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?

On the ward and out of my mind- My Keepers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Locked up

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.

Trapped

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You should have stayed home.

Time to make good choices

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suicide Anniversary

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

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

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

It has been noted that :

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

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

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

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.

Still here

I'm still here. Just too much going on in my head to write a proper post.

Will give you the highlights and fill in the details later when I can get my thoughts straight.

-Discharge on Wednesday afternoon. Still pretty unsure about this whole living thing. Some regression to SI as a coping mechanism to get through till session with (D) on Thursday. (Very dismal attempt, not much damage one can really do with a broken up pink lady bic razor)
-Call from Case Manager (M) Thursday morning, I was not very talkative. Arranged to meet with her at the horrible Mental Health Clinic as she doesn't have time next week to make it out to my house. So meeting arranged at the centre for Tuesday
-Session with (D) went very, very, veeeeeeeeeeeeery badly. Her new approach is to try and work on buffering other things in my life ie uni, volunteer work, gym ect, so that my whole life doesn't get flooded with the gremlins. Good idea in concept. She said she knew that I would feel frustration and anger at her, because it would all seem a bit pointless, but she reminded me once again that she 'could' not give into my sense of hopelessness. She was right, I felt an impotent rage towards her, unlike I have ever experienced in therapy. The one person who is supposed to 'get me', is just not getting me at all.... its gone too far for a plan of distraction to help in any way. I wanted answers, a direction, a glimmer of something,. Fuck! I don't know what I wanted from her.... but I didn't get it. Of course with my fucked up inability to express anger, I just told her I had to go, and walked out of the session. I've never done that before...just walked out... I'm too much of a good girl.
-Waited for the train... thought about throwing myself on tracks, but then thought that seemed overly dramatic and somewhat narcissistic way of ending ones live. A big Fuck You to the world had never been my plan before.
-More darkness, hopelessness and Gremlins. Got to the city, and found myself in a chemist buying shiny new razor blades. The ones I knew from my past more successful days as a SI'er', before I (thought) I grew out of it. And of course the requisite gauze, bandages and steri-strips as a repair kit. Figured maybe if I could just bleed a little of the blackness out, I might find some space to breather.
-Walked out to bus depot to make my way home, but found myself in another chemist filling all my scripts. Mind started thinking, why waste your time with this SI bollocks? Just frikkin do it already! Next stop bottle-o for a bottle of vodka. Pills, Blades, Booze.
-Started looking for a hotel, but realised quickly I wasn't going to get into most of these establishments with just a canvas bag filled with booze.
-Good girl kick in and called friend (B) who works in the city. Told her I needed to not be alone. She met me after work, and sat with me in a cafe for a couple of hours.
-Anxiety and gremlins start kicking up a gear. Need to get away from (B), she is standing in the way of my release. Convince her I am ok, and get on the bus headed home.
-Call around hotels in local area. None of them have bathtubs (Some very weirded out hotel receptionists out there I am sure!) Hmmm... flaw in my perfect plan...
-Sit outside hotel with no bath, trying to figure if the pills and blades were fullproof enough without the third element of drowning............ decide to down bottle of vodka while I ponder this.
-Good girl kicks in again... call friend (F) to come and pick me up to sleep off booze..
-Friday morning awake with less of a hangover than I deserve... and no seizures from alcohol intake (very odd) Return Therapist (D's) phonecalls. Very non-committal. Talk to Case Manager (M) Very non-commital. No, will not consider going back up ER.
-Also discover, am temporarily homeless, as sister's (ex) bf who has still not moved out of the house, apparently started smashing things up in the house and cornered her in the room. He didn't  hurt her, but his behaviour was erratic enough to frighten her. She has left to stay with some friends on the coast, and called me to tell me to find somewhere else to stay for the weekend. She has given him an ultimatum to be gone by the weekend or she will go to the police and get a DVO. Went with (F) to pick up some clothes and my computer so he wouldn't smash it, and am now squatting a (F's) temporarily.

Mood black. But am still here, so somewhere in my brain something is still fighting. Will wait and see what happens in therapy on Monday. (Yes.. the same therapy I was swearing never to go back to again yesterday afternoon).

Same ol

Prepare to experience dejavu, as I blog once again about my insomnia, suicidal ideation and hospitalisation. Sorry to be repetitive, but this is what my life entails right about now.

