And that ,I am beginning to realise, is a healthy dependency

P.S. My therapist rocks

2010-07-09T19:17:00.000+10:00

You know, I'm pretty damned tired. I couldn't seem to even nap today. Everytime I got close to sleep, I was overwhelmed by a flood of panic. But, it's ok. It really is. Because this feeling is finite, it won't last forever, and even now, it starting to abate. I think a lot of this is down to finally really beginning to feel 'held' as much as I hate to use such thera-speak. Thinking on it a while, I think even though I really didn't much enjoy the phone sessions with (D) while I was away, and found it incredibly difficult to feel comfortable with, it did finally drive home the idea to me, that for as long as I need, wherever I am, whether things are going incredibly bad or incredibly good, she will be there for me. She has told me this repeatedly since I began therapy, just stopping short of translating it into multiple languages and performing an interpretive dance, to make her point. But I guess, it just finally clicked. (Shucks, I haven't got trust issues at all, huh?) And knowing that I have that support, really knowing it, makes it easier for me to support and soothe myself. Like at the moment. (D) called me this afternoon to check in on how I was doing. And that was good. I felt acknowledged and validated and not so alone. She asked whether I wanted her to check in over the weekend, and I thought about it for a while, and realised I didn't think I would need her to. I am comfortable in the knowledge she is there if I fall, and somehow that leads to me being comfortable enough that I can try it on my own.

So yeah, things are a wee bit sucky right now. But that's ok... this too will pass! And really for the first time, I have 100% certainty that choosing psychodynamic therapy was the right choice, and it really is slowly but surely helping me grow.

Peace and Love
xOphelia

Not such a great day

2010-07-09T12:24:00.000+10:00

Yesterday was hard. And I guess a little bit of a shock to the system after a period of relative good moods. We so quickly become accustomed to it: the good moods, the lack of agitation, the good sleep, that when things take a bit of a slide, even if it is nowhere as bad as it has been before, you kind of feel it even worse because of the contrast. But I am trying very hard not to let it turn into a snowball effect.

I was up early for the ultrasound appointment, making sure I had enough water to drink and taking the higher dose of anti-anxiety meds to get through it. Having (S) come along proved to be a good thing, not just as a safety thing with the increased meds, but also just as a bit of distraction. She did offer to come into the consulting room with me, but I refused... taking our friendship just that step to far into the intimate, methinks. But it was nice of her to offer. I was pretty lucky with the tech that I got. I explained without going into much detail that this was a difficult test for me to have due to past trauma, and she was very good about explaining things step by step, taking it very slow and offering to stop if it got too much. She also tried to engage me by talking throughout the test, although this was not very effective as I found (as a coping mechanism, I think) that I was drifting in and out of the moment. Not full blown dissasociation, but certainly it was there to some degree. Probably exacerbated by the medication. It did trigger a lot of flashback type episodes which continued on after the appointment.

I got home and headed straight off to bed for a little bit, but found that I was pretty damned agitated and resting was pretty impossible. I felt quite disconnected, emotional and fuzzy. (Medication? Flashbacks? Probably a combination of both) I wasn't sure how I was going to handle catching public transport to get to my therapy session. After the brouh-ha a few months ago about missing sessions, I find it pretty hard to justify missing sessions, I never know if its a good enough reason. In the end I called (D) my therapist and she pushed the appointment back a little for me, (S) came to the rescue once again and drove me across town for the appointment. In my eyes it wasn't a very productive session. I spent the majority of it wrapped up in a blanket, and to be honest I don't really remember that much about what we talked about.

It's time to be proactive. The girls stayed last night which was a good way to get me back into the present and stay there. We had a girly night chatting and laughing and then woke up for bacon and eggs this morning. (M) my case manager and I had a phone meeting, which went pretty well. She's pretty pleased with my progress in general, as am I. She is going to make a referral to the employment officer in the service. We also touched briefly on creating a proactive plan for how I am going to deal with "D-Day anniversary" in September. I'm going to have a think about it ( but not dwell!!) Whether I want to just try making it through with a little extra support (phonecalls etc) or whether we should do a planned admission. A lot of it will come down to how I do in general over the next 6 weeks or so. If things remain as stable as they are, perhaps this year the anniversary wont be as much of a struggle.

(D) is going to do a check in call this afternoon, as I wasn't doing so great yesterday. (S) and I are going to catch a movie tomorrow and then I have a shift at RMH on sunday. I'm determined not to let htis hiccup ruin my good streak.

Peace and Love
Ophelia

Attacked by a Ninja Nap

2010-07-07T20:26:00.000+10:00

I got attacked by a Ninja nap this afternoon. Has a bit of a rough night sleeping-wise last night and then I had to be up quite early for Neuro this morning, so when I got home I had a bit of a rest that ended up being a four hour sleep. Ooops! Napping during the day is not something I can usually do, so it was lovely.

Neuro appointment was quite uneventful really. Tests came back proving her hunch that the type of epilepsy I have is Juvenile Myoclonic Epilepsy. Sigh. Juvenile! I am 27 years old! lol. Basically all this means is that I have a combination of myoclonic and tonic clonic seizures, best treated with Epilim (Depakote for those across the pond) which is what I'm already on. She gave me leeway to increase my dose by 500-1000mg a day during times when I am not sleeping etc, which gives me a bit more flexability to manage my own medications. She siad unless I have a significant amount of seizures I don't need to go back for 6 months. But that I am likely to have the odd one. And I will have it, and be on medication for it for the rest of my life.

I stopped by the Pathology offices on the way home, and got the blood work I needed done, and booked in my next appointment with my GP, so a throroughly medical day...blah!

When I got home, I rang up Case Manager (M) to check as to whether she has had chicken pox or not. Alas! She has not, so we changed our face to face meeting on friday to a phone meeting, until time shows whether I am going to come out in spots. Sigh. I also got her to check with PsychDoc (cos I'm responsible like that! :P) whether I could take an increased amount of Serepax tomorrow morning before I go for the ultrasound, to help deal with the inevitable anxiety. Dr F was not in the office, so she asked Dr S the consultant. The male consultant. Embarrassment much? Anyhow. He has approved up to 22.4mg rather than the 7.5mg I would normally take, so hopefully that should help take the edge off. My friend (S) is going to pick me up at 7.50am and take me there, so I'm not wandering around the greater pulic transport system in a drug induced haze. Hopefully I will be able to get a few hours kip between that and my therapy appointment in the afternoon. And then its gleeathon sleepover with the girls. Yea! (M) and Dr S are both pretty pleased with how well I'm going. (M) of course bubbling over with delight in her usual Pollyanna-ish way! I've had to call her twice this week, but both times for housekeeping rather than crisis, much to her delight.

Ok. I'm off to think about tidying the house before the girls rock up tomorrow
Peace and love
xOphelia

Why I'll never use a face mask again!

2010-07-07T00:07:00.000+10:00

Therapy has been interesting. (D) and I were talking about how I have been able to contain the unpleasant stuff that's being brought up in therapy to the therapy room. Part of the problem with therapy in the recent past is that when things were brought up in session I have carried them into my outside life, ruminating and growing more depressed and anxious because I become overwhelmed with it all. I had thought that this new ability to contain it could only be a good thing, as it allows me to work on what I need to work on in a safe place, but not carry it with me to a place where I don't have that safety and support. (D) however, queried whether I might be repressing or avoiding the issues outside of therapy. For some reason this caused me to become extremely agitated. I think maybe because I felt a) like "shit, I thought I was doing good... obviously I can't do anything right" and b) annoyed because why does she have to go and mess with a good thing? (D) expanded saying that she just wanted me to be aware that whether I was doing well or not so well, she would not turn away from the parts of me that remembered the distress and hurts, and she didn't want me to either. I'm not really explaining this very well, and to be honest, I found it all a bit confusing myself. The conclusion we came to in the end, is that for the moment I need her to hold that distress for me within the therapeutic frame, because I cannot hold it by myself outside of session and still retain any semblance of balance. So maybe its a little avoidance/repression, but it's working for now. The analogy that comes to my head is that its kind of like keeping a child safe. When they are very young to keep them safe you have to attend to them all the time, leaving you no time to do anything else. Which is why parents will employ safety pens. Still interacting and keeping them safe, but with the ability to turn away and attend to other things, and know that it will still be safe for them. Therapy is the safety pen, and that distressed part of me is not yet able to be left unattended. As I mature emotionally, like the child, the distressed part of me will be able to venture out of the pen and spend less and less time needing to be constantly attended to and monitored. Anyway. Interesting session. Then in todays session we broached the subject of my "being unseen" as a child. Particularly within the mother-daughter relationship. And the way that affects me today. In particular, my automatic assumption that I am doing something wrong. (see above) Basically, she posits that as a result of my mothers post natal depression, my father's abandonment of me as an infant, and my sister's complete ambivalence about my existance (she tried to get rid of me by hiding me behind a wood pile as a baby) that I have come into this world feeling "unseen" and trying to remedy it by being the 'perfect child' and when this failed to make me visible to my family assuming that I was doing something wrong to be unworthy of acknowledgement. The whole idea that family dynamics of my infancy could really have any impact on me today seems a little odd to me still, but as (D) pointed out the dynamics have become set and remain to this day. My sister would certainly try and hide me behind the wood pile today if she could get away with it and she's 29 years old! Lol. And, whilst I think my mother really did 'see' me for the first time when I was in the ICU post overdose (not a great way to be seen and not something I wish to repeat!), I think as time has passed, we've slipped back into those old comfortable dynamics, where I am invisible once again. Anyway, we left it there and will pick it up again on Thursday. Gosh! Therapy makes my brain hurt sometimes, but I feel like we've finally scraped passed the first few superficial layers, not to the core yet, but its progress.

I got a call today from the mother of the kids I've been babysitting, to let me know they've come up with chicken pox. Sigh. First, this means I'm out two days work, because I was supposed to look after them until the end of this week. Second, I have never had chicken pox, so gulp! I've been exposed to it a few times through my work with kids though, so I doubt I'll catch it this time, if I haven't caught it so far. But it has reminded me that I do need to go and get the vaccine. If I catch it, it could take up to 21 days to show up. So, I promptly texted (D) to ask if she had had it (weird conversation to have with your therapist) but sitting in close proximity to her 3 days a week, and not knowing about her life (if she has regular contact with infants, pregnant women or people with suppressed immune system) I figured it was best to ask. I'm pretty sure I won't get it, but I'm going to be a little careful about where I go for the next few weeks, as the most contagious period is apparently before you get the rash.

That being said, I do have a Neurologist appointment and an Ultrasound appointment this week that I can't miss. Neuro is tomorrow. I'm not expecting much out of it. Seizure control not the greatest over the last two months, but this is pretty much directly proportional to fatigue so not suprising. That being said, since I got back from prac seizure control is pretty good, so obviously the medication works, just not in the face of crazy insomnia. Anyway will get the results from the sleep deprived EEG. And PsychDoc wants me to check with Neuro about the possible ramifications of reducing my Serepax (anxiety med) on seizure threshhold. I still have that niggle in the back of my mind after all these years that possibly some of my seizures are pseudoseizures. I have been definitively told by specialist that at least some of my seizures are genuine epileptic seizures. There are certain things I won't go into that help them make that diagnosis. But, as my seizures are at times still medication resistant and as I already know well, I'm a bit of a nutter, I wonder whether some of them may be psychosomatic or stress induced. I can never get a straight answer from Neuro Doc, maybe because they have no real way of telling other than 'catching' a non epileptic seizure whilst EEG monitoring. I don't know why it bothers me, other than the fact that if the breakthrough seizures were pseudoseizures...well then there is a chance I could get rid of them, as medication doesn't seem to be the answer. I don't know, grasping at straws I guess. I try not to let it get me down, but the seizures are disruptive, exhausting and really make me feel out of control, which is not a feeling I deal with well.

I've recruited (S) to drive to me to my ultrasound on Thursday, as I'm planning on taking a lot of medication to get get me through it without a freakout. So probably not a great idea to be on public transport. God, I am cringing just thinking about it. I do have a good friend there though, willing to get up early on her holidays to drive me across town to the hospital for this extremely embarrassing and anxiety provokign test. Thursday night our other friend (SC) is coming into town and the three of us are going to watch the season finale of Glee and have a sleep over (yes, I am 27 and not 14....but meh!) This means the girls will be here when my Case Manager comes around on friday morning (if she still comes, have to check her chicken pox status first) but they can hang out else where in the house for a bit.

All in all still in a reasonable mood. Sleep not perfect but still far better than normal. Biggest disruption at them moment is (you can laugh at me, its pathetic) I did a face mask last friday and had an allergic reaction, which I've never had before. I got it off pretty fast, but I have this welt on my left cheek bone, requiring ample amounts of make up each day, and the top layer of my skin has kind of burnt off on my forehead, cheek bones, under my eyes etc. So, have been using lots of moisturisor and taking make up off as soon as I get home.... but its getting to that itchy stage of healing and driving me nuts at night! Sigh, the stupid things us girls do in the name of beauty! Luckily its not all that noticible under make up....embarrassing much?

Anyway... off to slather on moisturiser and attempt to get some sleep.

Peace and Love
Ophelia.

Lokking hot!

2010-07-04T22:36:00.000+10:00

Successful day. Managed to amuse myself quite well. I am particularly pleased with my new hair colour. A really nice chocolate brown colour, perfect for winter! Plus I did a treatment on it, so its all shiny and healthy and purty! I tend to be fairly lax with my appearance for the most part, can't muster up the energy to care... but at the moment I am feeling quite good about myself, inside and out. I look hot! Well....apart from the excess kilos from the anti-psychotics, but we won't talk about that!

I spoke with my mum on the phone this evening, and she is quite happy to hear how well things are going. However, she has been helping out financially for the last three months, paying for my third weekly session. And now that I am doing a bit better, she is questioning whether I still need the third session. I kind of agree with her, and really would prefer not to have to take their money... but I think maybe I need to have this stability for a few more weeks before we go changing things. I'm lucky that she has been able to help out with that extra $120 a month, but I get the feeling from my family a lot that they just don't see how I possibly NEED to see a therapist 3 times a week (or even twice or once). They just don't understand that stability doesn't necessarily mean everything is fixed now. Obviously I don't plan on being in therapy forever and certainly not at this frequency. Sigh. It just puts a lot of pressure on. And I guess that was why I was reluctant to accept the money in the first place. To allow somebody else to have a stake in it, and feel as though they have a right to an opinion on frequency or effectivenss. She is going to put in money for another month. But I think if after that I still need it, I am just going to have to find the money myself.

Anyway. Therapy tomorrow. And this week I have a meeting with PsychDoc, one with Case Manager, one with Neurologist, one for an ultrasound and of course my other two therapy sessions....so chock-block appointments. Blah!

Peace and Love
xOphelia

What to do?

2010-07-03T23:01:00.000+10:00

I'm in an interesting space at the moment, and I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. Things have really calmed down over the last few weeks, and I have found myself with a new sense of control and peace with the outside world and myself. Good news of course. But disconcerting, in that it is so different from my regular level of functioning, that I am a little lost. My life is not a very exciting one from the outside. I go to my appointments, clean the house, visit occasionally with friends. And of course, I was studying. But the majority of my time and energy was occupied with just trying to hold myself together. And now, at a time when the "holding together' is coming quite easily, and with no study to do, I have all this time and energy on my hands.... and well, I'm bored to tears! Don't get me wrong.... far better to be bored than to endure the onslaught of the gremlins. It hasn't been so much of an issue until this weekend. At first I was quite enjoying the 'down time' and then of course, this week has been pretty full with work, appointments and volunteering. This weekend however... not so much to do. The house is tidy-ish, but without the driving anxiety necessitating major distraction activity, I'm not quite so OCD about it. Clean and tidy is good enough. No volunteer shifts this weekend. My two close friends in the area are busy. B is working and S has gone up to Thursday Island to visit with her bf's family. My depression has really isolated me, and I have drifted away from alot of the other acquaintences that I had... and its hard to now, 18 months later, just ring up and re-insert myself in their life.

So obviously I need an action plan. Looking for part-time work is part of that, but it may take a while to find the right position. But I'm thinking I need to develop a new hobby, hopefully one that puts me in contact with some people my age. I even am considering going to the Mental Health Club House that Case Manager (M) took me to visit last year....something that I had flat out ruled out previously. I just really don't know what hobby I want to take up. It has to be something inexpensive, something social rather than individual. I also (and I think this is realistic and pragmatic rather than just pessemistic) am thinking that I want it to be something that doesn't involve a weekly comittment (as in a team sport) as although I would go regularly now that I am feeling well, I might not during rough patches and I'd like it to be something I could just pick up and drop as needs be.

What to do, what to dooooooooooooooo? Suggestions welcome.

Tomorrow I need a plan for though. I think another day of sitting in front of the telly, eating wagon wheels, while relaxing, may begin to give my brain too much time to go where it needn't go. So, I'll commit it to writing here, so I have motivation to do it!

I will wake up and go for a walk mid morning (hopefully after a good sleep in!), maybe stop by the local shopping centre to find some new walking shoes. Grab a few books from the library, and maybe stop at one of the coffee shops for a drink and a read. Back home, I'll give my gorgeous cat a bath (long overdue). Work on craft for a little while. Get lil sis to help me put a rinse through my hair (regrowth is starting to get quite unsightly) So that should save me from a day of unstimulating crappy cable TV.

I've just got to get used to filling my time for pleasure again, rather than being driven towards meaningless activities to satisfy unbridled agitation and anxiety.

I really hate that my life has become so intricately wrapped around my mentalism, that when it ebbs I'm left directionless. But the solution to this is just to do something about it, huh?

Peace and love
xOphelia

Where is the sun?

2010-07-02T18:30:00.000+10:00

I live in a state referred to (mostly by the tourism industry) as the 'Sunshine State'. So why is it so freaking cold? Now I know, that you my friends in the Northern Hemisphere have to deal with much colder weather than I can dream of. I read your blogs about the snowstorms at the beginning of the year with much pity (and a little jealousy, as despite the fact I hate the cold, I've never seen snow, and I think it would be cool....to see, not to live in) But I live in Australia, Goddammit! The Sunburnt Country! So why have you forsaken me, oh glorious sun? I sit here dressed in my fleecy tracksuit and bed socks, covered with a blanket and my feet practically resting on the heater. And still.... I am shaking pathetically, my fingers icy and blue from the cold. Ugh! All the more annoying, due to the fact my range of appropriate winter clothes is somewhat limited, as I am two dress sizes bigger than last winter (thanks anti-psychotics) and can't afford a new wardrobe. I've picked up a few pieces to get me by this week. This tracksuit for at home, some new jeans, a fleecy vest, leggings etc and of course now that I am the same size as little sis, we have a bit of a communal wardrobe going on so I am stealing all her warm stuff. But, I wake up and think, darn it, I've got nothing warm enough and nice enough to wear out, I might just stay home, or if I do go out, I'm not feeling very comfortable with what I am wearing. It's disrupting my happy mojo!! I finally have the motivation and the right mood to leave the house and it is too bloody cold! The good news is I have cut down my nicotine intake. I don't smoke in the house and its too cold to be arsed going outside. My doona is more addictive than the cigarettes!

So tonight, I am going to snuggle under my blankie and watch TV.
Happy Weekend Blogosphere!
Peace and Love
Ophelia

Taking my wookie to therapy

2010-07-01T21:26:00.000+10:00

First of all, I have a question for you, blog-o-sphere. I am a die-hard bargain hunter. The worth of a purchase to me, quite often has less to do with the item purchased and more to do with the percieved level of bargain that I got. Thus, the only 'designer' items in my wardrobe are those that are markedly reduced, and in fact I pay so little attention to labels, I am often caught off guard when people ask "Oh is that Ed Hardy?...etc" The most expensive thing in my closet is a pair of colorado shoes, which set me back an ungodly $140, but........I have worn them for over 5 years now, and they are still kicking. Today, while I was at the chemist picking up my meds, the lady in line behind me commented on the winter coat I was wearing (it is a fabulous coat, very warm and a rich red, which is a nice splash of colour for winter). I smiled and said thanks and confided that I had picked it up from Target on sale for $30. The look in her eyes made it evident to me that I had committed a faux pas, in her view anyway. Yes, it's a great jacket, tailored and stylish, and probably looks like it's from a much more pricey and fashionable establishment than Target, but isn't that something to celebrate? Looks great and it was cheap and affordable! So my question is.... when you buy something for a bargain price, to you advertise it or keep stum? Just wondering.....

Anyhow. Therapy. Hmmm. Not too bad I guess. A little intense. We examined one of my nightmares in uncomfortable detail. We also spoke about my college years a little (where this dream was set). I had a pretty wild and unhealthy couple of years when I first started college. Way too much drinking, promiscuous and risk taking behaviours....basically the acting out I never really did as a teenager. It's a time I am not proud of and I certainly have a lot of regrets, but I also recognise that it was a period that I had to go through, to get it out of my system, and it was certainly a reaction to the mess my mind was in at the time. We also spoke about some of the friends that I had at that time, who drifted away post suicide attempt. The fact of the matter is, some friends are forever friends and some friends are in the moment friends. And really, although it was hurtful, I knew where I stood with them, and I really can't blame them. It was an intense and difficult time for people who chose to stick by me, and not everyone is equipped to deal with that. (D) felt that she was picking up some residual anger in my voice while I spoke about it, but if it is there, its not conciouslly accessible. So, how about you guys? Have you had close friends drift away because of your mentalism? What was your reaction? For me, it kind of makes me really appreciate those who stuck around.

In more *ahem* embarrassing therapy news. (D) made a suggestion a while back, that I could bring a blanket in to keep in the room, for the sessions where I feel overwhelmed and need some physical containment. I was mortified at the time, and she was happy to drop it. The thought of it made me feel incredibly vulnerable, infantalised and well...erky! But the more I thought about it recently, knowing that we are going to be delving into difficult areas, and wanting to buffer myself as much as possible, so that I can make the most of these difficult sessions, the more I realised it was *gulp* a good idea. But still... the embarrassment factor, especially as I so firmly shut her down when she first brought it up. Anyhow. I swallowed my pride. I went and purchased a lovely fleecy throw blanket, its cream coloured with dove grey and orange circles on it, nice and soft and cosy. I couldn't bear the idea of bringing in one from home. Home and (D)'s office, never the twain shall meet. Once I brought it, I had to figure a way to bring it into the therapy room, with the least amount of embarrassment. In the end I was very mature. I waited until therapy was over, and basically dropped it in her lap and ran. Yeah. There's gonna be a conversation about that, I guarantee ya. Sigh. But you know, anything I can do, to maintain this even keel, whilst still doing the hard work to get to the bottom of my issues.

I love you, oh anonymous blog-o-sphere. There are only two people who know about my therapy blankie...and now of course, ya'all. But somehow I feel I can share these details with all of you, that I would die before sharing with my "real life" friends. Is real life an insulting term? Of course, I don't think of any of you as not real... I'm just not quite sure what else to call it. Hmmm.

Anyways. That's all my therapising until Monday. I am babysitting tomorrow and then relaxing for the weekend. I think I'm gonna give this sleeping in thing a try... I also have agreed to help my sister finish off her Tafe work... and of course, as always, the house needs attention. But mostly, sleep....sweet blissful sleep.

Peace and Love
Ophelia

A phonecall with my gran

2010-06-30T21:56:00.000+10:00

I think I have written recently about my decision to discontinue my uni studies. Basically, although I managed to finish my prac and get pretty good evaluations, the toll on my body and mental health was pretty immense. I realised that realistically, I am not going to be able to work full time as a teacher any time soon. Which leaves me with the options of trying to find a part-time position when I graduate (near on impossible as a new graduate in this field) or work as a substitute teacher which is a) not what I want to do, it's not the same as being a 'real' teacher and b) would be logistically difficult as I am unable to drive and you can be called on any given moment to work at any given place in the city. I love teaching, and I love working with kids, but the workload of a teacher (inspite of what people think about the "extra holidays" and shorter hours, is quite big. A significant amount of time spent outside of working hours doing prep, marking, planning, extra curricular supervision and professional development. It just doesn't fit in with the sort of lifestyle I need to maintain in order to best protect my health.

This was a hard decision to come to. It's been a dream for so long, and I have invested so much time and energy into it. And, in part, it was me holding on to the person 'I used to be' rather than accepting my current limitations and need to look after myself. I can't do the 9-5 thing like an average person, but I'm coming to realise, that doesn't shut down all opportunities or make me any less of a productive member of society unless I allow myself to think like that.

Even though the most improtant step was for me to get to a place where I wasn't judging myself for these percieved shortcomings, another factor that came into play was worrying about what other people would think, especially my family.

I felt a lot of pressure from my family as the family academic to do well, go to uni and get a good job. When I was diagnosed with the epilepsy, and when my mental health started to become a problem, I felt as though I was letting them down. I was trying desperately to live up to the story that had been created for my life. When I made the decision to drop my studies I felt like they would think I was being lazy and not living up to my potential. In the last few weeks I have had some heart to hearts with my mum, and tonight, my gran about this issue. They both claim that they just waant me to be happy and healthy and they don't care what I'm doing, as long as this is the outcome. I don't think they are being completely honest with themselves. I think on a certain level they are disappointed. But maybe its more a case of being disappointed for me rather than in me. And, through these conversations and others with my various mental health professionals, I am beginning to realise that a lot of the pressure and expectation I am feeling I have been placing on myself. Ultimately in the end, if I can continue to show them the sense of relief I have felt because of this decision and the positive effect it is having on my well being, and if I can go and get part-time work that is more conducive to the lifestyle I need and want to live, then they will truly realise I have made the right choice.

