Another week has passed since I blogged, it’s been an unremarkable week I suppose. Calvin’s recovery has continued well and you’d never believe he had back surgery less than two weeks ago. We’re inevitably, I suppose, mainly back to that functional communication I talked about last time with the odd “watch your back” and “be careful” thrown in. He did, in an act of extreme trust, ask me to cut the mop of hair he’s been lovingly nurturing for some time, in an attempt to make it easier to keep clean whilst bathing is still disallowed and leaning over the bath is forbidden.
I don’t do haircuts, preferring to leave such things to skilled professionals but armed with some clippers from Argos I set about his head with shakier than usual hands and the kind of fake optimism I usually save for trips to casualty with the youngest child. “Yeah it’s looking great!” I said as he took on the appearance of a dog with sarcoptic mange. The haircut was naturally a family affair with the other two children looking on- a steely glare toward the middle child ensured she said nothing to alert Calvin to the possible catastrophe that his head was becoming; the youngest child could not be kept from pointing out how funny his brother looked. I got to the end of the haircut, sweating and trembling and it looked ok, ok enough that none of us are embarrassed to be seen with Cal- especially since he always wears a hat.
I spoke to my lovely boss this week, nothing major, just a friendly exchange but I did tell her I’d been signed off for another 12 weeks I didn’t have the guts to tell her that I’ll probably get signed off again when that ends. I often wonder what my lovely boss understands about how well or otherwise I am. I submit sick lines- all they say is “bipolar affective disorder” (though curiously my recent one says “acute bipolar affective disorder”) what does this actually tell someone about my condition?
Today for example, and all this past week, this has meant that for the most part I am ok, I am stable. But this week I have suffered the most agonising agitation and restlessness. I’m not talking about needing something to do to keep me occupied; I’m talking about a skin-crawling, muscle aching, stomach churning need for something I can’t identify. This has me pacing round the house most of the time, needing something but unable to focus on anything. I usually resort to Lorazepam to help, which it does for a bit but then I need to sleep off the effects of the Lorazepam. I have no idea what’s causing this recent development, maybe it’s just another of the little in-between episodes joys that bi-polar brings? I’m hoping the fantastic CPN can shed some light tomorrow- or at least persuade the wonderful GP to be less stingy with the Lorazepam prescription.
I’m sure the wonderful GP has good reasons for only ever giving me 14 Lorazepam at a time; in fact I know she does. But this means I have to keep going back to get more and I hate having to ask for such things, in fact contrary to what the staff at my GP practice must believe- I don’t like going to the doctor at all, for anything. I spend far too much time with my wonderful GP; I would quite like to go back to that rarely seen patient I was before all this happened.
Showing posts with label bipolar. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bipolar. Show all posts
Lessons Learned
As I stood this morning waiting for the kettle to boil, clapping my hands and reflecting on my late night last night, my desire to go shopping today and my determination to solve the problem of the youngest child invading my bed for good, I realised my mood may be changing.
I can hear my team cheering my insight from here.
Insight has not been my strong point until now, I’ve preferred to kind of roll with it, realising I’m either high or low when it’s really too late to do anything about it. Not that I know what to do about this time either and it’s difficult to find the desire to do anything that might change it. As fellow bipolar explorers will know, the cusp of a mood rise is probably one of the best bits- the ideas are starting to flow, I feel awake, interested, interesting, excited and my (no doubt, slightly irritating) habit of clapping my hands can go unchecked as I’m home alone!
I have to confess to having a bit of a light bulb moment during the night (as the 5 year old kicked me in the head for the 1000th time) and I finally got something I think I was supposed to get some months ago.
The fabulous CPN has always pointed out that stress and the adrenalin that goes with it is my poison. This bit I understood. What I didn’t understand is that good stress or bad stress, it didn’t matter, it could send me either way.
Later this week, my eldest child, the 16 year old is undergoing major surgery and I am stressed about it. I naturally assumed that this situation would depress me, I’m worried, my child is going to be in pain, and we will be away from home for a while away from the other two children. I never thought for a minute that the stress of this situation would have me fizzing with anticipation the way I am now.
I feel guilty I suppose that I am tending toward high rather than low but in there is another lesson for me, I do not choose how I react to situations. I think I can choose how I deal with those reactions to a degree (and that will no doubt involve medication) but that’s my illness.
I can hear my team cheering my insight from here.
Insight has not been my strong point until now, I’ve preferred to kind of roll with it, realising I’m either high or low when it’s really too late to do anything about it. Not that I know what to do about this time either and it’s difficult to find the desire to do anything that might change it. As fellow bipolar explorers will know, the cusp of a mood rise is probably one of the best bits- the ideas are starting to flow, I feel awake, interested, interesting, excited and my (no doubt, slightly irritating) habit of clapping my hands can go unchecked as I’m home alone!
I have to confess to having a bit of a light bulb moment during the night (as the 5 year old kicked me in the head for the 1000th time) and I finally got something I think I was supposed to get some months ago.
The fabulous CPN has always pointed out that stress and the adrenalin that goes with it is my poison. This bit I understood. What I didn’t understand is that good stress or bad stress, it didn’t matter, it could send me either way.
Later this week, my eldest child, the 16 year old is undergoing major surgery and I am stressed about it. I naturally assumed that this situation would depress me, I’m worried, my child is going to be in pain, and we will be away from home for a while away from the other two children. I never thought for a minute that the stress of this situation would have me fizzing with anticipation the way I am now.
I feel guilty I suppose that I am tending toward high rather than low but in there is another lesson for me, I do not choose how I react to situations. I think I can choose how I deal with those reactions to a degree (and that will no doubt involve medication) but that’s my illness.
So What Now?
I’m almost frightened to say this out loud but I think I may be stable.
Frightened to say it in case it doesn’t last, frightened to say it in case my new drugs muck it up, frightened to say it because I’ll lose support and frightened because I don’t know what comes now.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m enjoying stability- I can be happy or sad without either turning into a trip to hospital, I can spend time with my family without the need to slope of to bed after half an hour in fact I’m sure those around me are even more grateful for my stability than I am.
I have yet to venture out much and my days are uneventful, save for the odd trip to the doctor or psychiatrist. Going out induces such crippling anxiety and feelings of exposure that I prefer to avoid it and tend to hide under my duvet until midday. When I am out my anxiety compounds my lithium tremor so much I can feel my head shake, never mind my hands.
I feel fragile and delicate as though the slightest nudge to my mental health will see me careering one way or another. I attempted grocery shopping in a supermarket last week and had to give up after 10 minutes as it was just too much. I passed up the chance to join Labour party colleagues on bonfire night for fear that I would have little to say of any interest, if I could say anything at all. I may be stable, but I’m not quite the woman I was.
So what next? I have no idea if I’m honest; I’m hoping others will provide some answers. I don’t know where I go from here, how to stop living in fear of the next relapse, how to find things to do and find the courage to do the things I have to do.