So, another night of no sleep. Am not sure how long this can go on for... I mean physically how long can by body exist without any sleep at all. One would think it would just have to give in eventually right? I got out of the house quite early this morning and went and spent most of the day with a friend and her children. I was probably not going to be safe at home, and as much as I didn't really want to leave the house or see anybody, this seemed to be the most responsible option. It was a pretty non-invasive visit. I spent most of the time sitting by the pool watching the kids play or lying on the couch with them (not)watching a movie. So it wasn't too traumatic, and it got me out of harms way. I didnt tell my friend why I had come to visit, or what was going on, but I think she was just happy to have someone watch the kids and give her a break...four weeks into the Summer Holidays.  A little part of me, (being a little hyper-sensitive at the moment) was a little bit sad to watch her with her kids. A) Because she is so good and loving and accepting with them, and those kids are examples of what strong loving parenting can do, while I sometimes think I am an example of 101 ways to f*ck up your kid and B)Because they are great, caring and fun kids, and I am getting to an age where I wonder whether I will ever have the chance to do that...kids and all. I probably became a little too melancholy over it, just because my vunerability level is quite high right now

(D) called me to check in this morning, even though I told her not to. But I guess I can understand why. We spoke a little bit about hospital, and where I was at with the concept, and also how safe I was feeling. She was strongly encouraging me to at least try and do the basics... like eating. Apparently OJ is not enough to meet my daily nutritional requirements... She still thinks hospital is probably indicated at this point, but she is leaving it in my hands.

I then got a call from (M) Case Manager, who was returning my call from yesterday. I explained that I had really just called because that was what was indicated on the crisis plan, and I didn't really know whether she could help... We spoke about what's been going on, and she is going to talk to the BossDoc about my medications...but I am not holding up hope for that, medication doesn't seem to be the answer. She also indicated hospital was probably the best option.

I was doing ok-ish, until I got home to an empty house. And then it all started again... do it while you've got the opportunity..blah blah blah. So, I picked up the phone and called (K) Consumer Advocate. I wanted to get her opinion on the hospital issue, because I figured with her personal background, she knows a bit about hospitalisations and whether they are actually helpful and how they make you feel. She certainly gave me some things to think about. I'm probably a little closer to accepting the idea than I was before. I was able to start pulling apart where my reluctance was coming from, and reassessing some of the thoughts I was having. I even had a little giggle or two with her, which is actually quite a big thing at the moment. I said that I would see how I went tonight and if there was no improvement I would look at an admit tomorrow. We then discussed what that improvement would look like, kind of beginning to set up some clear boundaries.

So, I have decided.... if I have another night of no sleep or next to no sleep I will seek an admit. I won't like it. It may not help. But it won't kill me. Leaving my safety in my own hands might. Of course, there is a big part of me that is chiming in quite resistantly against this decision. If I am in hospital the choice is out of my hands, albeit temporarily, and whilst one part of me thinks this is a good thing, the other part of me wants the freedom to choose the other path. 

Not sure what to do.

Was not sure whether to keep blogging right now, with the things that I am contemplating. Whether it was fair to send this out there to people who might be concerned but have no real way of knowing what was going on. But I didn't want to dissappear off the radar either and cause worry that way. I blog everyday, and I figured I should continue with that. But......

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Comments and support are always greatly appreciated, but I do have access to several of my very own MH professionals, a Crisis Line and my very own Crisis Plan, so I don't want anyone out there in the Blogosphere concerned that I don't have support. If I can't make it with the support I have, well, than thats how its probably meant to be.

My head is not in a great space right now, so think about whether you want to keep reading this post. I tried to ensure it wasn't too horrible (if you could look into my head you would see how much I sanitised it) or triggering, but ya'all know yourselves better than me... so make that decision yourself.

I cleaned my room. Just spent the last hour and a half, not just tidying, but doing a major cleanout. I tell myself I am in control, I think I am in control, but meanwhile I am packing away my life.... Am I in control?

