Attacked by a Ninja Nap

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!

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!

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

Absentee Dads and heart attacks.

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?

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.

On the ward and out of my mind

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 need a break

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

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!

Life in a nutshell

Found out a little more about the 'situation' from last night, this morning. Apparently while lil sis's ex was in the spare room (and I assumed sleeping), he was actually lying there in the dark incessantly calling her, and sending nasty and obscene text messages and pictures. Lil sis got a new I-phone the other day, and thoughtlessly left her old home lying about at home. I say thoughtlessly, given ex's current state of mind, but really... who goes through other peoples old text messages. Anyway, apparently he found some texts that enraged him, and thus the text message harrassment. A part of me feels bad for him, but he really just needs to pull his head in. Anyway, sis was supposed to head into the courthouse this morning to lodge a Domestic Violence Order against him. But once again, at the last minute she changed her mind. Ultimately, it is her choice, and all we can do is support and offer encouragement. She did however tell ex that she had picked up the paperwork and if he didn't leave, she would file it tomorrow. I understand where she is coming from, somewhat. Nobody wants a 6 year relationship to end that way, and prior to them breaking up, there was none of this crazy-ass behaviour from him. I really do think he is starting to lose the plot, and I thinked, faced with the prospect of the DVO, he started to realise that too. So he came home this afternoon, filled out the necessary paperwork to change things over with the lease, bond and car registration, packed up some things and left.

He will be coming back on saturday to get the rest of his things, but only during stipulated hours while we are out at a local waterpark celebrating older sis's bday. Sigh. Waterpark...sheesh... that's going to be fun. Am a bit concerned about going due to the mess I have made to legs (SI-ing), but the cuts are limited to the upper part of my thighs, and after talking to (K) this afternoon, I decided I should go, so I bought some knee-length board-shorts and hopefully that will suffice. My sisters do know, I think, about the previous self-harm, years ago, because it came out in hospital, post OD in 2006. But we have never discussed it and nobody outside the mental health professionals knows I'm back at it again. I have always been pretty good at hiding it... taking care of it myself, and only cutting on areas that nobody else would see. Of course, with various boyfriends over recent years, the issue of my scars has come up, but I have always been able to reassure them that it was something I did many years ago, as a messed up kid. But here I am, 27, and back at it again. Pathetic! But, I've kicked it once, and I'll do it again. I am damned if I am going to go back to carrying around one more secret and trying to hide it from everybody. To carrying blades and bandages in my purse, just in case...I will NOT go back to that. I just have to be firm with myself. Yes, it serves a purpose, but its a purpose that could be served a few other, more healthy ways.

Other than that therapist (D) headed off overseas this morning. She called from the boarding lounge to check how I was doing, I could hear boarding calls in the background. Which was nice. And yes, its a bit scary she is out of contact for a bit, but it is only 5 days, and she is probably off learning more things about how to deal with nutters like me, so, its time to be a GROWNUP, suck it up, and deal with it myself. Which should be a bit easier since ex is now out of the house.

She would be very proud of me today, actually. I practiced being assertive and told little sis, that I needed help cleaning the house, as it was out of control and we are interviewing roommates this weekend. She agreed and then quickly dissapeared for an hour. Sigh. So I got started and scrubbed the kitchen, till it sparkled (although I still do have to clean the over...ugh) When she did reappear, she stood around for a few minutes not knowing what to do, so I directed her to the mop, and got her to the kitchen floor. Cleaning is not part of regular repetoire. When I told her it took me 3 and a half hours to clean the bathroom, she looked at me like I was crazy. The thing is, I was in hospital for a fortnight, nobody lifted so much as a chux to the bathroom, I was pretty depressed leading up to that fortnight... so in essence the bathroom hadn't had a proper clean in over a month. Revolting! I had to scrub the mould out of grouting in the shower, scrub the floor by hand plus some other spring cleaning stuff that needed to be done. Cleaning walls and skirting boards ect. I bought a whole bunch of wicker baskets for the cabinets, in the hopes that if she has to just chuck things in the appropriate basket she might keep things tidier. I also bought a new bath mat and handtowel, and just threw out the old ones...yuck. But it sure looks pretty now! After the floor, she moved on to her bedroom, while I gave the lounge a thorough clean out. Big Sis tackled the laundry for us, which was kind as she doesn't actually live here and thus really didn't have to. So all that leaves for tomorrow is to clean out the family room, and the spare room we will be renting out. Sort out the office. Fold some laundry which is currently sitting at the end of my bed and put it away. After ex is done moving his crap out, I am going to give the carpets a shampoo, and probably fleabomb the house, and give the cat a bath and a new collar. With summer, and her being outside, its hard to keep the flea situation under control, but I do my best.

Other than that, coffee with (K) this afternoon, which was a good chance to get some perspective. Good phonecall with friend (SC), where she told me that she had used a lesson idea that I came up with for her, with her history class, and the kids really enjoyed it and got the concept. One of the boys apparently said "Ms C, you're going somewhere with this activity..." and then joked to the class "Be careful, we might learn something accidentally!" Lol. Its a good ego boost to know that my ideas still work and I might make a good teacher if I ever finish this damned degree!. Got letter from the doc today so I can submit the application to drop my two subjects from this semester without financial or more importantly academic penalty. So I just have to pull myself together for the new semester in March. Also got an Appointment to see Neuro-Doc next week. Not sure how much use it will be, as I am pretty sure is not the epilepsy meds that are at fault but the lack of sleeping. Until that is under control, my seizure control is not going to get much better. I am much better these days at pulling myself together afterwards. I had one during the night last night, but slept it off for a few hours and then woke up this morning feeling ok-ish. Sore and a bit like I'd been hit by a truck...but manageable. And...at least I got a few hours of 'sleep'. *Post seizure sleep never really feels like sleep...its all post-ictal and more like semi-conciousness*

Still waiting for script for meds. Was a muck up today so will get them tomorrow, fingers crossed. Am climbing the walls! Very shakey, fidgety, jittery and agitated.

