Into the system…

It felt very strange to see DP again yesterday. It was like going back in time.

On my way there I was trying to remember what he looked like, but all that came to mind was the fact he was bald. When I got to the therapy centre, it took me a minute or two to recognise the building. It kinda made me realise how fuzzy my memory is of last year. I still blame ECT.

Memories started to come back though. Silly things like waiting in the kitchen until he was ready, taking off your shoes (both of us without undoing them!) and the blue sofas lined up against the wall.

We didn’t dwell on the paperwork. CORE outcome measure form and a couple of consent forms and that was it. A pleasant contrast to last week’s 50 minute form filling marathon!

Then of course he turned to me and asked me to start. I knew he would sit there in silence for the full hour if necessary, so it didn’t take me long to get going. I had taken notes with me, hoping I could update him on the last 18 months quickly without having to say anything. Sadly he wanted me to talk over things myself. I kinda knew that was coming.

I went over the main points. Last summer, The Priory, February’s overdose, ECT, Bipolar diagnosis and since. All the stuff I’ve been over a million times now. I can’t really remember, but I don’t think he said much at this point. He never did say much. I think he was a little shocked though.

The conversation moved onto what use the sessions are going to be. He seemed doubtful as to whether there was any point in working together for only four sessions. I explained the theory – that it would give me a little support in the interim and help me identify areas to work on long-term, but I am not sure he agreed. I am wondering if he just doesn’t want to work with me again. I am worried that I might have scared him off. I don’t know. I feel quite paranoid about it all.

We talked about how things are now. He asked what the current situation was care-wise, family-wise etc. I filled in some gaps. We talked about my mood too and that being what it is at the moment we got onto the question of self-harm and suicide. I think he was a little concerned and possibly a little panicked. I do wonder if he is used to dealing with this, but then surely most people in therapy have considered such things?

He pointed out that my risk level means I am a “red flag” client and he will need to talk to the EAP about whether or not we should continue. I remembered this from last time. I was a red flag last year and I’m not sure there has been a time since when that status would have been lifted. I am wondering if he is using this as a way to escape me. The other EAP therapist didn’t bring it up, but nothing has changed really when it comes to risk levels. I pointed out that the EAP were aware of my situation when they took me on this time and I hope that means it won’t be a problem, but he said he still wanted to talk to them.

He asked me about a verbal contract too. He wanted me to give my assurance that I won’t do anything to harm myself whilst I am seeing him for therapy. A repeat of the request from the EAP counsellor really. I struggled to give it, not because I have plans to do anything, but for other reasons. I think part of the reason is not wanting the added guilt. The guilt I get from wanting to break those assurances, because the suicidal thoughts are still so strong. I feel bad for even having the thoughts. I guess my reluctance is also to do with the fact I don’t trust myself any more and don’t see the point if I can break my promise. I had given my assurance to people I wouldn’t act when I made the attempt back in February and it wasn’t enough. I have assured myself enough times that I shouldn’t act, yet it wasn’t enough in the end. There have been other times though that making a promise to someone has been enough to make me think more than twice, so maybe it is worth it.

Towards the end we talked about next steps.

He thinks I should be getting more NHS support at the moment. I think he may be right, but I wonder what support there is. What point is there in the crisis team? I’m perpetually in crisis and I don’t think it would be helpful. What point is there in contacting the CMHT or asking for a urgent psych appointment? Useless social worker, J is on holiday and Dr D didn’t know what to do with me when I saw him last month anyway. What point is there in bothering Dr N any more than I already do? He has nothing more to offer me.

As we finished up, DP told me to email or text if I need to, which I am grateful for. I guess the fact he offered that option shows he cares and is trying to help. He certainly didn’t have to.

Overall the session was hard work and quite strange, but I left feeling relieved. I think it was helpful. I don’t know though. It is hard to tell.

In other news, today I had a phone call from the therapist I saw last week wondering where I was. The EAP had forgotten to contact him to say I wouldn’t be seeing him again. I wish I’d cancelled myself now, but I just didn’t know what to say. I feel bad that he was waiting for me. I hope the EAP pay him for the mix-up!

I don’t really know what to say. I have posts I want to write about specific topics, but I don’t know where to start. Head is a bit fried really and I’m just so unbelievably exhausted.

My social worker came yesterday. I had forgotten she was coming and had a bit of a panic when my phone alarm went off. To put it bluntly, she really is full of shit. She spouted all this stuff about positive thoughts and recreating brain pathways and activating synapses, when she clearly had no idea what she was talking about. She was basically waving the CBT stick at me, but tried to dress it all up in technical language and scientific explanations. I am fed up of her suggesting that all my problems will be fixed if I just apply some CBT, think positively and buck my ideas up. I have done a lot of CBT in the past, most of which is common sense. I’ve been applying CBT methods myself most of my life, long before I even knew what CBT was. How do you think I managed to cope with the depression of my childhood, teens and university years? Things have got worse and these methods just aren’t enough any more. CBT doesn’t work for everyone. There is limited evidence to suggest that CBT works with Bipolar Disorder and severe depression (and apparently that’s what it is) anyway, but still they persist. Maybe if I just try that little bit harder it will? Maybe it’s my fault it doesn’t?