Frightened to say it in case it doesn’t last, frightened to say it in case my new drugs muck it up, frightened to say it because I’ll lose support and frightened because I don’t know what comes now.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m enjoying stability- I can be happy or sad without either turning into a trip to hospital, I can spend time with my family without the need to slope of to bed after half an hour in fact I’m sure those around me are even more grateful for my stability than I am.
I have yet to venture out much and my days are uneventful, save for the odd trip to the doctor or psychiatrist. Going out induces such crippling anxiety and feelings of exposure that I prefer to avoid it and tend to hide under my duvet until midday. When I am out my anxiety compounds my lithium tremor so much I can feel my head shake, never mind my hands.
I feel fragile and delicate as though the slightest nudge to my mental health will see me careering one way or another. I attempted grocery shopping in a supermarket last week and had to give up after 10 minutes as it was just too much. I passed up the chance to join Labour party colleagues on bonfire night for fear that I would have little to say of any interest, if I could say anything at all. I may be stable, but I’m not quite the woman I was.
So what next? I have no idea if I’m honest; I’m hoping others will provide some answers. I don’t know where I go from here, how to stop living in fear of the next relapse, how to find things to do and find the courage to do the things I have to do.
Third Time Lucky?
Today is World Mental Health Day so it seems somehow fitting that that I am, once again, blogging from my hospital bed. How did I end up here again? Perhaps I am forever doomed to mark the changing seasons with a trip to my local acute psychiatric ward for I have done spring, summer and now autumn.
Quite simply I was losing the battle for stability, I had high days and low days but mainly low days culminating in some very low days, until, on Friday I was so low that there seemed only one answer to the way I was feeling and I planned to take my own life.
Before my own encounter with depression- a depression so severe it brings with it a tangible physical pain, I saw suicide as a selfish act, an act perpetrated by those who didn’t have or didn’t want support; I saw it as a choice.
I wish I was skilled enough with the written word to express just how desperate I was, I wish I could describe that pain with words, the gaping emptiness, the crushing sadness, the fearlessness of death and the peace it would bring. I completely understand how one can feel that simply by not being here any more the pain will be over. I now see how easily one can answer all the questions the prospect of suicide raises- what about the children, friends, family?
My justification was simple, I wasn’t getting any better, my life was a mess, I was unable to do all the things I should be doing or any of the things I wanted to do. My mental illness was preventing me from being the parent, employee, friend and person I wanted and felt I should be.
So persuaded by my fantastic CPN (who must wonder why these things always happen at 4.30pm on Fridays) I, once again, checked into hospital “to keep me safe” and here I am.
I have had a slight medication tweak and not enough tea; again I should see the doctor on Tuesday to discuss what to do next. The doctor who did my admission on Friday night thinks all my health professionals need to get together to “re-strategise”. Bless, he’s obviously new.
This morning I woke- early and with that nervous excitement that so often indicates a swift change in mood. I’ll take it, thanks.
I almost forgot to say, the icing on the cake is that last week I lost my driving licence as I haven’t been stable for 3 months (or 3 minutes). I’d like to point out that DVLA were happy for me to drive for the 3 months it took to gather the reports and in fact don’t require me to stop until the 13th of October- something just doesn’t add up.
Quite simply I was losing the battle for stability, I had high days and low days but mainly low days culminating in some very low days, until, on Friday I was so low that there seemed only one answer to the way I was feeling and I planned to take my own life.
Before my own encounter with depression- a depression so severe it brings with it a tangible physical pain, I saw suicide as a selfish act, an act perpetrated by those who didn’t have or didn’t want support; I saw it as a choice.
I wish I was skilled enough with the written word to express just how desperate I was, I wish I could describe that pain with words, the gaping emptiness, the crushing sadness, the fearlessness of death and the peace it would bring. I completely understand how one can feel that simply by not being here any more the pain will be over. I now see how easily one can answer all the questions the prospect of suicide raises- what about the children, friends, family?
My justification was simple, I wasn’t getting any better, my life was a mess, I was unable to do all the things I should be doing or any of the things I wanted to do. My mental illness was preventing me from being the parent, employee, friend and person I wanted and felt I should be.
So persuaded by my fantastic CPN (who must wonder why these things always happen at 4.30pm on Fridays) I, once again, checked into hospital “to keep me safe” and here I am.
I have had a slight medication tweak and not enough tea; again I should see the doctor on Tuesday to discuss what to do next. The doctor who did my admission on Friday night thinks all my health professionals need to get together to “re-strategise”. Bless, he’s obviously new.
This morning I woke- early and with that nervous excitement that so often indicates a swift change in mood. I’ll take it, thanks.
I almost forgot to say, the icing on the cake is that last week I lost my driving licence as I haven’t been stable for 3 months (or 3 minutes). I’d like to point out that DVLA were happy for me to drive for the 3 months it took to gather the reports and in fact don’t require me to stop until the 13th of October- something just doesn’t add up.
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Just Add Water.......
…………….and wait 4-6 weeks for results, this is the current advice from my psychiatrist who has added yet another drug to the arsenal in an attempt to get me well.
I’ve been taking duloxetine for three weeks now and my mood has continued to plummet, I feel consumed by a blackness and void that comes from within.
I did my best to fight against it- ate well, exercsied regularly, forced myself to do things I didn't want to do in the hope it would help but have now succumbed and prefer to spend most of my days asleep.
So again I am playing the waiting game, sitting, or rather sleeping on the sidelines of my own life.
I’ve been taking duloxetine for three weeks now and my mood has continued to plummet, I feel consumed by a blackness and void that comes from within.
I did my best to fight against it- ate well, exercsied regularly, forced myself to do things I didn't want to do in the hope it would help but have now succumbed and prefer to spend most of my days asleep.
So again I am playing the waiting game, sitting, or rather sleeping on the sidelines of my own life.
Hi-Ho-Oh-No
So I’m still depressed, I had 3 wonderful days of hypomanic respite last week but I’m back down to earth now. I’ve adopted a new positive mental attitude which basically means forcing myself to do things everyday that I don’t want to do- get up, get dressed, go out etc.
Tomorrow I’m having a much needed haircut then…….*drum roll*…….I’m going into the office for a coffee with a colleague. My heart rate increases just thinking about it- which I suppose should demonstrate it’s nothing special as my local Morrisons has the same effect, anyway, I’m going to do it.
Now that the children are back at school and I have a lot of time on my (shaky) hands my thoughts have turned to work.
I loved my job, for all the ups and downs it brought I was always happy to be there and to be part of the small select team working towards a shared goal. My job gave me purpose and identity, not to mention lots of good fun and a fairly reasonable remuneration. My job was a huge chunk of who I am or was.
I haven’t worked now for well over six months and in that time my job has been someone else’s job. I think I’ve come to terms with not being indispensable but I am plagued with worry that my time off has proved me entirely dispensable.