I feel such a great sense of light heartedness and relief having put this on the table to them, and such a feeling of support from them... it's wonderful.

As for myself... I have to keep reminding myself.
-I am an intelligent, hardworking person with one uni degree to name already
-I have a lot to contribute to the world
-I don't have to contribute this in the 'traditional'' 9-5 manner
-Living a good, healthy, balanced life is more important than the popular view of career success
-The right job is out there for me, I just need to stay true to what I need from a job, and when I find that position they will be lucky to have me, because I am loyal to the end and I work my ass off.

And...... I am so lucky to live in a country where, I can work part-time and the Government will subsidise the rest of my income, because it is evident that I am doing the best I can, rather than sitting on my laurels (and there may be times when my best is just keeping my head above water and not working at all...and that's okay too).

So, peeps... I am on a new path.... I don't expect to find this job straight away, and I am prepared for knockbacks while I try and find this perfect-fit position. But I have options and the growing support of most my family and friends.... life is starting to look up. I'm opening myself up to achievable goals rather than setting myself up for failure and then beating myself up when it inevitabley happens.

Peace and love
xOphelia
p.s. I am 9 visits away from reaching 5000 views on this blog. Small fries compared to some of the fab other blogs out there... but for this little blog of my ramblings, that I never really expected anyone to find, let alone read loyally.... wow... tickles me a little. I'm pretty pleased to meet this milestone, just short of my first blog-iversary. Thanks for all your great comments and support and sticking with me, even when I have disappeared for weeks at a time. You guys rock!

Over share....sorry!

2010-06-29T17:14:00.000+10:00

Starting with the nice stuff first... I slept right up to the alarm this morning and even hit the snooze button! Loving this sleep stuff!! Off to therapy and a GP appointment, and then shopping! And I didn't even freak out in the crazy school holidays crowd. I bought some warm, casual clothes...(as I am too fat to fit in last winter's clothes) including a cute shirt with two penguins on it that says "Melt hearts not ice caps". Very sacchrine, but I will ony be wearing it as a bed shirt, so won't be too embarrassing...and I just couldn't resist it. Also got an awesome pair of black knee high boots. I have been looking for boots for well over a year now, but current fashion trends seem to lean towards tall stiletto ones, which I cannot wear due to my vestibular system, so when I found these, on sale even, I was stoked.

Tracking back.....therapy. It wasn't horrendous, but wasn't exactly a laugh either. We started off talking about self protection. (D) knew that I had a late shift last night and that I planned to catch the bus home. Because the Busway is behind a shopping centre and the shops are obviously closed at that time, you have to walk right around the poorly lit perimeter, before you get to the better lit main road that I live on. (D) asked why I didn't ask lil sis to pick me up and I told her that lil sis goes to work at 5am so she is usually in bed by 9ish. (D) then contended that I felt lil sis's sleep was more important than my safety and basically insinuated that I leaned towards more risk taking behaviour than the average joe. I don't think that's a fair assessment. I very rarely am out at that time of night, I try to schedule things so I am home before dark. But once in a while a situation comes up where I can't avoid it. It's only a 5 minute walk, and I keep alert (heck, I have PTSD, I am HYPER-alert) towards my surroundings. I have taken self defense. The fact of the matter is, the epilepsy prevents me from driving, so I am reliant on Public Transport. And my independance is very important to me.

I was starting to get quite annoyed with her nagging me about, and told her as much. And then.... the conversation I had been waiting for, but surreptitiously avoiding since I got back from prac. "Our relationship'. Specifically, how I find it incredibly uncomfortable when she shows any sign of care or concern about me ( but paradoxically, feel comforted and validated....grrr) She (with her annoyingly perfect memory of everything I have EVER said in therapy) reminded me of a comment I made right back when we started, referring to peoples reactions to me. I said "Disgust is horrible, but empathy is even worse". So all in all an awkward, yucky session. BUT. I was proud of the fact that rather than shutting down the topic, I let it unfurl, to see whether anything came of it, rather than give into my panic and discomfort. Yay me! We ended with a kind of heavy feeling in the air, and (D) was worried about whether I would be ok to leave. But I thought about it and felt I would be. And in reality, I walked out the door, and was able to pretty much leave it in there, to pick up next session. Something that I have struggled to do in the past. :)

After that I had a GP appointment, and she reminded me of a test that I have needed done, and been putting off for weeks. ***************Warning: Personal Overshare of an intimate nature following, feel free to cease reading especially if you have a Y chromosome*********************************************************
Basically, I have a lot of gynaecological problems, as a result of the trauma my body has undergone.... and they are quite insistant that they want me to get this ultrasound done. Unofrtunately, this particular untrasound is nnot done externally. UGH! Aside from the fact that for anybody this is an embarrassing proposition, because of my SA history and the PTSD, I can't make it through a papsmear with my own very lovely female GP, without a buttload of aanti anxiety medication. The prospect of some ultrasound technician I don't even know, sticking something up my whoo-ha..... well to say I am freaking out, is putting it mildly. Suggestions from any of the gals out there with similar fears and how they get through it are appreciated.

So that's my day. Still all in all a pretty positive mood. I was reading Pandora's post today over at Confessions of a Serial Insomniac, and I guess she was defending (?) her particular approach to therapy and mentalism in general. And it really got me thinking. How sad it is, that with a good portion of the so-called normal population judging and misunderstanding mentalism, that we ourselves would want to attack or criticise each others approaches. Personally, I don't care if you make the journey kicking, screaming and cursing every step of the way, or frolicking along gently spouting inspirational sayings and personal affirmations. The fact that you are making your way through is what's important. And, myself, I actually like me a little sarcastic, black humoured, 'the glass isn't half empty, its smashed on the floor in a million pieces after I tried to glass the last person who told me to Let go and Let god' type approach. And I love Pandora's raw and unflinching honesty. So even though I seem to be drawing rainbows and smealling flowers at the moment, I'm still on your side, sista! I can be happy, sad, angry, downright going off my brain, but as long as I'm moving I don't care.

That's a first!

2010-06-28T22:39:00.000+10:00

I kind of feel like I should be handing out cigars! I had my first mum go in to labour while I was on shift tonight. Ever since I started volunteering at RMH I have been super worried about one of our mum's popping out bub before we could whisk her off across to the hospital. I always tell them they had better cross their legs until my shift finishes!! But when in actually came to it, it was kind of awe inspiring, a baby was on its way into the world!

Anyways, veeeeeeeeeeeeery long day. I'm off to bed.
Peace and Love
Ophelia

Back in the saddle

2010-06-27T21:25:00.000+10:00

So after a blissful week of ~~lying on the couch stuffing my face with chocolate and watching crappy daytime television~~ relaxing, today I ventured out into the world. A good chance to take this happiness for a ride and see what it can do for me. I smiled at strangers on the bus, and they smiled back. Sent a warm tingle down my spine. I kind of feel like the fog that veiled me from the rest of the world is lifting. Dramatic much?

I had my first shift back at RMH and it was great. Very easy shift with lots of time to chat with the parents and play with the littlies. I was also given a bit of a project, cleaning out the playroom cupboard and making a list of toys, books etc for the house manager to buy. And we all know I love me some organising! My OCD tendencies had a chance to shine as I not only divided the books into age appropriate groupings, but then grouped them according to genre and alphabetical genre! Lol. They have already roped me into doing an extra shift tomorrow.

I called home and found out my mum's hubby got the job he was going for, which is fantastic news, as it was beginning to look like he might have to move away to find work... not great for a newly married couple. But he got the job, so they can stay settled and living close to my grandparents. He was also really sweet about the decision I've made regarding uni, and told me that he was really glad that I was sounding so good.

On the way home I swung by Grill'd, this gourmet burger franchise that I am totally in love with! The Zen Hen burger is to die for. I ran into and old work colleague and we had a little catch up which was great. He could always make me smile.

Tomorrow I have a full day, babysitting all day, straight to therapy and then straight to RMH to work the evening shift. It will be exhausting, but all fun... well apart from therapy, but its been ok recently...guess it just depends on what direction she decides to push.

I'm listening to Jason Mraz at the moment, which is beautiful and quite upbeat too, and soon I'll head for the comfort of my doona and pillow. Sleep is still remarkably good. Yay!

Peace and love
xOphelia

Unchartered Territory

2010-06-25T19:51:00.000+10:00

I'm still....happy.... Go figure? And I am enjoying it, whether it heralds the beginning of a new frame of mind, or is merely a hiatus from my normal messed up self.

I'm enjoying relaxing without the threat of impending doom that usually follows me around like a little dark cloud. I am definately enjoying sleeping. 8 hours a night? How decadant! How luxurious a sleep life do you normal people have! It's awesome. I'm enjoying the energy and motivation I am finding I have now that it is not all directed into more nefarious activities like ruminating, worrying and plotting my untimely demise.

I'm not sure that my therapist quite knows what to do with a happy Ophelia. :)

It certainly does pose somewhat of a conundrum for us.

Why? Well, may you ask! Happy would seem to be something that she would encourage. And indeed she does. She has stated categorically that she wants to celebrate and enjoy this newly acquired harmony with me. But..........now that I am not floundering around like a fish on a deck gasping for air, it would also seem to be a good time to attack some of the harder 'therapy stuff', no? Now that I have a bit of balance and stable ground beneath me it would seem to be a good time, I can handle it better. But...... we also don't want to ruin this good place I'm in by miring me in that bog of horribleness. So its a hard line to toe.

My first reaction was one of "Lady! Why do you wanna go blow my mojo like that?". I'm feeling good. Why would you wanna mess with that. But, in all fairness, my argument before has definately been that I was in too bad a place to explore this stuff. So, I can't have it both ways, can I?

Well, we'll take it slowly and see how it all pans out I guess.

In other news, handover with Case Managers went well. (M) said she was going to keep (A) in the loop so I have back up at the clinic should she go away again, which is good. All in all, I think she was quite pleased with how I'm doing at the moment, so I'll catch up with her again in a fortnight. I also got lots of kudos for finishing my prac despite the difficulties, which of course made me squirm, as a) I don't really do well with praise and b) although I got good evaluations, I really don't feel in myself that I did that well. Ah, well, bygones!

And finally, I have a little cash in hand work coming up over the next fortnight, babysitting for a family over the school holidays. They're great kids and very easy to sit for. So far I've planned a few outings to activities the council is putting on, I have dug out a receipe for Ginger bread men, and I've grabbed a few craft things I had stored away... some jewellery making, oragami and clay. So, I think we're going to have a lot of fun! (Last holidays we made a volcano and I taught them how to make balloon animals, so some high expectations to fill! lol) And with the money I earn, I should be able to pay for the dentist to pull out the tooth that I broke....owies. So that's life at the moment. Weekend will consist of sleep, vegging out and consuming copious amounts of food that's bad for me, followed by my first shift back at RMH, which I am looking forward to!

Have a great weekend everyone!

Peace and Love
xOphelia

Things are going....actually, quite well?

2010-06-23T22:18:00.000+10:00

Well, I am nearing the end of my first week back at home and frankly, its been pure bliss the last few days. The stress of Uni has gone, family has departed back to whence they came.... even my sleep is improving somewhat! I am of course well aware that this may well be a bit of a honeymoon period, but I am going to enjoy the calm while I can.

I have of course had lots of appointments to catch up on which has kept me busy. Back to therapy three times per week, Psychiatrist on Tuesday afternoon, GP today and Case Manager tomorrow. My interim Case manager (A) and my normal Case Manager (M) are both coming, as (M) has returned from her two months leave. I have actually been suprisingly comfortable talking to (A), but I am still happy to have it handed back to (M) who I have a more established alliance with. It is good to know that there is someone else there that I have developed a rapport with, in case (M) goes on leave again.

Dr F (Psychiatrist) has not changed any medications this time around. We had previously discussed increasing the Cymbalta, but as I seem to be in a pretty good place for this moment in time, we're going to wait and see. At some point we are going to look at taking me off of the Serepax, but although I am keen to do it, she is a little more cautious... especially since I can't take valium, which they often use to offset the withdrawals, and thus reducing it may be a little rougher on me. I still live in the hopes of a day where I am not stuffing myself to the gills with medications, but I trust Dr F's judgement on this one.

(D), my therapist has really concentrated the last two sessions on examining the prac experience and pulling apart what parts I liked and what parts I struggled with. Lots of positive praising going on, which makes me super uncomfortable... but I do need to start giving myself recognition for things I achieve rather than focussing on what I fail at. She has yet to mention the dreaded attachment word, which I was sure she would harp on about after such a long break, so I am feeling like I dodged a bullet on that one!

Lil Sis, has stood up for me with Big Sis, who wanted to come and spend the weekend again! I feel like a bit of a bitch saying no (I know, even after last weekends shenannigans, my guilt complex is still alive and kicking!) but Lil Sis is away for the weekend and I am really looking forward to, and NEED the house to myself.

I start back working at Ronald McDonald House on Sunday, which I am looking forward to, but other than that, relaxation is on the menu for the next few days. With a little cleaning and washing thrown in (I still haven't unpacked my bags *shame*)

As of next week, I am going to begin looking for some part time work... just two days or so to begin with. I am going to go through the Disability Employment Services at Centrelink, and I was also told the Mental Health Service has an employment officer, so I'll look into that. My aim this time is not to make the same mistake as last time. A) i went back to full time work to quickly and it ended up a big set back and B) I was afraid to ask for the accomodations that I need. This time, with the back up of the professionals, I plan to be completely up front about what I need. I have faith that eventuallly the right position will come along.

Anyway, I'm off to bed, have been averaging 6-7 hours a night over the last few days, with only one or two wakeups during the night... which for me is fan-bloody-tastic!

Signing off from probably one of the most positive posts Ive ever written! :P
Peace and love
xOphelia

Frustration

2010-06-20T10:48:00.000+10:00

Frustration.

I had every intention of following through on my threat to older sister, that she would have to leave if she was going to create a negative atmosphere for me this weekend. First, finally being home, and in a place of relative safety, I needed the chance to decompress and not have to worry about other people, as I have has to almost continuously over the last month. Second, I have this huge assignment due on Monday. I NEED to finish it. I NEED to concentrate.

However.

Unbeknownst to me, Big sis had organised to pick up her son, so she could spend the weekend with him for his 10th birthday. And it was made emminently clear to me, that I would be incredibly selfish if I got in the way of that, whatever our issues are right now. Fast forward to last night, where I spent most of the evening wrapped in a blanket outside, (its winter here), trying to get my assignment finished. Her son, as much as I love him was being a hyperactive brat. Not his fault really. She pumps him full of sugar, and then proceeds to ignore him. She won't discipline, because she doesn't wan't to be the bad guy. And I can't discipline because she would hit the roof. So he races around the house, screaming and jumping on people.

Fast forward to this morning. Where the whole household has to tiptoe around the house, as my sister is sleeping on the pullout sofa, and more than likely won't wake until close to noon. Not that I have any desire to play music at full blast or vacuum or anything, more just the annoyance that in my own home I am limited to what I can do based on her laziness. Don't get me wrong, if it was actually a sleep issue, I would be sympathetic. But its not, its a choice. She won't go to bed at a decent time, but still ends up sleeping a full 12 hours or so, because she sleeps the day away. Its insane. And of course, her son is bored, and thus acting up.

End result, my ability to concentrate and get the work I need to get done completed is limited. To be fair, I am not sure even if I had the full weekend in relative peace, I would have been able to complete it.... the work load is huge. But at this rate, I can say with relative certainty it is near on impossible. If not completed in time, I fail. Do I keep pushing myself to do it, even though I am pushing myself to emotional meltdown point, even though there is every chance it will all be for nothing? I guess I don't have a choice... I need to do my best to get it done.

I was on the edge of this meltdown last night. I tried calling a friend but she didn't answer (turns out she was at a party and didn't hear the phone), so I went to the next step on my cruddy crisis plan and tried to contact therapist (D). She texted back to let me know that she was not in a position where she could talk, and could I try calling the friend (the one I had already called). I understood. She is not always able to be available, and she had warned me in our last session that there was a good chance she wouldn't be available this weekend. But it left me in a place where I was then wasting time trying to deal with this meltdown myself, rather than working on the assignment. Hugely frustrated with myself.

Tomorrow, I have my first face to face session with (D) in over a month. And I know it will be weird, after a month of not actually being in each other's presence, despite quite regular phone contact. And I am pretty sure a lot of the session will be meta-therapy...talking about therapy and containment etc. I am also pretty sure a good portion of the session will be devoted to exploring dependency issues and examining my feelings about being away for so long. All things that probably need to be talked about and makes sense to talk about. All things that I have absolutely no desire to talk about regardless. Like so many out there, I am aware of how closely I am attached to (D) (uggggggggggggh!) but I DON"T want to talk about it!! But it is probably best I do, I guess. We'll see how I go.

Well, life in a nutshell at the moment.

Take care out there in blogworld
Love and peace
xO

Home Sweet Home

2010-06-18T23:50:00.000+10:00

Finished up my prac yesterday, and got back to hometown a few hours ago.

First, can I say, how absolutely proud I am of myself for finishing out this prac and managing to stay somewhat 'together' for the month's duration of absence from home. Made infinitely harder by being surrounded by my family (I went back to childhood hometown for my prac) and barely having a minute of space and time to myself. Very challenging. There was a time I would have crumbled completely. Sure, I stumbled a bit... but in the end, I sucked it up and got the job done. So I feel ok about giving myself a wee pat on the back. My evaluation was quite good....they offered me a job when I graduate. A good compliment indeed, but living permanently around my family?..... Hell to the Naw! They also gave me a little morning tea send off and a box of choccies which was lovely. And my little poppets from the Special Ed unit made me feel very loved, letting me know that they would miss me. :) This was my first prac since taking up my third specialty in Special Education... but my experience has really cemented the fact that this is the area of Education where my passion lies.

Now, back on the homefront. My mum and her husband drove me back this evening (legally cannot drive anymore because of epilepsy). They are staying the weekend. As is older sis (again!) The thing is she doesn't even ask if she can stay. She just assumes its her god given right. OK. I can put up with that. Grit my teeth and deal. But after a month away, needing to come back to my own house and decompress. Especially given the fact I have a HUGE assignment due on Monday. I do NOT need to come back to her stomping around sulky and throwing narky, passive aggressive comments out. So, I did something I rarely ever do...I snapped and had a go at her. Usually I will avoid conflict by any means... it truly takes a lot to make me yell. My therapist (an many many others before her) have opined that I took on the role of mediator and sacraficial lamb in my family. I have been taught that my needs are less important than keeping the harmony, and basically it was my job to give in and not rock the boat, especially when it came to my older sister. The thing is, for so long we have let her get her way to avoid conflict, that we have created a monster. A narcassistic, drama queen, who constantly places herself in the victim role and has no trouble manipulating the truth in order to put herself there. Nothing is ever her fault, woe is me, oh how hard done by she is....blah blah blah.

Well, today, I am not playing. I have held myself together over the last month, now is the time for me to rejuvenate and have some time to just be authentic and true to my needs, rather than having to supress them for the greater goal. Which is basically what I told her (OK, yelled at her). Basically the gist was, she is full of shit, and never lets the truth get in the way of a good story, and she needs to stop playing the victim, or find somewhere else to play violin. Because I'm done. My house, my needs first. Somewhat, diluted by the fact that I then went and spent the evening in my room, because I was too uncomortable to be out in the living room. Sigh. I think its somewhat therapist (D's) fault. Yesterday, I had my phone appointment with her. My sister, was scheduled to take me over to my grandparents to take the call, but she did not end up taking me until 10 minutes before the appointment. I got there just as the phone was ringing, with a stomach full of anxiety knots about being late. (D) theorised that given Big Sis's history of being unable to handle any situation where I may deflect the attention off of her or be getting a little love and support, causing her to have to pull off some bullshit crisis, to return the attention where it 'rightfully' belongs.... that maybe she was intentionally trying to sabotage a connection to someone who would give me support and care (AKA D). I don't know really, but it was certainly a case of the whole world revolves around her, and I, and (D) should just wait and go by her schedule. Anyway, (D) did her validating thang, and spoke about how I shouldn't have to push my needs aside for Big Sis's all the time, blah blah blah....and somewhere in my head it actually stuck. Hence my attempt to stand up for myself and place boundaries. The thing is, as good as it feels....its like a night on the booze...feels good at the times, but the repercussions are going to suck in the long run.

Later in the night, I overheard Big Sis, whinging to mother about how she hadn't said anything back depsite my irrational and unfair 'attack' one her (could that be, because I called you out, and you realise you don't have a f*cking led to stand on, huh?)....wah...wah...back to trying to place herself back in victim role. A converstion she wanted me to hear, as she had it right outside my bedroom door. I went to my mum and basically gave her the heads up, that I'm not putting up with it this weekend, and Big Sis better keep her mouth shut and drop the attitude tomorrow or she can find somewhere else to go.

Sigh. I have a feeling things are going to go to hell tomorrow...you're damned if you do, damned if you don't

Leaving on a positive note......I am thrilled to be home. And will be up and bloggin more now. And I am gradually catching up on all your blogs (still about 500 posts on google reader to trawl through...lol)

Peace and love
Ophelia

Sorry for disappearing!

2010-06-13T23:49:00.000+10:00

I am still alive and ~~well.... ok...~~well, still breathing, at any rate .

I know I have been a terrible blogger of late, but the last month or so has been absolutely insane. I went directly from my two week stint in the Psych ward to a months Practicuum for my uni. Not the best timing, but if I deferred the prac, I would have had to wait a year to do it. So, a couple of weeks ago, I packed up my best 'teacher' outfits, all of my resources, my doona and a body pillow and headed to a small town in the middle of nowhere, to practice my craft on ~~a bunch of little shites~~....an interesting group of adolescents in a small country high school.

How has it been going? Well.....healthwise, it's been a complete nightmare. In the first few days I caught a stomache virus, but continued to go to school anyway, because I did not want to have to make days up and have to stay away from home any longer than necessary. Cue trying desperately not to have to rush out of the classroom to drive the porcelin bus. That was followed by a seizure a few days later, where I managed to break a tooth in half. No dentists here in the boondock, so I'm holding that off with Nurofen until I get home. That was followed by a cold, turned into a chest infection (children truly are just little petri dishes of disease waiting to infect you!), which of course was followed by, you guessed it... another seizure. Still I was trying to soldier on and not miss any days at work. The cracking point came when one of the teachers in my staffroom suggested quite kindly that I ~~take my typhoid mary ass home~~... I had to consider that by coming in unwell, I was exposing others to my germs. Quite rightly so. Unfortunately, this poor sod was unaware that I was feeling a little...erm....edgy......and I burst into tears in front of him. Humiliating. The poor guy didn't know what to say. He asked whether he could pray for me, and being in the state I was, all I could do was shrug. Kind of surreal, sitting in a staffroom with my mascara running and some guy I barely know praying to a god I don't believe in. But the thought was nice. By that point my mentor teacher had arrived, and asked me what was wrong. She sat with me, as I cried (that horrible, ugly cry... made worse by the fact I was totally choked up with the cold...not pretty, no siree!) and rambled on incoherently about feeling like shite, thinking I was doing a shite job, feeling like I was never going to be able to handle the workload of being a real teacher, if in the space of just two weeks of doing it I already had had two seizures...and a whole lot of other nonsense I can't remember. She was quite lovely. She took the lessons I had planned for the day and taught them for me. She assured me that everyone, even teachers who had been at it forever got overwhelmed and had meltdowns, and that prac was one of the hardest experiences you had to go through as a teacher, and she assured me that even if I couldn't see it I was doing a great job. But that I needed to give myself a break and a chance to rest and recover. And when, by mid afternoon, she came in during my spare and found me passed out asleep at my desk, she insisted I went home and take the next few days off. So, despite my determination not to have to have any days off, I submitted to the inevitable and took the next two days off to recover. Sigh....

As far as the Prac itself goes. Well, it has been bloody hard work. Lots of out of work preparation. And my confidence is not what it used to be. But my weekly evaluations have been really good, so I guess I just have to trust in what they are saying, and not my own self doubt. I also had the delightful experience of a teenage girl telling me that I was, quote "A bitch that nobody liked". At first I was quite affronted, because kids normally love me. But then I realised, she is a snotty little 16 year old, trying to be the Alpha female, and really... I could care less what she thought, as long as she did the damned work! And as my mentor teacher said "Embrace the Bitch". Not all of the kids are going to like me, all of the time. I gave her a detention with an essay to write on how to communicate effectively and respectfully, and would have been happy to leave it at that. However, when I told my mentor about the encounter, she told me policy was that the girl had to be written up for it. Yikes! I spoke to her year coordintor the next day, and at one point he was saying it was suspendable behaviour, but thankfully, we settled for her being placed on a behaviour monitering sheet. (She has to get the teacher to sign off each period on how her behaviour has been, and be consistnetly well behaved to get off the sheet... while on the sheet they are excluded from participating in things like excursions). She was being a little brat, but still I wouldn't have liked to have seen her suspended! Despite some of the stresses, there have been a lot of things I have enjoyed. Teaching the kids about things I am passionate about. I have also spent a lot of time working with the kids in the special education unit, which has been throughly enjoyable, and really cemented the fact that this is an area I would really like to work in. I'm still not sure how exactly its going to work... teaching, when my body begins failing me after just a few weeks, but, for now, am just focussing on getting through the prac, and leaving big decisions like that till afterwards.