Anyhow. thats life in a nutshell (no pun intended).

10 signs I am heading for a fall.

Life is shit. For a variety of reasons I'm just not going to go into right now. But there are a few quite obvious clues that my mental health is circling the drain. 10 Signs, that are historically, harbingers of doom for a complete and utter, to hell in a handbasket, dropping my bundle, breakdown approaching.

1. Sleep. As you would have picked up from my blog. Insomnia is something that I have battled with for many, many years. As a direct result of PTSD induced anxiety and hypervigilance, I have trouble getting to sleep, I am frequently awakened from sleep due to horrible, covered in sweat, screaming, hyperventilating type nightmares, and then if and when I manage to get to sleep, I wake up early, and can't go back to sleep. It cycles, sometimes its worse, sometimes its better. Occasionally, I have found a medication that will allow me to get a semi-decent amount of sleep for a time, but inevitabley, it will stop working. And sometimes its just spirals so ridiculously out of control and there is nothing I can do to bring it back into line. That's where I am at the moment.
2. Mess. When reasonably well (by my standards anyway) I am quite particular about the way things should be in the house. Dishes are done nightly, the house is tidied away nightly, laundry is done every day or so, bathroom cleaned at least once a week ect ect. At the moment, I have been making the occasional brief foray out into the house to clean when I know somebody is coming over ie Case Manager or mother, but in general I just really don't care. Looking around my room now, there are several obvious signs that a crash is coming..
*Beside my bed there are, count em, 11 empty diet coke cans (caffiene free, of course!). This has been pretty much my staple diet for about a week now. And leaving my bed, to go and dispose of them in the trash... just not going to happen. There is also an array of crumpled tissues, and several empty pill blister packs. (Not from an OD, normal usage, just slovenly disposal of the packaging when finished)
*On my bed there are, two teddy bears, one childhood doll, three plastic bags, one handbag, one bag with the materials to start my friends wedding invites (untouched), two weeks worth of unopened mail (bills?...meh!) Three photo albums (necessary for depression inducing trips down memory lane) One air perfume insert, still in its package (I bought it the other day to try and stave off the stale smell that permeates a room when one settles down into a depressive hibernation, but thats as far as my motivation went, actually moving the bed to plug it in...way too much effort).... lets see what else? Five separate articles of dirty clothing that hasnt made it to the floor yet, 9 hairbands, 4 booby pins, an empty chocolate buttons packet, one sleeping cat, and me.... in desperate need of a shower, stringy hair, pjs with a stain on the front, nails bitten to the quick, and an ongoing hand tremor which is telling me that I am due to have another seizure, probably sometime in the next 12 hours.
*On the floor at the foot of my bed... The rest of my dirty clothes, one bag still unpacked from my christmas trip home.
3. Time spent in bedroom. I would estimate I have been out to go to the bathroom four times in the last 24 hours, to the fridge to get a diet coke, probably about 4 times as well. Timing each of these trips at a generous 3 minutes each.. ergo (4+4x3=24min) I have been laying my bed for about 23 hours and 36 minutes. I have only been a sleep for 2 hours and 45 minutes of this time. The other 20 hours and 51 minutes has been spent crying, blogging and reading blogs, staring at the ceiling, thinking, over thinking and then for a change thinking some more, debating calling the crisis line, debating taking all the drugs in my possession and then taking a nice warm bath into oblivian ect ect. That's the last 24 hours, the previous week or so has been pretty much the same, other than the fact that occasionally I *have* to leave the house for a few hours, with appointments, one shift of babysitting (4 hours) and one dismal failure of attempt to be a good girlfriend (2 hours), but other than that, yeah mostly bed. The mattress has hollowed out to quite a nice little hollow where I lie and the sheets are...well, they could be cleaner.
4. Food intake- has pretty much slowed to nothing bar what is put directly under my nose by somebody else (and even then....meh) and the occasional crackers, cheese and vegemite combo to keep me from fainting... which luckily is not much of an issue seeing as I am expending next to no energy
5. Self harm... nuff said.
6. Mobile phone, email, facebook ect are filled to the brim with people trying to contact me. People I will not be contacting back anytime soon. In fact pretty much the only *real life* people I am communicating with are those who will instigate full on intervention methods if I drop off the radar too long- my mum, my grandma, and the mental health people. I give them enough of a response to satisfy them..no more, no less.
7. Alcohol consumption. I am epileptic. I am depressed. I am on a lot of medication. For my own safety I am not allowed to drink. I am usually pretty good about this. At the moment, I am hiding a couple of empty wine bottles under my bed, until I can find a way to sneak them into the trash without my sister noticing... pathetic, huh?
8. Damage Control... involves pulling out the paperwork on my funeral insurance to make sure its all kosher, trying to figure out how to withdraw from people so they won't feel guilty, bad when you are gone...how to do this? Cut contact entirely? Make them hate you? Haven't figure this out, so it runs through my head constantly.
9. Uni work. Yeah, I'm enrolled, that's about as far as it goes. I don't know what is due, past due, due to be due, and I just don't really care, I haven't logged on in over a fortnight, I haven't really touched a book since before Christmas. Setting up a nice little mess for myself with my apathy.
10. Most obvious sign of all..... when I think about the days,weeks, months and years ahead of me, my mind can see nothing good. Nothing good at all.

And I am sick of trying to manage this, to put Daily living and Crisis plans into action. What is the point? Even if I pull myself out of this hole, I'll just cycle back to here in a few days, weeks, months or years time. Better to just let myself crash, and see what's left at the end... whether there is anything worth resurrecting. Let nature take its course.