I tried to do the responsible thing today and follow my crisis plan. After two days with *ZERO* sleep, I am both totally wired and exhausted. I don't want to move. I don't want to enagage. But I did... because it the proactive thing to do. Honestly, I did give it a good shot.But everything I tried to do on my distraction list, was just too much for my brain to handle. In the end, after trying art, writing, reading, puzzles, crotcheting... I put a couple of DVDS on in my room, but really didn't pay much attention. Now I have music playing in the background, so I have something to focus on at least. Not much chop with my DLA's. All I had to eat today was an icecream and even that made me sick. I did replace a few diet cokes with Veggie Juice, so I'm getting some nutrition at least. Didn't manage a shower till about 6pm this evening, but at least I'm clean for the first time in more days then I wish to admit. I was surfing online for a while, but decided to leave that when I started looking up hotel rooms and drug dosages. Finally I got to near the end of the plan and decided it was best to call my Case Manager. I was reluctant to, because her response would have been hospital, and I don't want to go, but I figured if I was following the Crisis Plan, ringing her was the next step and it was my responsibility to follow it. Anyway, she was in meeting, and reception said they would get her to call me when she came out. I don't know if the message wasn't passed on, or she had other stuff come up, but 5pm rolled around and she still hadn't called back.

My therapist rang to check on me this afternoon, like she said she would last night. I wouldn't say I was rude, but I was certainly more abrupt than I am comfortable with. I just didn't want to go into anymore detail and put her in a more awkward position than she was currently. And the less time I was on the phone with her, the less chance I would have to lie to her. She asked if I wanted her to check in again tomorrow, and I said no. She finished by saying she would see me on Thursday for our session.....pause......right? It honestly took me a minute, to be able to mumble out a yes. Thursday seems a little too far off to commit to. Stupid, huh?

So anyway, I notice these little things, the room clean out, the paperwork sort, the internet searches, the reluctance to commit to anything.... and I start to think, there are two agendas running parrallel with in me. Can I keep that other agenda under control? Am I being irrational and irresponsible refusing hospitalisation. BossPsychDoc and Case Manager are fairly quick with the hospital solution as a go to. But (D) my therapist has a lot of the same reservations about hospital that I do. So I texted her and asked her whether she really thought I should be in hospital. She replied that she had read my email (written at 5am last night) and with that and the sleep deprivation that it would be best to go. Which did certainly make me think, as I say, hospital is definately not the first thing she would resort to. She is all for using ones inner resources (with support) and individual plans. Huh....so what do I do now? I really don't want to go. For the moment I think I just want to try and get through another night, and see where I am at in the morning. But I guess if things really come undone tonight, maybe I'll have to consider heading to Emergency.

I do sleep better in hospital. And that in itself is an alluring prospect right now. But argh.... isn't it the MH professionals jobs to be the ones that worry about over-utilisation of services ect? This would be my third admission in 6 months. Doesn't that indicate that its perhaps not all that helpful. Case Manager (M) said to me whilst discussing the hospital option the other day, that the first thing they worried about was having an alive client, that you can't do much work or good if the client wasn't alive, and thus that was always their primary goal. Well, I'm still here for now..........

Dear Therapist

Dear (D),

I'm sorry. I hate being the client who admits to feeling acutely suicidal and then refuses to actually create any kind of safety plan.  I realise that this must put you in a terrible situation. I'm honestly not trying to make things hard. I now sincerely wish I had just lied. Told you I was fine. There is obviously a part of me that hasn't completely been taken over by these feelings of hopelessness and despair. A part that is reaching out and saying "I'm not feeling safe. I am scared of myself and I need help right now". But there is a larger part, that is just ready to give up. That doesn't want to deal with this anymore. And, so, I am caught in the middle of this... not wanting to lie directly to you, but unable to fathom making any committments of any kind.

There is a big part of me, that wishes I could figure out how to disengage from you entirely. Quit therapy. Distance myself, so that any actions I take are not seen as a reflection on you (because they are not). Friends and family are somewhat easier to start moving away from and disengaging from in one's mind. But therapy, and indeed Case Management are an entirely different quandry... if I quit, that raises questions, if I don't show up that raises questions... it makes it hard to find that space and time to create distance. And to be honest, as much as there is a huge part of me kicking this help away, there is another big part of me that is chasing it down frantically. Sigh. I wish I could just make a decision.

I don't want you on the phone, trying to help me come up with a plan. I don't want you checking in with me tomorrow. I'm pretty damned unsure about whether I even want a 'tomorrow'. But then if this was entirely true, I wouldn't pick up the damned phone, would I? I know that you think this indecision is probably a good thing, a space within which to move. But I hate it. I wish I would just choose. I'm sick of this fluttering back and forth...stay or go...stay or go.

I wish I could just lie.