Now you may well think that being three hours away from home, I may well have gotten a bit of a hiatus from therapy. No such luck! D insisted that we continue twice weekly sessions by phone. If you think its bad sitting in silence for 50 minutes in front of someone, try sitting in silence for 50 minutes over the phone. Awkward! But the reasoning is, the sessions are not to do any heavy duty therapy.... more just as a form of holding and containment while I am away. And I guess she is probably right that that is important.

So, that's where I've been my internet friends. I did not mean to disappear, but I've found it hard to find time to sit down and breathe for 5 minutes, let alone blog. I just under a week to go and then I will be done. I cannot wait to gethome to my little nest, and my cat, I can tell you!

I have been staying with my aunt and her two little ones, which has been nice-ish...but no time or space to myself. Luckily, she and the kids have gone away for the long weekend, so I've had the house tomyself for a few days. Unfortunately, she doesn't want me lighting the fire (she's afraid i'll have a seizure and burn the house down....lol) and it is below zero here at night.........so I am currently freezing my behind off. I can have peace and quiet or feeling in my extremities....not both...lol. But I am happy to endure a little frostbite for the quiet!

I will try to update during the week, if not, I will definately be back online by next week. Sorry, if I have caused any worry. I hope you are all well

Peace and love
Ophelia

One little bite

2010-05-16T19:16:00.000+10:00

Well, I've manage to take one little bite at the work I need to get done if I am to be able to do my practicuum next week. One assignment pretty much done. One more to do. And a whole pile of other things on the to do list not even touched. I just wish I could freeze time for a while. I just need some time to lie here, with no demands on me. It all feels like to much and I am being pulled under. I am dreading this week.

Cos ya gotta have friends...

2010-05-16T03:19:00.000+10:00

Bad weekend.

Since my discharge from hospital, I have found it incredibly difficult to motivate myself to do anything on my HUGE to do list. A much larger list, since I took a two week siesta from the real world, made painfully overwhelming and paralysing by the fact it all needs to be done ASAP if I am to do my prac placement in a week and a halfs time. My whole semester depends on me getting through this list. But I couldn't seem to motivate myself to even do the dishes.

I sat around thinking about it today, with this paralysing anxiety pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. I can't do it all. I'll never get it done. I'm a giant failure..blah blah blah. Much more constructive than actually just getting on and doing it, no?

Sleep is still shite. Self harm ideation high. Temptation strong, as opportunity is available. Lis Sis out of town for the weekend. In the end, (I suprised myself) I reached out. I wasn't safe. So I called a friend (S) who popped straight over in her pajamas. She has just left now, at 3am in the morning. We didn't talk much about the SI stuff.... I don't really like to lay that burden on friends. I felt terrible just for calling her. But she did help me get started on my list. Bless her cotton socks, she even helped me clean the house, so I have a clear free environment to finish my assessment pieces tomorrow. And then we just chatted for a few hours. The distraction was enough to get me to a point where I know I can make it through the night safely. She's going to check in on me tomorrow arvo, and then Lis Sis will be home. How blessed am I to have such a wonderful friend?

Here is a shout out to all the good friends out there. The ones who show up when the chips are down and the gremlins are biting, and pass it off as if it is nothing. Those hours they spend with us, distracting us or cheering us on, pushing us when needed. People with mental health issues certainly can be a scary thing to deal with, we can be draining at times and our actions incomprehensible. But you love us and accept us anyway. You always see the 'real' person still there underneath. And you do it with grace.

Anybody left?

2010-05-13T23:28:00.000+10:00

I guess I somewhat abandoned this blog, and by virtue of that any loyal readers for a while, huh? I am taking a peek out of the cave I have hermited myself away in for the past few weeks to offer an explanation.

My evil arch enemy, sleep, has returned to do battle again. It got to the point where I was sleeping no mored then 90 minutes a night, and that was broken and filled with horrible nightmares. Fun fact. Apparently when you are incredibly sleep deprived, your body goes into REM (dream) cycle really quickly, which for me, in turn means I wake up in a cold sweat when my head has barely hit the pillow, only to stare into the dark for a few hours calming myself enough to sleep again. I went through all the normal sleep deprived stages- sluggish and cranky, manic, anxious and jittery and finally totally apathetic and depressed. Finally we decided on a short hospitalisation. For some reason, hospital seems to historically be a place I sleep better. I had also found a stash of old medication, even though I am currently restricted to 7 days supply at a time, and decided the grown up thing to do would be to hand it over to be disposed of, rather than risk doing something impulsive while sleep deprived. This is a big step for me, usually I would of kept it as my just in case security blanket. I would have owned up if someone asked me directly if I had a stash, but kept stum if they didn't. And they had no reason to believe I did, they thought it had all been previously confiscated.

Anyway, it was supposed to be a short stay, four days over the long weekend. I didn't want my family to know I had once again epically failed and ended up in the nut bin, so I implied I was going way for the weekend. Implied, who am I kidding? I lied. And I hated doing it. But this was my third stint this year. I was ashamed. But then the unthinkable happened. Hospital did nothing really to change my sleep. They plied me with PRN's. The stay was extended a few more days. I had to come clean to my sister. Then a few more days, over Mother's Day, I had to come clean to the rest of the family. An old duck of a night nurse would walk in at 3 in the morning to see me still lying there in bed with my eyes wide open, and cluck exasperatingly "Why aren't you asleep?!". I wish I knew. After 13 days, it became apparent the hospital intervention was an out and out fail, and I was dicharged. Tired. But still alive. So I guess that's one benefit.... That was yesterday.

I'm trying to get through all your blogs, but my google reader is chockas....luckily, I have plenty hours of reading time at night while you other fools are sleeping!

Still here

2010-04-29T22:56:00.000+10:00

I hope to start blogging again soon. I just have so much going on in my head, it's hard to commit anything into words...

I'm going into hospital for a 'respite' stay this long weekend, hopefully to get my sleep back under control. I should be out on Tuesday.

Thanks for all the kind words and support.

Interrupted

2010-04-24T18:17:00.000+10:00

I'm sorry.

I know I've disappeared off the radar for while now.

Life is just getting a bit too much for me to concentrate even long enough for a post.

I will try to get back to blogging soon.

For now, I just need to stick my head under the duvet cover, and disappear.

Hope all of you guys are doing ok

Love and Peace. Ophelia

Ch..ch..ch.. changes!

2010-04-13T21:14:00.000+10:00

Well, I'm not in the trees anymore. Feet are planted firmly on the ground and the gremlins firmly back in my head. Today's and yesterday's session with therapist (D) have been horrible. I spent most of today's session in silence, unable to speak. Most of yesterdays as well. I was angry and anxious and scared all rolled up into a silent seething ball, with voices inside my head screaming, and (D)'s voice quietly across the room trying to break through it all. I'm not sure what exactly is going on. The topic of intimacy and trust came up yesterday, which was certainly a trigger. And there is a lot of changes going on at the moment (well, a lot for someone like me who hanles change pretty damn poorly) (D) is moving her offices to a different suburb next week (hence her week off) Today I said goodbye to Case Manager (M) who is on leave for two months (which was a lot harder than I thought it would be) New Temporary Case Manager (A) will drop by for our first meeting alone on Thursday morning. I have to find a school to do my uni prac requirement next month in, which requires a lot of cold calling and talking to strangers. I'm just feeling a little overwhelmed. Sleep is shite. House looks like a bomb hit it after the visitors on the weekend, and I haven't the energy to do anything about it yet. Money has me grinding my teeth is fear and frustration as I try to figure out how I'm going to pay all this months bills, and beat myself over the head for not being able to go and work a full time job like a normal person. Feeling useless and helpless and pathetic. Things just feel a bit out of control at the moment. And of course, feeling out of control for me, starts pushing the self harm and suicidal ideation buttons. I haven't acted on them, have been utilising my WRAP plan, (besides I am still on weekly only dispensation of medications because I obviously can't be trusted. No sarcasms there... I can't.) As the kids book says "I can't go under it, can't go over it...I'll have to go through it!"

Monkey Me

2010-04-11T22:57:00.000+10:00

Very glad I was not suffering from the drug induced vertigo I had last weekend, today. For lots of reasons, but primarily, because I spent 3 hours, about 20 ft in the air attached to various wire aparatus with some rope and a harness! And my body is KILLING me now! But it was a lot of fun, and really a great way to rid the mind of gremlins temporarily. You have to be so mindful of safety (hook on, hook off etc), and determined and logical in figuring out the ways to make your way across obstacles of increasing difficulty. I had that whole "Mission Impossible" feel as I made my way backwards, and upside down across wires, jumped across ever increasing gaps from pole to pole (about 10cm in diameter!!) climbed up rock walls and cargo nets, through backwards through barrels suspended 20ft, across about four different flying foxes of various lengths and inlcines. My feet didn't touch the earth for three hours. I had a few moments of "I can't do this, its too scary" type panic. But mostly, it was "I can't do this, I've slacked off on the gym and now my upper body strength is somewhat pathetic" type panic. But I was determined to finish the course. And I did. Did I look ridiculous in my parachute jumpsuit and harness get up? Yes! Am I going to regret it with every muscle and fibre of my being when I wake up tomorrow? Likely! But, I went, I climbed, I conquered, and for three hours in the tree tops, I was at peace

Bleurghy has mostly gone

2010-04-07T19:35:00.001+10:00

Appointment with BabyPsychDoc went as I had hoped yesterday. They have taken me off Effexor and put me on to Celexa. Still a wee bit nauseaus and dizzy, but nowhere near the horrible vertigo I have experienced for the previous week. I'm to call her tomorrow to let her know how the Cymbalta is going as it is an SNRI (?) too. Missed therapy yesterday morning as I just would not have been able to navigate my way across town. Was going to take bus to Mental Health Clinic in the afternoon (literally like 500m from my house, but up a big hill, and the bus stops right outside my door and practically outside their's.) but Case Manager (M) called me, and when she heard how I was doing offered to come and pick me up for the appointment, which was great. The reason for her call, not so great. I have known for a fortnight now, that she is going on two month's leave, and she rang to arrange a time at my house tomorrow so I can meet her replacement (A). I am assured by everyone that (A) is lovely. She is an OT not a psychologist, but I am not sure how much difference that makes from a case management point of view. But I am often not good at opening up with new people, and trust is a huge issue for me, so the change will be....somewhat unsettling. Added to this my therapist (D) is away next week too, and BabyPsychDoc (Dr F) is on nights, I am left feeling somewhat bereft of my normal supports for those little crisis moments. But chin up, (K) is still around, and (D) will be contactable by phone.....and (A) well, I'll withhold judgement till I meet her. In other good news, my Group sessions on Wednesday's is going really well, and I am starting to feel a real cohesiveness with the group. Me, catergorically, not being a "Group" person. But there is a real sense of acceptance for who you are, and whatever state you may be in at that time. It is a shame it is so short in duration really.

Bleurghy...but Happy Easter

2010-04-04T21:05:00.000+10:00

Happy Easter, everyone!

Have been home with the family but feeling quite bleurghy from the the Effexor. Has kind of ruined the weekend somewhat. No races for me, was too unsteady, so I just hung out with my grandparents instead. We went out to a dam about half and hour out of town, for a picnic and to book our Christmas camp sites, which was lovely. But the car ride made me quite nauseus which is unusual for me. Tomorrow am heading back home to see if my jitty still loves me after being abandonded for two days. Lol. And after that, looking forward to seeing BabyPsychDoc and hopefully getting off this horrible horrible drug!

Peace and Love

Day Two on Effexor

2010-04-02T20:49:00.000+10:00

Day two of my second attempt at Effexor. Still getting pretty bad vertigo, mild nausea. But will just follow BabyPsychDoc's advice and push through until our appointment on Tuesday, to see whether it abates. Sometimes drugs just have some yucky side effects while your body adjusts, I guess. Unfortunately, vertigo is competing with my still slightly manic-y mood, and with dental pain mostly abated, I set about cleaning the house, if somewhat staggeredly (yup, I making up words, just like Shakespeare). So the house is in perfect order, which is always nice to come back to after you go away for a few days. I also cleaned lil sis's room, just tidied stuff away, vacuumed, made her bed and did her laundry. Obviously, I stayed out of her drawers etc because I wouldn't like someone invading my space like that... I hope she doesn't mind, and is just happy to have a tidy room to come home to too. I just can't help myself at the moment. Everything has to be done. And it has to be done NOW,

Anyways, leaving early in the morning for hometown, not sure how much internet access I will have over the next few days. Mum (who is a registered nurse) wants to take me up to the hospital she works at to get my blood pressure checked. Just to see if that is what really is causing the vertigo...you know mums! But should be able to get in and out pretty quick, small country hospital, very slow and of course a dash of nepotism chucked in. Not sure I'll be up to the races though. Probably just spend a bit of time hanging with my gran, she has been pretty down lately. Am also excited to be able to grab some cuttings for my newly established gardens.

As for all the stuff from yesterdays blog, well, have decided to just let it go, and worry about it only if it becomes a more frequent occurance. Am looking forward to a break away, and have enjoyed the min break from therapy thus far....but also feels quite odd...like I am in therapy withdrawal or something!

Happy Easter to All

Just plain scary

2010-04-01T22:59:00.000+10:00

I guess "normal" is a subjective thing in any context, but probably especially to mental health professionals. In the last few months I have definately had some experiences that fall outside the realm of normal for me. Things that make me feel like I may actually be losing my mind. In particular, hallucinations (though these do seem to be linked to periods of extreme deprivation and seem quite benign when one considers what a hallucination could be.... its more shadows in my peripheral visions, strange patterns dancing off the wall and carpets ect) and dissociative states. Up until today, I would have said that I have experienced dissociative states beyond that which an average person would...we all do it, some of us just do it better than others I guess. Particulalrly in periods of real stress, ie after a horrible session, i would have no real memory of how I got home or what I'd been doing...it was like a mist I would slowly emerge from. But if I thought really hard, i could pinpoint the pertinenet details. Maybe not conversations, but yes, I saw that person. Maybe not how long, but I was in the Park for a while stuff like that. Until today. Today I blacked out an entire hour and a half, and I honestly have no recollection of what went on. I have evidence. (A new tooth in my mouth and an appointment for next month) but I went from lying in the dentist chair, beginning to panic, to being at home sitting on my bed, with an aching jaw and no idea how I got there. Just Blank. I even checked my medication to check i hadn't taken something. And frankly it scared the living shite out of me. Because I must have appeared normal-ish to the dentist or they would have kept me there. Or called someone. So "me" can leave my mind for an hour and a half and have some other seperate part of me take over, and no one notices?

I spoke to (K) and finally to (D) and (D) reassured me that everyone dissociates and whilst this was an extreme example it didn't mean I was going nuts. In fact given my fear of dentisits (not the pain, just feeling trapped and having things shoved in my mouth....flashbacks...enough said), given that I was alreasy under a wee bit of stress because the new attempt with efexor was not going to plan (same reaction, vertigo, but we're going to push on and see if it abates) and given that in general it has been a stressful few weeks, and there are a lot of changes coming up... it is quite understandable that it would happen. Rationally, I see her point, just as I did about the hallucinations, just as I do about the 'voices'.

But there is another part of me that thinks voices+hallucinations+losing periods of time is pretty much just leading me toward a nice cosy padded cell. It may be normal, expected or understandable to them, but to me it is just plain scary

Frocks and Fascinators

2010-03-31T20:01:00.000+10:00

Therapy on Tuesday continued much in the same vein as Monday. The anger, the rage. We went back and tried to pinpoint exactly when the feeling started to overwhelm me, and concluded that in some ways it did come down to me feeling judged, and inadequate. But also, because I know inherently, it is not D's natural inclination to judge, the fear that arises from the vunerability and exposure of being with somebody who will regard me with unconditional positivity makes the "voice" very angry. D asked whether she could be privy to the conversation going on in my head between the "voice" and I, and I replied no. No from the voice, and no from me. She asked if I was trying to protect her or me? Both really. The "Voice" is a manifestation of a part of me I'm not too proud of, and it thinks some very nasty things about her (from my perspective). And the "Voice's" job is to keep my guard up and protect me from anyone who might hurt me, so he doesn't want her to be privvy to ANY information (from his perspective). It creates quite a quandry. She said quite firmly that if she could not be privvy to the conversation, then the "Voice" was going to have to quieten down so she and I could have one. (Is very strange to have somebody else see the "Voice" the same way as I do... intrinsically a part of me, yet distinctally individual of me) Well, of course that got the "Voice" quite het up... and sent me into a bit of a dissociative state, or at least deeply internalised and unable to deal with outside factors ie her. I actually don't really remember getting home.... about 4 hours I can't really account for which is incredibly scary, but has happened before, in extreme stressed out states. Unfortunately due to Easter Long weekend, and a missed session tomorrow (only time I could get into Dentisit) I won't be seeing her for a week, which is the longest in between session break we have had, outside of time spent in hospital. She will be phone contactable and encouraged me to ring, but I am heading back to small rural town to spend time with family for the long weekend and phone reception is quite dodgy.

Had group this morning, which is going pretty well. Haven't said much about it on this blog because really, it is a collective experience and thus confidentiality does come into it, but aside from the first session (when I was quite mentally unwell to begin with) I have actually quite enjoyed it and gotten some positive effects out of it. Even if it is just a collection of "Ah, I thought it was just me that.....etc etc". And just the effect of having to get out of the house one more day per week has been positive. Will be quite sad when it is over to be honest.

As I said, Home for the long weekend. Off to the country races, so I found a fascinator to go with my frock today, now I just have to find shoes... I really hate high heels, but its a frock so....hmmmm

Down to the lowest dose of Avanza now, change to effexor tomorrow. Haven't noticed it soo much with the mood, but physically, have a pretty bad case of the shakes etc. Hope this attempt turns out better than the last try

Looking forward to Sunday, when all the chocolate comes!

Raging

2010-03-29T20:58:00.000+10:00

I guess something must be working in therapy because today's session was just plain whack! (D) and I somehow got onto the topic of my grandparents and their high expectations of me. She said that their expectations were theirs to carry not mine, and I replied that in fact, the reason it hurt so much was because they were MY expectations too. I should have finished uni by now, I should have been working steadily for a few years, maybe met someone, started thinking about a family...time feels like it is running out, and none of those things seem even remotely possible on the near horizon. She started asking about my goals and expectations of myself, and I was just overcome with this all encompassing anger towards her. i shut down and it was all I could do to get through the next 20 minutes without throwing something at her or kicking her. I walked out of the session theinking WTF was that?

Thinking on it, I think we have a classic case of Transference going on here. When she asked about my goals, I felt like it was accusatory (even though there was nothing in her demeanour to make it even remotely seem so). What do you want to do? Becuase at the moment you are just buggarising around, wasteing everyones time and the taxpayers dollars. I have felt that sentiment (true or untrue) from many people in my life including myself.... and in that innocent question I transferred all that rage on to her. Because this is NOT what I want from my life. I don't want to be dependent on benefits. I want to be a useful, contributing member of society. And the curveballs that keep getting thrown my way just get me so dmaned angry.

Angry isn't something I'm used to, or particularly good at. So even though it was kind of a shitty session...I guess we are making progress, no?

Weird or what?

2010-03-27T21:44:00.000+10:00

Health related, not mental health related. So, living in Australia, land of skin cancer, and being a fair-skinned red head (at least I think that's my hair colour, I have been dyeing it since I was 14, so am a little unsure as to what the natural colour really is now....) I have to keep an eye on moles etc. My Aunt had a very nasty melanoma cut out years ago, so we have had the whole sun safety thing drilled into us. I get them checked once in a while by my GP. However, I noticed about a week or so ago, my body seems to have "eaten" a mole. That is...there was a mole on my chest, and now there is just a white circle where the mole used to reside....Hmmm... does this constitute a change requiring a checkup? They say if they change shape or colour...they don't say anything about if they just fecking dissappear on you! Maybe I should make appointment with GP just in case.

Mental Health related. Well, kinda shite. Lil sis, off to the coast for the weekend. Me, alone in the house with cats and thought gremlins....and liquor. Got a little drunk last night, just to mute the voices in my head a little. Wee bit of self harm... Not good. Up today. Did housework, gardening, headed off to BBQ. Spoke with (D) Worried about being home alone again tonight. Spoke through my options and decided to give it a try, with some caveats. No drinking. Check in via phone with a friend later tonight. Brunch still on for tomorrow. Am being well behaved. And the thought gremlins are kicking my arse for it!

Am off to read some blogs, drink my milo and cuddle my cat

Big Girls Don't Cry

2010-03-25T22:24:00.000+10:00

My cat just knocked over a whole bunch of photo frames and then had the nerve to look at me with disdain, because the noise made her jump....

So, I'm sitting here with my warm cup of milo, starting my bedtime wind down. I have some Sia playing softly in the background, which I will soon switch over to the special "sleep" CD that (D) gave me. The house has been tidied away. Bed time routine has been completed. The world is quiet. except for my head. But its never really quiet in there. And I have been reflecting on the day.

I got up quite early and got a fair amount of work done in the garden, another bed weeded, the rockery cleared away and some lavender planted. I really hope it takes, I love the smell of lavender and it is quite close to where I usually sit outside. (M) arrived for our Case Management meeting at 9am, and was, I think, pleasantly suprised to see me out and about in the garden. She did that uber, over the top type praise, that reeks of behaviour modification. Positive attention for positive behaviours and all that. But in essence, it is right. It is good for me to be out in the fresh air, and getting busy, particularly if it is physical. (Although all that digging doesn't seem to have helped with the sleep at all...sigh) We spoke about what my options were if I decided not to go ahead with Uni this semester (that's a whole different post!) And then she dropped her bombshell. In less than three weeks she will be going on leave for two months. Which means a new Case Manager for me in the interim. While I tried to focus on not over reacting and losing my shit (the girl does deserve a holiday afterall!) she talked about how I still had (D) and (K) Consumer Advocate, and that the New BabyPsychDoc and I seem to be developing somewhat of a rapport. But, ugh, a new person. I just don't handle that sort of stuff very well. It will be a challenge. And whilst the maladapted part of me is feeling just a wee bit abandoned, it is a good opportunity really for me to start using some of the interpersonal skills I'm supposed to be developing.

Of course then my mind (and the gremlins) went a lil crazy and started to worry (D) was going to up and leave. (Coincidentally, she is scheduled a few days of leave the same week that (M) starts her leave, which is unfortunate timing, but will be phone contactable). So by the time I got to appointment with (D) in the afternoon, I was quietly despondant.We talked of course about attachement, dependency and mature dependency, We talked about how little I had actually shared about my past with any of the MH professionals. I mean, they know I was abused as a child. That's about the sum of it. They really have no real idea of what I went through. And according to (D) anyways it rates up there on the severe end... I was overcome with an overwhelming sadness. Tears silently making there way down my face as I drifted away from (D). When she called me back to her, and I realised I'd been crying, I was mortified. I don't "do" crying in front of people. Maybe was a good thing, in the end? I don't know.

Just feeling a bit sad, confused and abandoned tonight.

Second Try

2010-03-24T19:11:00.000+10:00

Had appointment with BabyPsychDoc yesterday. She is much better than the previous registrar my consultant had. Anyways, she obviously had taken the time to read my chart and also knew a bit about my 'case' so she was able to ask the "right" kind of questions, and was not purely medication driven. With that in mind, we did address my failed attempt to start Effexor. She thought the reaction I had on Friday sounded like postural hypertension, and may be from the way we attempted to titrate with the Avanza. So now, will take Avanza (30) until Monday of next week, Avanza (15) Tuesday and Wednesday and then switch to Effexor Thursday to see if there is still any reaction, whilst there is staff about to call, if I do have another reaction. So Effexor has not been written off yet!

We spoke briefly about my manic cleaning/organising phase and she suggested gardening, which was quite comical as I had just brought some seeds and new gardening gloves, which were in my bag at the time. Snap! I got a good start on preparing the beds today, but am limited to how much gardening I can do, as even at the beginning of autumn it still gets pretty dang hot here in Australia.

I got out of the house to catch up with a friend for a coffee. (Smiley sticker for me!) Tomorrow, I have Case Manager (M) in the morning then (D) in the afternoon. Afterwards I am going to catch up with a different friend (B) for coffee in the city and I have something little and social planned for both days this weekend (plus my volunteer shift on Sunday) (More smiley stickers for me!)

Make my brain stop

2010-03-23T19:06:00.000+10:00

I can not stop thinking.

I have cleaned the house from top to bottom

I have rearranged my bedroom

I can not stop thinking

I sorted through my belongings and clothings and pared down to the bare minimum... I even gave away books

I dusted, wiped, vacuumed.

I baked

I can not stop thinking

I'm now in the process of weeding the gardens

I am going to grow lavender and sweet peas

I can not stop thinking

For the love of God, Why can't I stop thinking???