Bah... fuck it all.

Yes. I know. Its my choice and my responsibility. And this kind of thinking and this kind of apathy is not going to help me.  I should try and pull myself together. I should be reaching out to people rather than isolating, I should be sticking to a routine, I should be doing a lot of things.

Sigh.

The Lynch pin

Today was my appointment with BossPsychDoc, to re-evaluate medication and decide whether it was appropriate to discharge me from Public Mental Health Case Management.  I had an extraordinarily (even by my standards) night's sleep last night, and really I don't feel like I slept for more than two hours, broken. It was just that 'barely floating below the surface' sleep, broken every 20 minutes or so by awakenings. I think it was somewhat exacerbated by the nervousness I had about today's appointment. I was supposed to get a home visit from the Case Manager in the morning, but she rang to cancel as she had been called away to an Emergency. I was ok with that, she is very reliable and this was just one of those things. But it was somewhat of a bummer in that I really could have used the opportunity to have a chat and organise my thoughts with her, before the appointment this afternoon. Like everybody else, she got the 'blase, I'm fine' demeanour from me on the phone this morning, but she did suggest that I take a moment to just write notes on everything that I wanted to say, to take in with me. I did try to sit down, and organise my thoughts, and chart an accurate picture of where I was at, symptomwise... ie anxiety level, depression level, self-harm thoughts, sleep ect. But I just couldn't get my brain to co-operate and this coupled with (D's) warning from monday, made me quite nervous. I started trying to plan out in my head how I was going to approach my current issues, and the crap that therapy throws out, without the safety net of Case Management, and also how I was going to afford a Private Psychiatrist after I was discharged from the service. I was certain that I would not be able to talk to the consultant honestly, and he would just take 'Game Face' Ophelia at face value, and decide all was well to discharge. I did manage to write out a list of all of the sleeping medication that I have been prescribed at various times over the past 10 years... it looked like this:

Over the Counter Meds

Valarien (Sp),Restavit

Prescription Meds

Temazepam, Valium, Stilnox, Clonazepam, Prazosin (A blood pressure med that has been found useful in diminishing PTSD nightmares), Xanax, Serepax, Largactil, Seroquel and Avanza (my anti-depressant chosen as it also has sedative qualities).

Other than that all I managed to scribble out note wise for what I wanted from the service was- Sleep! If not- Continued support from someone I already know (Case Manager) until therapy can allievate the sleep situation.

So, 2.30pm came around and I set off up the street to the "Grey Amorpheous Building of Doom- AKA Public Mental Health) handily located a way up the main road that I live on. I'll confess, I did have a little tumble off the wagon, and smoked a cigarette on the way up. But, so far in 7 days I have only had 3 smokes, so I don't think I am doing too badly. I got there quite early ( I tend to get everywhere embarrassingly early, but I'd rather that than stress about the possibility of being late). I presented to the front desk and then sat down with my MP3 player on, planning on taking a bit of time to focus and calm myself before going in. But a minute or two later, (M) my Case Manager came to collect me from reception, I guess they were running early today. So, the three of us (M), BossDoc and I made our way to a tiny meeting room at the back of the building. (M) asked BossDoc if he wanted her to try and see if there was another larger room free, as it was very small and claustrophobic with three people (and I think she was empathic, knowing how much these rooms freak me out) But Boss Doc thought we'd be fine, so we all piled in and got on with it. I will have to say, he was actually quite lovely (I had not really had much contact with him prior, bar some short interviews while in hospital) but I was still finding the whole situation quite anxiety-inducing and was quite glad to have (M) in there with me. Funny to think that just a few months ago it was meeting with her, in those horrible rooms, that used to push my panic button!

So, he began asking me about how I thought I was going at the moment, and I think I was starting to annoy him a little by bringing everything back to sleep. Seizures? Increased, but thats due to lack of sleep. Anxiety? High, but that is exacerbated by sleep deprivation, ect. But what can I say, sleep is the lynch pin! Sleep or extreme lack thereof, rather, manages to unravel any progress that I  manage to make in any other area. And the feeling of extreme exhaustedness far supercedes any other emotion you may have. Until you peel that away you can't even begin to really identify or deal with underlying emotions. He asked about the changes to my medications over the past 5 months or so, and whether I thought that they had been helpful or not. Once again, back to sleep. I don't know if my current anti-depressant is working better than the older one, because my mood improved briefly after I started taking it as well as the sleeping meds that provided a small period of good sleep, but once the sleep started sliding down hill, so did my mood. Because the AD wasn't working well or because of the sleep? Can you see how complicated it is to unpick it all? But I think I was overthinking it a bit for him. He ended up asking if I was experiencing any side effects from the AD and when I said know, he reasoned that it wouldn't do any harm to raise it, and it might do some good. Fair enough.

He asked what I was looking for as far as support from Case Manager. I told him that I realised that my Psychotherapy was going to be a hard slog through yuck, before I could come up on the other side of 'possible improvement', but that for the moment the ability to call (M) who I had a therapeutic rapport with, rather than having to call stranger on a crisis line, if I couldn't get a hold of my therapist, was really important to me at the moment, for those times when the sh*te hits the fan. I also said that I didn't necessarily need to catch up with her every week, it was just important to me that she remained available via phone calls for emergencies. He asked whether I was able to call (M) when I needed support, or whether I generally waited for her to contact me. I answered honestly ( I think sometimes they really just wish I'd give a yes or no answer!) that the majority of the time I was able to take the responsibility of reaching out for support when needed, as a part of my crisis plan, but that there were other times when apathy and the head space I occupied did not allow me to. However, I stated that I believed that this was me making a choice not to call, and thus my responsibility to deal with the consequences. Imma big girl now, huh? (M) who remained pretty quiet for the whole meeting, nodded her agreement that I was generally pretty good about calling if necessary, and there was no annoyance registered on her face, so hopefully that means I haven't 'overcalled'!! We agreed to reduce the scheduled contact, I'm not sure to what yet(?) and I would continue to make phone contact when needed. So, all in all I was pretty happy with that outcome.