I can see how to others it might appear the most obvious answer would be hospital. I'm sorry that I am unable to do that. I don't see the point. I don't see that its helpful. Yes, as you say, I would be alive... but then we just swing back to this again, in a few weeks, a few months. I think once you have actually whole heartedly and without reserve decided to end it once, it will forever be that tantalising option you come back to. I hate this indecision. As terrible as it might sound, at least with the OD back in 2006, I had wholeheartedly committed to the concept... there was none of this agonising, never-ending debate in my head. Yes, I failed. I woke up eventually, but I tell you what, when I did, I was pissed, there was not even a smidgen of relief that it didn't work. Just  all consuming rage that I was still here. Over time that blunted, I began to feel grateful (did I really? Or have I just internalised what everybody else thought, and hog tied myself to this mortal plain through guilt) But I long, I looooooooong, to once again be totally committed one way or another again. Be it stay or go. I hate this.

And I hate the person its made me. I feel like a manipulative, burdensome, soul sucking wraith. That's not my intention. I imagine people must be thinking after all these years, "For God's Sake! Either do it or don't do it. Just spare us this interminable vascillation." I imagine you all, sucking in a sigh and thinking "here we go again."

Thankyou for being caring enough to try and reach out to me at this time....and I'm sorry.
Ophelia

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.

Laying it out there

Well, I did end up going to therapy. If nothing else can be said about me, it can be at least said that I keep up with my committment to attend, whether I feel up to it or not. And I did actually tell her what had gone on over the weekend, as much as I didn't really want to. This weekend past has really been quite a kick in the guts... I have had to wipe a whole lot of 'at least I don'ts' off my list, and it has made me feel like an epic failure, amongst everything else. I used to be able to say, things are f*cked up but at least I....haven't been back in hospital, am not in therapy, am not on a bucketload of pills, am not case-managed, am holding down a job, am not on disability payments, am hiding it well.....but in the last 6 months, I have no longer been able to say these things any more. But then I was still able to say, things might be f*cked up, but at least I....haven't self-harmed in nearly four years, haven't given into crazy impulses, haven't taken more medicine than prescribed...... but after this weekend I can no longer say these things either.

The self harm is a major blow. Nearly four years! I don't know about for others, but for me SI is like an addiction, and blades my drug of choice. Even after nearly four years of abstinence, I still regulalry had to fight the temptation. Kind of what they say about alchoholics, I guess. You will always be an alcoholic, you are just in recovery. I will always be a self harmer... that instinct to turn to the blade will always be there, so I need to be ever vigilant, and not feed the addiction. And dammit, I have done it, I have stoked the fire, I have crossed the line that I drew in the sand, and once I put a foot over that line, it doesn't see such a big deal to step over completely. But it is a big deal. This is not how I want my life to be. And I made the choice to do it, I can blame it on the fatigue and depression, but I made a concious decision, to crack that razor, to set up the towels and betadine and steri-strips, to put the blade to my skin... that was all me, and I could have stopped it at any time. There was a time when, even though I kept my self harm hidden from others, in private I would look at it with an almost peverse pride. I did that.. I am in control of that... I control the pain and the damage, nobody else... and look, I bleed, I ache, I am still here, still alive. Now I look at these pitiful cuts on the skin of a 27 year old, who should f*cking know better, and I am filled with nothing but immense self-loathing.

What I didn't say about my haircut on Friday was, it was necessitated by a very bodgy at home job that morning. I had a flashback, and then when I looked in the mirror, all I could see was me, and I didn't want to be that person, that person that I recognised and weak, pathetic, contemptible and stained. So I grabbed a fist full of my hair and just cut. I dyed my naturally red-brown hair, the darkest shade of black-brown I could find. Gave into my immediate impulse, and consequently ended up having to a) come up with a good story to explain to the hair dresser the state of my hair b)grimace through people commenting on hair, that I of course now absolutely hate (although, really what does it matter?)

I'm just so freaking mad at myself, and disgusted by my complete lack of control. Therapist (D) contends that I am not giving enough credence to the exacerbating stresses in my life right now, instead trying to down play them. She really thinks that the home environment is too toxic. And finally, she posits that I use her and therapy, (M) Case Manager, school and work to ground me, and as all these things will be absent for the next two weeks, that this could be the reason I am fraying around the edges. She repeated several times, that she WOULD be back, and that just because I wasn't seeing her, didn't mean I would be forgotten. I really don't know how much this upcoming absence is impacting all of this. I mean, I am concerned about it, as I have mentioned previously, I have become used the containment of it. As I said to her, 'I am less worried about whether she would come back, and more worried about whether I would'.