Wish I could stop thinking about it

2010-03-19T21:36:00.000+10:00

Beating a dead horse, so to speak, but this is what's on my mind, so this is what I'lll write about. The push for Behavioural Psychotherapies (particularly Dialectical Behavioural therapy) over the plethora of other psychotherapies available.

I supposed the one thing that really sticks in my craw, is the concept that my reactions ot life events is wrong, and that I need to 'fix' those reactions. The way I see it (when I'm not immersed in self loathing) is that one can have a normal reaction to a normal event or a normal reaction to an ABNORMAL event. What I endured as a child, certainly falls within the category of abnormal, my reactions to it do not. As much as I may feel like a nutter at times! So, it would follow, I believe the work needs to be done around the ABNORMAL events, processing, accepting etc and NOT my normal reactions to these events.

The second issue I have is with what is essentially the manualisation of the therapy process. Follow A, B and C to heal X issue. The reality is it is not as simple as a broken foot. When you are healing a soul, a personality, no two are the same, and thus no identical treatment plans will work for two different patients. Sure, you can use experience to inform your practice, but not to mandate it.

Both of the above, particulalry with an unskilled or overworked practitioner can quite easily lead to a "Blame the victim" mentality. It doesn't work, so you obviously don't WANT to get better. Because statistics say, you should be!

Thirdly, I have existed virtually my entire life in my mind. I have detached from my emotions to the point where I was completely numb and cut off from them. I have had many years and experience using CBT type techniques through my old psychiatrist, and yes, it did help to keep the suicidality somewhat at bay, because I was completely numb to life. I need to live in the realm of emotions and feelings too, if I am to really live. Not put them in a bucket.

I knew this process was going to be painful, but I continue to commit to it, despite the three hours its takes out of my day (one hour travel each way). There has to be a reason for that. Anyways. That's where my thoughts are at. Wish I could stop thinking on it, to be honest.

Effexor Sucks

2010-03-19T14:36:00.000+10:00

I started my first and probably only dose of Effexor this morning. They reduced my Avanza last night, and had me take 37.5 of the Effexor this morning, which was what I was supposed to do for a week. But I could barely get out of bed this morning with vertigo after I took the dose. At first I thought it was a seizure coming on, because vertigo usually is a pretty good warning of that, but by about 1pm, I realised it wasn't a seizure. Little sis has the flu coming on, but I have no other symptoms than the dizziness. So I rang the PMH, and they advised that for the moment I cease the Effexor, and get back on the Avanza at full dose tonight, and they have moved my appointmeent with the PsychDoc forward. Medication FAIL. Oh, well. Feeling pretty cruddy, so i might sign off for a whiles...
peace and love
Ophelia

Marsha Marsha Marsha

2010-03-18T21:12:00.000+10:00

So Therapy Thursday was a doozy today. Basically, my private therapist (D) has been informed by Public Mental Health peeps that they think that the psychodynamic therapy is not the right thing for me at the moment, and that I should be doing DBT. I guess the basic concern is the increased suicidality. She couldn't tell me much as the letter she recieved was confidential (WTF? It's about ME!), but she needed to check in with me to ensure that continuing therapy with her was a) what I wanted and b) in my best interests. DBT has been brought up to me before through public mental health, and I have always rejected it. Firstly, I have developed (much to my dismay and disgust at times) a rapport with (D) and would need to stop seeing her, in order to do it. Secondly, my treatment before has been very CBT-ish with hints of the ol DBT mindfulness, and whilst it can be helpful in symptom reduction, it doesn't solve the problem. I don't want to live a managed life. I want a life. With ups and downs like everyone else, yes, but without the intrusiveness of these PTSD gremlins ruling my thoughts. It just takes so much energy. I knew going into psychotherapy that it was going to get a lot worse, before it got better.

I don't know. My head is very muddled. Voices are screaming inside my head. But my gut is telling me, that (D) is that path I need to take.......

(D) reiterated that she would be there and support whatever choice I make, treatment wise. I worry about whether it will be the same with PMH? If I choose not to undertake DBT will that be seen as non-compliance? I guess I'll have to cross that bridge when I come to it.

Mostly there is just this anger that this is not being dealt with directly with me. As I mentioned DBT has been brought up and I declined. But if they feel strongly enough to write a letter to my private therapist, should they not bring the matter up with me again, and emphasise why they feel so strongly about it. Give me more of a voice. I guess its probably professional curtesy.. I don't know.

In an attempt to make a more educated decision I have been reading some more about DBT. I can't put my finger on it, but something about the whole thing just sets my teeth on edge. The whole process is supposed to be about validation.... but I walked away from the reading feeling invalidated and pretty damned patronised.

Experiences anyone? DBT, good, bad or ugly?

P.S. I start changing to Venaflaxine today....we shall see....

What if

2010-03-17T20:20:00.000+10:00

What would the world be like if I woke up tomorrow and just told the truth? The whole, unblemished, sometimes dark and twisty, truth? Not on the obvious stuff...like does my butt look fat in this? Some little white lies are necessary for the world to continue on harmoniously. But what if I was to tell my mother exactly what went on under her roof when I was a child? The ways that I was used, broken and messed about. What if I told her about the anger I harbor, that she didn't protect me, she didn't love me enough to notice, that I was so inconsequential to her. What if I told my grandparents that their expectations suffocate me to the point where I feel like I will never breathe freely again? That I am less concerned with completing my degree than with completing the lattice work of self harm scars tatooing my thighs? What if I told my older sister that, in fact, what happened to you in our childhood was not the worst, and although I don't know it for sure, I am pretty sure it is I, who retain the most scars, despite your aptitude at being the victim in the family? What if I told my little sister, that it is not my job to continue to protect her, I have sacrificed myself for her, but I am not her keeper? What if I could ask them to be foundations for me, when the gremlins seem determined to drag me under. What if I told my therapist how attached I have become to her, and how very angry and scared that makes me, because, she is, and all she ever can be is a therapist, who by very description will leave. That I am angry that she can not be available to me at the times when the gremlins are worse? That she doesn't have any magic answers? What if I told her the depths of depravity I have been a party to and she turns away? What if once I get angry, once I feel the pain...really feel it...I can't stop it.

Through the counsel of another, and some self reflection today, I realised I am not doing as good a job as I thought keeping this under wraps. Everybody knows I am not being entirely truthful. Would the truth actually be better for them, then the worry of guessing. Does the truth really set us free?

Subsidies and rebates. Oh My! Oh My!

2010-03-16T18:32:00.000+10:00

For too long accessible mental health care has been the under resourced, little brother of the medical world. Depressing clincs hidden in spaces, deemed no longer suitable for other purposes. That 'look' you get from the taxi driver when you give them the address, that you are "one of those people". Walking through a building that is on the verge of giving up, just as many of the souls who enter as patients (I hate the term clients) are.

The care afforded through the Public System, is by necessity, crisis driven. Case workers are overworked, wards are understaffed, bed shortages run amuck. Early intervention into the beginning signs of mental illness is left to poorly equipped GPs. Crisis Care is like a conveyor belt of tick the boxes and process the "crazy" through and out ot the system as quickly as humanly possible. The post crisis interventions as a whole can smack of the "bandaid" approach.

Overloaded caseworkers are unable to give due attention to the long-term needs of their clients. Shortages mean that mental health practitioners refuse to carry out early intervention until the person is ‘acutely’ unwell, leading to forceful intervention. Thus, patients are not kept well, risks are not minimised and disorders are not averted when they ostensibly could be...

Even in times of crisis, anecdotal evidence suggests that patients are not admitted or are discharged early due to an inability to access an available inpatient bed. Reduced access to care has been linked to higher rates of post-discharge suicide

http://www.hrdc.net/sahrdc/hrfeatures/HRF132.htm

Of course this is not just mental health. Public Healthcare all over Australia is suffering economic and staffing shortages. But Mental Health is an area where it is really easy to cut corners, because the ones who access it are less likely to be able to advocate for themselves.

A few years ago, the Government finally caught onto the idea that the average citizen is as entitled to subsidised mental health care visits, as they have been to visits to GPs, Optometrists ect. Well, kinda... I will use myself as an example: If I was to develop a chest infection and need antibiotics, I would book into my GP. Pay their fee (AUD$65 for short consult) and then claim my Medicare rebate (about AUD$38). So, I pay the $17 gap for the visit. Now I can do this as often as I need. With me, it is at least once a month to get my scripts filled and blood levels on my epilepsy meds checked. Under the new mental health scheme, I could go to my GP with a mental health issue (in my case PTSD) and she would write up a mental health plan and refer me to a Psychologist for Medicare subsidised treatments. (Pay AUD$130, Rebate AUD$115) The catch is, it can only be for 12 sessions (18 in extremis), which averages at about one a month. now in a soild block, that might be helpful for say a CBT approach, or even short term psychodynamic therapy. but for people like me? Not so much. Annoyingly, If I was seeing a psychiatrist, who would just want to shove pills down my throat, that would be covered for infinite amounts of sessions under Medicare.

So, the system is kind of better for me then it was, but still not ultra helpful. My private health insurance would assure you that they take mental health very seriously in their plan. They cover a whole.....6 sessions. Grrrrrrrrrrreat! So, thats 24 sessions covered in all, not even one a fortnight. And when you take someone like me, who has to go 2-3 times per week, well that's a heall of a shortfall I have to cover. Luckily, I have a therapist who works on a sliding scale. But let me tell you, it's still bleeding me dry.

I don't expect that EVERYTHING should be covered, and people should have no responsability for their own healthcare costs. But there has to be a balance. And something as important as mental health, should be judged just as importantly as cardiac care. IT KILLS TOO.

Which is why it makes me really mad to read about them considering whether the Medicare Subsidy for Psychology should stay. The fact that it is costing more than projected should be telling the powers that be, that there is a serious shortfall in 'other' mental health services. It should be, in my opinion, expanded, not scrapped. Of course, there has to be limits. That's why the GP's have to do a thorough psych evaluation and you have to meet certain criteria to qualify.

http://www.theaustralian.com.au/news/nation/psychologists-quit-in-row-over-standards/story-e6frg6nf-1225839771023?referrer=email&source=AusBus_Morn_email_nl&emcmp=AusBusMorn&emchn=Newsletter&emlist=Member

*Ahem* Stepping off my soap box for the day

Gently, gently

2010-03-15T21:10:00.000+10:00

Out in the big bad world today.

I began the day gently putting myself back together, as one does after losing one's sense of one's self for a while. Picked out a cheerful outfit. Hair. Make-up. Sent of some obligatory emails for university. Headed off across town for therapy. Armed. No silence while she waited for me to initiate conversation. No slipping back into 'meta-therapy'...you know, therapy about therapy, talking about therapy, talking about the therapeutic relationships. You will laugh at my topic for conversation. Dreams. I have indeed kept the dream journal she suggested. The one I scoffed at not so long ago. Nothing too explosive came out of them, but there was a theme. in every dream, I am trying to get somewhere, somewhere indefinable, and obstacles are being put in my way. Talk of dreams meandered into the feelings of abandonment when my grandparents moved away, unfortunately right about the time ex-step father started interfering with me. We didn't go into that too deeply. We talked of my sister's and their current unusual levels of consideration and concern. We talked of little sis's refusal to come into the psych ward. We talked of the fear people have faced with mental illness. Not fear of what they see in you, but the parts of themselves they see reflected in themselves. We talked, and talked and talked. And it was OK. No emoitonal blowouts. A few A-ha's but no ideal shattering epiphanies. It was good. I will see her again tomorrow.

Afterwards, I went to the shops looking for the next in a series I started this week. Five days in and I am up to the fifth book, but alas, I could not find it in store. Little Sis says it is at the Target near her work, so she will probably pick it up. I put a whole lot of "teacher" clothes on lay-by. Confirming to myself that I WILL complete prac requirements this semester. Just have to get some medical documents, send in my placement form and my blue card confirmation. I came home and watched some TV, and worked on my WRAP (Wellness Recovery Action Plan)

Tomorrow, I have therapy in the morning and then a quick turn around to get back to this side of town for appointment with Psych, where they will probably be changing my Avanza to Effexor. Wednesday I have the WRAP group meeting in the morning if I am up to it, Case Manager at 2pm and then Consumer Advocate at 3pm. Then back to therapy thursday.

Still just taking things gently, still feeling slightly disconnected.

Going, going.....gone

2010-03-14T21:17:00.000+10:00

I had an upsurge in energy after the lethargy and dramatics of the last few weeks. Did my post hospital tidy up. Went to work today. Completed my wellness and recovery plan, as well as a few other projects. I was out out of hospital, and I was going to DO stuff, dammit!

But I am tired, and feel as though i maybe coming down with something. So I am choosing to be kind to myself, huddle up with a blankie and book, and hopefully get a nights rest. Time to STOP and just BE. I don't have to prove anything to anyone. Afterall its been one hell of a ride so far this year......

On the ward and out of my mind- My Keepers

2010-03-13T22:27:00.000+10:00

For previous "On the ward posts" refer to here, here, here, here, here and here.

Well, it would appear Ophelia, that you are a ~~naughty, naughty girl~~ danger to yourself, and we, in our infinite wisdom have decided to provide one-on one nursing for you to ~~spy on you, and take notes about every meaningless comment and insignificant action~~ keep you company and ensure your safety.

Really, I am being quite unfair. I have only been put on constants once before in my 'mental career' and that was because I had to be on a medical ward, and they were worried about me being around all the shiney, sharp tools. This time, they quite fairly were concerned that while their back was turned I would do myself in, or at least leg it, and then do myself in. So I was put on Special Obs. To be kept within a couple of feet of my nurse for that hour at all times. Or as the nurses put it, in their ever so tactful way, to be babysat.

I'm in two minds over whether this was a great trial for the nurses to endure. It did mean one less nurse on the floor every hour. But each nurse was allocated an hour per shift with me, perhaps two at a stretch. I am told for the first few days I was pretty uncommunicative, so not a heck of a lot of fun. But with the invention of I-Phones the nurses found ways to pass the time. After a while my witty reparte returned, and I am sure I was a wonderful "constant patient". Well, I didn't abuse them, try to attack them, hurl obscenities or anything like that, so they should just be grateful! :P

There were four main reasons being on constants probably sucked for them:
1. They couldn't hide in the staff room "charting"
2. They had to accompany me to the bathrrom
3. They had to sit in an uncomfortable hospital issue chair, while I snoozed away in luxury.
4. I was up and down like a yo yo for ciggies, and as my shadows, so were they! he he.

The four reasons being on constants probably rocked for them:
1. Alarm bell: Sorry can't help I'm on constant
2. Needy patient wanting something. Sorry can't help i'm on constant
3. Code Brown: Sorry can't help I'm on constant
4. Paperwork not complete? Sorry was on a constant.

The four reasons constants sucked for me
1. No privacy. With phone calls, with visitors.
2. Nothing more annoying than someone sticking to you like a barnacle when you just want to be left the f*ck alone
3. The bathroom thing. OMG.
4.Constantly being asked, so "Do you know why you've been sectioned? Placed on constants? How do you feel right now? Blah blah blah.

The four things that rocked about constants for me.
1. Never having to wait for half an hour outside the nurses station for your nurse to actually get off her butt.
2. Always having someone to check the answers to the crossword with
3. Prevents family from having D and M conversations when you are totally not up to it.
4. Honestly, had some shit nurses, ok ones and a few really good ones. The good ones helped me to really process what was going on in my mind as it was happening. provide reassurance in a frightening time. Provide hope in a time of chaos and feeling out of control.

In a perfect world. Nurse caseloads would be a lot less. Paper work would be limited. And then maybe some patients could get the quality of care I recieved in that time. (Minus the "special time" in the bathroom together)

Locked up

2010-03-12T23:32:00.000+10:00

Voluntary. It means a totally different thing to mental health professionals than it does to the laymen. You believe that if you sign yourself in to a psych ward voluntarily, you have the ability to leave. What it actually can mean is, you are voluntary until such time as you don't want to be here, and then we will section you under the mental health act, and make you an involuntary patient.

I'm not complaining. I was treated well. It was probably the right thing for me therapeutically at the time, however much it pissed me off. But... its kind of laughable right? Voluntary

The end of last week is all a bit hazy. Here is what I do know. I took a whole lot of benzos. Drank a whole lot of vodka. Apparently, I wrote, a couple of goodbye sweet world notes. I rang my therapist (D) to cancel our appointment. She was concerned enough that she insisted I either call an ambulance or my Case manager to take me to hospital. I did. At some point I then decided, I didn't want to go to hospital, and began filling the bath tub before they could come. I guess they arrived before I put that drug addled plan into play.

When I woke in hospital, they told me I was being taken to the psych ward, and could change make into my civillian clothes. Unfortunately, they had been cut through. Turns out instead of transporting me by car as originally planned, an ambulance had to be called as my heart rate went (paradoxically) through the roof, instead of through the floor as it should have with the benzos. They're still not sure why.

Upon installment in psych ward, I decided to finish off what I started and tried to asphixiate myself with a plastic bag and cord. At this point I was 'specialled'...which basically means one to one nursing at all times, (Yup! Including bathrooms) And sectioned as a 'risk to myself' and an involuntary patient under the mental health act.

The world was topsy turvy. On one hand, I truly wanted it all to end, and I continue to fail to see how things can improve, and on the other nature wins out and wants to protect our survival. I am beaten and bruised emotionally and not really up for a big post, but will try again tomorrow.

My family has finally come to realise that they need to drop their expectations. For the moment. I cannot be the golden child. I am fighting just to keep my head above water, I cannot carry their hopes too.

This week, if nothing else, was a wake up call. Things have to change. I cannot survive if they continue the way they are.

Thank you for all your kind wishes and support. Hopefully Ophelia will be 'back in the building' soon/ Love and peace.

Back

2010-03-11T18:50:00.000+10:00

In my barely unpacked bag lies an envelope from the powers to be outlining their decision to involuntarily detain me on a psych ward last week, under the mental health act. The same envelope that gave them the power to have nurses attached one to one on me for three days, that prevented me from being able to move beyond the small grey coutryard.

I was pissed. MEGA PISSED! Now?....Well, now I am somewhat more philosophical. It happened. It wasn't pleasant. It was very disempowering. It shook the foundations of some very important relationships. BUT, I am here, and alive.

Sorry to disappear but obviously no internet priviileges. Will add more of a post when I'm more rested. For now, I'm just happy to be snuggled in my own bed, with my little kitty.

Peace and love

Trapped

2010-03-04T00:02:00.000+10:00

You try and do the right thing by leaving the house.

You get upset, and let things slip. Slip to someone who has to pass that information on.

You should have stayed home. The beauty of isolation is the protection it affords you.

You get try and avoid a phone call from your Case Manager. You listen to the voicemail. The information has made its way to her. Not returning the call is no longer an option.

You try and return the call with a story about how you were having a bad day. You didn't mean what you said. Everything is ok now. You are not a great liar.

You end up digging yourself in deeper and revealing to much. You are offered a choice between having someone stay to you, hospital by your own volition or hospital whether you like it or not.

You try and desperately find some kind of way out, a way out that doesn't exist.

You are trapped. No matter what you say or do.

You should have stayed home.

Because its the right thing to do (Or F*ck it all to Hell!)

2010-03-02T22:57:00.000+10:00

I'm staring at the ~~useless piece of crud~~ crisis plan on the back of my bedroom door. Therapy was a bust again. (D) asked me at the end whether I felt safe being at home tonight. I didn't answer in the affirmative or negative, so I guess she deduced the answer from there. I find it hard to outright lie when asked a direct question. I have my own moral ambiguity when it comes to lies of omission, side stepping and deflection, but full blown lies, thats on my no-no list. Which is why I didn't want to be in therapy yesterday or today. But not going would just raise more questions so I'm stuck.

Truth is, I'm feeling completely and utterly overwhelmed right now. I'm not in a great head space at all. And I just can't deal with anybody messing with the status quo right now. Even if that means stepping away from the support systems.

(D) asked what I wanted from her. I said quite truthfully, in this moment, nothing. I just want to be left alone. She asked me to call her tonight if I needed. I told her I wouldn't. She said she would call me tomorrow to check in. I asked her not to. She asked why. I repeated, I just want to be left alone. She told me she was going to call anyway, but if I really didn't feel like talking, I didn't need to pick up. That's something at least.

So, now, in the midst of overwhelming confusion and nasty gremlins dancing through my head, I am looking at the crisis plan. And realising that not one damned thing on that list is going to make me feel any better right now. I'm breaking all the rules. I'm isolating, not eating, not trying relaxation. I'm not reaching out for support. I haven't even told Case Manager (M) about Thursday, because I just can't deal with anybody else. I want to hide myself under the duvet, till the rain stops and this all goes away. I want to throw myself off of great heights. Run headlong into traffic. Drink until my body gives out. I want escape. I want oblivian. I DON'T want to be sitting here four years later, in the same damned position. Here because of one damned stroke of bad luck, and a proceeding amount of promises elicited by loved ones, to bind me here.

This is not how life is meant to be.

Staring at a crisis plan that just perpetuates this circle.

Filled with people, who can almost convince me things are getting better, more hopeful.....until they are not.

I am tired. Bone tired. Soul tired.

And tomorrow, I will probably get up, and go to the group thing. Because its the right thing to do. And eat. And shower. And sort out my uni stuff. Because its the right thing to do. And head back to therapy on Thursday, and start engaging once more. Because its the right thing to do. And go for walks, do puzzles, take exercise classes, catch up with friends, write, paint, clean, look at clouds and puppies and friggen rainbows....

Because its the right thing to do. One foot in front of the other.

But for tonight. I'm not buying into it. Just because its the right thing to do.

Falling down in public...I does it!

2010-03-01T21:31:00.000+10:00

It's raining cats and dogs. Once again, the weather is perfectly in-sync with my mood.

-I'm typing this one handed. I was walking through the shopping centre, about to exit, and went a over t on a patch of wet tile, landing on my right hand...cos I'm coordinated like that! Feeling quite lame and stupid, and not wanting to spend hours up at the A&E getting an Xray, I rang a local day and night doctor's surgery (not my own) to see if I could get an appointment there tonight. I was quite bemused to get and answering machine stating their opening hours as 7.30am-5.30pm. This is a clinic that had "Day and night" in their name. WTF? Anyways, am pretty sure is just a sprain, so I'm icing it, and working on the assumption if anything is broken, it will still be broken tomorrow. Hurts like a mo-fo though.

-Therapy...ah, therapy. It was painful. Painful in the "I'm just going to sit here in silence, because I have to be here, but not even chinese water torture could make me talk at this moment in time" kind of way. I am just trying so hard to keep everything together this week, with Thursday and all its connotations coming up, that I just cannot handle talking about any of this stuff. I wish I could just not go to therapy for a few days, but am pretty sure that would not go down very well. Sigh. So instead, silence, staring at the carpet, with obvious looks towards the clock, marking out the excrutiatingly slow progress of time that was that 50 minute session. I feel bad. I imagine it must be inordinantly frustrating for (D), but sometimes I feel like I just need to spend my time staying as still as possible, or everything will just fall apart. Can't stay, can't go, what the hell am I meant to do? And I''ve got to go back tomorrow. Sigh.

-Little ego boost from my lil sis (cos she's tactful like that). She was talking about whether she wants to live in *Current city we live in* for the rest of her life. She complained that at least in *our family hometown* she knew people....big sis, our aunt K etc, but here in current town, she has nobody, NOBODY!... She looks over from her melodramatic rant to see a bemused look on my face. "What?" she asks. "Erm...what about me? Aren't I someone?" I reply. She blusters "Oh, you know what I mean!". LMAO. Thanks lil sis, lub u too!

Stalking you on the Internets

2010-03-01T01:07:00.000+10:00

Some more distraction from the gremlins needed.

So, I've been peeking over at Google analytics, cos I'm nosey like that.... and now for your reading pleasure, some ~~mind numbingly boring~~ interesting trivia about my blog (feel free to stop reading any time now!)

Who are you?
Well, despite the fact I have a mere 12 people following me. (And much beloved they are, my dear readers!) There are in fact a number of other people who read my blog. Most of em, I would suspect, bounce right off after reading a few sentences, but some of ya'all just keep coming back... what gives? :P So, the winners of the top 5 cities who read my blog are: (drumroll please.....)
1. Derby, UK
2. Sydney, Australia
3. London, UK
4. New York, USA
5. Belfast, UK.
As an interesting aside, I have a semi-regular reader/readers (?) from Dundee in Scotland, which just tickles me, as my mother was born there, and my grandparents were both raised there and lived there until they emmigrated in the 60's. We do, I believe, have quite a bit of family still there, though nobody I've had any regular contact with.

By far, the most popular posts seem to be the "On the ward series" and anything related to the therapeutic relationship, boundaries or in general, just being pissed off at this annoying person called a therapist, who insists on getting "all up in yo grill".... No suprise there. Will try to write another "On the ward" post when I am not feeling quite so apathetic...

My favourite part of google analytics is checking out the google searches that send people my way.

Alcohol Consumption + Avanza
Sounds like fun! Can I join you?

Therapist sucks
I hear ya sister! Unfortunately you will find no solutions on my blog, but a whole lot of whinging...