I often put myself in the shoes of my employer and ask would I want myself back? Would I employ someone who has been off for so long sick? I guess I wouldn’t make a very good employer as my answers are always “no”. I’m lucky, I have a good employer and I know my job will be there when I’m ready but that doesn’t make it any easier to go back.
I don’t know where I’m going to fit back in at work, from the silly things like someone else is using my desk to the serious things- I’ve no idea what’s happened over the last 6 months or so, I don’t feel I have the skills to do my job anymore now that the lithium has somewhat stunted my previously ample creativity and productivity.
I’ve been tempted to take the path of least resistance and resign, not because I want to but because it would be easier than going back. Nobody can tell me when to go back to work, my team of healthcare professionals have been quite good at telling me when not to attempt it but the decision must be mine to make when I am ready. The problem is I don’t think I will ever be ready, I think I’m just going to have to suck it and see and hope, for the sake of my shattered confidence, that I get it right.
Tomorrow I’m having a much needed haircut then…….*drum roll*…….I’m going into the office for a coffee with a colleague. My heart rate increases just thinking about it- which I suppose should demonstrate it’s nothing special as my local Morrisons has the same effect, anyway, I’m going to do it.
Now that the children are back at school and I have a lot of time on my (shaky) hands my thoughts have turned to work.
I loved my job, for all the ups and downs it brought I was always happy to be there and to be part of the small select team working towards a shared goal. My job gave me purpose and identity, not to mention lots of good fun and a fairly reasonable remuneration. My job was a huge chunk of who I am or was.
I haven’t worked now for well over six months and in that time my job has been someone else’s job. I think I’ve come to terms with not being indispensable but I am plagued with worry that my time off has proved me entirely dispensable.
I often put myself in the shoes of my employer and ask would I want myself back? Would I employ someone who has been off for so long sick? I guess I wouldn’t make a very good employer as my answers are always “no”. I’m lucky, I have a good employer and I know my job will be there when I’m ready but that doesn’t make it any easier to go back.
I don’t know where I’m going to fit back in at work, from the silly things like someone else is using my desk to the serious things- I’ve no idea what’s happened over the last 6 months or so, I don’t feel I have the skills to do my job anymore now that the lithium has somewhat stunted my previously ample creativity and productivity.
I’ve been tempted to take the path of least resistance and resign, not because I want to but because it would be easier than going back. Nobody can tell me when to go back to work, my team of healthcare professionals have been quite good at telling me when not to attempt it but the decision must be mine to make when I am ready. The problem is I don’t think I will ever be ready, I think I’m just going to have to suck it and see and hope, for the sake of my shattered confidence, that I get it right.
In The Pursuit Of Happiness
I am fed up, completely and utterly fed up.
I have spent another day in the pursuit of happiness and failed. Yet again I find myself overwhelmed by unhappiness, depression and hopelessness. I have made numerous attempts to pull myself together and it’s just not happening.
I’m angry today, angry at my condition, angry at my medication, angry at my inability to get better.
On paper I’ve done well this week- looked after my children all week, managed the back to school routine, cooked, cleaned and coped. The list of things I haven’t managed is still bigger and the simple things I can’t cope with frustrates me. I spend my days feeling restless and agitated with nothing to do and no impetuous to do anything. On reflection I can’t believe the past week has just been a week, it feels far longer.
I find myself longing for the highs more than ever, I know each high brought a corresponding low but at the moment it’s a risk I’m willing to take. The highs brought their own agitation and restlessness but it could be satisfied by carrying out any of the hundreds of wonderful ideas I had, now I have no ideas.
I’m due to see my psychiatrist on Monday to discuss the pervading depression I don’t know what I expect her to do or say, I just need some hope.
I have spent another day in the pursuit of happiness and failed. Yet again I find myself overwhelmed by unhappiness, depression and hopelessness. I have made numerous attempts to pull myself together and it’s just not happening.
I’m angry today, angry at my condition, angry at my medication, angry at my inability to get better.
On paper I’ve done well this week- looked after my children all week, managed the back to school routine, cooked, cleaned and coped. The list of things I haven’t managed is still bigger and the simple things I can’t cope with frustrates me. I spend my days feeling restless and agitated with nothing to do and no impetuous to do anything. On reflection I can’t believe the past week has just been a week, it feels far longer.
I find myself longing for the highs more than ever, I know each high brought a corresponding low but at the moment it’s a risk I’m willing to take. The highs brought their own agitation and restlessness but it could be satisfied by carrying out any of the hundreds of wonderful ideas I had, now I have no ideas.
I’m due to see my psychiatrist on Monday to discuss the pervading depression I don’t know what I expect her to do or say, I just need some hope.
Living With It
Today marks the end of my first week at home, officially recovered enough to leave the hospital.
It’s been a challenging week and again I am finding the simplest tasks are beyond me. Housework overwhelms me and trying to fill in the seemingly endless pile of forms I’ve been putting off until I feel up to it has me in tears.
My children have returned to school so the days have some structure and routine but during the time they are away I have nothing to do other than attend appointments with health professionals. The truth is I don’t feel up to doing anything anyway.
People keep telling me I need to find things to do but with no motivation it’s very difficult. I still hanker for all the things I used to do and I miss my job. I know that it is too soon to go back to work- I still struggle to go to a supermarket but my job was such a large part of my identity I feel lost without it. I can’t think of anything I want to do other than the rather vague plea of “get my life back”.
I attended my CBT appointment this morning to be told that I am too depressed or getting too depressed for CBT to be effective and I should seek an appointment with my psychiatrist to discuss what to do next. This invariably means more medication; the current pile is enough to induce a bout of weeping when I pick them up. The side effects from my medication continue to affect me and I can’t decide which I hate more- the weight gain or the tremor. I know I could take more medication to counteract the tremor but it has its own side effects so it’s no easy decision.
On the upside, I have a letter from DVLA telling me I can drive, so I have a little of my independence back. I used my car yesterday to drive to the home of an acquaintance who revealed over coffee that they had been through a similar experience to me some years ago. It is so good to know that I’m not alone and that others have been there, done that and come out the other side.
I’m hoping to come out the other side sometime soon, and I hope to stay there.
It’s been a challenging week and again I am finding the simplest tasks are beyond me. Housework overwhelms me and trying to fill in the seemingly endless pile of forms I’ve been putting off until I feel up to it has me in tears.
My children have returned to school so the days have some structure and routine but during the time they are away I have nothing to do other than attend appointments with health professionals. The truth is I don’t feel up to doing anything anyway.
People keep telling me I need to find things to do but with no motivation it’s very difficult. I still hanker for all the things I used to do and I miss my job. I know that it is too soon to go back to work- I still struggle to go to a supermarket but my job was such a large part of my identity I feel lost without it. I can’t think of anything I want to do other than the rather vague plea of “get my life back”.
I attended my CBT appointment this morning to be told that I am too depressed or getting too depressed for CBT to be effective and I should seek an appointment with my psychiatrist to discuss what to do next. This invariably means more medication; the current pile is enough to induce a bout of weeping when I pick them up. The side effects from my medication continue to affect me and I can’t decide which I hate more- the weight gain or the tremor. I know I could take more medication to counteract the tremor but it has its own side effects so it’s no easy decision.