On an interesting note, she also told me that whilst she would be there to support me through these feelings of hopelessness, she would not engage in the feelings of hopelessness herself. To which my immediate thought was, I should hope not! Somebody needs to see a light at the end of the tunnel in this situation. But then when I started wondering later, why she had felt the need to say this, I began to wonder if she thought in some way that I needed other people to agree with me on how shitty things really were, in order to validate my own feelings. Or that I was wasteing energy trying to get people to see through the same dark vision that I was seeing the world, rather than putting that energy trying to see instead, how they saw the world, and fix my issues. Have I become so safely ensconsed in this negative world view, that I am avoiding anything that challenges it, and trying to drag people into my own pity party, rather than stepping out into the world and something different? I don't know... I hope not.

So anyway, still residing in a pretty dark place. Still fighting even stronger urges than before (once that taboo has been broken, SI and misuse of medication doesn't seem to be such a hard step to take....sigh) Still living in bombshell of a house, as I haven't the energy or motivation to clean. My friend (S) is supposed to be coming down from the coast tomorrow night and I really should do something about the house... but frankly, I just mostly wish she wasn't coming. I am a terrible friend. My assignment (due Wednesday) is nowhere near done...but once again, I don't really care. I will care, eventually, just not right now. And on top of everything else, I am getting the flu. My throat is so sore, and when I cough it feels like my chest is on fire, and I wheeze for the next 5 minutes. Funny, I went to work with a dislocated shoulder, and later with a fractured wrist, and it didn't bother me, I had to be told to leave work and go and get them checked out by a doctor. I can cut and burn myself and it doesn't bother me. I have a pretty damned high tolerance for pain. But I CANNOT stand flus. Something about having my head all stuffy and blocked up, and fighting to breathe through the grossness, makes me want to die... which I guess, is quite fitting now.

So there, just laying it out there.

Trying not to

Two posts in one day. A little bit of overkill I guess. But I am putting all my effort into trying not to do something silly right now, so maybe if I put it out here in black and white, it will force me to behave myself. So what I didn't write about in my earlier post is my little bit of stupidity last night. I reached the end of my tether. I was (am) so very very tired. I took my sleeping medication, and then I took a little extra, and when that didn't work I took some more. End result, I passed out for a little bit, woke up and stumbled, crawled my way to the bathroom, where I proceeded to throw my guts up in a most spectacular fashion. Then, world spinning, I made my way back to my bedroom, and passed out for a little longer... all up I probably slept about 5 or 6 hours. But it didn't really make me feel rested.... (because it would take more than 5 hours sleep to catch up? because it was drug induced unconciousness rather than real sleep? I don't know.) It really just made the fatigue harder to deal with today, because my brain felt like sticky molasses. BUT, even if I didn't get 'real sleep' I did get 5 or 6 hours of blessed unawareness. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't in any danger of really ODing....you have to take bucketloads of benzos and probably wash it down with a good deal of alcohol to achieve that.... but it was more than anyone would safely prescribe, probably more than was entirely safe for my body, and admittedly quite risky. But the oblivian was nice, and it is tempting to do the same thing again tonight. I tried calling my therapist but could not get through, I didn't leave a message, as I just really can't face answering machines. I tried calling the Triage line, but hung up when they answered, i just couldn't face talking to a stranger. So where does this leave me? I don't want to talk to friends in the frame of mind I'm in, because I don't think I could hide the depths of what I am really feeling right now. I've been running through my crisis plan top to bottom, and then starting right back up at the top again. I've even been reading "How I stayed Alive when my brain was trying to Kill me", in the hopes of picking up something to sustain me from there. I don't want to go to therapy tomorrow. I definately don't want to tell her about some of my crazy behaviour this weekend. I want to just slip back into the murky nothingness for a while.... but I'm trying not to.

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....