What to do in Australia when its too hot to work
Three words. Pool, beer, dodgy sick note!

Introducing myself for to find a true female friend
Erm...good luck? Can I suggest you try http://www.mingles.com.au/ instead?

Scared of gremlins
Me too, buddy, me too... Can I suggest sleeping with a meat tenderisor under your pillow? That's my common fall back plan.

How do I know if I'm crazy
Ask the leprechaun standing next to you, if he says yes, you probably are! I judge my current level of crazy like an archeologist, the amount of layers of debris in my nest zone, ie. bed and surrounding flooring, will indicate the length of descent into crazy and careful inventory of what's in these layers, will denote the severity of crazy. Layer includes unwashed clothes and crisp packets= slightly crazy, Layer includes photographs from the past and five empty tim tam packets=moderate crazy, Layer includes an empty bottle of Brown Brother's White wine and various editions of my suicide note= Red Alert Crazy.

And finally...
What does maternal acopia mean
You've got me! No idea what that means or why it brought you to my blog. Hrmmm.

Anyways, now that I've finished stalking my readers for the evening, am going to lie down in bed and stare at the ceiling until dawn, cos that's how I roll!

Get up outta my dreams, Bi-atch!

2010-02-27T23:04:00.000+10:00

Not having a great evening. Time for distraction from the gremlins rampaging in my head. Sleep over with (S) was good. Just chilled out and watched movies, ate junk food...all the good stuff. This morning we awoke to some pretty shoddy weather, so quick change of plans and horse riding was replaced by ice skating. Now keep in mind I have not ice skated in, oh, about 12 or 13 years, and in that time I have sustained damage to my vestibular system, so balance is still a wee bit of an issue at times. But, (S) was terrified, having never had much success in the skating arena, and I promised to teach her how, so I overcame my own qualms, and found it really is much like riding a bike. Once I got out on the ice, I pretty much got my groove back. And I managed to not only teach (S) to skate, but to get her off the wall in the first five minutes, skating without holding my hand after the first 20 minutes, and getting quite a speed up by the end of the two hours. And she didn't fall over once! So she was pretty chuffed with herself and her fantastic teacher. Of course, having not been on skates in a number of years, my legs and particularly my ankles are covered in ice gel at the moment, and hurt like a motherf*cker! After skating we returned to my place, with an Indian takeaway, and chilled out for a little while before I packed (S) off home to spend some time with her significant other. Which leaves me, an empty house and the gremlins in my head....sigh.

My therapist (D) wants me to start writing down dreams as I remember them. Now, part of the PTSD is that I do have a number of recurrent nightmares, and she knows the contents of these, but she is more interested in the 'other' dreams now. Just looking for another way to burrow into the dark abyss that is my mind. I find this a little confronting, and paradoxically kind of stupid. Because the 'other' dreams I have, are not ones that I believe offer any real insight into my psyche. They tend to be quite short, usually if I have them at all, it will be in that period between half asleep-half awake, and it will usually just be some random bit of info from the previous day. I truly believe that the purpose of these types of dreams is to function much the way a de-frag does on a computer. To group like information together, and get rid of excess stuff, creating more room for the inevitable new information of the next day. For instance: The other night (morning really) I was dreaming I was wandering through rooms trying to put out spot fires that were erupting in closets and up curtains ect. Now one could over analyse this and suggest...I dunno... perhaps that I was feeling the burden of trying to deal with multiple crisises at once, and feeling like I wasn't doing a good enough job dousing each individual 'fire', because there were so many to douse...... OR once could take into account that I was watching Rescue Me, (a tv drama based on firefighters) the night before. Hrrrmmmm.... Anyways, (D) acknowledged that I thought it was ~~bollocks~~ unlikely to be helpful, but she asked me to give her the benefit of the doubt on this. So being the good client I am *snark, snark*, I have been dutifully recording my dreams when I wake the last few mornings.

Anyhow, in order to prepare myself for any nefarious plans she may have for this information, I went to my dear friend google to tell me a little about dream analysis. First, I looked at it from the Jungian model, because I know this is a particular area of interest for her.

Like Freud, Jung believed that dreams are important gateways to unknown parts of ourself. After this point of agreement the approaches of the two men differed considerably in their theories and approaches to dream analysis.

For Jung dreams are an expression of the personal unconscious through the archetypes of the collective unconscious. Whereas Freud believed that dreams were frequently distorted in a subconscious attempt at repression, Jung believed that any such distortion was usually unintentional. The dream was a direct message from the personal unconscious- Here be dreams

In more modern times, my dreams "some are just rubbish stance" takes yet another hit.

A multitude of sleep laboratory and clinical studies have suggested that the dream and/or REM sleep is an inborn biological phenomenon designed to facilitate memory processing, problem-solving, mood regulation, and psychological adaptability

Neurophysiological studies indicate that dreaming occurs when the brain is activated during REM sleep. This consists of excitation of forebrain circuits due to activation of the pontine and midbrain reticular activating systems. In addition, there is selective activation of occipital, parietal, and limbic regions along with excitation of cholinergic neurons and inhibition of noradrenergic as well as serotonergic neurons.

I do however, remain correct in my assertion that this dream analysis malarkey, is just a sneaky way for her to gain access into parts of my psyche that I may or may not be ready to share with her just yet

Although careful history-taking and assessment of mental status remain the foundations of clinical evaluation, dream material may provide additional information and insight into the patient's psychodynamic and diagnostic status. For example, dreams may serve as early warning signals of suicidality, homicidality, ego-disintegration, psychosis, and impending acting-out behavior The Dream- A psychodynamically informative instrument

Sneaky (D), very sneaky! Of course, I could just avoid this blatent intrusion into my psyche, grab my crystals, tarot cards, and other new age paraphenalia, as I get these handy dream interpretations myself from the internets. Don't need your analysis (D) cos with one click of my mouse, I can discover that the fire in my dream means

Fire-Depending on the context of your dream, to see fire in your dream can symbolize destruction, passion, desire, illumination, transformation, enlightenment, or anger. It may suggest that something old is passing and something new is entering into your life. Your thoughts and views are changing. In particular, if the fire is under control or contained in one area, then it is a metaphor of your own internal fire and inner transformation. It also represents your drive, motivation, and creative energy. Alternatively, the dream may be warning you of your dangerous or risky activities. You are literally "playing with fire".

And furthermore, just in case it comes up in future dreams...

False Teeth-
To dream that you are wearing false teeth, indicates that you are not being completely honest in some waking matter.

Farting-To dream that you are farting, suggests that you are being passive aggressive. You need to express your feelings in a more direct manner.

Fakir-To see a fakir in your dream, foretells of phenomenal changes in your life. (Am not exactly sure what a fakir is, but sounds exciting, no? Will definately be on the lookout for one of those dreams!) Dream Moods

Sigh. I guess I should just share the damn dreams with her, huh?

Time to make good choices

2010-02-25T21:32:00.000+10:00

Today's therapy session was ~~craptastic~~ less than ideal. I'm not really sure what was going on with me, but I spent the whole session quite defensive and a little bit sulky, if I am to be honest. I blocked (D) at every possible turn, preventing her from really being able to dig into any subject, and behaved, generally in a narky and antagonistic manner, because I'm mature like that! I don't know whether it was because I knew I had the whole weekend to get through by myself, or maybe, with some of the stuff swirling around my head about the suicide attempt anniversary, coming up next week, I just really didn't want to dig into anything to confronting.

I started the session, telling her I was fine, everything was fine, FINE! And that pretty much was my catch phrase for the entire session. Bad dreams? Not important. Weird crazy issues with bio dad? Not bothered! I'm fine, and nothing you can say or do is going to make me admit otherwise, woman, so get up and outta my grill! Word.

But the truth is, I'm not fine. And when I got home, and started contemplating the weekend stretched out in front of me, with all the temptations that come when lil sis goes away for the weekend, I realised I was heading towards danger zone. As much as I am trying to push anniversary stuff out of my mind, and pretend it doesn't matter, it is still starting to worm its little gremlin way into my psyche.

So, (fairy claps for me) I decided to take a action. I rang my friend (S) and told her what was going on, cos I'm proactive like that! :P Together we devised a plan. Tomorrow, I am going to busy myself cleaning the house, and catching up on some other errands I've been putting off. (S) has banished her bf to a boy's night tomorrow night, and she is going to come over after work for a girly sleepover. Chick flicks, chocolate, face masks and a mattress on the living room floor, just like high school. On Saturday, we are hopefully going to go for a trailride at some stables just outside the city. (K) was talking about having done it at our coffee yesterday, and it reminded me of how much I enjoyed it last time (S) and I went back in September. Something very zen and peaceful about, sitting atop these giant beasts, and meandering your way through the Aussie bushland. On Sunday, I'm working a double shift at the Ronald McDonald House. By Monday, Uni will have started up, and of course therapy will have rolled around again.

Obviously, I need to come clean to (D) about what next thursday represents to me. I shut her down today when she spoke about a contact call on saturday afternoon, but maybe I should take her up on it.

Its hard work. *Yes, that's kind of whiney, but still....* Its so much easier just to let the bleurghiness take over and pull you down. It takes so much energy to make sure you are doing these tiny things to combat it. But I can't keep crashing. Even though there is a lot I have no control over, I still have to take responsibilty for my own choices. So today, I am feeling a little ashamed of my juvenile behaviour, but proud that I finally pulled it together enough to make healthy plans to support my well being.

Suicide Anniversary

2010-02-24T20:44:00.000+10:00

Another "anniversary" is fastly approaching. I think thus far, I am doing a pretty good job of keeping myself engaged and not allowing myself to slide back into the more comfortable (if somewhat terrifying) depression I have experienced over the last few months. Am slowly clawing my way out.

Was speaking to (K) at coffee this afternoon about it. I feel as though, I am unreasonably putting a whole lot of emphasis on a day, which is essentially just the same as any other, because something bad happened on this day a few years ago. Like, if I didn't insist of putting such meaning into it, it wouldn't be a problem. I'm trying not to, but as (K) pointed out if I am thinking about it, down to the precise day, then, yeah, its probably not so much a case of intentionally focussing on it. I guess its somewhat embedded into my psyche. The other reason I feel stupid, is because its not an anniversary of something someone else did to me, or some terrible accident or disaster. Its the anniversary of my very serious suicide attempt. I explained to (K) that in someways, I still feel as though I never really went back to "living". I mean, they got me breathing again, I learnt how to walk and talk again. I interact with people. And even when my concious is not open to exploring the possibility of the 'future', I am still making steps towards it, with my uni, with the recovery process, with relationships. I feel like its just a lame excuse for me to wallow for a day. (K) pointed out that if it was someone that I loved who had died, the anniversary would throw up stuff. She also pointed out, that from our conversation that day, it was pretty clear that I was grieving what I had lost still. We had talked about my upcoming high school reunion and how I didn't want to go, because I was not the person that my quite successful 17 year old self should have been 10 years later.

Anyway. As usual, when I feel unsure about whether I'm overreacting or whatever, I turned to the internet to see what the literature has to say. I didn't actually find a lot. But what I did find was a whole lot of links to blogs and forums, with people facing the same feelings, some 6 or 7 years after the event...

It has been noted that :

People who attempt suicide must not only have the desire to die, but must also have developed the capacity to enact lethal self-injury. Those who have made a suicide attempt have overcome their instinct of self-preservation

That in itself, without taking into account the reasons or trauma behind the event is traumatising, in and of itself. You become the perpetrator of violence against your own body. And in doing so you go against nature, which should instinctively inbed in one, a sense of self-preservation. (Note: I am not saying unnatural in a judgemental way...)

Anyway. It has brought up a whole lot of mixed feelings. And although I am trying to keep myself as even keeled as possible in the lead up to next Thursday, I do think it would be wise, to just let a few of my support people know, just in case.

Containment

2010-02-23T22:41:00.000+10:00

Today was my first additional session. I'll now be seeing (D) on Tuesdays as well as Mondays and Thursdays. I'm still not 100% sure on the third session schizzle, but it has already begun to show some positives, I think. (D) explained to me, that she often doesn't know how hard to push me, because the minute that the conversation turns to uncomfortable topics, I will say I don't want to talk about it right now. But I'll also say that about things that I truly am not ready to talk about at all, and that may very well cause a meltdown. Quite snarkily, I asked her what conclusion she reached, and she replied that she thinks its probably best to push me. As much as I hate it, she is probably right. I think that is partially why progress has stalled, because she lets me get out of talking about a lot of stuff I should be talking about. So yesterday and today, she would not let me deflect or change the topic. And yes, it was horribly uncomfortable and somewhat upsetting at times, but, because I knew it would only be a day or two at most before I would see her again, I was able to leave those feelings somewhat in therapy, rather than take them with me. So, yeah, "Containment 2010", is working...sigh

Tomorrow, I am catching up with Consumer Advocate (K) for coffee, and then back to therapy on Thursday, so the week is pretty structured. My friend (S) has been coming around a fair bit too, just to watch TV or eat dinner after work, because she knows that I need a little bit of company at the moment to stop me from withdrawing back inside.

Next week the Uni Semester starts up again, and I'm once again enrolled in two subjects. One is a prac subject (5 weeks of teaching). At this point I am unsure whether I will be able to make it through 5 weeks of full time work (more actually if you count the huge amounts of prep work) The Disability Officer at the Uni is trying to negotiate so that I can have one day off in the middle of each week, and just do an additional week at the end. But the faculty is resisting. Will just have to see how it goes. Still pulling together the necessary paperwork to get the uncompleted subjects from last semester dropped without academic or financial penalty. Is quite the process!

In that mode, have been trying to get a hold of Case Manager (M) since the end of last week, to get some paperwork from the psychiatrist for my claim at the uni. Finally got a call this afternoon, and as I understand it she had been out of the centre for most of the afternoon, and it was quite close to leaving time, but felt somewhat brushed off. I'm probably being unreasonable, and I know in part, I am overly sensitive to picking up "signs" that people are obviously sick of having to deal with me, pissed off with me etc. I tend to find problems where there aren't any. And realistically, she knows I am seeing (D) three times a week, and thus fairly well taken care of. It doesn't even matter really that it has taken her a while to get back to me, on a few occasion over the last few weeks because essentially my questions have either been "household stuff" like letters or scripts, or else, I have figured out ways to deal with whatever little emotional blow-out I am having myself. And I never specify my messages as urgent, because I don't really think there are. It just makes me feel a bit uneasy that if it was urgent, I still might have trouble getting a hold of her. Which is once again, probably unfair, because she has always gotten back to me quickly on urgent matters, and it would be my responsability to make sure it was clear if it was an urgent call. Anyway. Just makes me a little nervous, but I'm being silly.

Got two new appointments in the mail today, one for the Psych in about a fortnight and one for the Neuro at the end of the month.

I'm doing ok-ish at the moment. Starting to make tiny moves into going back into the world, I hope it lasts a bit longer this time!

On the ward and out of my mind- what were the designers thinking?

2010-02-22T23:37:00.000+10:00

To read the rest of the series, read here, here, here, here and here

So, just a short one tonight.

In Ward B, the decor was not to awful. Lot's of soothing pastels, and watercolour paintings of old fashioned women sitting by a lake but as a whole not to terrible. It was reasonably new, and quite fresh and clean looking. I did have a few questions though...Why create a beautiful peaceful garden, complete with benches, flowers and a fountain, in an atrium in the middle of the building...one that all of the patients could see through the glass wall running length-wise down each side...a spot that looks blissfully calm, and then refuse to allow those who need the bliss the most (ie the patients) access? Sure we had the smokers courtyard, and the gardens were not too bad out there, but seriously this atrium looked like a little paradise, but was strictly out of bounds, wtf? Second, if you are going to have glass windows running floor to ceiling on two sides of the tv room, in a city that is known for having some of the coldest weather in our state, don't ya think double glazing might have been a good idea...I'm just saying! And finally, if you are going to shut down a paediatric psych ward (shame on you!) and convert it for use as part of the adult psych ward, please take down the cartoon characters on the walls, and the signs reminding us to "Stop. Think. Revise". Its creepy and patronises the shit out of us.

BCH was not so great. For a start the nurses office was right down the end of the corridor, you know away from where all those annoying patients are...wouldn't want to actually have to interact with them! Whilst the rooms had carpet the majority of the ward was linoleum, which made the whole setting very 'hospitalised' looking. The courtyard had but a strip of what had been grass, but was now mostly dirt, and one lonely, failing to thrive tree sapling. The rest was concrete. Grey concrete. Someone had tried to try and paint a 'soothing' mural on the wall...a sort of Tuscan garden, if you will. But rather than soothe, it just served to remind you there was no living things in your surrounding environment at all! Bathrooms, were tiny, and there was no shelf in the shower, so you had a choice of putting your soap etc either on the floor, or closing the lid on the toilet which was right next to it, and putting your stuff on top of that...it took me a while to decide definitavely which was more unhygienic. At Ward B, my bedroom window looked out on a garden, at BCH it looked out on a shipping container. The whole air of BCH, was just very fusty, old and worn. The whole building just felt like it was giving a big sigh of fatigue. And I don't think it was built that long ago.....Oh and lets not forget the bright orange bedspreads....purty!

Of course I have mentioned before, the eyesore that is the Public Mental Health building, I attend as an outpatient. A giant, purple-grey, amorpheous sludge of depression. What were they thinking?

Now skip to the websites my mother has been looking at of private psych hospitals in the area. Just in case I need to be admitted again. Aside from the seemingly superior therapeutic interventions and alternative therapies, these places also look like they would be more soothing to the soul to be in. Each room looks like a moderately priced hotel room. The gardens are landscaped and gorgeous. One I'm recalling in particular had access to bushwalks and a swimming pool.

Obviously the user pays system is always going to have more money for cosmetics than the Public system. But you really do wonder, these designers who create the buildings for government departments and get paid quite a bit of money, the staff who are responisble for the general interiors (posters, murals etc)...what are they thinking? Do they think if they just make the environment as unpleasant and depressing as possible, we'll leave sooner?

Seriously?

2010-02-22T22:50:00.000+10:00

Dear Bachelor Number One,
Whilst I am ~~completely fucking in shock~~ pleasantly suprised by your supportive reaction to me finally coming clean about some of my mentalism (after over 6 months of dating, the last month of which was spent avoiding your calls, because I didn't know what to say). A handy little hint would be not to take your ~~completely loco~~ slightly mentally unwell girlfriend to see "Shutter Island" at the cinemas, after she has opened her heart and told you everything you needed to know. Better planning on the movie choices needed, I'm just saying....
Your beloved Crazy One.

Note: For those who don't know (and I was one of those) Shutter Island is a thriller/mystery based in...wait for it..... a mental institution in the 1950's...yup lobotomies, patient experimentation...the whole shebang!
And yes,
Bachelor Number One and I are back together (not that we ever officially broke up, I just kind of dropped off the face of the earth) I'm trying to be a bit more honest with him, rather than trying to hide 'my crazy in a box' We'll see how that goes!

Absentee Dads and heart attacks.

2010-02-21T23:22:00.000+10:00

So, just because my life wasn't already weird and drama-filled enough, my absentee father has been making his presence known again. Big Sis has had contact with him over the last few years, but I've really not had much contact at all since he walked out of our lives 27 years ago. Anyhow, he has been trying over the last six months or so, to open the lines of communication back up, and I have been, well, less then receptive. He did come and see me, on my birthday, which I spent in the local mental health unit about a month back.

He had some health issues a few months back, and whilst my sis told me about it, I did not feel the need to go and see him in hospital or call him. On Thursday, I recieved a call from him, which I screened and promptly forgot about. Later when checking my voicemail, I retrieved the message telling me, he had had a heart attack and was going in for surgery. I can say without a whole lot of shame my first internal response was "So what?". Not because I wished for anything bad to happen to him, but because it really didn't mean any more to me than if it had been a random stranger off the street. I went about my business, went to my therapy session that afternoon, but there was this constant niggling in the back of my mind. "What if he dies?" I couldn't help but wonder if this was something I would look back on in 15 or 20 years time, and think "I should have seen him, I should have opened my heart a little, I should have had closure".

I spoke about it briefly at the end of therapy with (D). We didn't really have a lot of time to speak on it, as we had to sort the mess of Monday's session out, and 50 minutes can go both excrutiatingly slowly and in the blink of an eye, at the same time. She queried whether I could find out what the actual risk was, whether I had some time to mull it over or not. I couldn't think of a way to do that. It was not like I could ring his relatives up and say "What up? What are the chances the geezers actually gonna croak?". And my Big Sis, Bless her cotton socks, is a drama queen like no other, so he could have a hang nail and she would present it like he was at death's door, shaking hands with the reaper.

I spoke to Big Sis anyway, later that night, and she told me that he had had surgery (a stent (?) placed) and was doing ok. So, I just pushed it to the back of my mind to deal with later. He was discharged the next day. Apparently they don't keep you very long after this particular type of surgery as long as you have relatives willling to keep an eye on you.

Today my sister rang again asking if I wanted to come visit him. She had rung yesterday but I was able to get out of it by pleading prior plans. Today I went. It was ok. He looked like shite. And he is in some serious denial coming to terms with the changes he needs to make. He sat with us for about 20 minutes and then went back to bed. I stayed and kept my sister company for a few hours, playing scrabble and yahtzee. And then I went home. I'm not sure how I feel about it still, to be honest. Does this mean I need to start having regular contact? Do I wait till the next time he's on death's door step? Do I have a moral obligation or an obligation to myself to even care? I don't know. For now I'm just going to stick my head back in the sand

On the ward and out of my mind: You are nurses, right?

2010-02-21T02:32:00.000+10:00

Back to On the Ward and out of my mind, you may also want to read this, this, this and this.

I was diagnosed with epilepsy quite a few years ago. Juvenile Myoclonic Epilepsy to be specific. As I have, ~~moaned about incessantly~~ alluded to on this blog, this has been a bit hard to manage at times because of my PTSD encouraged insomnia. I tend to have a lot of myoclonic episodes (aka petite mals or weird little jerks that make me look freaky) and less of the tonic-clonic seizures (aka grand mals or randomly dropping to the floor unconciously in a break-dance type fashion) At the moment with sleep being ~~completely f*cked~~ less than ideal, I am averaging about 1 or 2 tonic-clonics a month.

Anyhow... when I was admitted to Ward B, I had a plethora of medical health issues as well as the quite obvious fuck-uppery, what with me trying to kill myself and all. I was still recovering from aspiric (sp?) pneumonia, from being extubated, I had a little damage to my cerbellum (a fairly important bit of grey matter when it comes to motor skills and some cognitive processes) and some pretty major damage to my vestibular system (fairly important for staying upright and balanced) and finally I had the pre-exisiting condition of epilepsy.

Upon admission to the ward, the nurses freaked the frack out. I wasn't supposed to overhear these conversations, but meh, if you are going to talk right outside more door what do you expect? Basically, they didn't feel equipped to handle my medical needs, didn't have time to do the extra time with me for the rehab exercises I needed to do twice a day, blah blah blah. Ultimately in the end, they didn't do to badly that first admission. They managed to find time for my exercises, the pneumonia resolved with antibiotics, and although I had a number of seizures they would generally just help me to bed, or if in bed change the sheets if necessary, only calling the doctor in on one occasion where the seizure was longer than average.

However on my second admission about three months later, things were not quite so straightforward. It took four days just to get the necessary equipment (shower chair and toilet chair) brought down, which resulted in some very unsafe practices. (I was using a zimmer frame at this point). And there was one ~~old bitch~~ nurse who decided unilaterally, and without consultation with doctors or any other nurse, that my seizures were in my head. Had she read my medical notes she would have quickly been dissuaded from this notion... or maybe not, she was pretty old school, and seemed to hold the opinion that all people with mental health issues were merely naughty children needing attention. On particular day, I went back to bed, feeling quite dizzy and unwell. This nurse (not even my designated nurse) took umbrance to me being in bed in the middle of the day. I tried to explain I was feeling poorly and possibly might have a seizure coming on. I hadn't had the aura yet, but generally in the hours leading up to a seizure I can feel a bit poorly, and either way a nap would either resolve it, or else I would be in a reasonably safe place if I had a seizure. She basically told me it was nonsense and frogmarched me back to the tv room. After 10 or 15 minutes I felt decidedly worse, and got up to tell her I needed to be in my room (I also didn't want to have a seizure with a whole room of strangers gawping) but one look at her face told me she wasn't going to listen, so as my aura kicked in I made my way to the bathroom, where I promptly fell face first onto the tiles, smashing in my front teeth and bloodying my nose, having...suprise suprise... a seizure. By the time I properly came out of the post-ictal state, she had gone home and was not back on shift for the rest of my stay. I had smashed in teeth and a swollen nose, to remember our time together though. They took me to the dental hospital and got caps for the broken teeth, which subsequently crumbled, as there was not enough tooth to adhere too. Lucky me also got to endure four root canals about 6 months later, due to the nerve damage done. My teeth are still a mess, and it will likely cost me a great deal of money out of my own pocket to fix them (there is a possibility I can get them fixed through a referral program with new mental health service district... appointment is in March) My mother hit the roof when she found out, but unfortunately we were a bit to busy trying to keep me sane-ish over the next little while, to follow through and make sure my complaint was dealt with adequately.