Yesterday, I also managed to cut my wrist. This was an accident involving some wire netting and our fish tank. It’s a clean cut, about two inches long, right across the top of my wrist. The blood poured and I felt this massive urge to make more. I’ve not self harmed at all for a couple of months,  but it was a clear trigger. I’ve never really cut. A couple of times perhaps, but it’s not my chosen method of self harm.

When I was last self harming I don’t think I wrote about it, not wanting to alert my partner to the fact. There was a hammer lying around the house, not put back in the garage after some DIY. I was routinely hitting myself with it, all over my body. Sometimes it would bruise, but these could easily be blamed on the dog. She’s bruised me herself enough times. Other times it hurt like hell, yet didn’t leave a mark.

I can’t remember why I started again. I just felt the need one day in the summer, saw the hammer and that was it. Actually I don’t know if the hammer or the need came first. Maybe I was triggered by it then.

This seemed to help for a while. It released some frustration. Things carried on for a couple of months, but then it stopped as quickly as it started. Again I don’t know why. Soon after, we tidied the garage and the hammer went back.

Now I am struggling with the urge again. I want to hurt myself. I don’t know why. I don’t even think it would help. I just want to do it. I have resisted so far and I will keep resisting but the thought is niggling away. I wonder if I will ever get away from the temptation to hurt. I seem to stop and start without rhyme nor reason.

Bloody hell, the CMHT is in a weird and slightly scary location. The building is a dilapidated old school on a council estate, with rusty railings and dodgy damp portacabins. It was in one of these cabins that I had my appointment. My social worker met me and took me in. The ceiling was falling down from damp. It really shows how much priority mental health care gets within our social services and NHS. Most of the other council buildings are shiny and swish.

It turns out that the NHS psychiatrist I saw today has seen me before, although I wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t have told me. Dr D assessed me in February after my massive overdose and arranged for my admission to the NHS ward back in February. I don’t remember the assessment at all, but vaguely remember his face.

The appointment was fairly routine. He asked me about discharge from the ward, what happened at The Priory, what has happened since. He asked about current mood. He asked about history, self harm, suicide, family history, childhood, education etc. All the usual things. It was a chore going over it all again. The more often I do this history thing, the less I manage to cover and recall. I just skip over things because I have said them so many times I forget what I’ve told who. I think he got the main points though.

He didn’t change my medication at all, as my social worker had warned me. He seemed to think that my current meds were doing some good and that we should persevere. I didn’t know if to ask about Dr G’s planned increases up to 300mg. I think I should have, but I couldn’t find my tongue. He said my meds would be reviewed when I next return to the CMHT.

One positive outcome was a referral to therapy. My social worker needs to get this done, so I’m not holding my breath considering her previous record, but we shall see. He said the waiting list is extremely long, but the sooner the referral is done the better. As I have covered most of the shorter therapies at The Priory, especially CBT, he said they probably won’t bother with these, but he was keen for me to have psychodynamic therapy. He thinks I will need to be in intense psychodynamic therapy for years. I had expected to do some psychodynamic stuff as Dr G had mentioned it in the past, but I thought it would be for a few months. I didn’t think I would need years. I guess I never really saw the whole psychoanalytical, lie on a couch and talk about your childhood thing as for me.

I wonder what issues he thinks I will need so long to deal with. I started on some psychodynamic stuff at The Priory when I did “Life Maps” and I grappled around for some reasons for all of this, but my childhood was uneventful and I don’t know what problems there are to find. I know there are some relationship issues with my mother and I was bullied in primary school, but aside from that I am unsure. I don’t think these are deep enough and I see my condition as largely chemical.

The plan is for me to continue on these meds, wait for a referral to therapy and see him (or someone else on the team) again in around 8 weeks. This wait is better than I’d feared but it still seems a long way away. I find the future so hard to comprehend I don’t know how I will get through to then. I was told to continue to see my social worker and to use the ALERT service, the CMHT in hours, the crisis team or A&E if things get worse, but I don’t know how easy that will be. I tend to suffer in silence and hide how bad things are getting, even now after everything.

I’m glad the appointment is over. I was so nervous and didn’t really know what to expect. The next step is to contact Dr G and tell her what happened. I think she will be glad about the therapy as she had wanted to find me something before. I am scared about letting go of her support, but know I will have to eventually. Dr D seemed a little concerned that I had still been seeing a different psychiatrist and I think he wanted that to stop. I understand it would be complicated. I guess I’ve always got the option of going back to Dr G if I felt I needed it. Dr D asked me to contact Dr G and get her to send a summary of my care at The Priory and a date for which I will be discharged by her as well as a list of the therapy I’ve had at The Priory. It all seems quite final.

p.s. I updated the My Story page today.