On the upside, I have a letter from DVLA telling me I can drive, so I have a little of my independence back. I used my car yesterday to drive to the home of an acquaintance who revealed over coffee that they had been through a similar experience to me some years ago. It is so good to know that I’m not alone and that others have been there, done that and come out the other side.
I’m hoping to come out the other side sometime soon, and I hope to stay there.
Time for T
I feel like I’ve lost 9 months of my life. When I look back I can see snippets but I really have no idea where all that time has gone. However in those 9 months my life has changed immeasurably and forever.
I now face the prospect of rebuilding my life and fitting in all the extra stuff that mental illness and the pursuit of good mental health requires. I don’t really know where to start.
I know from previous experience that my usual rush to ‘get back to normal’ doesn’t help so I’m mindful to avoid it but then I’m left with “what do I do?”
Advice from others is always the same- take it easy, don’t rush, find new activities to fill my time. The problem is I don’t want new activities; I want to be able to do the old ones. I suppose to be fair I haven’t tried many new activities though I did have one foisted upon my by the occupational therapist at the hospital.
Occupational therapy is hard to define; even the occupational therapists themselves seem to struggle to define their purpose. I initially thought the aim was to prepare me in some way for the world of work again, I envisaged reading newspapers, maybe writing the odd newsletter or press release- but no, I was to make a greetings card.
I am not entirely against expressing myself artistically, indeed I drew and painted feverishly during my manic episodes, but cutting out stuff and sticking it to a card was not something I ever wanted to do so being made to do it for an hour whilst two strangers heaped false praise on my pitiful effort was cringingly awful.
I was asked what I thought of the finished item so I replied honestly, as I do, “I think it’s shit” (because it was). The ‘art’ session did nothing for my self-esteem though I did gain a hilariously tacky gift for a much-loved friend- in it I wrote “they forced me to make this, lots of love, Zoë xxx”
Not being ones to give up easily, much like the stalkers of the psychiatric ward, OT have also offered me the chance to do some cooking, who they think caters for the dietary needs of my children is beyond me, indeed one of the upsides of being in hospital is that there is no cooking.
If OT really wanted to help they could’ve made sure my sick note for work was up to date, helped fill in my council tax benefit form, sourced school uniforms online, ensured I saw the doctor when he was on the ward, even just made me a cup of tea and stopped for a chat.
However in an environment where any kind of therapy is a rarity perhaps the OT department should be congratulated, at least they try, even if it is a little misguided.
I have also started CBT- cognitive behavioural therapy; you can Google it for a number of explanations. As far as I can tell CBT is aimed at changing the way I think but without addressing why I think that way in the first place. I’ve had 2 sessions and so far all I can see is that I react in the wrong way to almost every situation! I clearly have a lot of work to do.
The good news is that this work will be done “on the outside” as I hope to be discharged from the hospital on Tuesday. I finally feel well enough to go home for good and this time I hope it is for good.
I now face the prospect of rebuilding my life and fitting in all the extra stuff that mental illness and the pursuit of good mental health requires. I don’t really know where to start.
I know from previous experience that my usual rush to ‘get back to normal’ doesn’t help so I’m mindful to avoid it but then I’m left with “what do I do?”
Advice from others is always the same- take it easy, don’t rush, find new activities to fill my time. The problem is I don’t want new activities; I want to be able to do the old ones. I suppose to be fair I haven’t tried many new activities though I did have one foisted upon my by the occupational therapist at the hospital.
Occupational therapy is hard to define; even the occupational therapists themselves seem to struggle to define their purpose. I initially thought the aim was to prepare me in some way for the world of work again, I envisaged reading newspapers, maybe writing the odd newsletter or press release- but no, I was to make a greetings card.
I am not entirely against expressing myself artistically, indeed I drew and painted feverishly during my manic episodes, but cutting out stuff and sticking it to a card was not something I ever wanted to do so being made to do it for an hour whilst two strangers heaped false praise on my pitiful effort was cringingly awful.
I was asked what I thought of the finished item so I replied honestly, as I do, “I think it’s shit” (because it was). The ‘art’ session did nothing for my self-esteem though I did gain a hilariously tacky gift for a much-loved friend- in it I wrote “they forced me to make this, lots of love, Zoë xxx”
Not being ones to give up easily, much like the stalkers of the psychiatric ward, OT have also offered me the chance to do some cooking, who they think caters for the dietary needs of my children is beyond me, indeed one of the upsides of being in hospital is that there is no cooking.
If OT really wanted to help they could’ve made sure my sick note for work was up to date, helped fill in my council tax benefit form, sourced school uniforms online, ensured I saw the doctor when he was on the ward, even just made me a cup of tea and stopped for a chat.
However in an environment where any kind of therapy is a rarity perhaps the OT department should be congratulated, at least they try, even if it is a little misguided.
I have also started CBT- cognitive behavioural therapy; you can Google it for a number of explanations. As far as I can tell CBT is aimed at changing the way I think but without addressing why I think that way in the first place. I’ve had 2 sessions and so far all I can see is that I react in the wrong way to almost every situation! I clearly have a lot of work to do.
The good news is that this work will be done “on the outside” as I hope to be discharged from the hospital on Tuesday. I finally feel well enough to go home for good and this time I hope it is for good.
Get Up And Go Has Got Up And Gone
It’s been a real struggle to write this piece which has lead to much anguish on my part that I may have been medicated boring. I’m grateful for stability but live in fear that the way I lived my life before and the things I did were more down to my illness than my personality.
I find myself these days frustrated at having nothing to do but with no energy or imagination to do anything anyway. I still wouldn’t say I’m bored, being bored suggests one has the desire to look for things to do.
I have no imagination and no creativity and I miss them both.
I find myself these days frustrated at having nothing to do but with no energy or imagination to do anything anyway. I still wouldn’t say I’m bored, being bored suggests one has the desire to look for things to do.
I have no imagination and no creativity and I miss them both.
Bipolar Explorer.......on foot
Day 12 on Lithium with one dose increase so far. I’m at home for the weekend to ‘suck it and see’ so to speak.
It’s gone well so far but I discovered that my hands are still too shaky to pluck my own eyebrows, drink with one hand or eat soup which doesn’t help with the torturous insatiable hunger. I’ve woken every morning for days with a headache and have leg cramps; I’m tired all the time and have barely moved from the sofa. I’ve kind of got used to being a bit of a wreck mentally but these physical impediments upset me.
And how is my mental health? Well, going to the local shop, five minutes walk away, makes my heart beat faster and my hands shake even more. I would prefer the safety and cover of driving to the shop but that is out of the question for the time being. (more on that later)
I’ve spent the weekend actively not navel-gazing, replacing thinking with trashy TV and so far it’s worked………..most of the time.
