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Posts Tagged ‘parents

Short Pause…

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It’s been 10 days since I last posted. Each time I keep thinking I should start writing more often again, but it doesn’t seem to happen. The gaps seem to get larger, not smaller.

I often think of things I want to write about, but I don’t seem to translate those thoughts into posts. I wanted to write about the NHS when the #welovetheNHS campaign was in full swing, but now I can’t really remember what I wanted to say and the moment has passed.

The last week or so has been up and down. A phrase I say so often.

I went to my parents for a few days last weekend. On Monday my sister, the dog and I trecked over to Porthcawl for the day. It was lovely weather and we enjoyed a splash in the sea, some fish and chips and icecream. Not a bad day really.

Tuesday involved bringing the dog home on the train. It was stressful, but we managed to get back safely. She slept a lot of the way taking up most of the aisle.

I saw Dr G on Wednesday. She increased the Lamotrigine again. I’m now on 125mg Mane, 100mg Nocte. Again it was an increase I expected. She is increasing the Lamotrigine by 25mg every 2 weeks. I wonder if it’s worth seeing her each time or if I’d be better off asking her to give my GP the instructions to increase it, thus saving myself some money. Seeing her every 1-2 weeks is not cheap.

I can’t remember what else we talked about. I remember her telling me she still thought it was too early for me to go back to work. Disappointment and relief. Disappointment that I am not well enough to go back. Relief that I don’t have to make the decision yet and that I am not being forced to go back too soon.

My social worker is still useless. I saw her on Thursday after forgetting I was meant to see her on Tuesday. She turned up at my house and I was at my parents 140 miles away. I guess that makes me useless too.

Anyway, we talked for a little while. She asked me if I’m interested in the creative remedies therapy group and the “positive thoughts” group. She’d forgotten to bring the information again so I’m not entirely sure what I’m letting myself in for. I agreed to both though so we shall see what happens. I’m pretty skeptical about the positive thoughts one. She said it’s simplified CBT, which rings alarm bells, especially as I’ve done non-simplified CBT in the past. I have visions of us sitting in group having to repeat affirmations. The groups are meant to start in September.

J came up with excuses about her failure to complete the referrals so far saying that the problem is she’s useless at doing paper work. More alarm bells ringing when she said that. I’m sure form-filling must be a huge part of her job so I wonder why she’s doing it if she can’t be bothered. I hope she does the referrals but I’m not holding my breath.

She also told me she’ll be with me at my psychiatrist’s appointment in September. I don’t want her to be, but I guess I have little choice. I’d rather I was on my own. I generally find I’m more comfortable with the psychiatrists and I have no trust in her at all, so I think I will find it hard to be open.

She didn’t think my appointment was with Dr B because the time doesn’t correspond to one of her clinics. I’m not surprised at that, but still a little disappointed. She did say who she thinks it will be but I can’t remember his name. Apparently he’s quite new and she doesn’t know what he’s like, which is a little worrying, but I get the impression that is quite normal with the NHS.

The rest of the time lately has been littered with arguments and random drops in mood. Friday evening was difficult. After a long argument with my partner I became hysterical and couldn’t stop crying. I find myself wanting us to break up and these episodes only make that wish stronger. I don’t know how we can carry on like this. The arguments are frequent and pointless. They just hurt us both and make life so difficult. I want to isolate myself from it all. It fuels my desire to not be here.

Earlier today I read this post on mentalnurse.org.uk. It talks of the anger at being saved from suicide. I still feel that anger and unlike Torah, I am not pleased to not be dead. I still wish that I had not been saved. I remember the disappointment of waking up and knowing I’d failed. I remember people asking me if I was glad to be alive and thinking they were insane. I still don’t understand how they could ask that. I didn’t make the decision lightly. I knew I didn’t want to be here anymore and failing to complete my plan did not change that decision. It’s still not changed that decision. I still want to be dead.

That’s not to say my suicidal ideation has not lessened. A few months ago I was constantly actively suicidal. Always thinking of plans, always looking for the next opportunity, always battling the thoughts. Now my thoughts come and go, but they are still a frequent annoyance. I have moments when the thoughts lessen, but I am never glad to be alive. Most of the time I’m still wishing I was dead.

I do not see the point in life, nor the appeal. I don’t understand anyone who is glad to be alive. I see life as a long hard battle with no positive outcome at the end. I don’t see why anyone would put themselves through that for any longer than is really necessary.