Another week has passed and I’ve not written again. I don’t know where all the time goes.

On Monday someone came from Birmingham University to interview me for Mood Disorder research. It didn’t take as long as I thought it would, but that may be because I was hardly verbose. I just generally ended up saying “yep” to every question. There were questions about your family situation and stuff. Then there was a series of questions about depressive symptoms, all of which I have experienced at some point or another. She recorded that part of the interview and the following part about mania. There were questions about agitated depression and dysphoric mania too, both of which I’ve experienced and most of my depressions are agitated.

There was a section on psychotic features, most of which didn’t apply, but there were some things mentioned that I’ve experienced and never really considered psychosis before. Those dissociative experiences and weird feelings where the world don’t quite feel right were given air time. There are times when I lose all sense of size and relativity. Paranoia too, but I guess everyone experiences that at times.

There were questions about medication and treatment. I realise now that I forgot a load of drugs that I had been on. I don’t know if it’s worth emailing to let them know. It felt weird when there were questions about hospitalisation and ECT and it made me realise just how ill I have been.

Her list of symptoms and questions made me realise that I can’t deny having Bipolar Disorder. I had experienced pretty much everything mentioned for both depression and mania (although generally not as severe on the manic side). I sometimes wonder if I’m actually just plain depressed as I spend so much more time on that side of the coin, but I can’t deny that I’ve been manic or at least hypomanic plenty of times too. More so, it made me realise that I am really quite severely ill. I often think because I have Bipolar II disorder, rather than I, it means I’m not that bad, but I guess that isn’t really the case. I’ve been lucky to have not had any real psychotic experiences and severe manic episodes, but my depressions are pretty much as severe as they get and I’ve been through a lot treatment-wise too.

At the end the girl tried to take my blood, but failed. I have really terrible veins. Small and deep. She’s given me a pack to take to my GP so they can take it instead. I wonder if they ever will find a gene or two that causes all of this.

Afterwards I completed the questionnaires she left me. Millions of ticky, or rather crossy, boxes. A lot of personality type questions about honesty, social anxiety and esteem. A section on events proceeding first experiences of illness, which for me was pretty much uneventful. No bereavements, abuse etc during my childhood.

Tuesday was fairly dull, except my father popped in for a couple of hours. He was in the area for a trade show so came over for dinner in the evening. We went to the new Fish and Chips in Alty and then came home and had cake. Good food and it was nice to see him for a wee while.

On Wednesday I saw Dr N for my fortnightly visit. I was pretty honest with him about how the past couple of weeks have been. Things have gone steeply downhill since a month ago and he was concerned. We talked about self harm and suicide again. We also talked about my social worker and seeing the NHS psychiatrist. He warned me that the NHS psych will probably try and get me to try an anti-depressant again especially considering the drop in mood over the past couple of weeks. He made some comment about “that’s all they [NHS psychiatrists]  seem to do”, which amused me. I’m worried about this though. I don’t think it is a good idea considering how bad things were when I was on them, but then I wonder because things have not exactly been great without.

I forgot to take the blood pack with me, so he’s going to do it next week when I’ve seen Dr G. No doubt I will have a meds increase to sort out as well.

This morning I had a visit from J, my social worker. It was a long one and I found it tiring. I tried to be honest with her too, talking about the increase in suicidal thoughts and the agitated anger outbursts that have been happening for a while. It was shaming to talk about wanting to hurt people and myself. I felt uncomfortable and was fidgeting a lot. She was pushing for info though and I felt obliged to supply.

I was alarmed when she mentioned the crisis team and hospital. I managed to calm her down and say that I’ve managed to keep myself safe over the past couple of weeks and I think I will be able to going forward, but even still. She agreed with me in the end and said she will not take action, but she kept reiterating the fact we could get the crisis team out. I don’t trust the crisis team and I certainly don’t want to go through the NHS inpatient experience again. I don’t want to put my family through that either. I am scared that my bloke will be shocked it was even considered. I have not really let on that things have been much worse in the past fortnight. I have to phone her or ALERT if things get worse again, although I still don’t have their number so not sure how to do that.

She wanted us to talk about what her role was and what I want her to do for me. I didn’t really have an answer as I find her a little useless and wonder what the point of her appointmesnts is. I was keen for her to liase with other services and make referrals for me though. We discussed other things out there, especially therapy. She is getting me on the list but warned me it will be an incredibly long wait, even just for an assessment. She also suggested Beating The Blues in the interim, but it’s more CBT and I’m not sure Kate had much positive to say about it. I start Creative Remedies next week and Positive Thoughts in a couple of weeks so we shall see how those go. She also suggested I tried the Day Centre in Warrington. I’ve been once before, but was too scared to talk to anyone there and left after 5 minutes reading the notice boards. She suggested she took me in and introduced me, which may be better. I said I will see how Creative Remedies go first and then decide.