We touched briefly on home, uni etc. And then we spoke about sleep. He looked at my list (which of course he had in his records anyway, but I just wanted to be thorough) and said that he had reviewed my file earlier in the day, and the only sleeping medication that they prescribe that I haven't take yet was an anti-psychotic called 'Zyprexa'. He said it was an off the label use i.e. big expensive private script, and that he really didn't like prescribing it as a sedative particularly, or really at all, in general unless he absolutely had to. He stated that it made most patients put on ridiculous amounts of weight, more than Seroquel or Largactil he added, as I looked wryly down at my already protuberant anti-psychotic belly. The price didn't worry me so much, as the gap would not be that much between medicare and private health insurance rebates, but the weight thing did, particularly since it was not really proven to be any more effective than the anti-psychotics I had already tried. He said there was one other benzo (I forget the name) but once again it was a private script and not really anymore effective than what I had tried. He then suggested that we start back up the top of the list of meds I had gone through. He said that sometimes when a patient developed tolerance to a drug years back and hadn't taken it for a while, it can be effective again for a period of time, as it had been washed from the system. I guess it kind of made sense. So we started back up with Temazepam. This conversation unexpectedly brought tears to my eyes, and sat there dumbly nodding, as I tried to keep myself from crying. I knew I had tried quite a few different sleeping meds but the idea that I had practically run the gamut was pretty damned depressing really. And the idea of cycling through meds that might work for a couple of weeks and then sliding back into sleep deprivation torture, is really a bit more than I can handle it my current head space. I can unequivocally say, my first thought was I just want to go and jump off a bridge right now... I just cannot handle the idea of going on as I am right now. Makes things seem pretty hopeless.

(M) got called away for a minute for a phonecall, and whilst she was gone, he asked whether there was any other issues. I blurted out about the self-harming incident and the misuse of pills and alcohol incidents. I am quite ashamed that I resorted to these things after such a long time keeping it under control... I didn't really say much about the rampant suicidal ideation, and he didn't really ask... I don't know whether he just didn't think to ask (unlikely) or (M) had already filled him in to the extent she knew. I felt like I dodged a bullet on that one, because I really didn't want to discuss it, but I absolutely hate lying to peoples face, deflecting is fine... but I get all churny inside when I try to be honest to a direct question. He asked why I hadn't taken up the recommendation of a short term hospitalisation to restabilise, when things started getting out of control, as was talked about on my last discharge from hospital. I tried to explain my adversion to hospital, but I don't think I communicated to clearly. It's not just about not wanting to be in hospital (although I don't want to), it is also that I think that most of the time its actually a destructive course to take. I get depressed because I feel like a failure for being back in there, I get anxious trying to keep it from my family and if they do find out, they get all whack. It institutionalises and infantilises you. And the reality is, whatever benefit you get, brief respite in sleep, and removal from danger to yourself, is short term... once you are discharged its all just still waiting there to pull you under... its pointless. When I was discharged the discussion was that I would readmit to hospital for a short stay if my sleep got out of control. I think the number thrown around was two weeks consistently out of control sleep patterns. The flaw in this plan is that the improvement to sleeping post discharge tends to only last a few weeks, so by this reasoning I would be hospitalising myself a minimum of every two months or so... not going to happen. And realistically, I don't think the staff would be that happy. I don't want to be a frequent flyer. And if I am totally honest, sometimes I just think, that by 'managing' my suicidal crisises this way, its really just prolonging the inevitable. I can just see myself trapped in this cycle add in finetum. How long before its just ok to say, you know what... this is f*cked and i'm outta here, and give myself a celestial discharge. (I've asked many a mental health professional this, and althought most of them won't unequivocally answer, the answer is apparently....never... not much wiggle room there!) Anyway, he put his arguement out there for managed hospitalisations and then we brought the meeting to a close. Patient Ophelia...ahem..sorry...Client Ophelia to be reassessed for meds in a couple of months, Case Management Involvement to be reassessed sometime in the future. (M) quietly praised me as we left the room for being able to talk and be honest, I think she realised how hard it was for me. I gave her a wan smile back, and sat down in the reception to wait for my script. (M) brough it back out to me and sat next to me briefly, telling me to take care, she could see I was having a difficult day and to call her later if needed.

As I walked back down the hill, all I could think is..."you're screwed! You are never going to get any sleep". I envisioned myself just steeping out onto the busy main road, in front of a truck, and the tears I had held back began to flow. I am so exhausted. I know it seems like an overreaction... boo hoo, you are tired. But a couple of months of 2, 3 and 4 hour nights sleep, interspersed with entirely sleepless nights, and the ongoing onslaught of horrific nightmares... its really the worst feeling I can imagine... I would do anything for release... and there is that *forbidden* option that would give it to me.