Other than that, my immune was rather inept at this point, due to lack of sleep and a significant weight drop, and particularly during my first stay I seemed to catch every flu and cold that patients and nurses alike carried in on the germ infested little bodies.

Nothing quite so problematic at Big City Hospital. I did have a few seizures during my stays there. One rather humiliating one in the shower, however in general they did a pretty good job responding. The only gripe I have, is that during one such seizure, I not only voided (not all that unusual), but also threw up (quite unusual). They did help me to change (embarassed much?...yup!) but they left me to sleep it off with some rather unpleasant regurgitated matter in my hair. Fair enough, they were probably allowing me to rest, but running a damp wash cloth over my face and hair... basic nursing 101. I also vaguely recall my designated nurse delegating her student nurse to clean the vomit from the floor, because she could not handle vomit. Possibly why she became a MH nurse?

In my opinion, a nurse is a nurse here in Australia. Yes, Mental Health Nurses are a skilled subset, but that doesn't mean that they should let the basics of patient care go.

End result for the most part, if you are going to be in a mental health ward, you are better off to have no pre-existing medical ailments.

NB: That being said, from a Community Mental Health perspective, both my Case Managers have been super-duper in supporting my other medical issues. CM from my time in Ward B, would drop me off to Outpatient Rehab and Physio, organised to have a safety belt custom made for me so that I could do additional rehab safely at my Gym, and also came to a number of individual assessments with me to to keep abreast of my progress, and see what ways she could help facilitate it. CM from BCH, has made sure I was getting my appointments with NeuroDoc, and has also been the one to get me the referral for aforementioned Dental Appointment in March.

Shut up

2010-02-20T23:19:00.000+10:00

Movie goers of the world

If you are going to go and see the same movie as I am, on the one day I manage to make myself go out and do something 'normal', and then proceed to laugh, talk and poke each other in front of me for the entire last third of the movie, you had better be under the age of 15, not grown goddamned adults who should know better...... I'm just saying....

Sorry, did that swift kick to the back of your chair make you spill your drink over your ugly-ass boyfriend? What can I say, I'm crazzzzzzzzzy, ya know?

Showering

2010-02-19T19:57:00.000+10:00

Lil Sis turned to me this afternoon and said "You know, Crazyboy is going to be here soon...." Crazyboy, is her new...erm...Bf? Fling? Bit on the side?... its all still a bit unclear. He lives on the coast, about an hour and a half away. She has been heading down there every weekend recently to spend time with him. I guess, after four months of living with her ex AFTER THEY HAD BROKEN UP, she now feels free to pursue something different. I can just hope that she doesn't rush into things. Anyway, I've only met CrazyBoy once when he came down the other weekend to go to the waterpark with us. I'm sure he is a nice guy, but he is soooo full of energy, its drives me insane. He never stops talking. He acts and speaks on impulse. Its like he is the re-incarnation of a Golden Retriever. But.... he makes her happy, and its been a while since she has been happy. And anyways, she usually goes to stay with him.

But this afternoon he was on his way to spend the weekend at our house. Sigh. She tried again "He's going to be here in 15 minutes..." And left that hanging in the air, as she looked me up and down meaningfully. I paused, and did inventory. Last shower, two days ago. Hair stringy and pulled back with a headband. Attire, pajamas with a chocolate stain on the top. "Right, so you want me to have a shower then?". "Well, maybe even just put on a bra?" she replied hopefully. Grudgingly, I made my way to the bathroom to human-ify myself again.

I get it, I do. I mean, that's one of the good things about living with family. When I'm not at my best, and schlepping around unwashed, in pajamas, she accepts it. When I am incommunicative and lying in bed for hours staring at the well, she knows its because I'm having one of my bad days. On the days that I HAVE to go out and face the world, I have to make some effort, but at home, I can just schlep if I don't have the energy. But Crazyboy doesn't know me. And in the bloom of a new relationship, slovenly, depressed sisters aren't high on the romance scales.

I get it. And really, showering and wearing day clothes is not that much of an ask. It's what normal people do. But there is a tiny part of me, that is ever so resentful that for the near future, I am going to have to put on "Game Face" in my own home.

I'm not very good at psychotherapy

2010-02-18T20:42:00.000+10:00

I am a thinker. By no means the most intelligent person in the room, but I appproach the world analytically. I have an innate need to find reasons and explainations. I thrive on finding the rational and logical reasons behind other people's and my own actions. In some ways, it has been my greatest defense throughout my life. As a child my intelligence protected me on two levels. First, as a precocious child, who learnt the rudiments of reading and writing at around age 3 (according to family history) I used these skills to escape from the turmolt of my early life. I wrote stories, and later discovered the catharsis of poetry and journal writing. I read ferociously (easily plowing through the 15 books we were allowed to borrow from the library each fortnight) to escape into worlds that were anywhere but mine. Second, I used my ability to analyse situations in order to predict what was going to happen, in a very unpredictable home. I was highly in tune with my surroundings, people's emotional states and motivations. And thirdly, I used this understanding to allow myself to retain relationships, I could find a reasonable and rational explanation to excuse any behaviour on others behalf, so that I could accept and live with those behaviours over which I had not influence. This pattern continued well into adulthood. I am doing it right now! :)

This defense was, like most defenses, bothe protective and destructive. The need for rationality and logic got in the way of my ability to just experience life as it was. To feel and accept emotions, without considering whether they were valid or not.

I'm not very good at psychotherapy. I was very good at CBT, in some ways. I was able to dissect my thoughts like a scientist dissects a frog, to identify and label each thought and its purpose. I was even able to integrate some of the ideas at times. It helped, somewhat. It was exhausting though. I felt dragged under by the past, and what I managed to control in my day to day consciousness, through extreme hypervigilance, always having to be ready to pounce on that next cognitive distortion, I was unable to keep at bay when my unconscious took over during sleep or horrific flashbacks. I felt like I was barely managing the symptoms, but underneath there was an untreated infection of 'feelings' just waiting to go septic and kill me.

So, I started psychotherapy. And I suck at it.

Feelings throw me through a loop. They are neither logical, nor rational a lot of the time. They don't stand up to close examination. They are maurauding rebels without a cause, determined to occupy my brain and do whatever the hell they want. In psychotherapy, I am to accept these feelings, to embrace them, to try and understand those parts of me, not analytically, but empathically. I am finding this incredibly difficult.

I went into therapy today, nervous, but reasonably sure that I had managed to find a logical reason for my behaviour in the past couple of sessions, and why I thought therapy was stalling. I was validated by discussing this earlier in the day with my Case Manager (who seems to use more CBT/DBT orientated interventions) that I was showing good insight, and showing signs of things starting to click into place. Therapist (D) was somewhat less affirming. She did congratulate me on my ability to step away and think about the way my mind was processing things, and acknowledged I made some very valid points. She has two major issues with it. First, she felt that I had found away to analyse away any responsability on her behalf. That she had made mistakes within the conflict too, but that I was too scared of the emotions that came with that (fear, dissapointment, anger) to allow them in. So I bludgeoned them to near death with logic and over analysis, so I wouldn't have to deal with them. Second, as much as she was interested in what I thought intellectually about what was going on, she was more interested in how I felt about it. I found that incredibly difficult to answer. Emotions are just not a strong part of my personal vocabulary. I don't know how to speak of them. Sigh. I've got a long way to go. I'm not very good at psychotherapy.

We also had a brief but horrifying talk about the therapeutic relationship. At one point I was focussed on breathing shallowly to prevent myself from throwing up. She explained that due to the nature of the relationship I was going to have feelings for her "the therapist". I was going to feel hatred and dissapointment. I was going to feel love and sometimes just like. Arggggggggggggggh! I just kept quiet hoping she would get this little talk out of her head and move on. Thinking about it now, I have to acknowledge (stomach churning again) I do have feelings that reside somewhat closer to love (platonic) than like. And it horrifies me. She is somebody who knows more about me than most people, who has shown herself to be consistent and trustworthy, who appears to care about me, who I can share a laugh with, she is nuturing and protective.... it is much like the relationship between best friends, or even approaching a maternal type relationship.... but its not. I remain aware of the limitations and reality of what it is. But still, there remains this strong attachment, that the very thought of her leaving sickens me. I hate it. And yes, there are times, when my feelings move beyond annoyance with her, to a deep, visceral rage that I have yet to fully understand.

We spoke at some length (rather she spoke) about how it was not my job to protect her from any of this. Link back to her (forced) admission that I could be exhausting. She stated firmly, that if she was beginning to experience feelings of exhaustion or burn out, it was her job to be mindful of this and remedy it...not mine. My only comment was, that it scared me to not be aware of this, because if I didn't know where she was 'at', I couldn't be prepared. She reflected that this is how I must of felt growing up in an environment where one had to constantly, be in tuned, to be prepared. How difficult a responsability for a little girl, how heavy a burden. She reported counter-transference feelings of immense sadness. I wasn't ready to go there today.

On the way out the door, she told me she would call on the weekend and she had put aside a third session for me on Tuesday. I paused. "Haven't you had enough yet?". She replied gently, "No, Ophelia, I haven't.

Stalemate

2010-02-17T14:05:00.000+10:00

So, I have avoided blogging about my session on Monday, a) because I am kind of ashamed of my regressive behaviour and b) because I just needed some time to really think about the issues and decide where I stood. But times running out. I have therapy tomorrow, and it will have to be addressed.

In line with my strategy of avoidance, I have avoided phone or email contact with (D) for the last couple of days, but she caught me this morning by calling while I was on my way home from another appointment. You know how sometimes, when you are out and about and your mobile rings, you just grab for it and automatically answer it.... shit... it's her. Very immature, I know, but I would rather have just let it go to message bank. Sigh. The conversation I had with her was quite immature too. "How are you?" Fine. "I was just worried about you after Mondays session and wanted to check in" There's nothing to talk about. I'm fine. "Well, I don't think that's true, we need to talk about this" Oh, dear, bad reception...gotta go.

But tomorrow, its time to man up and face it. You of course, have no idea what I'm talking about yet.

So the session mostly focussed on how we can better "contain" me as we move through this next more uncomfortable stage of therapy. Should we introduce a third session? I talked about my reservations a little...finances, power dynamics, dependency etc. And then she said something about how she was really suprised that I was considering it, as she thought when she put it on the table I would shoot it down. This pissed me off and I quite snarkily asked "Why would you bother asking then?". She also said something along the lines of, she wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do either, she just put it out there for discussion. To which the "Interpreter" in my brain heard "I'm not even sure if I want to do this". I got angrier. I wanted her to be sure, before she suggested such things. I wanted her to have clearly though out and justifiable reasons for her suggestions. She clarified that what she meant was, she wasn't sure if it was the right thing for me, because she was mindful of the issues it would bring up for me. Sigh. I didn't really hear her in the moment... it took a few days for that to sink in. I think the issue is, I don't trust my own opinion much, so I am relying on her to know what the best step forward is. I need her to be a rock, in a world where there is so much uncertainty and instability. I need to trust that she knows the right things to do. But, in retrospect, I am also aware that she is just a human being, that there is no magic formula, that some of this process will inherently be hit and miss. I think it feeds into the control issues. I need the sense of rules and procedures to make me feel safe, nebulous concepts and strategies make me want to run and hide, its too risky. But in order to continue this process, I have to find a way to move forward through the risks. To trust that she will catch me, or better yet, help me land on my own two feet.

The other issue this all brought up was abandoment issues, which I never really factored in as much of an issue for me (and makes me cringe, as it brings me one step closer to fullfilling the criteria for a BPD diagnosis... not that there is anything inherently wrong with the diagnosis itself, but more because that is an additional stigma I'd like to avoid...sorry if that makes me weak) I worry that with additional demands on her, session wise, (and at a reduced rate) she is eventually going to get fed up, and leave me to deal with this mess unfinished. She has stated unequivocally that is not her intention, and the suggestion for increased contact was hers... but then to hear her sound not so sure about it rattled me, and let those gremlins start gnawing at my brain. She mentioned something about how maybe I was worried that my family was right, that she was just trying to 'milk me dry'...(ludicrous, I am not that profitable a patient) I told her that was not the case, but I did wonder why? What does she get out of it? I can see the pitfalls...a client that requires more time, seems to have more crisises at the moment and makes her less money, for the time investment. So what does she actually get out of it? I guess I partly figured if I could figure out her motivations, I could better assess whether she was safe or not. But on a deeper level, I just wanted to put her in a double bind, so I could justify the fear I was feeling, that she was just going to leave. I pushed her on the issue, pushed her to answer the question, boxed her into a corner until I got something out of her I could misconstrue for my own purposes. She said she could tell me about how much of a privilege it was to be able to take this journey and help people, but that I wouldn't believe her. She acknowledged that while it can be exhausting, it was infintely rewarding... ah-ha! Gotcha. My mind stuck on the word, exhausting. Of course she is trying to subtly tell me something she is not allowed to verbalise directly. I am a burdensome, tiring, draining, exhausting waste of space. I pushed further, "Am I exhausting?". Double bind. She could lie and say no, but I would not trust her if she was a liar. She could hedge and try the old..."I hear that its important to you to hear the impact you have on me...why do you think that is?" But this tactic cause me to shutdown and then go into tailspins. Or she could be honest. "Yes, sometimes, but....." I didn't hear anything really from there. Just a roaring in my head, and the hollow victory of being proved right. It was nearing the end of session, and I think she was concerned at sending me out, and having me decompensate. Quite a valid concern, as that is exactly what I did. She tried to talk to me about tactics to keep myself safe, asked me to email her. I sat silently. I was NOT going to email her. I was NOT going to see her again. I was NOT setting myself up for that kind of fall again. Eventually I got up and walked out without a word, and got my little self-destructive actions under way.

Sigh. When you read this, it seems like such minor things. But particularly when you are peeled raw in therapy, it seems huge and insurmountable. So, I have had my tantrum, and I have had time to think about things, and really examine my own motivations. Now its time to go and face the very uncomfortable music.

On the ward and out of my mind- Therapeutic or Babysitting?

2010-02-16T21:05:00.000+10:00

Continuing on from here, here and here

One cannot expect to go into a mental health ward (at least in the public system) and experience any real therapy. There are several reasons. The focus on providing treatment in the least restrictive environment (and lets face it, also the lack of financial resources to have enough bed space) mean that all but the most severe cases of psychosis or the forensic cases are discharged in quite a short amount of time. In my experience, most people are there between 2-14 days at most. The emphasis is quite heavily on containment whilst the worst of psychotic symptoms/ suicidal ideations pass and medication adjustments.

I was first admitted to Ward B in 2006. My first admission was quite a lengthy one, in part due to the additional medical issues I experienced as a result of my overdose. I was in hospital for about 2 and a half months. Over the next two years, I was admitted on four other occasions, for periods ranging from 5 days to two weeks. Whilst in hospital there were a number of people I could theoretically talk to, in order to process what I was going through and experiencing.

Consultant Psychiatrist
Generally, I saw this guy maybe once a week at most. Usually it would be him, a Student, my assigned nurse for the shift and I. Occasionally members from my medical team were invited to participate. Not quite like the horrible ward rounds that you guys in the UK have described. But still somewhat intimidating. The focus of these meetings was primarily to establish where I was at, mental health wise and to adjust medications. They usually only lasted five minutes or so, and there was generally no suggestion on how I might deal with some of the symptoms I was experiencing, other than to suggest I ask my nurse for a prn when needed. The consultant changed over the two years that I was in and out, but the one thing that did remain the same was that he was male, usually quite authoritarian and foriegn. I found myself getting quite upset when having to go through my history with these guys, as a) I wasn't really comfortable with men b) several things on Doctor said to me about my family made me feel quite judged (I think it was due to significant cultural differences in the ideas surrounding parents and respect) and finally, as English was not their first language, it was near impossible to talk in the idioms and metaphors, we would generally engage to soften the impact of telling a trauma. They simply did not understand. Language had to be clear cut and brutally to the point. Raw and stark. Being the passive personality I am, I usually just accepted it, but one occasion it got too much for me and I got up and stormed out of the treatment room. Unfortunately, anyone who has ever needed a walking stick before can tell you it is near on impossible to "storm off" and I ended up going arse up in front of the nurses station and all the patients. I then promptly burst into tears, which the nurses responded to quite quickly, as I am known to be a non-crier. Bundled off to my room, the nurse could do little more than pat my shoulder as I howled for the next 15 minutes. That's why I don't cry. Once I do, I can't stop. Anyways....
Nurses
As I mentioned, you got an assigned Nurse at the beginning of each shift, who was supposed to check in with you for that shift, and if you had any additional problems you were to find them. The one thing all the nurses had in common was that they were OVERWORKED. The bulk of their time by necessity had to be spent caring for the geriatric patients. They weren't normally sitting in the office ignoring us (it was a cramped, uncomfortable space anyway), they were working hard. That's where the similarities ended. Some nurses were so burnt out from the demands of "general nursing" on the ward that they had no energy left for mental health nursing. A brief "How are you today?" was sufficient to their requirements and if you did approach them with an issue, they would try to listen but you could see that harried look in their eye of someone who knows they have 1001 things to do before their shift ends. Some were burnt out by the demands, but made the effort anyway. Spent the time developing rapport with the patients. Back in the days before somking restrictions came into full force, they may sit in the courtyard and have a smoke with a group of patients, always observing, in a non-confrontational way that is so much better than "How are you today?". They may be too busy to deal with you straight away but they will tell you when they can see you, and they will keep their promise. They had the skills to turn subjects that we had in common into ways of exploring the patients issues. For instance one nurse, who was also a professional photographer, would always want to see what was new in my portfolio, and we would discuss how it was representative of the way I saw the world..... and finally there was the last kind of nurse....relatively rare, thankfully. The ones who hated mental health patients, thought we were all just lazy sods who were bunging it on for attention. Mind you, the community had its share of acopic personalities that made their way to Ward B, but no excuse for the nastiness these women exuded. If its not a field you want to work in, that interests you...then why the hell work there! I met some wonderful nurses in Ward B. As a gimpy, little long term patient, who wasn't violent or particularly demanding, I was out of the ordinary for them. Most patients were gone too quickly for them to develop rapport and the ones that remained (in Ward B at least) were pretty far gone to dementia. So, I guess in a way I became their little mascot. But for those majority of nurses who did the best they could in an under-resourced area, there were 3 or 4 nurses, whose callous actions or words remain with me today
Case Manager
I didn't get introduced to my first Case Manager until I was about a week away from discharge. Their focus is generally Ccmmunity Care. My first Case Manager (Y) was fantastic. She found away to relate to her clients, she made sure to make the meeting spaces somewhere comfortable, whether it be a park or a coffeespot, and she firmly believed in talking and doing.. in other words, by all means talk about what was going on, but at the same time go for a walk as part of my PT or go and check out a second hand book store. Anyways she was my Case Manager for most of the time I was in that area... and whilst I was in hospital she did check-in on me, she would drive me to and from my private psychiatrist appointments, when I had permission to leave the hospital. She was less of presence than out in the 'real world', I guess because she knew while I was in there I was relatively safe and contained.
Patients
Anyone who has spent time in a mental health facility will know that it is the patients that you spend the most time talking to. And often the ones you turn to, for advice or comfort. There are some inherent difficulties in this. You have to be concious of the fact that a) some of them will not be entirely truthful with you, and b) some of them will have issues that may end up impacting on your own mental health. This is particularly important to keep in mind if you decide to keep in contact outside of the ward. But the benefits are they are usually extremely judgmental, and even though no person has exactly the same experiences as you they do have a greater understanding than the average person. The other thing they bring to the table is some comraderie and humor in a dark time in your life. There is a suprising amount of laughter in a Mental Health Ward. The downside to this, is many of the 'acopic' patients, went from this comraderie and support back to their isolated and lonely existences, felt the void, and so would make a suicidal gesture just to be re-admitted for a few days to a world where they felt accepted.
Other hospital staff
Being a longer term patient, the housekeeping staff got to know me quite well, and would often stop for a quick chat. It was all very light, but it was always nice for them to compliment me on how well my walking was coming along, or as one old duck said to me "Some meat on your skin and those dark circles away from your eyes, you're starting to look quite bonny" :) In addition, (S) my physiotherapist was a fantastic support. She worked really hard to keep me goal focussed on the future, to give me hope, but on the few occasions I did fall apart, she was lovely too. I guess she didn't have to adhere to boundaries as strongly as the MH professionals do, and in those times when I was wondering if I was ever going to walk, read and talk properly again, she would take my hand and let me cry. She also provided me ample opportunites to get out the pent up anger inside me and direct it into my rehab sessions, knowing when to push my buttons to get me to push myself just that little bit further out of anger. She was a big reason why I recovered physically as well as I did, but I also believe she was a big reason why I made the steps forward with my mental health too.
Private Psychiatrist
By this stage I had been seeing Dr B for a little over a year. As soon as I was allowed out on leave, I began to go to my appointments with her twice a week, first on escorted leave with either my mum or Case Manager, and then by myself. I found it quite surreal that I was signing out of a psychiatric hospital to get psychiatric help, but the reality was, in order to get the containment I needed to go outside of the Public System.

There were some differences and some similarities at Big City Hospital.
Consultant Psychiatrist
Usually there was just you, him and the junior doc. Not quite as confronting as at Ward B, but also it meant that there was no nurse to explain things to you when you left. I often found it hard to absorb what was being said. The consultations were the same length, about 5 minutes, but seemed to be more regular than on Ward B. Every 2-3 days. He is also the guy who heads the team the Junior Doctor and Case Manager assigned to me in community care are apart of. This means he is kept more regulalry apprised of what is going on with me, and is generally consulted in CM thinks I might need an admission. So there is a lot less repeating myself. And quite often they will do a direct admit rather than make you endure a horrible A&E admit.
Nurses
Now this is one that I do get quite cranky about. I understand that we live in a world of paperwork, back-up paper work and back up, backup paperwork, but the amount of time the nurses spent even out of the office, let alone actually engaged with patients was abysmal. They did not have the same geriatric workload as Ward B nurses. WHAT ARE THEY DOING?? I believe a small part of it can be attributed to the system of medication hand outs. In Ward B, three times a day you lined up outside a window for your medication, this took two nurses about an hour to do. Of course, they had to track down the odd non-compliant patient, but it worked pretty well. Assigned nurses gave out any prns or the odd medication that fell outside these times. In BCH, each assigned nurse, prepares the meds for each of their patients and then runs around the ward like a headless chook with a dixie cup of pills and another of water, trying to find their patient. As there is a bunch of nurse all trying to do this at the same time, the tiny meds room gets quite jammed up, which slows the process further. I've watched an individual nurse take two hours to get through all her meds. It seems to be a waste of time that could be better spent with patients. In BCH, I quite often went an entire shift without talking to my assigned nurse, or even knowing who is was until they came to give me meds. A common phrase was "Ive been measning to come and see you. Just let me finish these meds". And then you never see them again... I am not a squeaky wheel in hospital, so I am easy to overlook. Additionally, I have had a nurse tell my private psychologist who rang, that I was doing very well, and that she has spoken with me that morning....and she had not even seen me! Most of them are good nurses I think, but there is a culture of inefficiency and a tendency to migrate to the nurses station where its comfy. The nurses station in addition, is nowhere near the middle of the ward, so they had no idea what was actually going on (i.e patients smoking dope in the corner (I witnessed this!), there was gossip about patients getting it on in the laundry (not sure if that's true) If you did need to see your nurse, it would take a lot of banging on the door just to get anybody to respond. Massive Fails in my opinion.
Case Manager
Unlike in Ward B, my Case Manager in BCH was housed in a separate location from the hospital. I think she only came to the hospital once, when I was first admitted to introduce herself. However she does always make sure to let them know if I am coming etc and checks on me when I am discharged.
Other staff
Consumer Advocate (K) came and saw me twice during my last ~~incarceration~~ admit. She also arranged for her counterpart to check in on me on my birthday, which was sweet.
Patients
Similar to Ward B, but have had a few bad experiences this time round. One of the girls I befriended in there ended up taking me on a bit of a roller coaster ride outside of the hospital. But I will always be grateful for the few months of friendship we did have. And I truly hope she manages to work through her issues. Unfortunately, I had to distance myself to preserve my own mental health.
Private Psychologist
I began seeing (D) about two months before I landed in BCH the first time, over the next 6 months I had two subsequent admissions. I cannot emphasize how much of a support she has been when i have been hospitalised, and I really need to remember that at times like now, when I am pissed off at her. I was really reluctant to go in my first admission. I had stayed out of hospital for nearly two years, I didn't want to go back to that. I didn't want to admit to how far things had gotten out of control. She did not push hospital, in fact she is in many ways anti-hospital, but eventually we both had to admit we were out of options. The first admit, she sat in the ER with me for hours, waiting for admittance. She also did a lot of the talking (background history stuff) that I was unable to do. I don't think I would have stayed and waited if she hadn't have been there. She also rang me pretty much everyday to check how I was going. At the end of the admission, the Consultant Psych told me, that if I was admitted again, (which I think he suspected I would be, with D-day anniversary coming up) that I was to go to my bi-weekly session with her, for continuity. So on the subsequent stays, I was faced with the surreal prospect of leaving a mental health ward on leave, to go and get mental health help. Seems ludicrous! But it helped.