When I’ve allowed myself to think ahead to my future I’ve forced myself to consider the practicalities. I think I finally have my finances sorted, I’ve yet to work out just where to cut my cloth but I know I’m going to have to.
I’ve done some research into the driving question and I really don’t like what I’ve unearthed.
According to the DVLA website I have to inform them of my diagnosis but there is no information there that gives me a clue as to what will happen regarding my license, I guess each case is considered individually according to medical reports. I daresay even when I am well enough to drive the cost of insurance will be crippling anyway so I’ve slowly become resigned to the fact that this family will be without a car.
I know lots of families survive perfectly happily without a car but for my family, who are well used to having a car and living the kind of life that requires a car (my GP surgery is a 20 minute drive away) this will be a difficult change to get used to.
And that’s just the tip of the changes iceberg, in the interests of continued not navel gazing I will resist writing about my job or my hobbies for now.
I’m assured by everyone I speak to that I do have a future, it’ll just be different- well so far I don’t like the differences and I’m not sure I’ve gained much from them.
It’s gone well so far but I discovered that my hands are still too shaky to pluck my own eyebrows, drink with one hand or eat soup which doesn’t help with the torturous insatiable hunger. I’ve woken every morning for days with a headache and have leg cramps; I’m tired all the time and have barely moved from the sofa. I’ve kind of got used to being a bit of a wreck mentally but these physical impediments upset me.
And how is my mental health? Well, going to the local shop, five minutes walk away, makes my heart beat faster and my hands shake even more. I would prefer the safety and cover of driving to the shop but that is out of the question for the time being. (more on that later)
I’ve spent the weekend actively not navel-gazing, replacing thinking with trashy TV and so far it’s worked………..most of the time.
When I’ve allowed myself to think ahead to my future I’ve forced myself to consider the practicalities. I think I finally have my finances sorted, I’ve yet to work out just where to cut my cloth but I know I’m going to have to.
I’ve done some research into the driving question and I really don’t like what I’ve unearthed.
According to the DVLA website I have to inform them of my diagnosis but there is no information there that gives me a clue as to what will happen regarding my license, I guess each case is considered individually according to medical reports. I daresay even when I am well enough to drive the cost of insurance will be crippling anyway so I’ve slowly become resigned to the fact that this family will be without a car.
I know lots of families survive perfectly happily without a car but for my family, who are well used to having a car and living the kind of life that requires a car (my GP surgery is a 20 minute drive away) this will be a difficult change to get used to.
And that’s just the tip of the changes iceberg, in the interests of continued not navel gazing I will resist writing about my job or my hobbies for now.
I’m assured by everyone I speak to that I do have a future, it’ll just be different- well so far I don’t like the differences and I’m not sure I’ve gained much from them.
A Joke.....
What did one psychiatrist say to the other psychiatrist?
The punchline?
Absolutely nothing.
It’s a crap punchline so you can imagine how I felt today when I saw my consultant to discover the care plan drawn up by my other psychiatrist last week hadn’t been passed on to him.
A breakdown in communication was to blame and it clearly wasn’t my fault but I had to pay the price (a quiet cry on my bed in the ward and an hour or so of feeling anguished and angry until I sorted myself out).
I’d like to be able to report this breakdown in communication as though it were something rare or unexpected but sadly its not, this kind of thing happens all the time on psychiatric wards.
To go back to the infamous car crash analogy, on a medical ward, doctors do rounds every morning. You get to give an update on your health and are given an update on your condition, treatment and progress.
On the psychiatric ward (in my limited experience) you may get to see a doctor once a week. (You can request to see a doctor any time but you’d need a good reason). This allows you all week to build up the experience in the hope it will provide you with some answers to at least some of the questions you’ve spent many an empty hour coming up with.
The consultation often fails to live up to your expectations. So I shouldn’t have been surprised today and I suppose I wasn’t, just upset.
The breakdown in communication has since been sorted and tonight I will start taking Lithium as planned last week. I am ever hopeful that this will prove to be the magic bullet and I my moods will be stabilised soon.
I discovered today (thank you Wikipedia) that Lithium Carbonate is also used in fireworks as it ‘imparts a deep red to flames’. In my current state of mind that property really appeals!
The punchline?
Absolutely nothing.
It’s a crap punchline so you can imagine how I felt today when I saw my consultant to discover the care plan drawn up by my other psychiatrist last week hadn’t been passed on to him.
A breakdown in communication was to blame and it clearly wasn’t my fault but I had to pay the price (a quiet cry on my bed in the ward and an hour or so of feeling anguished and angry until I sorted myself out).
I’d like to be able to report this breakdown in communication as though it were something rare or unexpected but sadly its not, this kind of thing happens all the time on psychiatric wards.
To go back to the infamous car crash analogy, on a medical ward, doctors do rounds every morning. You get to give an update on your health and are given an update on your condition, treatment and progress.
On the psychiatric ward (in my limited experience) you may get to see a doctor once a week. (You can request to see a doctor any time but you’d need a good reason). This allows you all week to build up the experience in the hope it will provide you with some answers to at least some of the questions you’ve spent many an empty hour coming up with.
The consultation often fails to live up to your expectations. So I shouldn’t have been surprised today and I suppose I wasn’t, just upset.
The breakdown in communication has since been sorted and tonight I will start taking Lithium as planned last week. I am ever hopeful that this will prove to be the magic bullet and I my moods will be stabilised soon.
I discovered today (thank you Wikipedia) that Lithium Carbonate is also used in fireworks as it ‘imparts a deep red to flames’. In my current state of mind that property really appeals!
Day 5- Working Title
Day 5 of my hospital stay and I’m still here, toughing it out. I’ve spent most of the week quite high. With the help of friends I've come up with numerous titles for my book and a rather innovative way to raise money using a giraffe but am now balanced on that knife edge some of you will know so well.
I’m tired and feel ‘flat’ but I’ve no idea what happens next. The previous pattern dictates I will fall into a deep depressive slump some day soon but I am ever-hopeful that the slight tweak in medication I’ve had so far will prevent that this time.
The days here are so long, weekends here are particularly long; nothing exciting happens during the week but it seems nothing at all happens at weekends, even the usual daily routines are more fluid and relaxed- even if the patients aren’t.
I’m free to come and go (in between medication times) so I have been out most days, either for a walk in the grounds with visitors or for cups of tea in nearby supermarket cafes. I went home yesterday to spend some time with my family. All of these normal things leave me exhausted and quite glad to get back to my hospital bed for a bit of respite.
I’m lucky to have had lots of visitors and lots of messages of support via Twitter and my blog. This has all kept me going which is just as well as my lovely friend decided to bugger off to Cornwall for three weeks the Thursday before I was admitted!
I believe before she went she issued instructions to all my other friends and last night on the phone to her there was talk of a ‘Zoë’s support network party’ when I am better so all my lovely friends can meet in person as opposed to communicating via text with each other, about me. That’s something to look forward to.