I sat down at home, pausing only to ring Bachelor Number One yet again to cancel plans, I just could not face it. And I just sat there thinking...you're screwed...you thought you were probably screwed, but this confirms it. I tried to counteract it by trying to see how I may be not seeing the other more positive perspective of what was said re: sleep medication, but just could not compute. So I figured (M) was in the meeting, and she had a non-clouded view of what was said. So I called her, because I honestly was at the point of "What the hell.... lets just finish this shit, once and for all!". We spoke briefly, and (M) told me that sleeping drugs were rarely magic tablets for anyone (which of course I knew, but I guess unexpectedly, I was still holding out hope that I would walk in there and he would have the answer) and reminded me what he said about the previously washed out drugs possibly regaining some effectiveness. She said I needed to give my self a limit of lets try this drug for a month and or so and then re-evaluate and if needed, we could change to an earlier appointment after that and try something else. I think I actually laughed out loud. A month more of this....I really don't think I can do it, no matter what the potential long term reward is. Its literally inconcievable to me. She went on to say she knows that I am probably thinking there is another option (well, yes!!!!) but that I just need to ride it out and see if the change helps, maybe consider a short term hospitalisation (ummmm no) She reiterated that I was to call her if I needed to and that just because we were having reduced face to face meetings didn't mean she wasn't still available if I needed. (She has really grown on me, since our initial first disastrous meetings... that's the problem with having good MH professionals, one extra person to feel guilty about when you consider the big S.... but she is honestly very kind, and available and very patient, God Bless her cotton socks!) And then she said she would call me early next week to arrange our next meeting.

So. I am just wrung out. This day has definately taken it of my already exhausted soul. At the moment I am somewhat calmer and able to see that it is worth giving the med change a chance.... but I am honestly not holding out a lot of hope. Last time I was on Temazepam, back in 2002, it barely made a dint, and that was with the copious amounts of college student alcohol I was consuming practically on a nightly basis (naughty, naughty... benzos and booze) But tonight, when its 4am and I am still awake, watching the night slowly seep from the sky to tomorrow morning, I'm not sure that calm will hold.

I am just so God Damn sick of it!

Pummelled. stabbed, stretched and electrocuted

I am pretty bloody tired. I did not sleep at all last night, and I'm just kind of hoping now that a big seizure will come along and knock me right out. Taking another's advice, I decided to give myself some treats today, so I went and got my hair cut, along with the lovely head massage they give with the hair conditioning treatment, went and got some acupuncture and a massage done, and then finally went and got a manicure with (F). To be honest I haven't really done anything to deserve such treatment, but it helped to reduce my anxiety a little.

The acupuncturist was different from my normal guy, and attached me to this machine that fed electric pulses through the needles, which was actually quite painful, but I must admit a little pain was kind of relieving. Nonetheless my muscles are feeling a little less tied in knots than they were before.

So, starting from the beginning, Case Manager (M) came around yesterday morning. We spoke mostly about the insomnia, and some of the unpleasant consequences of it. We spoke briefly about my sleep hygiene, but there was really not much there that I could change. She did query whether perhaps backing off on the therapy for a little while might help, but I guess I kind of think, eventually I have to go through it all, and its going to have the same negative aspects to it whether I do it now or later, so I don't really see the point in putting it off. We tried to work out if there were any particular unusual stresses or triggers that were exacerbating the problem, but to be honest, there isn't really anything that can account for it.  She did a quick suicidality assessment, and realised, I think, the depth of how low and helpless I am feeling underneath it all. This line of questioning is always difficult. There is not much point in being dishonest, that is not going to do me and good, but there is also I reluctance to share particular details as far as planning and dates, because it feels safe (in a f*cked up way) to have that little plan that you, and you alone are privy too. So its always a bit of an internal arguement when trying to decide how much to share. She did ask me about timeframes, and I did not answer at first. But then she quite firmly reminded me that it was important information for her to know in order to do her job properly, so I quite reluctantly shared the date with her. (Which I am not going to put on here, as I don't think that is very fair of me) Our plan of action for now, is to make it through Xmas etc, and reevaluate in the New Year. She did mention the idea of hospitalisation at a later date if it is needed, but I think she realises that I am not going to do anything over the Xmas period, as I couldn't do that to my family. I really quite bulk at the idea of hospitalisation and don't think its particularly helpful, other than to immediately save me from myself, but I don't think it has any real long term benefit, but I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. The other option is to go with the Private clinic that therapist (D) has suggested previously. It apparently has a better program, actual inpatient therapy and a more individualised approach to inpatients. Hospitalisation in a private hospital would only cost me a $250 excess, but I would have to become a patient of one of the Gap Cover Private PsychDoc's who have admitting privileges. And that's where the expense comes in, if I leave the Public system, I will have to pay out of pocket for a Private Psych, probably once a month, and Health insurance doesn't cover that, and Medicare only covers a portion.  But then, in my experience the private PsychDocs tend to be a bit more flexible and creative when it comes to meds, and perhaps a private PsychDoc could come up with a solution to help support through the sleep issue, until the underlying issues exacerbating it are resolved through therapy (if it is possible for them to be....sigh) But, I'm putting the cart before the horse, hopefully it doesn't come to that.

After that I had my appointment across town with Therapist (D) We skirted around the issue of my 'visual disturbances' which I really did not want to talk about. We also, of course went over what happened in the session on Monday, when she notice me baulk when she started to talk about me being angry with her. She asked if I could share with her what the voices were saying inside my head at the time, which of course I couldn't. It was a long and pretty fruitless session (through no fault of hers, I was just finding it really difficult to speak)We did talk for quite a while at the end about trust and expectations. I explained that I found it really hard to believe that she truly was as universally supportive and understanding as she attempts to be, and that eventually, she was just going to get frustrated at my inability to meet the expectations. She espoused, that she didn't think I was failing to meet expectations. After some direct and slightly agressive questioning about what her expectations were, she finally answered that "I show up, and I try my best to share as much as I can". They are some pretty flimsy expectations. I'm not going to get very far if all I do is show up and talk...you know, unless it gets a bit difficult, and then its ok, to sit in silence and waste her time! I was taking quite a frustrated tone with her, but to be honest, I was more frustrated and angry with myself. I know that I am hanging on by a thread, and I know the only way to move away from this place I keep returning to is to push myself to enage more in the therapeutic process and sort this mess out once and for all. I don't have the space or time to twat about! And yet, I seem to be incapable of doing this, no matter how I berate or beat myself up over it. And I know the ONLY person who can change this is me.