There was a lot of boring stuff about setting expectations for recovery and doing things to help. It was a repetition of much of what she’s said before and got quite tiresome. She talked a lot about my work and how if I am ever to go back things will have to be different. We talked about the competitive nature of the company and she seemed appalled at the way things work and shocked that I accepted it. I think she really wanted me to consider leaving and working elsewhere, but didn’t dare say as much. I know things will have to be different, but I am not sure I want them to be so different I leave my job. We will have to see.

This afternoon I need to get down to some serious baking. My friends who get married tomorrow have asked for contributions to the buffet and bar instead of traditional wedding presents. Hopefully I can knock up some yummy contributions and everything goes well.

Hope everyone out there is okay. Take care folks xx

Again it has been 10 days since I last wrote. I don’t know where the days have gone.

I saw Dr N last Thursday. Just a routine appointment to pick up my scripts, but it was good to talk. He asked the usual questions. Mood, suicidal thoughts, self harm etc. He seemed concerned. More so than in recent appointments.

He pointed out that he could see my scalp was in a bad state. As well as the trich, I also struggle with skin picking or Dermatillomania to give it the technical name. My scalp gets the worst of it. Every day, usually at night, I pick and scratch at my head until it bleeds. It’s covered in terrible wounds, some a few centimetres across. My hair hides the worst of it, but it’s got so bad that it can be seen at the moment. It’s always worst when I’m not sleeping well as I tend to lie awake scratching my head to distract myself from the insomnia.

I have done it for years, longer than the hair pulling even. I think it started when I had chicken pox as a child and I would itch my head. I was maybe 8 or 9? I can’t really remember.

I was shocked that Dr N noticed and mentioned it. I’d confessed it to him a long while ago, but he had never brought it up before. I tried to change the subject pretty quickly and felt uncomfortable that he had seen.

Both the skin picking and hair pulling make the hairdressers a nightmare. My hair is thin in places and there are bits where it is really short where I’ve damaged the scalp so badly it doesn’t grow properly. The scars and cuts are awful and would make most hairdressers flinch. I’ve been asked what has happened so many times and I don’t like making up lies, but I’m too ashamed to tell the truth. One hairdresser even insisted on putting on gloves when she saw the wounds, too afraid to touch them. I last had my hair cut when I was in The Priory, knowing that the hairdresser there would be understanding. I often go over 6 months between a hair cut and it’s been a year before. I try and avoid it as much as possible, even if that means my hair looks rubbish and gets far longer than I’d like. My hair really needs cutting, but I just can’t face it.

Other than the trip to the GP, very little has happened. I’ve spent lots of time watching back to back episodes of Mad Men. If you haven’t seen it, it’s an American TV series about advertising executives during the 1960s. Over here it has been shown on BBC Four, but that doesn’t mean it’s dull and serious! I loved it the first time round, but I watched a lot of it whilst I was in The Priory and ECT has erased most of it from my memory. Watching it again has been a little weird as it brings up memories of those times. I started watching it again because I saw that Series 3 has started in the US now. Will be good to have more to watch. It kills a few hours and takes me away from this world for a little while.

In other news, my bloke may be going back to work a little part time. He left his job to care for me since I came out of The Priory last May. His replacement has quit suddenly, so his old employer have asked if he can do a few hours until they can find someone else. He went in on Tuesday morning, but hasn’t been in again yet.

For me, this is quite exciting. I feel that I am getting a little independance back, being left alone for a few hours. I miss the time I got to myself when he was at work. It is hard being together 24/7.

It is a challenge though. I am still fighting the thoughts and the time alone makes them harder to ignore. It feels like tempting the devil. The monster tells me that “you can do it now, you know you want to”. Over the past few months I’ve had little opportunity to act on my suicidal thoughts. These few hours alone change that and I know there is a risk. My bloke worries about it and I don’t want him to, but I know his worries are justified. I wish I could give him a 100% guarantee that it won’t happen, but I don’t think I can. I am in control to a point and will fight as much as I can, but I can’t guarantee that I will win. The thoughts are intrusive and often impulsive and I know I could act on them before I even think about it. They can spiral out of control and it can be hard to stop yourself when you get to a point. I know I need to hit the panic button before things get that far. I’ve told him I will, but I can’t even guarantee that.

Despite the risk, I still want him to go. I felt bad that he left his job for me as it is. I want him to be able to work again. I can’t be watched 24/7 forever. I am going to have to take this step eventually and it might as well be now. I could be waiting the rest of my life if I waited for the thoughts to go away. I don’t want to let the thoughts win. If he stays at home with me I am doing that. I am letting the thoughts control my life.

Generally I’ve been pretty low over the past few weeks. I’ve been lower, but not much lower than this. I am carrying on, because I don’t know what else to do, but it’s a struggle. Most of the time I just feel so empty and numb. There are still a few better moments, but less than there were a month ago and the average score is down. There are still worse moments too. Fits of rage, agitiation, arguments. There’s this little bubbling pot and occasionally it boils over.