I don’t know what will come of these thoughts. I have managed to resist over the past 6 months, but I do not know how long I can keep this up. I have been kept safe for most of that time, unable to act when I have most wanted to. That supervision will of course continue while I still harbour the desire to be dead. I wish it wouldn’t but know I can’t stop them. There is anger there of course. An annoyance that I am not in control of my own life. I understand their reasons though and I know I have no choice but to comply. I just wonder how long for.

I wish that things will change. I wish I could find a zest for life. I wish that I could see a point to it all. I wish that there was enough hope to keep me going.

I find myself wanting to force the change, but I can only see one option for that and I know it’s not the one that everyone else desires. I worry that I will take that option regardless. Suicide is always the fall back position. My trapdoor to escape all of this.

Not so good…

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I’m not so good at the moment. I can feel the suicidality brewing and I don’t feel able to, or particularly want to stop it. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t remember when I was not suicidal and sometimes that makes it hard to take myself seriously, but I can feel it getting closer. I know I should be shouting up and I guess here I am, but I don’t want to. I don’t want anyone to stop me. I am fed up of being kept safe.

On top of that, my relationship is in tatters. I have been struggling for a while. I am out of control and trying to destroy everything we once had.

We’ve been together six and a half years so this is not a small thing. We are engaged and we’ve been through a lot together. There should be so much holding our relationship together yet I find myself wanting to tear it apart.

It is all my fault. It is me that feels I can’t live with anyone else. It is me that screams for independence. It is me that wants to isolate myself from those that love me. It is me that cannot feel love for anyone or anything. It is me that doesn’t care. It is me that is heartless and selfish. I hate myself for this.

I don’t know why I want to throw everything away. I just don’t feel comfortable in this relationship any more. I find myself feeling trapped and controlled. I question my feelings. I don’t know whether I love him any more. I don’t know if that is depression making it hard for me to love or care for anything or if it is really how I feel. It is a constant battle in my head.

I’ve gone as far as telling my bloke that I want us to break up. I don’t know if it’s the right decision but it’s what my head wants most at the moment. I know I shouldn’t be saying this if I am not sure, but I can’t help it. I have screamed it in fits of anger and irritation and I have repeated it during quieter moments. Saying it though is different to doing it. We are still together.

I don’t really have a choice at the moment. I have to stay. I have been told by Dr G that now is not the time for life changing decisions. I am not well enough to make an informed decision. I am told that things will probably improve when I’m better. I am told that I can always make the decision then if they don’t. I know this, yet I still find myself screaming to get out now.

I also don’t have a choice because I am trapped by fear of section. My partner has already told me that if I dumped him and tried to move out he would get me sectioned. He doesn’t trust me to live alone and refuses to let me break up with him just to make it easier for me to kill myself. I don’t see how it would be any of his business if we were no longer together, but I guess he still cares. It leaves me scared enough to stay.

There are other things that make me hold back. I fear the embarrassment of a failed engagement. I don’t want to admit that things are not good. I don’t want to admit that I was wrong. I don’t want to give in to those that said I was too young. I also fear my parents’ reaction. I don’t want to let them down.

Then there are the practicalities. We live together and splitting up would not be easy. Our lives are entwined. We have so much stuff together. We share the same friends. We have the dog and the guinea pigs. I wouldn’t know where to start if we had to separate ourselves.

My partner doesn’t know how to react. I know this is understandable. He loves me and doesn’t want to lose me. I tell him how I feel and he won’t listen to me. One minute he is angry with me and throws abuse. The next he tells me how much he loves me. We keep arguing about it. It’s painful.

I find myself getting upset when I think about the relationship ending. I wonder if that is a sign that it should continue. I don’t know. I know he still loves me and for that I feel guilty. The guilt is painful and maybe that brings the tears. I think it is loss though that really makes me sad. Loss of what was once there. I did love him once. I just don’t know if I still do.

For now we carry on as if none of this is really happening. It is a battle within my head. I don’t know what will happen. My bloke may eventually break and realise he doesn’t want me either. I may change my mind and realise I love him after all. We may just carry on in a broken relationship forever, neither of us able to leave. Something needs to happen though because the current situation is no fun.

Written by intothesystem

Saturday, 11th July 2009 at 10:16 pm

Is it helping…?