So after therapy I had a date with Bachelor Number 1, which given my current frame of mind I would have gladly cancelled, only he had organised a suprise for me. He also asked whether I would stay the night at his place, so we could wake up together....arghhhhhhh! This is the last thing I wanted to be dealing with at this time. So, I called for some back up support, and the gentle kick up the arse that I needed from (K). There was no doubt about it I was just going to have to suck it up and go. And, I was going to have to really suck it up and have a conversation with him explaining about my sleep difficulties and some of the other issues that were making the idea of spending the night so terrifying. We went to a lovely Turkish restaurant and had a really nice dinner. And then he took me back to his apartment, where he had done the very cliched but sweet rose petals throughout the apartment, candles and chocolates and roses on the bed. (Double arggggggggh). Ok, breaks on. I took him outside and we had a discussion, but he convinced me to give the whole sleepover thing a chance. So he drifted off, and I spent the next hour lying next to him wide awake, worrying, amongst other things, that if I went to sleep I was going to have a nightmare and wake up screaming...way to freak I guy out. I needn't have worried, because I didn't have a nightmare... I didn't sleep full stop. He on the other hand slept like the dead. So after an hour or so, I extracted myself from the bed, and I went out on the balcony, where I spent the whole night, surfing away on the computer and watching the city lights dim and the sun come up over the river. I really should have taken a taxi home. I had told him I might have to. But I didn't want to dissapoint him. So instead I just stayed awake all night, and slipped back in beside him at about 6.30am. Sigh....I am pathetic.

So, thats my world in a nutshell....

To wander in the mind

So the hallucinations, or whatever they are, are beginning to freak me out a bit. I am reminding myself constantly that it is just a byproduct of fatigue, and nothing to get overly concerned with, but still, its a bit disconcerting, right? I rang case manager (M) today just to check in with somebody else and confirm it was not a major problem, as excrutiatingly difficult as it was to admit it to somebody else. She agreed with me, stating that basically whilst it was something to be concerned about and we needed to have a closer look at what we could do about sleep, it was not uncommon, and not something to freak out about. She acknowledged that I was pretty good at managing my sleep hygiene... that is all the little tricks of the trade one has to do nightly to ensure that your body is in an environment and conditions most optimal to sleep, so there is not really much to change there, I am already doing all the things I am supposed to.  She suggested that maybe I needed to back off on the harder stuff in therapy for a while. She also suggested that I need to acknowledge the affect of some of the stressors in my life rather than minimalise them, which is somewhat confusing because the whole gist of behavioural psychology seems to be to accept these stressors and continue to get on with things regardless, which is what I've been trying to do. I don't want to give myself any excuse to dive any lower than I already am emotionally. Predictabley she suggested I try to take a nap, which makes sense in theory, but was just not going to happen, as a) I was too wound up and b) It is too bloody hot here in the middle of the day. But I did spend another day (not doing uni work...sigh) trying to at least rest my body if I could not sleep, watching tv, taking a cool bath. I did however get up this arvo and do a bit of a cleanup around the house, as the mess was beginning to distress me. I'm going to head in and clean the bathroom in a minute now that it has started to cool down.

So I was somewhat reassured by her, but as usual for a little bit of extra reassurance I went and looked up sleep deprivation induced hallucinations. It was quite reassuring to read that hallucinations themselves are actually reasonabley common. The relationship between sleep and hallucinations was quite interesting too.

Research subjects who have undergone sleep deprivation experiments typically begin to hallucinate after 72–96 hours without sleep. It is thought that these hallucinations result from the malfunctioning of nerve cells within the prefrontal cortex of the brain. This area of the brain is associated with judgment, impulse control, attention, and visual association, and is refreshed during the early stages of sleep. When a person is sleep-deprived, the nerve cells in the prefrontal cortex must work harder than usual without an opportunity to recover. The hallucinations that develop on the third day of wakefulness are thought to be hypnagogic hallucinations that occur during "microsleeps," or short periods of light sleep lasting about one to ten seconds.- http://www.answers.com/topic/hallucination

Interesting tidbit... the word hallucinate comes from the Latin verb hallucinari, which means "to wander in the mind." Even our language for quite scary or offputting things is quite beautiful when you break it dowm. I guess I was/am concerned because my only other experiences with hallucinations before have been quite scary. I had some when stupid neurodoc put me on too high a dose of anti-epileptics many years ago and sent me toxic, and more scarily I had quite a lot of them after I overdosed in 2006, weeks of them in fact, and they were quite horrible ones, thinking the nurses were trying to kill me, seeing snakes, spiders and maggots slithering all over me. (There were others that were less scary, and slightly more amusing in retrospect, like believing someone was baking in the ICU, and the cookies were on fire, and jumping (falling) out of bed to extinguish it, ripping out all my ivs in the process, believing that I had a baby by surrogacy for my best friend, and getting quite upset that she wouldn't let me see it, seeing clocks dripping down the walls etc etc) but at the time it was a pretty horrific experience for me, and for those around me. But this is quite different, as I have stated previously, I still have at least one foot planted firmly in reality.