The courage to jump

Its Christmas next week... how the hell did that happen so quickly? I'm not going to let myself go into a rant worrying about the multitude of dramas that are possible when my family gets together for extended periods of time. I'm not going to waste my time catastrophising, predicting and worrying myself to death over something that hasn't happened yet. I'm just going to wait and see. The other factor that comes hand in hand with this pesky holiday sneaking so surreptitously up on me is the break from therapy. (D) has arranged for me to have my normal Thursday appointment on Tuesday next week as she wont be working Christmas Eve, understandbly. So, I will see her on Monday and Tuesday and take the chance to bulk up on my coping skills, before I head back up North to see the family. After that I will not see her for about a fortnight, as she won't start back at work until the 4th. The same goes for (M), my Case Manager. It is really quite scary how in a period of less than six months I have become so used to (and attached to) the containment of seeing her twice a week. The longest that I have gone without seeing her (apart from when I was in hospital and even then she called me every day or so) was a week (or two sessions) that she has off a few weeks ago. And I must admit I struggled.  I didn't call her, but I had the back up of (M) being available, and support withstanding, my mood and anxiety levels took quite a major dive.

On the otherhand, as aprehensive as I am about it, there is another part of me that is actually looking forward to a bit of a holiday from therapy. A break from the questions and ruminating that therapy throws up, the over analysing and forays into the darker places in my mind, a chance for the voices to feel not as 'challenged' and perhaps quieten down for a bit. I think, if I am to be completely honest with myself, that a good part of my recent discomfort in therapy comes down to a fear of change. Not that I don't want change, but more that I am scared of what it will look like, or that it will turn out badly and throw up more issues. As much as I don't want things to stay the way they are, at least there is a certain safe feeling in knowing what its like. Its kind of like being told to jump out the window of a burning building. I know I can't stay where I am, and I know that she is setting up a safety net below me for me to fall into, but what if she is not in the right position, or the net is not strong enough to catch me? What if I take the chance and end up smashing into a million pieces at the bottom? But nonetheless, the smouldering fire is gradually pushing me further and further out the window. Its a leap of faith. And I do have faith in her, more than I do with most people, but I also know she is fallible and human, and regardless its just not in my nature to trust implicitly.

Things are beginning to really unravel at the moment, and aside from the other additional stressors of Christmas and the poisonous atmosphere I find myself living in, I put it mostly down to the insomnia.  I think it is getting to the point where it is really starting to push me over the edge. I am nervous and anxious and my hands are constantly shaking. My brain is so foggy and unclear, I'm finding it hard to make it through some of the most basic daily living skills. I get in the shower, and I can't remember whether I've washed my hair, so I do it twice, or I forget to rinse the conditioner out. I go to put clothes on, but I can't make the decision what to wear, so I sit in my towel staring at the cupboard for an hour. I sit in front of the tv for hours staring at it, without ever actually watching anything. I realised tonight that I hadn't eaten anything since Sunday night, not deliberately, I just forgot I guess. So I've existed for the past 48 hours on juice, diet coke, meds and cigarettes. The hallucinations (?) delusions (?), seem to be ramping up, I'm seeing colours and patterns bouncing off the wall. I'm still able to ground myself and tell myself that this is just my brain throwing out weird signals and that it is not real, but the fact that they are there and I have to have this conversation with myself is worrying. The last couple of days in particular has been a real downhill slide.

I am trying to keep it all in check by continuing on as best I can with volunteer work and school work. By making it to my therapy appointments even though leaving the house is the last thing I want to do, by keeping my dates with Bachelor Number 1 on Thursday night, and friend (F) on friday. I called and cancelled my appointment with BabyDoc tomorrow, as I figure that a) I'm going to being seeing BossDoc on the 7th anyway b) BabyDoc seems fairly committed to cutting the medications back, so I don't really see the point in going c) I'm not sure I really want to tell anybody, especially him what's going on as far as the little trips my brain is throwing out. I discussed it briefly with (D) when I thought it was a one of thing, but now that its happening more, I'm a little scared in case it is more than just severe sleep deprivation, and I just want to bury my head in the sand and not deal with it. I am too ashamed to talk about it, even if there is a chance he might be able to do something to change it. And finally d) I was just not up to going up to the purple building of despair, to be locked in an airless, claustrophobic room, and risk another panic attack like last time. I just don't have the energy for it.

Still, I am trying really hard to use the coping skills I have been taught, the deep breathing and the mindfulness to deal with the anxiety. Ensuring I still have a reasonable schedule to provide me distraction and going whether I feel like it or not. I got out the razorblades for the first time in a long time yesterday night, but managed to talk myself down from doing anything, before I risked losing the ability to say I have been self-injury free since 2006. It was bloody hard though, the temptaion was (is) strong, and to be entirely honest it came more down to the fact that I didn't want my bf to see new cuts and I know if I was to go home for Christmas and stay out of the water it would raise too many questions. Honestly, if I would have been able to do it without the risk of anyone finding out, as I was able to do previously, I probably would have. It may just be a distorted recollection, but I can just remember the sense of immense calm and control that would come over me when I used to do it, and its ability to (in that moment) pull me down and ground me.

