I was right to suspect on Sunday that my mood was rising and it continued to rise.
Sunday night was largely sleepless yet I woke, bright eyed and bushy tailed at 5am on Monday. I was discharged from hospital early on Monday afternoon- high as a kite. By 4pm on Monday I was depressed again and wishing I had killed myself when I had the chance. I spent some time lying, motionless and crying again experiencing that horrendous pain that depression brings by 7pm I was the life and soul of the party again.
This is rapid-cycling- almost sounds like it should be fun, or at least an Olympic sport but it is neither it is in fact very distressing and unsettling.
By contrast on Tuesday I was stable, probably more stable than I’ve been in months. I saw my psychiatrist in the afternoon and was able to ask what I needed to ask, engage meaningfully with the consultation and for once I came away satisfied with the outcome (rubbish anti-depressant gone, referral to new psychologist, next psychiatrist appointment brought forward).
I came home and at some point in the afternoon started to feel something I haven’t felt since the time just before my first ever admission to hospital- “the fear”. I felt threatened and afraid, I insisted that curtains and blinds were shut I knew I couldn’t go anywhere, I didn’t even feel able to stand at my own back door for a cigarette. I knew something was amiss so phoned my fantastic CPN who dished out the stock advice for these kinds of situations- stay in, take Lorazepam, so I did.
The Lorazepam calmed me a bit but only for a while. I was getting increasingly aware of the “noise” in my head I had a number of intrusive thoughts and decided that I needed to be vigilant so decided against any more Lorazepam. I believed I was in danger from everybody, I “realised” I had been stupid all along and it was in fact the doctors who were making me ill. As the evening went on the psychosis got worse, I was convinced I could trust no-one but one lovely friend.
Yesterday morning my lovely friend took me to see my wonderful GP, who I decided I no longer trusted (and told her so). My wonderful GP patiently listened as I told her that everyone was out to get me and I felt I needed to arm myself with a knife to protect myself. Lorazepam was the answer again but by this point I’d ruled it out completely as there was no way I’d be able to protect myself if I was in a benzodiazepine fug.
The noise in my head increased throughout the day, I was having violent fantasies and believed that as well as being at risk from the medical profession at large, I was going to harm someone.
My fantastic CPN visited in the afternoon, by this time I’d decided she was “one of them” as well but she sat, patiently listening anyway. The fantastic CPN had spent a large part of the day chasing the psychiatrist who eventually told her I was to start taking the anti-psychotic they had taken me off on my admission to hospital on Friday.
So today, my head is quieter, I have a psychotic episode hangover- it’s much the same as a traditional hangover- I’m tired, the house is a mess, my body aches and I can’t believe some of the things I said yesterday.
I think I can be forgiven for feeling like I’m not getting anywhere. I first visited my wonderful GP about my mental health on the 30th November 2009, met the fantastic CPN on 12th December 2009 had my first psychotic episode and got admitted to hospital for the first time on 21st April 2010. I’m not stable, I’m nowhere near ready to be back at work; I’ve lost my driving license and still can’t manage my home and children alone.
But today is better than yesterday and I suppose I have to cling to that.