I am disappointed that improvement has stalled. It feels like I am failing. Maybe I’m not trying hard enough to get better. Maybe I am just stuck in depression. There had been seeds of hope, but I am not sure they will propagate. I don’t want to give up on the Lamotrigine as it has been far better than anything else I’ve tried, but it’s just not doing enough. It seems I am heading into a long period of mind-numbingly dull depression, with only the occasional painful period of agitiation thrown in to liven things up. I guess I am already there and I don’t see any way out yet. I don’t know what all this means. I guess I will have to talk to Dr G when she’s back from holiday and see what her thoughts are. I suspect she may eventually give in and resort to the Lithium. She’s threatened it often enough.

I don’t have all that much coming up to look forward to.

Like Seaneen, on Monday I have someone turning up to interview me for the Cardiff and Birmingham Universities’ Bipolar Disorder study. I am a little scared about going over everything and hope it won’t make my mood worse. I feel forewarned having read Seaneen’s post, so it may be a little easier, but it’s true that it isn’t fun for anyone reliving your worst moments. I do think it will be interesting though and I definitely want to support research where I can so hopefully it will be okay.

I see the chocolate teapot again on Friday 11th. She’s actually done some stuff at last. I finally got the referral through for the ALERT service (Out of hours telephone support). They haven’t called me to give me the number yet so I can’t use it, but at least she’s contacted them. I also got the dates through for the Creative Remedies groups. I start on 16th September. There’s a performing arts group and a visual arts group, both lasting 2 hours a week, so that will give me something to do.

I’ve also got a wedding to go to on the 12th, my NHS psych appointment on 22nd and an ESA medical on the 24th. I’m really dreading the latter. I am scared they are going to tell me I’m not ill, I’m just making it all up and I should go back to work. I’m scared they will think I’m a fraud. I did the questionnaire really quickly and sloppily as I just wanted it over and I’m worried now that I didn’t say enough. I have read so many horror stories lately that I am quite worried, but I just hope I can get through it. I am claiming under the youth rules as I haven’t paid enough NI and can’t claim income-related due to my bloke’s savings. Unfortunately they didn’t take the youth rules into account at first and rejected me, so I’m having to appeal. Usually you only get a medical after you have been claiming for 3 months and although it is over 3 months since I applied I haven’t been paid a penny yet due to the appeal. I just hope it gets sorted out soon. Benefits are a nightmare. I don’t see how anyone gets away with claiming when they are not entitled. It seems that most people who are entitled can’t even get them.

Anyway, enough for now. If I posted more often they wouldn’t be such mammoth posts. I shall try.

This is something I’m really ashamed about. Over the past few weeks I’ve been agitated and struggling to manage my anger. Worse still, I’ve often resorted to violence. I have been afraid to admit that there is a problem. I don’t want to reinforce stigma. I am afraid of reinforcing the prejudice that mentally ill people are dangerous and violent.

Over the past month or so things have become more problematic. I have found myself getting angry and agitated, often for no real reason. Things seem to happen very quickly and there doesn’t need to be a trigger. Sometimes I just seem to be agitated and aggressive and I’ve been taking it out on the bloke, both verbally, and more recently, physically, mainly punching, kicking or throwing things. Sometimes I guess I could probably be compared to a toddler throwing a wobbler! I pretty much lose all insight and the smallest thing makes things worse.

Normally, I wouldn’t say I’m someone with a temper. I tend to be pretty calm and argue my point constructively. Although I can get frustrated and agitated at times, I am usually able to contain things and don’t lash out.

In the past I have snapped and thrown things during periods of depression and agitation, but I’ve never directed it at any thing other than myself or the wall. Unfortunately that has changed recently and I’ve started to lash out.

A week past Sunday there was an incident when we were out walking the dog. I’d asked my bloke to do something and he’d ignored me. I asked him why he had ignored me and he said it was because he thought what I wanted him to do was stupid. I argued with him and ended up throwing a stone at him. It was an impulsive action and I didn’t really expect to hit or hurt him. He ducked and it missed, but then he picked it up and threw it back at me hitting me on the head. I made no attempt to avoid the stone. It was almost as if I wanted him to hurt me and I felt I deserved it. It really hurt, leaving me crying hysterically, although I think I was more upset about losing control than I was about the pain.

Last Monday there was another incident. Similar trigger in that I’d asked my bloke to do something and he didn’t, although this time I was even quicker to anger. He didn’t respond immediately so I threw the pair of trainers I was carrying at him. He snapped and hit me back, but I didn’t seem to care that I was being hurt.

I know that my bloke will probably fight back if I hit him, but I don’t care., although often I don’t realise I’m doing anything until I get hurt. There are times though when I’ve punched my partner and he’s threatened to punch me back and I’ve continued even though I know it will eventually hurt. I seem to almost seek the pain. Perhaps it is some weird form of self-harm.