There are the predicatble late night forays onto google, researching (again) the different fatal toxcicity levels of my medications ect (Information I really already know, but find comfort in reassuring myself time and time again is accurate) I find myself stopping on the freeway overpass near my house and thinking what if. But Suicidal Ideation and thoughts of self harm, are just that, thoughts... I am doing my very best to keep my actions under control, even if I can't control the thoughts in my head.

When I made the decision to reengage with therapy this year, it was because I noticed I was beginning to decompensate and I was trying to be proactive about it before things really got dire. Since I've been back in therapy, I have noticed things have continued to slide back quite rapidly. And I don't know how much of this would have happened anyway, as I was already on a downhill slope, and how much of it is produced by having to rake up the past. I believe wholeheartedly it is necessary that I do this, as I know even in my period of apparent stability, I was constantly on edge, trying to keep myself in check, and trying to keep the unresolved issues of the past from taking over. I was managing the symptoms at best, but had yet to really deal with the underlying issues. I knew that I didn't want to go through my life on a constant vigil, with all of this darkness looming reay to slide out and king hit me the minute I dropped my guard. I was existing sure enough, but not really living. And going into therapy I was aware I was reopening Pandora's Box, and thus opening myself up to a lot of emotional turmoil, but I was hopeful that by enduring through this that there would be a better outcome at the end. I still cling to that hope, but it is getting harder to hold on, to believe there is something good at the end, some kind of peace or closure, to believe that is possible. But I know that my brain is clouded by all the negative stuff it is being exposed to, and that I have to do this on faith alone.

But, I am tired. So very exhausted and lacking in the energy to really care. And afraid, afraid of not being able to cope with what I am trying to confront. Afraid that I am slipping further and further into a place I won't be able to climb out of. Afraid that I will never be able to achieve the desired outcome.

But what else is there to do? I can't turn back, I've opened to many dark closets to try and stuff all the skeletons back in now. Besides, I don't want to live life like that anymore, I would rather take the express train out of here if that is my only other option. So, I must plug on, and keep trying to do whatever I can to force myself to keep my head above water. Even if the coping skills seem pointless or don't really seem to work.

Maybe I should be more honest with (D) and (M) and even BabyDoc about where my head is at, at this point, but faking it seems to be the best way I have to keep my head above water at the moment. So, here I stay, clinging to the window sill of a burning building, trying to find the courage to jump.

Breathe

It was my mantra. All week. Just hold out till monday. Well, monday, has come and gone and I still am left feeling as though I am teetering on the edge of a precipice. I am humiliated. Therapist (D) called me last night to try and help me deal with the intense suicidal ideation I am experiencing. And I begged her to tell me that I shouldn't do it, that it would make me a terrible person to do it. Strangely, I just seemed to need somebody to bawl me out, to tell me how incredibley selfish my thinking was being, because my own chastisment was not enough. Of course, she wouldn't say it. And I can understand why. All she would say is that she didn't want me to do it. We spoke about things I could do, and we decided just to focus on resting, even if I can't sleep. So breathing exercises, acknowledging the existence of the voices when they distracted me and then getting back on task. I wasn't incredibley successful, but I guess it is just a matter of practicing.

Mindtools has a very easy to follow guide to deep breathing http://www.mindtools.com/pages/article/newTCS_05.htm

It covers PMR, which has always been the one that I have felt comfortable with.

I'm still struggling, still exhausted, still very fragile, still just trying to get through a moment at a time. Still hoping that eventually I will begin to see there is a hope that life, will not always be the never ending cycle of slowly creeping up only to be slammed down. I am trying. Thats the best I can do right now.

Yes, The River Knows

Please, believe me,

The river told me
Very softly
Want you to hold me, ooh.

I'm going, but I need a little time,
I promised I would drown myself
In mysticated wine.

Free fall flow, river, flow
On and on it goes.
Breathe under water till the end.
Free fall flow, river, flow
On and on it goes.
Breathe under water till the end.

Sometimes it feels like even my ipod is against me....sigh...

