Opted Out…

Last week I tried to opt out. I ended up in HDU. I recovered physically and was shipped to an NHS unit, but I’ve finally escaped to The Priory again now.

It has been a turbulant and strange week. I do not know how I feel. Numb mainly.

So I am in hospital again. I do not know if and when I will be next online.

I hope everyone else is in a better place than I have been of late.

Bad to Worse…

Last week was tough. I went from bad to worse and the end of the week included a visit to my consultant and a review with my key worker. Both events were guaranteed to increase my anxiety and make things worse.

I saw Dr G on Thursday lunchtime. I’d written some notes beforehand as I am fed up the anxiety that ruins every appointment. I arrive at her office and anxiety grabs me around the throat and renders me speechless. My chest is pummelled by fear and I find myself gasping for breath and flailing hopelessly. She speed-read my notes, punctuated with sharp intakes of breath every few sentences. I hate that waiting whilst she is reading my words, reading my mind. I glance around her consulting rooms looking for things to distract myself with. Reading the titles on her bookshelves. Staring out of the window. Avoiding her eyes.

When she’d finished, she turned to me. As always, she took medication first. She upped my Topiramate. 50mg in the morning and 25mg at night now. No surprises there. I had expected my Venlafaxine to finally get the increase she has been promising since November, but still she holds off.

She suggested that suicidal ideation for me has become an almost habitual response to my depression. She suggested that I use  it as a coping mechanism, like a pressure valve, that if things are getting too much I begin to think of ways to release it and suicidal thinking gives me that. I don’t know how I feel about her suggestion. To a certain degree she may be right, but I feel she almost trivialises it. I found myself almost wanting to prove to her that I was more serious than that. I know how screwed up that sounds, but I know I’m not exactly thinking straight at the moment anyway. I do wonder when the pressure will push the valve though. One day it might just give.

We talked about work. It seems Dr G thinks I should take a slow approach to returning. Just dip my toe in, by getting in touch with some work colleagues and finding out what’s going on from those on the ground. I guess we’ll see about that. I’m not sure who I’d see. My closest work friends have transferred office or been made voluntarily redundant. I don’t know.

Other than that I can’t remember much. Dr G seemed pretty keen for my one-to-ones to start. She seems to pinning all hopes of recovery on them and thinks they may fill the gaps in my treatment.

After groups on Thursday I saw my keyworker for my review. She had some beck inventories for me to fill in. Both anxiety and depression. I think the anxiety was okay, but my depression scores must have been through the roof. I had no idea what to put on my review form. It asked if you felt worse or better than you did 4 weeks ago. I feel so much worse I cannot describe it. I can’t even remember what it felt like 4 weeks ago. I just know it was better than this.

Friday was more of the same. Therapists seemed concerned about me. They kept asking me if there was anything that had triggered the relapse. If there was anything that had made my mood drop. I don’t know. I don’t really know why I am here again. I just know it isn’t fun. I am frustrated of course. I am always frustrated.

This weekend has been okay though. I have just tried to forget the bad week and try to be normal whilst my bloke is around. It’s not been too bad, although last night I thought my head was going to run away, my thoughts were racing so much. I kept wanting to bash my head against my pillow because it was just driving me so mad.  It often happens like that at night. My head feels like it is racing away and I cannot get a hold of it. I lose all concept of size and shape and it just feels so strange.

Tomorrow is another week. A week until I am 23. I cannot believe it is almost my birthday and I am not yet back at work. That is another reason that I feel I have failed. I expected to be back by now. The last thing I expected was to be in this place again. I hate it.

I have to try and see my GP tomorrow. More medication. All I ever do is collect prescriptions and pills. I’m fed up of it.

Clouds and Clarity…

Thursday and Friday were difficult days. I haven’t felt so low and so strange for a long time. I can’t remember when I last felt like that, although I know I have before. It’s just depression in that sense is often forgotten. You cannot remember how bad it feels in between the darkest moments. I was lost in a storm cloud of depression. It was strange. I was so fuzzy,  numb, vague. I was walking through treacle, with a heavy head. I felt almost detatched from my head because it was so heavy. It was like I was carrying this bowling ball around on my shoulders. I sat in therapy and stared through people. I couldn’t take anything in or concentrate on the words floating past my head. I couldn’t concentrate on the others in group, just vague shapes sat around me. I walked back from the hospital in a daze, not noticing anything around me or where I was going.

I saw Dr N on Friday. I couldn’t tell him how I felt. I couldn’t explain the darkness inside me. He just thought it was the come-down from my holiday. He noticed the clarity had gone, but was glad I was not agitated. He almost seemed pleased that I was subdued. Maybe they really do all just want us medicated into zombies? I had hoped he would see that there was something wrong and hoped he could suggest something, suggest a fix. Of course, he is powerless, with Dr G in charge, but I still felt disappointed.

The fog has remained around over the weekend, but wasn’t as bad as Thursday. I managed to break through it at times, but it was a struggle. I kept floating off inside my head as I couldn’t break through all the mist. I couldn’t really concentrate on much. I find it frustrating. Agitation may be tiring, but I miss the productivity. I just feel heavy and leaden at the moment. I have no motivation.

I am frustrated again. I am still disappointed. I feel like I am letting everyone down. I am not doing as I should. I should be better by now. The therapy and the medication should be working. I should be feeling happy. I should be back at work. I should be productive. I shouldn’t need The Priory anymore. I feel like the one that is breaking the mould. The one that is letting the side down. Everyone else is getting better. Everyone else is on the road to recovery and I just seem to be on the road to further illness. Everyone thinks that I am making progress and that I am getting there, but they don’t know how bad I still feel.

I go backwards, not forwards. I hit brick walls and I do not want to break through them. I want to give up and I want to opt out. I take my meds and I see no improvement. I am frustrated by it all. I am ashamed by my lack of improvement. I am ashamed by the fact I am still ill. I am ashamed that I don’t feel up to returning to work. I just don’t know when this will all change. I feel like a broken record. I’m sorry.