Ultimately, I can see that Public Mental Health Facilities are not meant to be therapeutic communities, I can see the arguements for least restrictive environments etc BUT if the patients are going to be in the hospital anyway, you would think that there should be some attempts to provide an environment more conducive to processing whatever emotions etc they are feeling. I don't know exactly what the answer is, but I suspect a big part of it, particularly in BCH is getting the nurses off their arses, out of the nursing station and into the messy melee that is a psych ward. That's what they signed up for after all.

The second thing I have become aware of in retrospect, is how lucky I have been to have other people, (private practitioners, physiotherapist, auxilary staff ect) step into to fill the void left by the lack of involvement of behalf of the nurses.

On the ward and out of my mind- I'm Bored!!!!!

2010-02-15T02:36:00.000+10:00

Ok.. well it appears I won't be sleeping any time soon, so I might as well continue with these posts. See part one here and part two here.

Once you are confined to a MH ward there is not a lot to do, other than sit and think. And the last thing they want you doing is thinking! So they have a little schedule they run through each day to keep the crazies happy. Ward B "OT" time was not run by a qualified OT, rather two Recreation Officers, ( read nurse who got sick of nursing and decided to spend the rest of her career beading and sum dood with no neck who liked to take the male patients down to the gym to bond and got sulky if a female patient, say, thought she might like to go for a run on the treadmill.)

Morning meetings started at 8.30am every morning. The R.O. would first take meal orders, introduce new patients, and take care of housekeeping. It was also an opportunity for patients air minor grievances. The R.O. would then write the schedule for the day, and take names for excursions and banking, as well as the Centrelink lady who came in once a week to help clients sort their benefits out. We would then do the Petal Puzzle from the paper (word puzzle) together and then scatter back out to the courtyard to smoke. Some people were very vocal in these meetings, a great deal of us were pretty quiet. The only time I really spoke was during the Petal Puzzle, the only real form of intellectual stimulation I was getting.

Some activities were regular. Gentle exercise on Monday and Thursdays, which I had to attend because my lovely Physio (S) came down to run it, and she thought it would be good for my physical rehab. Of course, to rub in the humiliation of being the only one under 50 doing it (the younger patients pissed off outside for a smoke, and spent the whole hour staring through the glass and laughing) I also had to wear the belt. The belt is a thick canvas thing that velcro's and buckles around your waist with handles on the side or at the back. Its used in Rehab for patients who are learning to balance and walk again, so the physios have something solid and strong to grab if you start to fall. On Wednesday lunch they took the bus to a local Mental Health Clubhouse that hosted a wednesday lunch for $2. The idea was to introduce patients to other service users and the facility, so that when they were discharged they had community support. I think its a great concept, just not for me.. I found it kind of creepy and depressing.

Other activities during the morning might include escorts to the gym, morning sing along (yeah... I said it...sing along!) Volleyball tournaments against Ward A. In the afternoon while male RO did shopping/banking for patients female RO did art, sewing, beading, trivia games. I must admit I actually did enjoy beading, not elaborate stuff, the precisness of it just appealed to my slightly OCD side.

This schedule was repeated week in, week out . Which was great if like most people on Ward B you were there for a short stay. (2 days average for an OD, 4-7 days for most other stuff) The only long termers like me were the geriatrics and one woman who I never found out what was wrong with. She was in her 30's but literally would not move or look at anyone. She just stayed where she was put and stared off into whatever world she was in. She was pretty, her husband came to visit her regulalry and I always felt quite sorry for him....and her too, of course. The point is Ward B was a temporary stop for most people, the long termers ended up on Ward A. But somehow, I, as a long termer, ended up on Ward B. And there is only so much beading one can do!

Occasionally, the week would be shaken up by an exciting once off activity. BBQ in the park, bus trip to local national park and dam (they drove us through mcdonalds drive through and got us soft serve cones on the way back...giggle...) Other times we would head over to Ward A for social time and a bbq

Interspersed with 'activities' were workshops. Patients were 'strongly encouraged' to attend ones that the nurse or doctor thought relevant to their current issue. I got shoulder tapped for the anxiety one. I also got bullied into the relaxation class, which I walked out of after a few minutes. I find a lot of relaxation strategies to actually be quite triggering and make me quite agitated. The workshops were all very short, language aimed at the lowest common denominator and of course had a very heavy CBT bent. Out of boredom, I believe I probably attended all of the workshops over the course of the two months (they cycled through on a two week rotation) including ones that were clearly not apllicable to me at times. the staff tolerated this as I sat quietly and they didn't really know what else to do with me.

After a month or so it hit me, that no matter how lame the activity was, if i just grinned and beared it, it looked good in my notes and put me closer to discharge, so I threw myself in, barely concealing my disdain and trying not to ark up at the patronising undertones. Even (I'm ashamed to admit it) the sing alongs. I learnt that you had to play the game. Paint happy pictures, sing "You are my sunshine" and look damn well excited to be doing it.

Even with the reasonably full weekly activites, the weekends stretched on for ever, as there were no RO's on. I accumulated a plethora of art supplies (with sketch pads I didn't have to show anybody, I took up crocheting (also recommended as part of my "Fine Motor" rehab. I wore my MP3 player constantly. I spent weekends using a collection of Dr Seuss books that I had borrowed from the kids I used to nanny for, to try and prod my brain into remembering how to read again. I practiced writing with the sheets the OT from my rehab team supplied for me, as well as worksheets to improve my 'scanning' capabilities.

In addition to the activites on the ward, I was also doing a lot of rehab work. Aside from the stuff I mentioned above. I would have an individual session with (S) the Physio every day or two, as well as attending Balance and Movement group classes and Fine Motor Classed (mostly populated by patients who had suffered a stroke or had a hip replacement. I had speech and OT every few days. My designated nurse for each shift would also come and run through a series of exercise designed by (S) for 10 minutes or so each shift. They particularly liked the ones where they got to try and push me over (while sitting on a bed) so that I could practise using my core muscles. Some got a little over enthusiastic with this one! I think perhaps working out the frustration of their shift.

During my time in hospital and even as an outpatient (S) was my lifeline. She didn't take any bullshit. When I yelled at her, she yelled right on back. But she also seemed to know where my breaking point was, how hard to push me. She was honest about what she thought my recovery time would be (two years... she was pretty close, I last used my walking stick 22 months later) And she gave me something to focus on. I couldn't do anything to 'fix' my mind, but if I worked hard I could undo the damage I had done to my body. She was never judgemental, even when I complained, despite the fact I had done it to myself. I pretty devastated when a year into my physio she went off early on maternity leave. But I am eternally thankful for compassion and firmness she demonstrated in that first year. She was also a great advocate. When she found out that the room I was in had not been equipped with the necessary equipment she has requested she got it sorted straight away. Within 10 minutes I had the toilet chair, shower bench and transfer chair I needed in my room.

Ok. So moving onto Big City Hospital Program. I have been hospitalised there three times for periods from one week to two and a half weeks. And there activity program includes....erm... not a lot. They do have an RO, but she tends to set random activities up in the dining room, without letting people know she's doing it, so unless you happen to walk through you don't know its on. These activites are mainly arts and craft, beading, sewing and once cooking. So not a lot for the average male to do. But I'm a girl and I liked beading. I just managed to miss it most days. They also occasionally brought a Wii out to play. Other than that, no morning meetings, no real scheduled activities, no workshops, no trips. Just hours of sitting in a depressing, concrete courtyard chain smoking. Once again, my MP3 player was my friend. My own art supplies. And a stack of books. (Yes, I did get the hang of reading again). There aren't even any books or bookshelves in the ward, just hideously out of date, lame women's mags. I wanted to dontate some books, but there is no shelf.

Anyways. Next I will probably talk about MH professionals. When I have the energy to write it up.

On the ward and out of my mind- You are what you eat....

2010-02-14T18:50:00.000+10:00

So, I started bloggin about my experiences in Mental Health wards here yesterday.

It continues...

Body image was never much of an issue to me (not until the last 6 months or so), but weight has always been an issue. When depressed, I restrict, not to lose weight, but because eating seems like too much effort and too life affirming. When I was first admitted to hospital in 2006, I was 38kg (about 84 pounds for those across the pond), which is about 10kg under my optimal weight. I found out later that a Doctor in the ICU told my mother that I must have either anorexia or bulimia to be this weight. Sigh. This suspicion was not helped by the fact that when I started to be offered solid foods, I rejected a lot of them because I truly had no appetite, and well... the food is just gross. They didn't really push it, but I was subsisting on icecream, soup and toast.

Shortly before I went down to the MH ward, my mother shared what the doctor had told her. To her suprise, I laughed. I explained that I didn't have the discipline for anorexia and I couldn't stand throwing up, so no, I had neither of these conditions. I knew I was too thin, I just didn't care. But obviously, the doctors did. So, it was time to watch myself.

Ward B had a dining room with a small kitchenette attached. Breakfast was continental style, with one or two nurses in charge of toasting bread in the kitchenette. Lunch and Dinner were ordered at Morning meeting. If you missed morning meeting then you got what ever the Rec Officer chose for you. At lunch and dinner time a big trolley was pushed through by one of the Hospital Auxilaries, and then you lined up and had your name marked off and your tray handed to you. There was another nurse who served soup. Of course, there was only plastic crockery, and the nurses monitered the dump tray, to make sure you returned your cutlery. Armed with the knowledge that I was probably being monitered for an ED, I dutifully attended all meals for the first week or two and then ate whatever slop they put in front of me. I made sure to stay in a common area and avoid the bathroom for a while after eating to avoid any unfounded suspician. Eventually, they were satisfied it was not an ED, but for some reason still could not wrap their heads around the fact I jsut didn't eat becuase I couldn't be arsed. I was subsequently tested for all manner of diseases and disorders that can cause significant weight loss, and all tests came back clear. Once the spotlight was shifted somewhat from my eating habits.I began to order sandwiches for lunch and dinner, as these were generally palatable, as was the soup. In addition, due to the brain injury, I developed quite a bad tremor, and found eating with cutlery quite difficult, so I was forced to on a couple of occasions have a staff member feed me. I was quite keen to avoid this humilitation. The staff did get frustrated with my rather restricted eating, and referred me to a nutritionist, but nobody really forced the issue. After more than two and a half months of nothing but sandwiches, I began to really hate them!!

The first thing I noticed walking into the dining room that first day, was the high portion of elderly patients. I mean patients with severe dementia, who could not mobilise, feed, shower or dress themselves. All the nurses who were not performing other dinner tasks, were sitting feeding one or two of these patients. I would come to find out, that with no dedicated geriatric ward, Ward B became a dumping ground for all elderly people for whom an appropriate nursing home placement could not be found. They were often sent in as "Violent and aggressive" and a few of them were, due to the dementia, but most of them were as close as you could get to being vegetative. According to the nurses, and patients who caused Nursing Homes too much work, or resisted in anyway, were, often inappropriately shunted off to Ward B.

Years later, when I was admitted to Big City Hospital, there was of course a small population of elderly patients, but none who needed the kind of intensive care, that more than 50% of Ward B's patients did. These nurses were run off their feet, doing geriatric nursing, instead of the Mental Health Nursing they were trained to do. They resented it. And the other patients on their load suffered from the inordinate amount of time that needed to be dedicated to this one patient population.

In Big City Hospital, the dining room set up was in many ways similar. But instead of ordering meals from the kitchen, you lined up at a dedicated kitchen in the dining hall, where one of the kitchen staff would allow you to choose from two options of pre-cooked meals, in a servery or sandwiches and soup. The nursing staff had little responsibility other than to moniter the dining hall, much like a school yard moniter. The one patient I saw who required such attention.. help with feeding, mobility, showering etc, was regarded with much resentment from the staff (He was a cantankerous old bastard who seemed to enjoy winding them up) I remember thinking. You only have one of him, and you share him as a patient. Nurses in Ward B would often have two or three such patients on their individual shift load, as well as a couple of the more standard patients. Funnily enough, despite being more overworked, as a whole I would say nurses on Ward B spent a lot more time with their patients, despite this heavy workload, than staff at BCH did, despite the fact they essentially had more time. But more on that in another post.

At BCH I was never on an ITO, so was mostly free to (with permission) walk across to the shopping centre across the road to get the food I liked, if I felt like it. There was also a number of vending machines on the ward (Got's to have my diet coke), as well as snacks put out quite regularly. A lot of patients seemed to do nothing but eat all day long. If you didn't show up to a meal, you weren't questioned, unlike in Ward B, where you would be basically manhadled out into the dining room if necessary. On a few occasions at BCH I missed breakfast, and once dinner because nobody came to tell me it was on, and I was to distracted with internal stuff, to be aware of time.

The one arsey thing I saw quite regulalry on BCH was younger patients getting hungry after ridiculously early dinner and ordering a pizza, which the nurses would generally allow in. It was always amusing to watch the expression on the poor pizza delivery guys face.

Next time, I might talk about OT... the patroning schmucks....

On the ward and out of my mind

2010-02-14T03:36:00.000+10:00

OK. It's nearly 2am and I need some distraction. Twice today I have heard/read about somebody elses experience with Mental Health wards. One, was through a phone call I had with friend (C) in another state, who just spent a few days in what sounds like the MH ward from hell. And then I read MadSadGirl's latest installment in her "Tackling the Mental Health Minefield" series. So I thought I would write a little about some of my experiences.

As my regular readers would know, I hail from the other side of the equator. Here in Australia, we run off what I guess would be called a two-tiered health system. Pretty comprehensive universal hospital cover in the public system (but with pretty long waiting periods for non-emergent stuff, and overworked, underfunded hospitals). And for those who opt into Private Health Insurance or are prepared to pay out of pocket, a number of private hospitals. I acquired private health insurance, when I was diagnosed with epilespy, because if I had to go to hospital for any length of time, then I wanted it to be somewhere my Private Neurologist had treating rights. I haven't needed to use it for that. Its also a good idea to get Private Health Cover here before you turn 30, otherwise you lose out on the tax-rebate. So pretty much, I just used it for covering basic dental, optometry etc.

The first time I was admitted to a MH ward, was back in 06, post OD. It was a public hospital in large regional hospital. I spent some time in the ICU while I was at my worst. After a few days (its hazy... a week at most) they attempted to move me down to a MH ward. But I was still actively hallucinating as a result of the medication I had taken, my heart rate and blood pressure went through the roof, and after about 12 hours (and my mum pleading with them to get me onto a medical floor) they decided I was to medically unstable and transferred me back up stairs. As, they had begun to notice some of the effect of the brain injury I had acquired, I went up to the Rehab ward, so once I was stabilised my Physiotherapy, Speech therapy and Occupational therapy could commence. Once up there, they also realised I had developed Aspiric Pneumonia from being extubated, so they got started on treating that as well. I was place on 1:1, which basically meant as they didn't have me in the 'safe' confines of the ward, and I had (apparently) at some point verbalised that I had every intention of finishing what I started as soon as they all left me the hell alone, I had to have a Mental Nurse, who had me in sight all the time, as well as the regular floor nurse who looked after me medically. For the first two days, this was probably somewhat unnecessary, as I drifted in and out of consciousness, and was not able to walk or even get out of bed by myself anyway, due to the brain injury. But after that, as necessary as I see the 1:1 was now, it was a pain in the ass. I could not talk to friends or family without a stranger listening in, I could not take the time to process what had happened, as I had someone taking nots on my every move. And, although for the first week or so, I could not mobilise to the shower or toilet by myself, once in there, I was afforded no privacy, as they could not leave the room. Necessary, yes. Consquence of my own actions, yes. Pain in the ass, yes yes yes! For the most part of the, oh, two weeks, that I was on the Rehab floor, my 1:1 nurse had a pretty easy shift. Once I was not actively hallucinating, I was pretty quiet. And I was resigned to the fact that I wouldn't be able to do anything in hospital anyway. Plus my mum was there everyday, helping to feed and shower me (grimace) And all the medical stuff, obs, meds etc was done by the floor nurse. So pretty much they just sat there reading Women's Day. A few, given that 1:1 time with a patient, a luxury they did not normally get, did try to talk to me about what was going on with me, what had led up to the OD, where my mind was at now. But I wasn't really in a place where I was willing to talk yet. One tried to convert me to accept Jesus Christ as my Saviour. The whole Let Go, Let God shite... which was very unprofessional. But for the most part they were ok. I began my rehab with my wonderful physio (S) and her lovely assistent (lilS). Got taught how to transition from bed to chair, and then later down the track from chair to walking stick or zimmer-frame. By the time I left to go down to the ward two weeks later, I was mostly using frame or stick, with the wheel chair only when I left hospital on day leave with my mum or when the nurses had to escort me back up to rehab floor for my sessions (otherwise would have taken me half an hour to get there) So once my medical issues had somewhat resolved, they made the decsion to move me back down to the MH floor. Was probably still a bit too soon, medically, but is very expensive to have to dedicate nurse to one person, or else they just take them off the ward floor, and it becomes understaffed.

One nurse, explained the MH wards to me, one night shift. She explained I was going to Ward B, which was a lower security ward, than Ward A, where they put the floridly psychotic and forensic patients. I was still on an Involuntary Treatment Order, which meant I could not leave ward without supervision, but the ward was only locked at night. So, I could try to leave if I wanted, but security and police would be called to bring me back, and then I would be transferred to Ward A. She also told me I could smoke in the courtyard in Ward B... that was enough for me after three weeks without a cigarette. I was brought down and shown to my room. The ward was laid out in a T shape. The Dining room/ Kitchenette/Common Room were in the middle, with small nurses station running along side it. From there, there was three corridors, to the left and right were "adult" beds, and down the centre a partition opened up what used to be the adolescent ward, to allow for more bed space still. At the very end of the corridor on the left (males), was another small tv room, with the requisite MH ward piano. I was taken down the right (females) corridor to a private room. There were 8 private rooms down one side of the corridor, with every two rooms sharing a bathroom. And four dorm rooms down the other side, with four patients sharing a room. I was happy to be given a private room, which I was later told was because I still had complex medical needs. They left me to settle in the room a minute, while they went to grab my paperwork. I took the opportunity to hobble my way to the bathroom to enjoy a bit of privacy for the first time in two weeks. Bliss. Once I got the hang of the weird bathrrom locks, that had to lock both the door from mine and the adjacent bedrooms access into the bathroom.

I was still sitting there 10 minutes later, when, let's call her Nicole, came back in to check on me. She knew I was dying for a cigarette, so she took me out to the courtyard, handed me my cigarettes, introduced me to a few of the younger patients, and told me she would be back in a few minutes to go through my paper work with me. I smiled hesitantly at the other patients, and then sidled away (as much as one can sidle with a walking stick) to sit on a bench and chain smoke seriously. I hate to admit it, (I think this is the case of a lot of people on their first admit) my immediate thought was.... I can't talk to them, they're crazy! Never mind out of all of them I was the one who just came off 1:1 and was still on an ITO. It was then it began to dawn on me what I had done, or more to the point, where I had landed myself.

Nicole came back out and took me around to a table on the other side of the courtyard, out of ear shot. She asked if I wanted to do this in my room, but I wanted to continue smoking, so I said outside was fine. Still she took care to speak softly, to protect my privacy. "This" turned out to be a patient intake form and a the first of what would be one of the many risk assessments forms I had done over the next four years and various inpatient stays. Mood leading up to the OD?... very low. Sleep?...had been bad for months but am told I didn't sleep at all for four days before OD. Have no memory of this week at all, although I was later told I did go to work for the first two days (Mon, Tues....OD on Sun), but I didn't have this info yet. Just one big missing chunk of time. Self Harm? No point denying, they had seen my scars and cuts. Eating? I was 38kg at 161cm at the time, so obviously not great. Current level of suicidality? Hmm...hesitant to answer that. Did I think I could come talk to a nurse if suicidal or self harm urges got to much? What am I going to do about it if they do...I'm in a MH Ward, I'm guessing they don't leave blades lying around. Did I have a plan? Like I'm going to tell you. Then she spoke about my life before OD. Professional Care? Yes, Psychiatrist for two years. Diagnosis? PTSD. History of sexual, physical, verbal abuse? Yes, yes and yes. Drug and Alchohol abuse? No. Psychosis? Apart from the OD induced hallucinations, no. Family support? Well.......... Housing? Not sure. Currently rent by myself, but mother insisting I come and live with her.

Nicole stopped and gathered up the paper work. And then suprised me, by pulling a packet of cigarettes from her pocket and lighting one up. She looked at me and said "I bet you are just feeling pretty shit about the way things have gone, huh?". I nod, dumbly. She went on to say "This place really isn't so bad... just think of it as a chance to take a break and focus on yourself" I say nothing. She smiles sympathetically (or is it empathetically) She goes onto explain the rules. Meals in the dining room at 7.30am, 12.30pm and 5.30pm. Meal selection is done at Morning meeting, which everyone is expected to attend in Common room at 8.30am. Courtyard open at 6am, closed at 9pm. No smoking inside. Permission (and for me supervision) required to leave the ward. Checks every hour (15 minutes for me, for the time being)

She walks me back inside pointing out things as she goes. Kitchenette is for staff to serve only. Coffee/Tea and snacks available for Morning Tea and Supper at 10.30am and 7pm, respectively. She points out the patient board. My first name has been written up there, next to my room number, and my dedicated nurse, which for this shift is Nicole. I am to find her if I need anything. We head back to my room. We both shiver as we walk in. I am to find out, my room is inexplicably colder than the rest of the ward, even the nurses say so. I will have to use four blankets at nights. My room contains a single bed, a laundry hamper and a built-in unit with a cupboard, shelves and a desk. There is barely enough room to get my zimmer frame in, so I will have to become more proficient with my stick. My bags have arrived. Friend (Miss G) has packed what she thought I would need, as mother is not ready to face apartment yet. She has included my Journals, thinking that I wouldn't want then left at home where prying eyes could see. I don't want them here either, content could keep me locked up for a lot longer than I was planning on staying. (I later give them to Miss G to keep at her house until I get out) Nicole goes through my bags, looking for contraband.... she finds it, disguised in ways that even I don't see the potential danger until she points them out and starts giving me ideas. Perfume (glass bottle, alcohol) Razor (obviously) Phone Cord (OK...hang on what???) Belt (I guess...) Shoe laces (Just take the shoes, I'll wear my thongs) ad infinitum. Lighter (Apparently I can probably get this back later) She eyes the journals curiously, but just gives them a cursory shake. She wraps a patient ID sticker around the back of my phone to cover the camera lens...for privacy reasons.

Any Questions? When do I get to go home??? Sigh. "That's for the doctors to decide, but it will probably be a little while, you're not well, physically or emotionally". She goes on to explain that they normally don't get patients with complex needs like mine. Most people either take a non-lethal OD, and are well enough to come down from A&E or CCU within a day or two. Or else they take the lethal dose, and well, they don't end up here. She said that (S) would be coming down for a meeting with the rest of my "team" and I, later on that day, to discuss my rehabilitation and the Psych Doc would come up with a plan for putting me back on meds... I hadn't had any since the OD, apart from my epilepsy meds, because they wanted to give my system time to recover.

She pats my shoulder and gets up to leave. At the doorway she turns and smiles. "You just have a bit of relax" Lunch is in 10 minutes, I will come and get you. If you need anything come and find me. If you start to feel dizzy, hit the call button" I notice the red button nestled next to the bed head. She turns and leaves shutting the door softly behind her. I lean back, clasping my childhood comfort object to my chest, and look around. And I think "What the hell have I gotten myself into?"

To be continued at some point.....

I got what I wanted and I don't want it anymore

2010-02-12T23:17:00.000+10:00

I got what I wanted. Finally, after all the drama and crowding and visitors staying, for the first time since I got out of hospital, I got the house to myself. Lil Sis is away down the coast until Monday. Big Sis is away for the night and should be going home on Sunday anyway. I spent all day, counting down the hours until they left, fantasising about the peace and quiet, tuning into the classical stations, maybe lounging around watching tv or doing some painting, blissfully and wonderfully alone.

But... they left, and I got some company to replace them. The 'Voice" kicked into overdrive. Freedom and an empty house was apparently too much of a temptation. I can cut without having to worry about anyone walking in on me, I can drink without worrying about detecting, all in the vain hopes of ignoring the central message from the "Voice". "Now is your chance, nobody home for the next day at least, nobody to accidentally find you, to call an ambulance. Do it now" Strong suicidal ideation, flirting with visions of a fistfuls of medication, swigs of vodka and full bathtub.

I don't know why. I mean, no, these thoughts and feelings didn't magically dissappear after "Horrible Thursday". But I guess, I had so much else that needed to be dealt with, that there wasn't so much time to stew. I honestly, was just looking forward to a nice quiet evening alone, and then bam! it all hits me, seemingly from nowhere. I suppose a big part of it on a subconcious level at least, is that I literally haven't been alone in over two weeks now, so limits the opportunities. So, I am viewing this a knee jerk reaction and trying to ride the waves as best I can. There has been some minimal SI and a little drinking. I tried to call therapist earlier, but could not get through. I left a message explaining the issue, but have not heard back. We have a planned check in phone call tomorrow, so I guess I'll just hold out for that. Problem is, I left a message, which means she'll be apprised of the issue, and ask me how I managed to work through it without support. And I don't really want to tell her I resorted to some unhealthy coping strategies. I feel like if I tell her that, it kind of sounds like, "I couldn't reach you, so I decided to slash myself" Which I guess is partially the truth, but makes it sound like "Why weren't you available when I needed you?" when in reality, I have always been fully aware that as a solo practioner, unless we have prearranged a contact time, and it is generally within business hours, she may not be available all the time by phone. I understand that. That's why we got Public Mental Health involved. But Case Manager (M) is of course only available 9-5, Mon - Fri. And although there is a Triage Line, it is staffed by people I don't know, who don't know me..and I find it incredibly difficult to talk in this situation. Naturally, the times when I am most likely to crack up, are evenings and nights, when the MH support I am comfortable with, is for the most part unavailable.