In my little box of sad

Obviously life is just not a bowl of cherries for me at the moment. But I'm trying, I am really trying. Had a meeting with Case Manager (M) at my house yesterday which was somewhat unproductive, as I was having a really overwhelming day, and was frankly, just not up to trying to cope with anything other than keeping myself safe in the moment. She tried to engage me in a discussion about things that I could do to help get through this period, and distract myself from the gremlins in my brain. But I was just so exhausted and at such a heightened level of anxiety, I couldn't engage. Ended up withdrawing almost completely, as I tried to stave off a panic attack, and in the end she ended up leaving without me even getting off the couch to escort her to the door.  I feel such a sense of shame, when my emotions overwhelm me to the point where I cannot even behave in a civilised manner.  And I am sure that she left with not a small amount of frustration at my inability to engage as pro-actively as I normally would try to do. In the end, I did have to drag myself out of my self imposed hermitude to go to a GP appointment that I nearly forgot about, but that in itself felt like I was running through fire, having to be in such a crowded place, when all I wanted to do was be at home under my duvet hiding from the world.  I spent a good portion of the day just trying to resist the pull of the vodka bottle and the blade.

Sleep still isnt coming easily, but have had to try and pull myself together somewhat as I have training at the Ronald McDonald House tomorrow, and although I don't feel capable of facing the world or life in general at this moment, I know in my heart it is something I really want to do, and when (if) this passes I will be incredibley dissapointed if I screwed it up, in the midst of one of my plunges into darkness. The same goes for my uni work, although I am completely apathetic at the moment, if and when I do get through this I know I won't want to have backed myself into a corner where I have to start all over again.

That's the tricky part. At the moment life feels pretty shit, and there doesnt feel as though there is much hope of it getting better.  But I know from past experience that if I let everything slide, I will regret it in the future, fuelling the depression even more.

So, today, i have begun to try and pull myself up by the bootstraps and do what needs to be done. I've been trying to use my CBT bag of tricks. Self monitering isnt yeilding up much help. I don't know whether its a lack of insight or what, but I just honestly can't pinpoint the thought or event that are inducing my anxiety. It just seems to wash over me in waves, for no rhyme or reason. Sure there are mitgating circumstances at the moment, my therapists week off has left me feeling less contained then normal, the house is very tense because of the breakup, (Sisters ex is still living here, and nobody is communicating), and the holiday season is approaching, but specific triggers for the immediate emotion, well I just can't figure it out.

I am trying to cognitively restructure my negative thoughts. When I think of xmas, I keep telling myself that I am catastrophising an event that hasnt happened yet, and that even if there is the normal all out war, I can choose to disengage from it. When thinking about the house situation, I am telling myself that once again I can choose not to engage in the dysfunction, but continue as if everything is normal, and if and when we need to seek new housemate, I will deal with it. I am telling myself that feeling so abandoned with therapist away is a normal reaction within the therapeutic relationship and given my history of people letting me down when the going gets tough, but that (D) hasn't done that, and she will be back on monday, and she has repeatedly and steadfastly given her comittment to be there for the duration. I am telling myself that it is ok to have the thoughts of destructive behaviour and suicidal ideation because I have shown in the last few years an ability to resist the urge and reach out for help when things go to far. I am telling myself, that sleep will come eventually, and I just have to wait it out, the more anxiety I put into it the less likely it will be easily achieved........

Sigh... Anyway. Just taking a day at a time at the moment. Tomorrow I have three goals. 1) to make it to the training session, it is only a short bus trip and hour long session, I can pull myself together for that. 2) to catch up with friend (F) for a drink and a chat, because I know that social isolation is part of the downhill spiral for me, we will find somewhere quiet and out of the way. 3) to finish listening to this weeks uni lectures online, as I need to start preparing for the first test next week.

Baby steps.... I'll just fake it till I make it.

*Case Manager did not just walk out and leave me as a quivering wreck. She rang back later that afternoon to see how i was coping, which was still not very well. She is off for the rest of the week, but she did try to offer to get one of her colleagues to call me for the next few days to check in. I refused, as I know I cannot talk to people I don't know, and I would just lie and say I was fine and it would be a waste of everybodies time. She did however say, even though she isn't seeing clients next week that she would ring on monday to see how I am going. For all the issues I have with the 'system', and despite our somewhat rocky start, she is genuine and empathetic and I think she does try to do the best she can for her clients within the restrictions she is given... it must be a very hard and frustrating job.