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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

Written by intothesystem

Tuesday, 17th March 2009 at 7:10 pm

October 4th: Tell the parents…

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I really didn’t want to tell my parents. I was too scared of their reaction and had been hiding everything from them for so long I had no idea where to start. My partner tried to convince me and told me that if I didn’t tell them, he would. I realised I had no choice, so agreed that I would try and tell them. In the end, I wrote them a short letter explaining that I had been off work due to depression and was going to be admitted. I avoided the gory details, but explained some of what had happened in the lead up to my admission.

It was a coincidence that my parents were going to be in the Midlands on the Saturday, so I arranged to meet them at my sister’s new uni house. When we arrived it was strange. We just did all the normal stuff. Got shown around the new house, handed over presents and sat in her room. I was nervous and wanted to get it over and done with, but knew I had to wait until there was a suitable time.

I told my sister first. I gave her a copy of the letter and told her to read it. I told her I had something I needed to tell her and that I wasn’t pregnant. I knew that would be the first conclusion everyone would jump to. She cried lots and I didn’t know what to do. She was sympathetic, but I hated that.

Afterwards my parents came in, so we got them in the lounge and repeated the ritual. Handed over the letter and asked them to read. They were shocked. They asked some questions but mostly just exclaimed over how shocked they were. My mum went pretty quiet. They told me they’d support me, but it was just very weird. I don’t know if it was a relief. I think it must have been, but I was just so nervous I don’t think it felt like it at the time.

We went for a meal later and things proceeded as normal really. There were a few awkward questions about what I expected would happen during my admission and what the long term aims were, but generally it was okay. I was glad to escape afterwards though.

Written by intothesystem

Monday, 17th November 2008 at 7:41 pm

September/October: Meet the Shrink…

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Late September: Referral to Psychiatrist

I returned to Dr N shortly after my trip to A&E. I was embarrassed about my previous visit to him and quite apprehensive, but it was okay. He was lovely as ever and showed his concern. He apologised for sending me to A&E, but pointed out he had to. He was concerned that I could have taken something else and not be telling him, so needed to get things checked out. I explained what had happened in A&E and following, with the crisis team. He was pretty shocked and disappointed that they hadn’t offered me more support or a proper assessment.

I questioned him on the borderline thing and he kinda avoided the question, horrified that the A&E department had been stupid enough to show me the letter, but did suggest that he wasn’t attempting to make a psychiatric diagnosis, more trying to assure I got the right attention in A&E. I wasn’t really happy with his response, but nevermind. He’s since redeemed himself.

Anyway, I asked him what other options there were and reminded him of my health insurance. In the end we agreed that a referral to a private psychiatrist was probably the best option and he arranged to do this.

When I saw him again, he explained he was referring me to Dr G and had written the letter. When I got to see the referral letter I was a little horrified. It was hard to see everything in black and white, honest and accurate as it was.

The referral process was quick and I managed to get a cancellation. An appointment was booked for October 2nd.

October 2nd: See Consultant Psychiatrist, Dr G.

I was absolutely terrified before my appointment. So terrified, I managed to miss the turning on my drive there and took a while to realise I was going in the wrong direction. I was not really in the right frame of mind to be driving. I got there safely though and was pointed in the direction of a waiting area. She was running quite late, although no one thought to tell me, so I sat there nervously looking at the clock, worrying I’d been forgotten or was in the wrong place. Eventually she came down to find me and led me up to her consulting room.

I was relieved to see there wasn’t a couch. I was terrified I’d have to sit on the cliché psychiatrist’s couch. No one prepares you for what it is going to be like, so I was relying on Hollywood’s interpretation of the psychiatrist for clues. I sat in a small, blue armchair and she began. She explained that the session would take around an hour and that she wanted to go over some of the things discussed in the referral letter and gather an overall history. Then she left it to me to talk.

I am not good at talking. I find it very difficult to open up, but I knew I had to if I wanted to make the most of her expertise. So I went through things. I probably forgot stuff. I was very nervous and didn’t know what to say, but we got there. Afterwards, she wanted to lay out the options for how to proceed. We discussed medication and Quetiapine (Seroquel) was brought up as a possibility. Then she dropped the bombshell. She thought I should come in as an inpatient. I was completely shocked by this and did not know how to react. I had not expected it. She did say if staying as an inpatient wasn’t an option, day care would be the second best thing, but she really wanted me to stay. I couldn’t really think straight after this. I was worried about what my other half would think and terrified at the prospect of being admitted.

At the end of the appointment, she showed me down to the ward and the woman in admissions showed me around. I think they wanted me to see that it was more like a Travelodge than a hospital and were trying to put me at ease. There were no beds available so they explained I would be put on a waiting list and it was up to me if I accepted and came in.