So, I have a meeting with Case Manager (M) tomorrow morning, when we will look at the sleep issues and see if there is anything else I can try. Part of me thinks maybe I should have kept the appointment with BabyDoc today, but I also know I just really wouldn't have handled it well at the moment. So I asked (M) not to worry about saying anything to the doctors until we see whether it gets worse or not. In the afternoon I have therapy with (D). I have emailed her with the gist of what is going on, and admitted to the little hallucination in her office, just so she is working with all the information, but I told her I really don't want to talk about it, so hopefully she will respect that. I think we should really just focus on how I am going to get through Xmas. And maybe talk about whether she thinks the therapy is getting a little too intense, or whether it is necessary to keep it at this level to make progress. That being said, I really don't feel like enagaging in either of these two appointments at the moment, am just not really feeling up to it, although paradoxically I am stressing about the absence of these appointments over the Xmas break, so I really can't win either way. But I am going to keep them, because everything else regardless, I always try to keep up my commitment to therapy, despite how I might be feeling on any given day. That way at the very least I can be assured that I am taking responsibility for ensuring I recieve the treatment/support I need. The appointment today with BabyDoc is actually the first mental health appointment I have ever missed, apart from those while I was hospitalised or sick, or a couple of individual sessions when I've been on holidays (which I always try to give (D) plenty of notice for.

I also am supposed to have a date with Bachelor Number One tomorrow night, which I really, really do not feel up to.... but I kind of blew him off last week, and then haven't really seen him this week, so I kind of feel like I can't pull out, especially since I'll be heading home for Xmas without him next week. (That aside we do have to have a little talk about expectations and boundaries... he is getting a little too demanding for my liking...)

Well, off to clean the bathroom (hey, I find it therapeutic! I was talking to someone the other week who mentioned sometimes she doesn't do the dishes for a whole week... I nearly died! :) That would send me into complete conniptions... I have to be at absolute rock bottom, cannot get out of bed in misery before I let that happen, that being said I have been letting the house slide a bit... I've just been too tired to do anything other than the bare necessities.) After that, I guess I'll try for another night to try and get some damned sleep. It is at the point where I actually am kind of welcoming the seizures when they happen (and they have increased in frequency) because at least they knock me out for a bit... its not 'proper' sleep, but its better than nothing. I really wish I could just have someone come and put me in a coma for a couple of days, or failing that, knock me out with a shovel or something!

Everybody wants control of my brain

Therapy this afternoon. We spoke briefly about the work that I'm doing at RMH, and how I can gauge whether I'm dealing with the emotion of bearing witness to some pretty sad events in an appropiate way or whether it is becoming a case of taking the sadness in too much, to the point that it begins to impact my own mental health in a negative way. I think at this point I am handling it pretty well, and it is not a major issue. But I am aware of the fact that I have to keep an eye on this. Speaking to my mother last night, she expressed similar concerns, and whilst she acknowledged it doesn't seem to be an issue at the moment, she urged me to be careful, explaining that in her experience as a nurse (and a number of year working in a nursing home.. which by nature is steeped in death) that the effects of bearing witness to death, can be culmative, and sneak up on you. She stopped working in nursing homes, because she began to burn out emotionally, after years of developing relationships with patients only to have them pass. And she pointed out that at least in that situation, one could derive comfort from the fact that it was an inevitable part of the circle of life, and the majority of the deceased had led long lives. At the RMH, it is children who are dying, and that will never be natural or acceptable. I think it will just be a case of having to carefully moniter myself to ensure that I am balancing the need to 'be there in the moment' with the residents, against the need to protect myself from the trauma of repeatedly being exposed to the sadness and unfairness of children passing. And I am only volunteering a couple of times a week, it makes me wonder how paediatric and neo-natal nurses manage to be immersed in it, and not burn out, or lose faith in the Ol Guy upstairs who allows such things to happen time and time again.

We then went back to the issues with lil sis, and more specifically to my inability to express anger or even to comfortabley allow myself to feel it. At this point 'The Voice' and some of his auditory comrades began to grow louder in my head, and when she suggested that perhaps I was angry with her, and that was ok, they began to make so much noise, I was finding it hard not to be pushed completely out of my own head. She went on to assure me, that it was ok to feel angry towards her, and that relationships can survive anger. In fact it was impossible to have a true relationship without it. She tried to explore my explanations that I felt anger was pointless and not productive... but must have noticed that I was having trouble trying to stay present in my head, with the entities that were trying to fight me, and each other for control. She stopped, and took a minute to try and assess where I was at, and who was talking inside my head. She asked me to share what they were saying, which I was promptly told (by them) not to do. To be honest, even if I was allowed to share, it would have been hard to, as it all becomes tangled up, and there is just so much competing din, that I find it hard to really here what each individual voice is saying.

The gist of it was a) "She is only saying that because she has to", "This is supposed to be about fixing up your fucked up behaviour, not getting angry at other people, you are the one to blame", "People only just manage to keep on caring for you, because you demand so little from them... most of them are just looking for an excuse to cut all ties... so go ahead, get angry, see how quickly you end up all alone" "Nobody wants to hear your pitiful  complaints, you are nothing... less than nothing, you are not worth the effort etc etc.." (The Voice) b) "She is trying trick you, just shutup and let me take over" "Do not speak. DO NOT SAY A WORD" (Game face) c)"Get up and walk away" "Go on then, if she wants to see Angry, show her how mad you can get" (The Others) There was in fact, a lot more than that screaming around the corridors of my mind, arguing back and forth, but it gets to a point where it is so loud and so simultaneous, that I only hear brief snatches of it, the rest just blends together as a general din. And on top of that, I experience being 'pushed' out of the way and to the side within my own head, so everything begins to take a kind of disconnected, fog like feeling. A new one, (which now I write about is sounds really crazy) is the Paranoid voice, which has long been a member of the chorus within my head, but this was the first time he really showed up in therapy (with D anyway). He quite often will tell me that people are trying to catch me out. They can read my minds, they have cameras set up, they are accessing my computer etc etc. I can usually just dismiss this as paranoia, all though there is a persistant uneasiness that follows it, and I must admit it is a fairly pervasive thought... particularly about reading my mind. I suppose to honest, that has come up a little bit in therapy, especially since (D) tends to be fairly perceptive, and can often guess quite accurately at whats going on in my head, or at least is able to tell when something changes, like the voices ramp up. But Paranoid Voice, as a seperate entity to myself, has not really shown up in therapy till today. Today he was claiming that D was secretly filming me, and wanted me to crack up and get angry.. I don't know to what purpose she would be doing that, it obviously made no sense on so many levels. But there it was anyway. As I have mentioned before, these voices are obviously just seperate parts of myself that I cannot reconcile or 'own' as my own feelings, so they have been separated into discrete entities, masculinised or feminised. I really wish that I could experience these as what they are, MY thoughts and feelings, it would be a lot easier to reason with something that doesn't seem to be running its own agenda or battling me for control.

