Ugh...politics!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace and Love
Ophelia

My Granddad

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

Becoming a group person

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

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

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

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

Peace and Love
xOphelia

Driving under water ain't right!

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

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

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

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

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

Musings on dependency

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A phonecall with my gran

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Back in the saddle

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace and love
xOphelia

Home Sweet Home

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace and love
Ophelia

Day Two on Effexor

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

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

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

Happy Easter to All

Frocks and Fascinators

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


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

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

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

Looking forward to Sunday, when all the chocolate comes!

Raging

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

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

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

What if

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

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

Locked up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Falling down in public...I does it!

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

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

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

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

Showering

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

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

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

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

I'm not very good at psychotherapy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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