A million thoughts were racing through my head after this. I was worried about what my partner would think. I was anxious about the argument that was likely to follow when I told him. I was worried it was all an overreaction. I worried that maybe I’d been exaggerating things to make them seem worse than they were, yet at the same time I was glad to be taken seriously for the first time. I was cynical and thought that she probably just wanted to make the most money she could from me. Mostly I was just plain scared. I didn’t know what to expect and also knew that if I was to be admitted I would need to tell my parents.

An argument did follow and it took a while for my partner to come around to the idea. He didn’t want me to go in at all. I’m not sure he had realistic visions of what it might be like and seemed to worry it would make me worse. I also suspect he didn’t want me to go because he’d miss me and he was probably worried about not having me around to look after the house too! He did say that he wouldn’t want to visit me there and considered going away for a few days, but in the end he didn’t.

I also went and saw Dr N to get his advice. He agreed that I should be admitted and was glad that I was finally getting some support. He told me he’d have wanted me admitted to the local NHS unit if he thought it would do me any good, but said that it was so terrible it would probably do more harm. I think that’s a sad reflection on NHS mental health services. He also told me he’d been a ward doctor at a Priory hospital for a while, so knew what it was like and thought it would be beneficial. We talked about the benefits of staying over day care, such as not having to drive to and from the hospital after a challenging day of therapy. He really helped me to make up my mind and I made the decision to be admitted.

Quiet…

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It’s still quiet in the blogosphere. I’m not really feeling in the mood to write much myself and it seems I’m not the only one.

Last night I had a bit of a scare. My dad emailed me at work and of course my out of office is on. He saw it and questioned what it said (That I am out of the office until further notice!). F*ck! He put me on the spot so I kinda mumbled some excuse about sticking the out of office on so that I didn’t get bothered and could focus on some important work, but I’m not sure he bought it. I hate lying to him, but I didn’t know what else to do. I know I should really have taken that opportunity to be honest, but I was just too scared. Sadly, this exchange only served to make me confused, stressed and agitated, worrying endlessly about the repercussions of people knowing and the fact I don’t think I can be honest with my family ever. I struggled most of the night with recurrent thoughts that it would be just easier to not be here. The usual I guess.

Not only was that conversation still on my mind, but I was fidgety again and unable to sleep. In the end, my other half kicked me out of the bed and sent me downstairs to take my energy out on the Wii. So I was in my living room, playing Mario and Sonic at the Olympics at 2am! It didn’t really help much unfortunately, so I spent the next few hours staring out of the window again. I’m getting fed up of it. I have no idea why I seem to acquire a ton of agitated energy at 11pm every day. I guess I do need to do more in the day and try and tire myself out, but I just feel sick all the time!

This morning, I got an appointment letter through for another occupational health assessment. It’s a different doctor and this time I can’t find anything out about him, which I find a little scary. Usually when you google a doctor or surgery you can at least find out what their specialism is or something. The appointment isn’t until September either! Much longer to wait compared to last time and it scares me to think that I can’t imagine making it through the next four weeks. I find it hard to think ahead a few days, let alone a few weeks.

Today has been another mixed day. Started feeling low, followed by a short period of feeling fairly up and cheery, followed by a quick change to miserable and now headed towards agitation again. All accompanied by nausea, although it seemed a bit better during the “up” periods – probably why I was feeling okay!! The thing is, it feels like this is never going to get better. The intrusive thoughts are there pretty much constantly, even in the more up periods and I just feel physically “bleh” all the time. I’m not struggling with the real extremes of my mood, but I’m finding this constant fluctuation between varying degrees of crapness or agitation equally difficult. It somehow feels like I’ll never be able to cope with normal life again. I’m not even sure I can remember what “normal” life felt like.

Written by intothesystem

Wednesday, 13th August 2008 at 4:45 pm

Hometown Glory…

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So I returned home for the weekend. I’m always astonished at how little that place moves on. We went into town on Saturday and it’s still the same faces and same places. Since I left home four years ago, so little has changed. The only notable difference is that M&S Simply Food, Costa and Pizza Express have moved in, obviously trying to turn this little town into an identikit, affluent small town. No doubt more will follow. It’s the faces that get me though. The same people, living the same dull lives. I see people from my school and they seem so far left behind. They’ve not moved on. It’s weird.