Sometimes these outbursts can be triggered. My bloke does have a habit of purposefully trying to wind me up and taking the piss out of me. I used to just ignore him or get annoyed but not lash out, but lately I’ve been unable to handle this. I just have no tolerance for unfunny “jokes”.

There seems to be this constant underlying irritability and it doesn’t take much to provoke it. I am getting agitated at the smallest things. I just feel so wound up and unable to relax or contain it.

I am worried that things are getting worse. Before, I was getting angry and irritable, but I wasn’t violent. I have threatened violence in the past, but never actually tried to hurt someone. Recently though I’ve even threatened to strangle or stab my partner. I know it’s not right, but at the time I really do want to. I’ve managed to resist and he is also pretty good at restraining me (he is far stronger than I am), but I’m scared that something bad will happen. I don’t trust myself. I never thought I’d throw a stone at someone and I have, so what is to say I won’t just throw a knife across the room if I’m using one and someone upsets me.

I did think that perhaps the Nitrazepam was to blame. After all, one of the worst episodes was the trip to The Peak District after the dose was increased. When I explained what happened here, I didn’t really mention the fact I was quite aggressive. I was too ashamed to admit it.

I admitted things to Dr G last Thursday and she seemed to be pretty concerned. I wrote her a long note as I didn’t think I could explain things face-to-face due to the shame. She wanted me to talk to her rather than use the note, but I found the note easier. I think she saw it as a bit of a backwards step as I’ve not had to write to her recently. We’ve come on a long way in terms of our relationship and I find it a lot easier to be open and honest with her than I used to.

Anyway, she expressed her concern and asked plenty of questions. She even went as far to say that she thinks this anger and violence is as dangerous as suicide. I guess risk of harming others is grounds for admission, just as much as risk of harming oneself.

She was worried that me and my bloke are making things worse for each other and that we are almost self-destructing. I think she is right.  She said that I just have to try and take myself away from the situation and calm myself down as much as possible. If I’m feeling agitated then I have to warn the bloke to stay away and not wind me up!

We have agreed that I should come off the Nitrazepam, although we are not convinced that is to blame. Dr G thinks that this agitation and aggression is a sign that the Bipolar Disorder is not controlled well enough yet. She increased my Lamotrigine again, but also said that we may have to reconsider adding Lithium as a top-up treatment.

We talked about sleep but she decided not to try anything else for now. She wants to see if the increased Lamotrigine helps my mood at all and doesn’t want any sleepers to interfere I guess. My sleep has been terrible both before and since I saw her. I am struggling to get any sleep before it is getting light each day.

She asked me to pop in to see her in a week as she wants to monitor things more closely again. I’m seeing her on Wednesday, so we shall see what happens then. I can barely afford more frequent appointments, but I understand her concern and think the support is probably more important than the money.

I now of course know when I’ll be seeing the NHS psychiatrist, so I guess I’ve got another 6 weeks of Dr G before someone else. I don’t know what is going to happen when I see Dr B. I was meant to stop seeing Dr G, but I don’t want to. I think I may consider continuing to see her privately, even though the CMHT aren’t happy with it. We shall see anyway.

I’m fed up of people asking me if I think the ECT is helping. I really don’t think it is yet, but I hope that it will eventually. I keep being asked if I think it is. Dr Shock said she thinks I’m looking brighter. I don’t feel brighter. My bloke said he thinks I’m a bit chirpier. I don’t feel chirpy. I think it is just my mask confusing matters and hiding how I really feel.

Today, we had a walk as part of our afternoon therapy session. I wouldn’t have been safe on my own. I saw a broken glass bottle and I wanted to pick up the pieces and shred my arms with it. I saw a load of holly berries and I wanted to try and eat a load and see what would happen. I just still don’t want to be here. I don’t know if I dare admit that as I’m already on high level observations and high risk level. I’m going for a meal with my parents and bloke this evening. They’ve come to the relatives support group again. I think they must have found it helpful. I just don’t know if I trust myself but I don’t want to let my family down so I’ll just have to try and be good. I don’t want to be good though.

Anyway. I need to stop writing this on my mobile. It’s making my fingers ache! Take care everyone. X

As Chouette pointed out, it is no secret that I met up with her, Kate, Colouredmind and Eccedentesiat this weekend. It was good to attach real people to the blogs and stories that I read. I enjoyed the meet, however brief for me, but am conscious I was talking far too much. It is a trait that comes from nervousness and agitation, but one I struggle to keep under control. Thanks though. I hope we can do it again.

It was great to just chat about everything and anything. Although we all know how it feels to suffer at the hands of mental illness, it was good that we could be “normal” and talk about other things too. We all know what it is to be students and to live in the city that we met. We all have a life aside from this. I think it is good for all of us to remember that. My partner thinks that I have become too wrapped up in being ill and that I shouldn’t spend all my time with “depressed friends”, but I think doing just that has helped me to remember the other side of life.