Anyway. It does kind of validate one thing that she said, about containment, and phone calls providing me with less of a feeling of having to struggle through on my own. I may not have got a hold of her tonight, but I know she will be calling tomorrow, so I just have to hold out until then. By that point I'll either feel a bit better, or I can talk to her about it. 12-14 hours isn't that far off. But if I had to wait until Monday at 3.30pm, it would be a lot harder to keep myself together.

My biggest fear, is that this is my knee jerk reaction, not just to being alone, but to being alone for a long enough period, that I can act on impulses without any risk of discovery. Up until this point lil sis was usually in the house most evenings and nights, or else her ex and his brother were, which was somewhat of a discouraging factor. Now it looks like little sis will probably head to the coast most weekends, which leaves me with a lot of opportunity, at least until we get a housemate. Sigh. So, hanging in there. I got what I wanted...not so sure I want it anymore.

Three times a week!!!

2010-02-11T23:34:00.000+10:00

Therapy today. Sigh. I began the day by catching up with (K) for coffee. Entertaining and thought provoking as usual. No BS, which is nice. I always seem to walk away from my catch ups with her with a few different ideas rumbling their way through my mind. Is always good to have a different perspective from somebody who has been in a similar place before.Among the many things our little chat through up (what is the opposite of hope? I say resignation.. she respectfully disagrees) she said something about how you can't tell everything about a person, just because they have a sunshiney demeanour... they may have become that way as a reaction to a not so sunshiney past. It made me think about one of the major discomforts I have with MH professionals. They always seem to have it so together. And you imagine from the way they are able to pull apart and analyse your problems and come up with healthy solutions etc that they must have it all together. But the reality is, I'm a client, they can't really bring their baggage into the room like in a normal relationship. So you get a skewed view. Maybe somedays their life is just as shite as mine. Maybe they are able to empathise and give good advice, because they are talking from their own experience. And I need to keep that possibility in mind, before I dismiss what they have to say. Is very easy with MH issues to become very ego-centric...nobody could possibly understand, wah wah wah, I need to keep in mind they are human too, not perfectly turned out robots.

After that we chatted for a bit about photography, and (K) asked me to bring some of my photos to see next time. I really must follow through on my plan to go to the botanic gardens and potter about with my camera. Its something I have enjoyed in the past, though I am not that great at it... and as (D) has pointed out I need to be "doing things"

Anyway, after (K) I jumped on a bus and then train to get to therapy. (D) commented that I seemed outwardly to be a lot calmer. (Which I attribute mainly to meds and ex moving out of the house...finally!) But was somewhat concerned that I had become a bit disconnected. I don't seem to be able to find a happy medium, either utter out of controll-edness or complete disconnect. She started talking about increased contact again, and pointed out that while I might feel that since I am disconnected rather than a shaking, gibbering mess, I don't need it, she actually feels that I probably still do, maybe even more so.

We spoke for a little while about anger again (flogging a dead horse). She pointed out that even if I can't do anything to change the way my family reacts to it, I can still work on finding ways to be more assertive and say no, in other relationships. To learn how to protect myself from others who would seek to exploit me. And if I feel confidant in doing that, I might not just cut people off out of fear of what they might do....

Which of course led to.... Bachelor Number One. No I have not broken up with him yet. I've tried, but I jsut can't seem to make myself. Argh. I sent him an email explaining everything thats been going on, half hoping that he would just go "Ooh, that bi-atch is crazy!" and back off. But he didn't. He sent one back asking to see me. I haven't responded yet. I know in my heart now is not the right time for a relationship. And I do not want to explain the state of my hacked up legs to him... but I can't seem to make myself cut ties either. He is a great guy. Sigh. And of course, if and when he does reject me as a nutter, deep down I'll be devastated..

Finally, we moved back to the "increased contact" discussion. Still haven't made any headway. I'm going to think about adding a third session and how that might make me feel. The other choice is the phone checkins. I think she realised how worked up I'm getting about it all, because she is only going to call me once over the weekend (on saturday) and then I'll see her at my normal time on monday. She pointed out that she thought, part of the reason the "Horrible Thursday" went down the way it did, was becuse she pushed me a bit too hard and then I left the session with all of this crap still going nuts in my head, but was not going to see her again for four days. And I'm not the greatest at reaching out for help on my own at times. I don't know if that's true, but I guess it kind of makes sense.

Anyway, I left therapy with all sorts of (you guessed it) crap floating around my head, and just really needed to go home. So I skipped my blood test at Big City Hospital, which means I'm going to have to travel half and hour each way to go and get it drawn tomorrow afternoon. Sigh. I also NEED to call the uni.

Not an incredibly exciting session, but still, gave me a bit to think about.

Housemates and Neurologists

2010-02-10T19:49:00.000+10:00

Had three potential house mates interview this evening. The first was a guy, which I was unsure about to begin with, but then lil sis vetoed him, because he was apparently too good looking. Ok....Second was a girl who seemed quite nice and laid back. She seemed like she'd be a reasonably good fit. And she was dead keen on the room. Third was another girl, who seemed nice enough, but a bit particular, she took notes!!! Anyway lil sis and I chatted and decided the first girl was the one. So I gave her a call, and she had managed to find another place in the hour since we met up, that was closer to work, and had decided to take that. Sigh. House-mate hunting is a cut throat business! So, the guy is out, the second girl is a possibility, but we have decided to wait a few days to see if we get anymore bites.

Neurologist appointment this morning was a bit of a spin out. I saw a new doctor and she told me that at my current dosage she wasn't suprised I was having seizures. Wtf? Why hasn't anyone said anything to me about this before? Anyway, she increased my Epilim, and said we might have to look into adding Keppra. Great, another medication! Anyways, new doc seems to be a bit of a test freak, and wants me to get another MRI and a sleep-deprived EEG. Fun! I mean, it is good news, that I could possibly get a bit more seizure control. Although she did admit, that until the sleep issues are resolved its going to be somewhat tricky. But I need to get into the headspace, of dealing with the epilepsy side of things. I'm so focussed on the mental health stuff, I just don't have a lot of head space for anything else. And I had just gotten to the point where I had accepted that until I start sleeping a bit more, I am going to have a seizure every week or two. Its good news, it really is...sigh.

Texted (D) this morning to let her know I had to turn off my phone for my appointment, but that I was doing ok and I would see her tomorrow. Really need to make my mind up about these daily check in calls, and what is for the best.

Other than that pretty boring day. Still haven't spoken to Bachelor Number One, still haven't called uni, got a bit of cleaning done. Tomorrow I have coffee with (K) and then therapy in the afternoon. In between, I really need to at least call the uni.

The therapeutic relationship.

2010-02-09T21:35:00.000+10:00

Ok. I know that there are a lot of much more informed and better blog posts out there in regards to this subject, and this will probably be a very boring post to read. You don't have to. But I just had a very 'wiggy' session and I need to process, and this blog is my place to do it.

So, today I had my make up session for the one we missed yesterday, because of (D's) conference. I was in a much better place for discussion this week, than I was last week, as some of the 'other people's drama' has calmed down, and also, I would hazard a guess, because of the increase in my Serepax dose. So, (D) began the session by asking how the last few days had gone. I rambled on about lil sis's ex finally moving out etc, and she let me ramble for a bit before saying, what she really wanted to hear about was me. How had those five days been for me? I kind of giggled at that point, because she had a point, I was not paying her to sit and listen to my sister's relationship issues for an hour. Ok, so moving onto me. I told her that I had handled it ok. I also told her about my little meltdown on Friday at lil sis, and the residual anger/agitation/irritableness that I had not been able to shake since. I told her about the incredibly uncomfortable physical reaction that I had to it on Friday (shaking uncontrollably) and aboutt my frustration with myself for not being able to get control over myself in regards to this irritation over the weekend. We spoke about why I was so uncomfortable with anger. She zeroed in on my use of the phrase 'cracked up'. Enter various interpretations...the cracks that allow bits of me to be visible and allow bits of other people access in, the cracked egg etc. Cue my response that the cracked egg in the carton is the one that goes bad, if we are going to indulge in this over-analysis of a throw away phrase. Cue her, if some what predicatable comeback, that the cracked egg allows the chicken to be born. Well played (D), well played. I really don't know why I let myself be drawn into these debates over the deeper meaning of words and phrases, that I am pretty sure really don't much have a deeper meaning. I said cracked up, were I from a different locality I may have said "Had a barney" "Chucked a tanty" "Did my block" or any one of many other meaningless and trite phrases. I guess maybe it's that, if I can engage her in these trivial debates, it is more time deflected away from uncomfortable subject matter.

Finally, she just out and out asked me what it was about anger that made me so uncomfortable. Which of course, made me extremely uncomfortable. To the point where I did what swore to myself previously I wouldn't do, and let a little too much of my crazy show, by jumping up and straightening her mat. I recentered myself, and answered that anger made me uncomfortable a)because it is unproductive b) because I feel like once I allow myself to get angry I can't contain it and stop it (not like the Incredible Hulk, or anything, I just feel like once I give myself permission to be angry at one thing, a whole plethora of things come pouring out that I am angry about and c) I was uncomfortable talking about it with her, because I knew we held diametrically opposed ideas about anger and it felt too much like a confrontation. (D) considered all this and replied to b) that "it would eventually stop, that is the nature of it" or something along those lines. Then she considered "diametrically opposed. I clarified. I have a firm position in my head that anger is completely unproductive, particularly with my family, as it makes no impact on them, nor does it get them to change their behaviour (see lil sis's lack of help or understanding on the weekend), so all that it does is make me feel horrible and hateful. And she of course, holds firmly to the idea that anger (when contained and appropriately directed) can be a productive thing. I hate situations like this, because I really feel like there is nothing she can say to change my mind... and it just feels confrontational and makes me feel like a recalcitrant child, who won't listen to reason.

So, we moved onto a) anger isn't productive. I tried explaining to her that in my family, my anger is not heard. It wouldn't matter how loud I screamed they would not hear it or accept it. I could get angry at my family's inability to allow me to break out of the role of passive peacemaker who will always give in, or I can just accept that I can't change them, and if I choose to have them in my life (which I do) then I just have to accept that. I came to this conclusion after being told by them repeatedly post-od in 2006 that I had to be more honest about how I was feeling, only to be shut down completely everytime I tried. She asked me how my family had reacted to my 'pitching a fit' on friday night, and my general crankiness and agitatedness over the weekend. I told her that big sis had tried to have a word with lil sis about it, but I just don't think it sunk in. Other than that, I said, they mainly just made a joke of it. She asked me what they said, and I cringed inside knowing how bad it would sound to her. She said that it was not about blaming anyone, just trying to figure out the communication dynamics within the family. So, I gave her the example "Be good, because your Auntie Ophelia is on the edge, and she might crack it, then we'll have to take her back to the nuthouse". I felt so ashamed saying that out loud, becuase I know how it sounds. I think (D) was a little speechless for a moment. I tried to explain that that was just the way they all talked, and that I just had a thinner skin than the rest of them, but she told me not to 'minimise' it. I know, some of the things that my family says could be considered inappropriate, but that's how we've been brought up, to make a joke of things so we don't have to discuss anything unpleasant or requiring emotion. And, yes, at times it feels incredibly invalidating, but I also tend to make a joke of everything, to make other people more comfortable with things. Sigh.

I checked the clock. She smiled and asked me whether time was going a bit too slowly for me, or whether I had something I was wanting to say before the session ended. But it was less about that, and more about the growing feeling of agitation, that I was coming into therapy, and getting these thoughts all messed around in my head, I got to 'feel' these feelings that I apparently have a right to feel and then go home to my very real, very imperfect, invalidation world, and try to manage. I didn't think it was fair to bring up this giant mess of emotions when I had to walk out the door after 50 minutes and deal. Which is stupid, because essentially what therapy is all about. Sigh. Anyway, I told her my thoughts. (D) replied that we did need to work towards getting more containment as we approach some of the more difficult stuff. She said that therapeutically, she actually thought I would benefit from more contact (I currently see her twice a week!) but she realised financially this would be difficult for me (she already charges me a sliding scale rate, which creates bif issues around money and power balances for me) She mentioned looking into some organisations that may subsidise the cost of therapy. But I vigorously shook my head. Seeing her,even for one more session a week just brings to head the ugly issue of dependence for me. Ugh! She talked about the possability of daily phone check-ins, which I also rejected. She asked whether this was because of the dependence issues or because I was worried about being a burden to her. Both really, but mostly the former. She told me that a certain level of dependence is expected and somewhat necessary for the therapeutic relationship. But that it is something that we both keep in mind and moniter. She asked me to think about it and asked if she could call me tomorrow to check in. I shook my head. She asked if this was because I was worried about the being a burden issue. I shrugged. She told me she would call tomorrow. Sigh.

It is a weird, weird, weird relationship the one between therapist and client, particularly in pyschodynamic therapy The reality is, the last few weeks have shown I am dependent on her. And I hate it! And I am fighting desperately against it, whilst at the same time needing the support to anchor me. Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh! How do i know when it crosses the line from healthy (in the therapeutic context) and unhealthy? I guess I trust her judgement. And I do. Some of my family seem to think she is trying to rort me, suck me into staying in therapy, keeping me unwell. Not only is this laughable, as I don't think they fully understand what mental illness really is. But is also, this is laughable because I am not exactly a cash cow. She sees me twice a week, say 50 weeks a year, so 100 sessions. Of these, medicare pays for 18. Private health pays for 7, but only $65, so (D) cuts the price to $80, so I pay a $15 gap for those. Once those 26 sessions are used up, the next 74 sessions are all down to me. (D) has cut these sessions down by $130 to $30. Do I feel guilty, do I hate this ? Yes. Am I under any illusion that she is trying to keep me in therapy to milk me dry? No. If that was her intention there are plenty of people who could fill my slot and pay her a lot more.

I hate this
I hate this
I hate this

Everyone else can ignore this post

2010-02-09T01:16:00.000+10:00

*This post is directed at the person (family member) who I believe has gone through the history on my computer or looked at my computer whilst I had my blog up and is now reading my blog*

A) This blog is anonymous for a reason. If I wanted you to read it, I would have told you about it. If I wanted you to know these things, I would have told you about it. It is no better than reading somebody's diary without permission.... very low!
B) Google Analytics.... funny how I all of a sudden have a spike in readership from this town, huh? And the thing about reading somebody's internet history, is that I can do the same thing myself on the other computer you are accessing... I wonder what I'd find?
C) Weird how you all of a sudden know things that I just haven't discussed with you....psychic powers that you have suddenly acquired?
Finally...
D) I thought about turning this blog private, but you know what? I am not ashamed of anything that I am writing here. It is none of your business, but I am not ashamed. I was originally more concerned that given your behaviour at times and the way that makes me feel, I might write negative things about you on here at times and that would upset or anger you. But upon reflection, I have decided that snoopers run the risk of hearing bad things and that is down to your choices. But remember, whatever I say on here, you can't take umbrance to, or even say anything to me about it, because you know you are totally in the wrong reading it without my permission. So I would suggest for your own sake, you stop. And I will know if you don't.

I know this pseudo warning has passive aggressive undertones, but I don't see the point in calling you out on this. You will lie and I will know you are lying. So really it is your choice, not just to do the right thing because that is obviously a difficult concept for you, but to avoid yourself the discomfort of me writing the total truth about you.

Sorry everybody else, who had to read this and witness this little family tiff.

My kind of day

2010-02-08T19:47:00.000+10:00

Today, I have not been doing anything that I am 'supposed' to do. I have stayed in my pajamas. I did not shower. After the big cleaning marathon on the weekend, there was little that needed to be done other than a few dishes. I had a pizza pocket for lunch. I drank real coke, rather than the decaffenieted stuff I try to drink. I watched all the shows that I had recorded on the IQ. I surfed the net. I dealt with the phone/cable situations, which took about 10 minutes, but pushed all the other things I have to sort...uni, carpets etc off the agenda for the day. And now I am cooking myself a very easy frozen curried lentil and rice microwave meal, before cuddling up on the couch for some more tv. And even though I haven't done any of the things I'm supposed to do to keep the depression at bay...exercise, socialise, eat properly etc.... it was just what I needed. The sheer bliss of a day of just kicking back, chilling out and doing exactly what I wanted to. It's not something I can keep up... but for today, it was good.

Therapist (D) texted me to let me know that she was back from overseas, and she hoped that I was doing ok, but she wasn't in a place where she could call me. Which was fine, to be honest I didn't expect a call from her tonight, when she has just gotten back, but it was lovely that she thought to send the text. I really need to remind myself next time therapy is going as I might want it to that I am quite lucky to have (D) who is consistent and trustworthy, is available as needed outside of the "50 minutes", without letting it turn into a situation where there is too much dependence. When times are tricky she really steps up to the plate with the everyday support, without making me feel bad or like a burden (although I can do that all by myself) I can say now, in a moment of relative peace, that it has been really interesting, though sometimes unsettling, to look back on how the therapeutic relationship has developed in just over 6 months. I trust her. I really do. Which is so strange for me. And the way she was able to take my anger, from that horrible 'Thursday' and let me know, that it was ok, it was a good thing, and the relationship could survive it, was pretty amazing. I'm still processing the concept. And then to be able to switch gears, and know that stuff needed to be put on the backburner while the whirlwind of the last week was endured, was fantastic. We have a fill-in session tomorrow morning, and I know its going to be time to start facing up to some hard sh*te, but tonight, I feel ok about this, because I have a pretty amazing therapist help me, as well as a wonderful (if annoyingly, perpetually happy) Case Manager, who has also consistently stuck by, and been available to me, despite the limitations of the Public Health system. And who has been able to advocate for me, within said system, when I am unable to do it for myself. And of course (K), who seems to find a way to both suprise me and get me thinking whenever we catch up. From a professional point of view, I am pretty damned lucky support-wise, even BossPsychDoc is ok, although I think I will probably be relegated back to his new BabyDoc. I met her when I was last in hospital, only once, but she seems ok, better than the douchebag who held the position before her at least. At some point I may need to consider getting a private psych. Particularly if sleep doesn't start to improve. Private psychs tend to be a bit more creative in their approach and of course, have more time to spend one on one and get to the bottem of things. But for now, its all pretty good. Now, I just need to work on maybe (maaaaaaybe) opening up to some friends and family a bit more, so my social support network is stronger.

Better than prozac!

2010-02-08T17:50:00.000+10:00

My lil cat, has spent the day lounging next to me, purring and cuddling. Very comforting. I think she is a little less freaked out now then she was when her owner was shaking like a leaf 24 hours a day, like I had been over the previous week or so. Miss Phelie....

I need a break

2010-02-07T23:00:00.000+10:00

To start off with, let it be said I am a bit of a sad case. I am not good at walking away from people who are in trouble, even if I can't help, without feeling incredibly guilty. Such is the case with (F) who I spoke about a few posts ago. She made some bad choices and misused her medication which resulted in us having a head on collision with another car last saturday because she drove on the wrong side of the road. It was at that point that I realised I had to distance myself a little, as I didn't think I could do anything to help, and it was potentially quite damaging for me to have contact with her at this time. But I still think about her, and worry about whether she is going to be ok, whether she will be able to kick this addiction. Wish I could do more to help her. So I logged onto Facebook this evening, and realised she had de-friended me. Which is good news, as it means a) that she is still alive b) she is not in hospital (although am not sure this is actually good, maybe a treatment program wouldbe the best place?) and c) I probably shouldn't be looking at her facebook anyway, if I have made the choice to take a little distance. But it also makes me sad, about the loss, (potentially permanent) of what was a good and important friendship to me. So, will resist the urge to call and check on her, and instead just send my positive thoughts. Keep safe (F) and I hope you can find the strength to realise that you are worth fighting for and that you have been strong enough to kick a drug habit before, and you are strong enough now. I really wish nothing but the best for you and your precious bub. And if this is the end of our friendship, I am still grateful for the good times we've had and the support we've been able to give each other. I'm sorry I could not do more.

Speaking of being a pushover, am still pretty damned annoyed with lil sis, who refuses to do much to help at all. She did cook dinner tonight, but barely lifted a finger to help with the four day long spring clean. Sigh. I have always done the lion's share of the housework and it usually doesn't bother me that much, but I think its just a cumulative thing, with everything that's been going on, particularly in the last week, my tolerance for annoyance and agitation is at an all time low. As the song says "Everything you say to me, takes me one step closer to the edge, and Im about to BREAK" I just really need a few days of no drama and a bit of time and space to myself to start gaining a bit of my tenuous equilibrium back.

At any rate looks like the ex has gotten all of his stuff and he has handed keys back, so that is one less thing to worry about. Therapist (D) is due back from her conference tomorrow afternoon and I have a session booked for Tuesday morning. And visit to NeuroDoc on Wednesday. At some point tomorrow I need to contact the university re:dropping my subjects without academic penalty. Oh, and I also have to break up with boyfriend...more about that later...am too tired to explain. More than anything I would like to just bury myself under the duvet and ignore the world for a few days. Or as Miss Lola would suggest, run away to a deserted island. I am over people, the real life ones at any rate. I need a break.

P.S. I checked Google Analytics today and I am getting quite a few visitors everyday from all sorts of different places. Feel free to comment or just say hi. Its kind of weird writing to a silent audience. As another song goes "And I feel like I'm naked in front of the crowd, Cause these words are my diary, screaming out loud" Anna Nalick Breathe Well....screaming somedays, mostly just whinging

Somebody let me out of here

2010-02-06T22:07:00.000+10:00

Ok. So I am tired, sunburnt, agitated, have come close to losing it with several members of my family today, and am now sleeping on the couch again tonight, as my aunt and her two little ones are in my bed. We went to a local water park today for big sis's b'day and to allow lil sis's ex to move his stuff out. Crowds, people, hot sun and our own little over-stimulated darlings (5yo, 9yo and 10 yo) made me very agitated and snappy. Added to the fact, that I've had a headche all day from having to walk around without my glasses on and I spent the whole day worried I was going to have a seizure and ruin everyone's day. Whine, whine, whine. I am just not fit to be around people at the moment.

Got home and realised ex has not moved all of his stuff. He texted my sister and told her because it had rained he wasn't able to get all of his stuff and would be coming back tomorrow. Personally I think thats just bollocks. We have potential housemates interviewing tomorrow, so I told her to tell him he would have to come next weekend, but apparently he was insistent on doing it tomorrow. So she told him he can come between 10am and 2pm, but that is it! Hopefully, he will respect this boundary. Sigh. I am just so sick and tired of this crap. I am sick and tired of everything. I feel like shit, emotionally and physically. Somebody let me out of here!

Found my anger..didn't know what to do with it, so lost it again..

2010-02-06T01:58:00.000+10:00

Lost my temper and very nearly lost the plot this afternoon. Lil sis just pushed me to far with her inconsideration and unhelpfulness in getting the house ready for prospective tenants. Plus I was on edge from lack of meds...Finally got the call that my script was ready and so removed myself from the house. By the time I reached the Mental Health Building, I was shaking with agitation. Was so bad that when (M) handed me a cup of water I could barely hold the cup. Chatted with her for a few minutes, which centred me a bit. Although she was of the opinion like therapist (D) that it is good for me to get in touch with my anger. Which I understand in theory, but practically, me losing my temper is not going to help the situation. Walked back down the hill to the mall to get script filled, still shaking so bad that the pharmacy attendant was giving me strange looks as I tried to sign my name. Thought I would want to get in and out of mall as quickly as possible, but strangely did not find it as claustrophobic as I would normally. Plus it was airconditioned and 10 000 degrees outside. So stuck around for an hour or so and did some frivilous shopping. Didn't spend much and I had some birthday cash left, so it was a nice splurge. Bought some cushions and a shoe rack and a new mat for the doorway. Also bought a big bag of pick and mix lollies as a treat. Ignored phone calls from sisters. When I finally got home I think lil sis was trying to apologise, as big sis had basically told her, if you don't cut it out then Ophelia is going to crack completely. But didnt realise that's what she was trying to do, and was too pissed off to bother listening. She still didnt really help me clean the rest of the house. So I finished tidying and vacuuming. Aunt arrived with two little cousins and my big sis went to pick up her son, so we have a full house ready for our trip to the water park tomorrow. At first found the infringement on my space a bit tricky, but had a 'good' chat with aunt and sister re: past history, and why therapy is good for me. They see me going month after month and don't think its helping, which I understand, but they don't understand the complexities of it. Besides they don't have a better plan, so.....Is now 2 am and I have to be up in a few hours to leave, so I should try and get some sleep. Sigh. Ex is pretty much all moved out, and has tomorrow while we are out of the house to get the rest. Anyways....longer post tomorrow.