I’m not sure the title of hometown glory is quite right. Perhaps, hometown misery would be more accurate. Of course the title really comes from the Adele song of that name. It’s a song I definitely associate with this episode, the episode that continues a pace. It doesn’t lift my mood, only stands to fuel it, but I’ve never been one to turn to happy bouncy music to cheer myself up. It doesn’t work and only makes me irritated. Before I was off work, I listened to it on repeat during my commute, turning the volume up and shutting out the world, driving too fast and not caring if I make it. I know how irresponsible that is and I’d hate for anyone to get hurt, but I just hoped it would be only me.

I have to drive those roads today and I know it will be a risk. It is always a risk. I don’t care enough about my life to be careful. My car needs servicing and the garage is next to my work, so I will drive those roads again. Since I was off work, new signs have gone up. They say 4 deaths in 3 years or 79 casualties in 3 years or 46 collisions in 3 years. I know they are designed to make you think and slow down, but every time I see them, they only serve to make me wish I could add myself to those statistics. An “accident” would be easier. It wouldn’t hurt my family as much. Of course they would be upset, but they wouldn’t have to live with the knowledge that I’d killed myself. The knowledge that I was so selfish and careless that I didn’t think of them.

I made it through the weekend.

I got drunk on Saturday night in an attempt to make it easier to pretend. It was a strange evening. I was giddy and hyper, playing the games and singing along to the music, yet given a moment to my real thoughts I was full of sadness. Alone in the bathroom, I hurt myself for the first time in a while. Just superficial scratches with a sharp pin I saw lying around, but I musn’t have been feeling things as I have lasting marks. The reason I used to scratch was to give short sharp pain, quickly but leaving only feint marks that would fade. I must have done it harder than before, as the marks still haven’t faded and I can still feel them. I see them now and want to do more, but I need to be able to hide. No one has noticed the scratches yet. I hope it stays that way.

Throughout the weekend, there was a lot of talking about friends and people from school. X is in australia, Y is just finishing medicine at Cardiff, Z is in London on the west end. It’s a small town so everyone wants to know everyone. You get the idea. I think part of this came from seeing my music teacher and choir director on Last Choir Standing and from Nicole Cooke winning her gold medal. Nicole’s father was my A Level physics teacher. It was a weekend of thinking about people and how they have moved on, how they have been left behind or how they’ve left me behind.

The one that shocked me though, the one that has had the lasting effect, was something my mother said. Talking about an old school colleague of mine, my mum jumps in with “the one that has really fallen off the rails is her brother, J. He’s a manic depressive. Really bad. I bet his sister spends all of her time trying to stop him killing himself”. This shook me. I hadn’t known he was ill and I was horrified to hear the way my mother referred to him. It was like he’d become a criminal, not mentally ill. I hated her for it. I am worried about him. I’ve tried to look him up on facebook, tried to find out if what she said is true. There are signs of it on her sister’s wall in his comments (trying to reassure her he’s okay), but I can’t view his profile, so I don’t know. I hope he is okay.

Of course, the other effect of this outburst is one on me and my relationship with my parents. My family do not know I’ve been ill. They ask about work and I have to be economical with the truth. I talk about it passively, saying that there’s a lot on, but not mentioning the fact I’m not doing it. I hate that I can’t be honest with them, but I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know if I could ever tell them. Knowing my mother’s prejudice makes it impossible. I know she doesn’t understand and she’s just ignorant, but I’m not sure I want to try and convince her otherwise. I wish I could talk to my dad, but I don’t want to hurt him and I think if he knew how I felt, knew my longing for death, he’d be heartbroken. I love my dad. We’re close and I hate lying to him, but I can’t handle the thought of my mother knowing. I hate the fact I can’t promise him I’d never do anything stupid. I hate how I resent my love for him, because I know it makes it harder for me to give into my thoughts and just makes this a never ending battle, in which I feel I can never win. It’s a relationship I struggle with and this secrecy makes it harder, yet easier too. I don’t know if things will ever change. I worry that they only will only find out if I’m ever hospitalised or kill myself and I’m not sure I’d be able to explain, but then I think that might just be the easiest way. I have this fear of hospitalisation, because I know that I couldn’t hide things from them if that ever happened. It builds this fear of honesty, fear of medical professionals and fear of the unknown.

I am struggling with nausea and have to get ready now. The physical effects of this are getting me down too. I haven’t been sick yet, but came closest this morning. I worry I might actually vomit though if I get in the car. I have no choice though. I’ve booked this appointment and I hate to cancel. I will find the energy some how.