That said, I also appreciated being with people that know how it feels. I agree with both Hannah and Chou that we have all lost much to this illness. I too, have a list of wishes and a collection of regrets. I too, wish I didn’t have to take medication to live and sleep, wish I could find enjoyment in things and wish I could erase many things from my memory. I wish I didn’t have to spend days in therapy. I wish I could drive without being a risk to myself or others. I wish I could spend time alone without someone worrying about me. I wish I could turn off the negative thoughts that infiltrate my mind. I wish I could return to the career that I loved and not head straight for a nervous breakdown. I wish I could get on with life and want to live.

I have all these big wishes, but it was weird. The thing that struck me most from Hannah’s post, was the line:

I want to wear my hair parting on the otherside and not have scars to hide underneath my hair

I too wish for this. Worse, I wish I could part my hair anywhere and not show the scars of a lifetime of destruction. This is something I am so ashamed of, yet I still continue to wreak havoc. I have scratched my scalp to the point of bleeding and picked at every scar, every single night, for as long as I can remember. My hair no longer grows in the worst places. Elsewhere, it grows in tufts, as it tries to recover from the abuse. I cannot get a haircut, for fear of what the hairdresser might say when they see the mess that is my head. I am deeply embarrassed by it. My scalp constantly hurts and itches and I can feel the blood in my hair. I hate it, yet I am unable to stop. It is a compulsive act of nervousness, a compulsive act of self-destruction, a compulsive act of distraction. It is worse than ever at the moment. I lie awake at night and give in to the urge to hurt myself., leaving blood on my pillow. I sit in therapy and find my hands wandering. I hope no one notices, but fear that they do. I stand at the mirror and look at the scars. Most of the time I don’t even realise I am doing it, but I am painfully aware of the consequences. I wish that I could stop. I wish that wish was enough and I’d have the willpower. I know that I don’t. It is another one of those wishes, but I think it’s another one that is hopeless.

Yesterday I saw my consultant. I didn’t know what to say to her. I said that I’ve been frustrated that I feel no better. I said that the insomnia has returned. Her only answer was sleeping pills, Phenergan (Promethazine) again. I tried it on the ward and don’t think it helped, but it’s all I can try. I refuse to take Zopiclone, Promazine had no effect on me and Trazodone gave me all the silliness and uncoordination of drinking five pints, then left me with the hangover to match. Diazepam is off limits outside of the ward, as she doesn’t want to leave me with a nice addiction at the end of it all. She looked through her bible of psychotropic drugs at the sleep disorder pages, but didn’t find any other suggestions. Only Mirtazapine, which she discounted with a shake of the head. She went through the sleep hygiene list with me, but she knew better than to push that one. Admittedly, the fact I only had an hour or two’s sleep at most last night, was probably exacerbated by the diet coke I’d been drinking, but nevermind. Anyway, I have a note to give Dr N on Thursday, so my green slip will have the new one on the end.

Back to Dr G. She wants to put up my venlafaxine, but is scared of the consequences. The constant background agitation of the past few weeks makes that seem like a bad idea. She wants to put up my quetiapine, but is scared of the consequences of that too. My chronic apathy and considerable numbness are the issue here. Instead, she has done neither and left me in limbo-land with meds that don’t seem to help. I am fed up of the medi-go-round. I just want them to work. She is waiting and hoping that they kick in soon, but I’ve been on these for over 7 weeks now. Surely if they were going to work, they would be by now? Maybe I need to have more faith. How is the placebo effect going to work if I don’t believe in them? It’s still frustrating though.

She seems to think the way forward for me is therapy though. She isn’t holding out too much hope on the meds front. I wish I had as much faith as she does that splodging some paint around, talking about my life story, or getting annoyed at CBT will do anything to help me. It may be a short term distraction, help me to be more honest with myself and others about how I feel and give me a chance to think about stuff, but at the end of the day I still feel like crap and still battle day in day out with the intrusive thoughts. I don’t know how much “working through my issues” I can take and where it is going to leave me ending up.

I am chronically frustrated with this chronic depression. When will things change? I keep ending up in the same place. I keep waiting for things to improve. I am fed up. I feel like screaming it.

I heard the news on the radio this morning as I was still half asleep. My partner’s alarm talked of Mumbai and shootings. I then proceeded to dream (?! I’m not sure I was dreaming, it was that half-state between wakefulness and sleep where your mind can wander and take a life of its own) firstly about contacting the people I know in Mumbai to check they were okay and then about being in a hotel as a hostage. When I returned to the real world and woke up, I couldn’t remember if the texts I sent when dreaming had really been sent. They need to be, but I don’t think they have yet.

I can’t believe what’s going on. I think it’s almost guaranteed that someone from my company would be in one of those hotels and no doubt many of our offshore colleagues were passing through the station. My last project had about 600 staff in Mumbai and I worked closely with some of them (well as closely as you can when there are 4500 miles between you). I hope everyone I know is okay. I hope everyone I don’t know is okay, but it’s clear from the news that isn’t the case. I’m still waiting for my company to send out an email about the events. I am sure they are busy trying to establish if all of our staff our okay, but I am surprised they haven’t sent out anything yet. It is hard not knowing anything.