Anyways, I guess (D) must have decided to back off a little bit and give my head a chance to quieten down... I'm not really sure what we talked about next, it all gets a bit blurry. The next thing I became aware of, does not bode greatly for my sanity. I experienced a brief hallucination. I saw a snake slide its way from under her desk, and dissapear under the table beside me. Now, normally this would have probably caused me to gasp, or show concern like any normal person, but the fact is that this is the third such hallucination that I have had in the last week or so. I attribute it to being most likely a result of extreme fatigue from the prolonged bout of insomnia that I am experiencing write now (its been well over a month since I slept more than 3 hours a night) So, having experienced this little visual blip, I managed to keep what I thought was a fairly neutral demeanour. But once again, (perception? esp?) D managed to tune into the fact that something had just happened and asked me about it. I brushed her off saying it was nothing. To which she replied, "Its not nothing. You look so worried". Desperate for escape and not really wanting to talk about it, I looked over at the clock and realised ou time was up, so I told her I had to go or I would miss my train.

Oh, now I remember, I think we talked briefly about my appt with BabyDoc on wednesday and more specifically about my appt with BossDoc (the consultant psych who actually makes the decisions regarding treatment, and when to discharge a 'client' from the service) This will be at the beginning of January, and I mentioned to her I am feeling quite nervous about the whole thing. I'm not quite sure why other than the obvious not wanting to talk to yet another person I don't know and the anxiety I have relating to being trapped inside the rooms in the giant purple amoeba of a mental health building. I think some of it comes down to not knowing if I can adequately describe my concerns, worrying that he will brush over some of the more difficult symptoms I am experiencing. Like the insomnia. I am not by any means a drug seeker... I would love to cut all psych meds out of my daily regime altogether. But when a person is getting 3 hours sleep a night for a protracted period of time, it needs to be treated. Obviously, the most appropriate treatment is therapy, as there is no medical reason why I can't sleep... it is pure anxiety. But that is a longer term project, and I need help immediately, with the increase in seizures and now these little pseudo-hallucinations (I say pseudo, because in my mind, a complete hallucination would be a detachment from reality, I see the hallucination, but am cognitively aware in the moment that it can't be real, and that it is just my brain throwing something that is not real out there) Anyway, am not quite sure I want to tell Boss Doc about this, as I dont want to appear nuttier than I already am. My concerns from a medication standpoint, is that my general baseline of depression is not too bad with the Avanza, its there, and I deal with it, but its not that breathtakingly low black place at the moment, I am better with my ADLs generally, although there are days when I find it hard to get motivated and self-care. But in general not a major issue, right now. My anxiety is fairly constant and at nighttime or times of particular stress ie lil sis and bf screaming shoots through the roof, and the occurence of flashbacks and panic attacks, is on par with the way it was before I was hospitalised. And with that, and the sleep deprivation my concentration is shot to hell, and my school work is suffering. On top of that, my anxiety causes me to worry that everything I do write is rubbish, so I rewrite it and rewrite it, until eventually it makes no sense at all, but the deadline has come and I have to hand it in anyway. And the final thing i've noticed is that since I was taken off the Largactil, the voices are more constant and louder, which kind of worries me, as that would indicate if an anti-psychotic quietens them, that is might be a psychotic feature, which doesn't make a lot of sense to me, as I have insight enough to understand that they are not real, and if they were a result of psychosis, I wouldn't be in touch with reality, right? This is something I really do not want to tell the psychiatrist about, and I kind of wish there was a way that I could make him see that I need th seroquel or largactil without having to say anything about the voices.

Anyway, (D) suggested that we need to talk about the upcoming appointment, so we could find a way that I could comfortabley share the pertinent information (but not ALL of it). She thinks it is a priority to ensure that I am not discharged from the service just now, and as i have mentioned in previous posts, I kind of agree with her. I hve this sense at the moment that things are beginning to teeter on the edge. The culmative effects of the insomnia and anxiety are beginning to make it harder and harder for me to hold things together, and I am expending so much energy into fighting to maintain my responsabilities for school (and failing) and holding myself together for work, and for lil sis and just because I know its my responsibility to do so. I have a range of professionals supports who are willing (at present) to be there for the moments when I cant keep it together, that I feel obligated to make sure I am doing whatever I can to control, modify, self soothe what I can and to use the techniques and tools I've been supplied with. But when you are sleep deprived the energy you need to do all of things....school, work, self-maintinence begins to wane. That's the tightrope I'm trying desperately to walk at the moment.

Anyway. So I pitched my excuse about trains and hightailed it out of me.... dragging the voices along with me, and although they have quieten some, they are still there and arguing with every thought that I have. It is a horrible feeling when you are trying to write a blog entry having one voice decry that 'that's not what I said' another voice laughing hysterically and saying nasty things about what I'm writing and what a loser I am, and another voice telling me that we are alone and we need to call somebody to talk to us, even though its midnight and I'm trying to reason with 'the Baby" that we can't call somebody at this time of night.

Well, I'm going to leave it there... the entire post probably makes no sense, as my mind is a bit all over the place. Sorry bout that!