I’m tired and feel ‘flat’ but I’ve no idea what happens next. The previous pattern dictates I will fall into a deep depressive slump some day soon but I am ever-hopeful that the slight tweak in medication I’ve had so far will prevent that this time.
The days here are so long, weekends here are particularly long; nothing exciting happens during the week but it seems nothing at all happens at weekends, even the usual daily routines are more fluid and relaxed- even if the patients aren’t.
I’m free to come and go (in between medication times) so I have been out most days, either for a walk in the grounds with visitors or for cups of tea in nearby supermarket cafes. I went home yesterday to spend some time with my family. All of these normal things leave me exhausted and quite glad to get back to my hospital bed for a bit of respite.
I’m lucky to have had lots of visitors and lots of messages of support via Twitter and my blog. This has all kept me going which is just as well as my lovely friend decided to bugger off to Cornwall for three weeks the Thursday before I was admitted!
I believe before she went she issued instructions to all my other friends and last night on the phone to her there was talk of a ‘Zoë’s support network party’ when I am better so all my lovely friends can meet in person as opposed to communicating via text with each other, about me. That’s something to look forward to.
I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself
In between periods of ‘distress’ which I am supposed to deal with using a combination of mindfulness techniques and if required benzodiazepines, periods of sleep (usually resulting from the benzodiazepines) and periods of writing I have rather a large number of periods where I just have nothing to do.
Everything I had has gone- no job, no Labour party activity, no community group membership, and no social life (that’s not really new!)
I am not ready to get any of these things back, so what do I do with all this time?
At the moment I fill it with housework the odd trip to the gym, spending money I haven’t got, more housework and when I can face going out- walking, but it’s never enough.
There is too much time in my day that just hangs around waiting to be filled and it tends to get filled with unhelpful thoughts and worries, questions that no-one can answer and then I end up back in distress and the whole boring cycle starts again.
I have tried a number of hobbies to occupy me but my inability to concentrate and my constant yearning just to have my old life back before all of this happened means, nothing measures up.
Today I cut my finger open whilst cleaning a yoghurt pot, it is the single most interesting thing that’s happened to me in days but it hurt too much to make it a regular feature.
I do have my violin lesson to look forward to and I am, but it just feels like another strategy to help me fight this illness, something for my mind and hands to do, not necessarily something to derive pleasure form.
I suppose I need to make it different, make it something to look forward to.
I did have a visit from another lovely friend today, I’m trying hard not to let our conversation become a catalyst for a session of beating myself up over all the things I should be doing if I was well.
So I’ll go and put a fresh plaster on my wounded finger. Just be grateful that she visited, we chatted, ate cake, talked about our favourite overnware and I didn't have another 2 hours of nothing to try and fill myself.
Everything I had has gone- no job, no Labour party activity, no community group membership, and no social life (that’s not really new!)
I am not ready to get any of these things back, so what do I do with all this time?
At the moment I fill it with housework the odd trip to the gym, spending money I haven’t got, more housework and when I can face going out- walking, but it’s never enough.
There is too much time in my day that just hangs around waiting to be filled and it tends to get filled with unhelpful thoughts and worries, questions that no-one can answer and then I end up back in distress and the whole boring cycle starts again.
I have tried a number of hobbies to occupy me but my inability to concentrate and my constant yearning just to have my old life back before all of this happened means, nothing measures up.
Today I cut my finger open whilst cleaning a yoghurt pot, it is the single most interesting thing that’s happened to me in days but it hurt too much to make it a regular feature.
I do have my violin lesson to look forward to and I am, but it just feels like another strategy to help me fight this illness, something for my mind and hands to do, not necessarily something to derive pleasure form.
I suppose I need to make it different, make it something to look forward to.
I did have a visit from another lovely friend today, I’m trying hard not to let our conversation become a catalyst for a session of beating myself up over all the things I should be doing if I was well.
So I’ll go and put a fresh plaster on my wounded finger. Just be grateful that she visited, we chatted, ate cake, talked about our favourite overnware and I didn't have another 2 hours of nothing to try and fill myself.
Tripolar?
I haven’t drawn a picture or picked up a paintbrush in weeks, I can no longer juggle three balls for any length of time and I can’t remember the last time I had a ‘great idea’. The furniture in my house has been in the same place for weeks, I never filled that “perfect summer shoe” void, never bought an iPad and the staff at Ikea must be missing me.
Even blogging is an effort.
‘They’ have won. I am dull and boring and just sit, doing nothing waiting to get better.
I said in a previous post it worried me that I was surrounded by a ‘team’ of medical professionals who only knew me when I was ill, didn’t know who the real me was, and there was a real risk I’d end up being medicated into someone I’m not.
Seriously, I don’t do anything anymore, I have no passion for anything and I can’t get excited by anything either. If this is stability ‘they’ can keep it.
I say this as today has been a good day by recent standards- no weeping or wailing, no desire to end it all, no hiding in my bedroom with the blinds shut, I even went out without worrying about it very much. I cooked, I cleaned, I dozed on the sofa- I existed.
Yes it’s better than the depths of despair but its not living, it’s existing and I think I deserve better than that.
I don’t even listen to music anymore (bit of a waste of the three iPods I bought during my last manic episode) I just drift about from one mundane task to the next in silence.
Perhaps this is progress? I don’t feel like it is, I’m almost glad I’ve had all my usual internal battles with my own disordered thinking to keep the interest levels up a bit.
Perhaps though this is the calm before the storm? I was hyper-active today and did over-spend.
Please let it be anything other than how I’m going to spend the rest of my life.
Even blogging is an effort.
‘They’ have won. I am dull and boring and just sit, doing nothing waiting to get better.
I said in a previous post it worried me that I was surrounded by a ‘team’ of medical professionals who only knew me when I was ill, didn’t know who the real me was, and there was a real risk I’d end up being medicated into someone I’m not.
Seriously, I don’t do anything anymore, I have no passion for anything and I can’t get excited by anything either. If this is stability ‘they’ can keep it.
I say this as today has been a good day by recent standards- no weeping or wailing, no desire to end it all, no hiding in my bedroom with the blinds shut, I even went out without worrying about it very much. I cooked, I cleaned, I dozed on the sofa- I existed.
Yes it’s better than the depths of despair but its not living, it’s existing and I think I deserve better than that.
I don’t even listen to music anymore (bit of a waste of the three iPods I bought during my last manic episode) I just drift about from one mundane task to the next in silence.
Perhaps this is progress? I don’t feel like it is, I’m almost glad I’ve had all my usual internal battles with my own disordered thinking to keep the interest levels up a bit.
Perhaps though this is the calm before the storm? I was hyper-active today and did over-spend.
Please let it be anything other than how I’m going to spend the rest of my life.
Mmmm Pie
Just a quick blog to say, I don’t have much to say! I have had a hard day, full of mental unhealthiness and queries met with unacceptable (to me) answers form my team.