It’s weird though. This news has kinda snapped my focus away from myself for a little while. I was really low last night and I am still shaky, but I am concerned about others and not myself right this moment. If I do think about how I am, I realise that I’m not that good, but it seems insignificant.

The reality is, the insomnia is pretty much back. I do get a couple drug induced hours of sleep and then wake up and stay awake for hours in the middle of the night. My appetite is waning again. I didn’t eat much yesterday. I wanted to hurt myself last night, but was unable to with my partner around. I don’t think I want to right at this moment. I’m still indifferent to life. I still see no point and I still feel like I am just carrying on for the sake of existing, but I don’t know what else to do right now. Suicide is still there, it’s still a fixation a lot of the time, but I am trying to hold on. I don’t know what I’m holding on for, but at the moment I think I should. We will see.

I am worried about my partner. I think he is on the verge of giving up on me. He only wants me fixed and as I’m not fixing I don’t think he knows what to do. I don’t know how I feel about this.

When I saw Dr G, I had been told I would probably have to wait about a week for a bed to come available, so I was shocked on Tuesday 7^th when I received a phone call from admissions at about 9.30am. They asked me if I could come in for 11am as a bed had become available. I told them that there was no way I could get ready for then, so we agreed on 2pm. I then realised I had a mad rush to get ready.

I had to go shopping. I had no clean clothes and I needed underwear, nightclothes and slippers. My partner came home from work and we made a mad dash to pack and get the things I needed. We got ready and drove to the hospital ready for my admission. I was shown into one of the consulting rooms and asked to wait for the doctor. When they came, my other half left me to it and I went through the admissions process. The doctor on duty was terrifying. I didn’t like him and so rushed through the questions as fast as I could, leaving out loads of information. I hadn’t realised that the questions would be forming the basis of my initial notes and that they didn’t have access to the history I’d already given Dr G or I’d have made more of an attempt to be open and honest. I really didn’t like him. After the questions I was shown to my room and then came a short physical examination, which proceeded to make me feel very uncomfortable. He poked and prodded me and then handed over to the nurse. I was left for a while and then the nurse came back and asked me a few more questions, got me to sign a few forms and explained that he would become my “named nurse”. I was then left to settle in. I didn’t know what to do with myself. Slowly I unpacked my things and found my way around the room.

I was on 1 in 30 observations, so a nurse popped their head around the door every thirty minutes. Most of them introduced themselves the first time, but there was no way I’d remember any names. I was far too anxious and uncomfortable. Later someone asked me if I wanted to go to dinner or to order something to my room. I decided I had to brave the restaurant sooner rather than later, so agreed to go and get something. I was on escort, so that meant a nurse had to walk me between the different buildings, including the short walk to the restaurant at meal times. This was a status that was to remain the whole time I was an inpatient. Usually people were only on escort for a couple of days whilst they settle in, but they were anxious that I would do something stupid and insisted on keeping a regular eye on me. It was weird though being followed by a shadow all of the time.

On my first night I was met by a very manic patient, A, who decided she would introduce me to everyone. This was terrifying, but I was glad of it. She dragged me into the lounge and announced me to the fellow patients. I stayed for a while and talked to people, but I was pretty nervous and really wanted to run and hide in my room.

The next day was awful. I spent most of it alone in my room feeling terrible, occasionally interrupted for blood tests, a therapy assessment and other admissions rituals. The nurses would pop their heads around the door regularly and every time I was asked if I was okay, I would say yes, no matter how bad I felt. I began to look for ways to self harm and this became a focus. I didn’t know what else to do.

Thursday brought my first ward round, but I can remember very little of what happened. I can’t even remember if it was multi-disciplinary or one-on-one. I think it was MD, but Thursday ward rounds were usually 1:1 so I can’t be sure. It did bring about a change in medication. The Citalopram was to be phased out and Venlafaxine was to be phased in.

I also got to start therapy, which was a relief. It gave me something to fill my days with and stopped me staring at the wall, thinking about ways to hurt myself. This coincided with a fairly dramatic lift in my mood. I went from being suicidally depressed to hypomanic in a matter of hours and by Thursday evening I was running around the ward with A, both of us as high as a kite. I was agitated and couldn’t keep still, my mind racing at a million miles an hour. I retired to my room when I realised I was probably driving everyone else mad and then proceeded to draw all over my legs and entertain myself by listening to The Ting Tings on repeat. I don’t know what time I got to sleep. It was late. Friday was a continuation of this mood, but things started to darken on Friday evening. The weekend was spent on the ward and my sister visited, bringing cakes and presents.

The rest of my admission is all a bit of a blur. It was a great big melting pot of therapy, medication, mood swings, anxiety, depression, suicidal thoughts, lots of self harm, which was getting increasingly out of hand, ward rounds, nurses, visitors, CBT, art, agitation, friendship, talking, TV and jigsaws.