Again, I’ve had enough, I want to be better and I don’t want to feel like this anymore. I would do anything to feel better or at least have some idea of when I can expect to start feeling better. I’m usually in bed by now but delaying as I can’t bear the thought of going to sleep only to wake up to the same crap tomorrow.
On the advice of my fantastic (though today again, frustratingly unarmed with a magic wand) CPN I have made a list of my current stressors- there are 10 of them that I can think of and it’s no wonder I’m having a bad day really. I rated them all out of 100 (even somewhat geekily made a pie-chart) and not one of them scores under 40/100.
The problem is what do I do now? I want to hand the list (and the pie-chart if they think it will help) over to someone else and say “here this is what’s wrong, fix it” but I can’t.
Some of the stresses will fix themselves over time but some of them will take some effort from me and the big one “how long will it take me to get better? (90/100)” cannot be answered until it’s happened.
So I’m having an angry day, a stressful, angry, horrible day.
Again, I’ve had enough, I want to be better and I don’t want to feel like this anymore. I would do anything to feel better or at least have some idea of when I can expect to start feeling better. I’m usually in bed by now but delaying as I can’t bear the thought of going to sleep only to wake up to the same crap tomorrow.
On the advice of my fantastic (though today again, frustratingly unarmed with a magic wand) CPN I have made a list of my current stressors- there are 10 of them that I can think of and it’s no wonder I’m having a bad day really. I rated them all out of 100 (even somewhat geekily made a pie-chart) and not one of them scores under 40/100.
The problem is what do I do now? I want to hand the list (and the pie-chart if they think it will help) over to someone else and say “here this is what’s wrong, fix it” but I can’t.
Some of the stresses will fix themselves over time but some of them will take some effort from me and the big one “how long will it take me to get better? (90/100)” cannot be answered until it’s happened.
So I’m having an angry day, a stressful, angry, horrible day.
A Blog About Blogging
There have been over 9000 visits to my blog in just over six weeks. Most of them are probably me visiting to check the visitor count but nonetheless it’s a huge number of visitors for what is a little of the story of a little part of my little life.
I have also received a lot of comments on my posts, I initially set out to respond to each of them but this quickly became too much and I never set out for this to become work.
I read all the comments, learn from many of them, take comfort from most of them and feel supported by all of them. Thank you to all of those who have taken the time to go through with the faff that is comments on blogger!
In case you haven’t noticed, I love blogging and it’s hard for me to say what I get out of it. I know it’s not for everyone and that a lot of people cringe on my behalf as I reveal what is in their opinion way too much information about my journey but it’s a journey I will continue to blog about for as long as I feel I am gaining from the experience.
I fear I am entering a high/manic phase in my illness and having read my diaries from my last high phase, there is both far too much and nothing to blog about.
I was coming here tonight to say I was going to take a brief break from blogging to concentrate on my health but now I’m not so sure. I think blogging is something that helps keep me healthy.
The old style pen and paper diary is back so I can’t imagine there will be much left to blog about but if there is rest assured I will blog about it!
I have also received a lot of comments on my posts, I initially set out to respond to each of them but this quickly became too much and I never set out for this to become work.
I read all the comments, learn from many of them, take comfort from most of them and feel supported by all of them. Thank you to all of those who have taken the time to go through with the faff that is comments on blogger!
In case you haven’t noticed, I love blogging and it’s hard for me to say what I get out of it. I know it’s not for everyone and that a lot of people cringe on my behalf as I reveal what is in their opinion way too much information about my journey but it’s a journey I will continue to blog about for as long as I feel I am gaining from the experience.
I fear I am entering a high/manic phase in my illness and having read my diaries from my last high phase, there is both far too much and nothing to blog about.
I was coming here tonight to say I was going to take a brief break from blogging to concentrate on my health but now I’m not so sure. I think blogging is something that helps keep me healthy.
The old style pen and paper diary is back so I can’t imagine there will be much left to blog about but if there is rest assured I will blog about it!
Payday
Tomorrow is payday- hooray, I like payday. Tomorrow is also my last full pay as sometime during mid-July I will go down to half pay having been off sick for 6 months now. I am one of the lucky ones having an employer that continues to pay full pay for the first six months in the first place.
On Monday I got signed off work for another 4 weeks, my GP offered an eight week ‘not fit’ line but I declined, not because I think I’m going to be back at work but because that feels a bit like giving up.
I am awaiting to hear if my claim for DLA (disability living allowance) has been approved and at what level, I will then have to contact HMRC to see how this affects my tax credits, I will then need to sit down with a pen and paper and work out how much we have to live on and how we are going to have to cut our cloth accordingly.
I got a letter this week from the lovely people at carers allowance (which I receive for caring for my child who has a disability) they believed there was a period of time where maybe I wasn’t caring for him for the prescribed period of time (at least 35 hours a week).
They were right- I spent 3 weeks and 4 days in a psychiatric hospital, not caring for my son but I’m pretty sure the mortgage, electricity, gas and other bills that I pay to run my and his home were still being paid- from my bank account. I have also cared for him for 24 hours a day for nearly 16 years now with minimal services at best. Incidentally his DLA claim has also been under review this week so I had to fill in his form too. What a great week!
My mental illness has felt unjust in so many ways but this period, we’ll call it the admin phase has got to be one of the cruellest.
I have had to apply for benefit (itself a demoralising and dehumanising process), rearrange appointments that I missed (and go back onto waiting lists), take a mortgage payment ‘holiday’ and generally think about aspects of my future that are difficult to think about when one is well, let alone when everyday is a battle to keep things in perspective, particularly negative things.
Last weeks emergency budget brings no comfort to people like me; it does not need to be any harder to obtain benefits when one is mentally or physically unable to work- it needs to be easier and quicker. I should not have to wait “up to 8 weeks” to find out what our household budget is going to be when the very act of entering a supermarket to spend a portion of that budget is still such a feat.
I also want to note here so that when the time comes to make my advance statement I remember to include
“should I insist that I "neeeeeed" anything be it another iPod or another pair of shoes, my debit card should be seized until the “neeeeeed” has passed”
Bipolarity can be very expensive!
On Monday I got signed off work for another 4 weeks, my GP offered an eight week ‘not fit’ line but I declined, not because I think I’m going to be back at work but because that feels a bit like giving up.
I am awaiting to hear if my claim for DLA (disability living allowance) has been approved and at what level, I will then have to contact HMRC to see how this affects my tax credits, I will then need to sit down with a pen and paper and work out how much we have to live on and how we are going to have to cut our cloth accordingly.
I got a letter this week from the lovely people at carers allowance (which I receive for caring for my child who has a disability) they believed there was a period of time where maybe I wasn’t caring for him for the prescribed period of time (at least 35 hours a week).
They were right- I spent 3 weeks and 4 days in a psychiatric hospital, not caring for my son but I’m pretty sure the mortgage, electricity, gas and other bills that I pay to run my and his home were still being paid- from my bank account. I have also cared for him for 24 hours a day for nearly 16 years now with minimal services at best. Incidentally his DLA claim has also been under review this week so I had to fill in his form too. What a great week!
My mental illness has felt unjust in so many ways but this period, we’ll call it the admin phase has got to be one of the cruellest.
I have had to apply for benefit (itself a demoralising and dehumanising process), rearrange appointments that I missed (and go back onto waiting lists), take a mortgage payment ‘holiday’ and generally think about aspects of my future that are difficult to think about when one is well, let alone when everyday is a battle to keep things in perspective, particularly negative things.
Last weeks emergency budget brings no comfort to people like me; it does not need to be any harder to obtain benefits when one is mentally or physically unable to work- it needs to be easier and quicker. I should not have to wait “up to 8 weeks” to find out what our household budget is going to be when the very act of entering a supermarket to spend a portion of that budget is still such a feat.
I also want to note here so that when the time comes to make my advance statement I remember to include
“should I insist that I "neeeeeed" anything be it another iPod or another pair of shoes, my debit card should be seized until the “neeeeeed” has passed”
Bipolarity can be very expensive!
Cry-i-i-i-ing
Thanks to some timely advice, during which a bit of a cry was dragged from my austere demeanour. Early yesterday evening I took some Lorazepam and Zopiclone and slept through the urge to lie down and give up- I did lie down, for 12 hours and slept the ignorant sleep of the drugged.
Today has begun, as days are wont to do and I feel a little better, so far.
The children are elsewhere so my morning has been leisurely so far involving only my daily battle with iTunes and numerous cups of tea.
I am hoping to keep my spirits up today as I am due to spend the evening with my lovely friend and I want to avoid spending the evening crying at her.
I don’t ‘do’ crying, not because I don’t need to, I’ve spent all week on the verge of tears- (the kind of mood where asking for cashback in Morrisons is done in a trembly voice) and I don’t know why I can’t or won’t cry.
So instead I avoid it, talk about anything other than myself and if I’m not ‘fine*’ I am ‘ok*’
I think I want to cry, but I want to really do it properly a big full-on snot and tears, hours and hours of sobbing and wailing type cry but this would make me very bad company.
I had another lovely friend visit yesterday and she probably went away totally bemused as I skirted round any mention of the fact I am ill in any way.
I don’t mind others crying on me, in fact I’m rather good at mopping up other peoples tears and I don’t see crying as a weakness, perhaps except in myself?
Not so much a weakness as a way in maybe? Crying is most likely to happen when I’m talking about difficult subjects and who wants to talk about them?
*fine- anything but fine, possibly suicidal
*ok- very depressed
Today has begun, as days are wont to do and I feel a little better, so far.
The children are elsewhere so my morning has been leisurely so far involving only my daily battle with iTunes and numerous cups of tea.
I am hoping to keep my spirits up today as I am due to spend the evening with my lovely friend and I want to avoid spending the evening crying at her.
I don’t ‘do’ crying, not because I don’t need to, I’ve spent all week on the verge of tears- (the kind of mood where asking for cashback in Morrisons is done in a trembly voice) and I don’t know why I can’t or won’t cry.
So instead I avoid it, talk about anything other than myself and if I’m not ‘fine*’ I am ‘ok*’
I think I want to cry, but I want to really do it properly a big full-on snot and tears, hours and hours of sobbing and wailing type cry but this would make me very bad company.
I had another lovely friend visit yesterday and she probably went away totally bemused as I skirted round any mention of the fact I am ill in any way.
I don’t mind others crying on me, in fact I’m rather good at mopping up other peoples tears and I don’t see crying as a weakness, perhaps except in myself?
Not so much a weakness as a way in maybe? Crying is most likely to happen when I’m talking about difficult subjects and who wants to talk about them?
*fine- anything but fine, possibly suicidal
*ok- very depressed
Ah Mr Reaper, do come in...
I wasn’t going to write this post as I wasn’t sure my clumsy somewhat flippant style was suited to such a topic but given that it’s been the overriding symptom today I though I owed it to my own honesty and those in praise of my honesty to broach the subject.
Today again I have felt the desire to just lie down and end it all. I don’t want to kill myself but I would not fight off the grim reaper if he visited in a nice socially acceptable guise.
I have felt suicidal at many many points along my journey so far but I am a mother and therefore suicide is not an option. I have had it drummed into me by my fantastic (yet also sometimes evil and challenging CPN) that it is not an option and I know she is right.
Yet again today, when I thought forward to having Friday night alone my first thought was “hooray, I could kill myself in peace” but I won’t, I can’t.
It is a difficult situation to talk about and I do often wonder if others feel the same way, I feel like I exist only for others, I feel like it’s all too hard for me and I’ve had enough and lost too much for there to be much point in going on for my own sake. But go on I will ever in the pursuit of stability, normality maybe even happiness primarily for my children and hopefully for me.
I am terrified that I will battle on only to end up a good enough parent, good enough at my job and a good enough person. I want to go back to being good at who I was and what I did.
I am praised daily by my lovely friend for how well I’ve done with this that and the other, but I long for the day where I just have a day and it passes without there being the need for praise for getting from the start to the end of it.
So tomorrow I attend my first local support group, I have painted my toenails and chosen my outfit and refused to think much beyond what I will wear for fear that I scare myself off the idea completely.
I have no expectations for tomorrow but I hope that maybe there will be others who understand how it feels like the fight is too much.
I’m not looking for a partner in a suicide pact, just someone else who understands the physical pain that grips your throat each day when you realise another day has begun and you’re still ill.
Today again I have felt the desire to just lie down and end it all. I don’t want to kill myself but I would not fight off the grim reaper if he visited in a nice socially acceptable guise.
I have felt suicidal at many many points along my journey so far but I am a mother and therefore suicide is not an option. I have had it drummed into me by my fantastic (yet also sometimes evil and challenging CPN) that it is not an option and I know she is right.
Yet again today, when I thought forward to having Friday night alone my first thought was “hooray, I could kill myself in peace” but I won’t, I can’t.
It is a difficult situation to talk about and I do often wonder if others feel the same way, I feel like I exist only for others, I feel like it’s all too hard for me and I’ve had enough and lost too much for there to be much point in going on for my own sake. But go on I will ever in the pursuit of stability, normality maybe even happiness primarily for my children and hopefully for me.
I am terrified that I will battle on only to end up a good enough parent, good enough at my job and a good enough person. I want to go back to being good at who I was and what I did.
I am praised daily by my lovely friend for how well I’ve done with this that and the other, but I long for the day where I just have a day and it passes without there being the need for praise for getting from the start to the end of it.
So tomorrow I attend my first local support group, I have painted my toenails and chosen my outfit and refused to think much beyond what I will wear for fear that I scare myself off the idea completely.
I have no expectations for tomorrow but I hope that maybe there will be others who understand how it feels like the fight is too much.
I’m not looking for a partner in a suicide pact, just someone else who understands the physical pain that grips your throat each day when you realise another day has begun and you’re still ill.
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