Into the system…

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Posts Tagged ‘pills

Bad to Worse…

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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.

return to the system…

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…a different system to the one that my blog title refers to, but a system nonetheless. Tomorrow, I go back to work.

It feels too soon. I know it is too soon, yet I’m not doing anything to stop it.

I am too scared to go back to my doctor and tell her I can’t cope. I am too scared to tell my new line manager I can’t face it. I’m too scared to tell HR I’m not ready. I am too scared to admit to my partner I am not better. Hell, I’m too scared to admit to myself.

I want to be ready. I want to go back. I want to see my friends. I want to get involved in new projects. I want to feel like I have something to live for. I want to have something to do. I want to feel capable. I want to succeed.

I want to know if I’m ready. I try and work out if I’m ready, but all I feel is that I am not.

My mood had picked up over the past week. My holiday was pleasant. I felt almost capable. We did things. I enjoyed the sunshine. My appetite has returned. I socialised and it was almost comfortable. I didn’t feel suicidal all of the time, although I can’t say the thoughts had gone completely. I had moments where I forgot I was depressed. I wondered if the pills were working or if it was the holiday that made me feel better or if I was just feeling better anyway. Generally, it wasn’t bad. Not as bad as I’d feared at least.

The problem is I’m not on holiday anymore. I’m home and it’s harder to forget things. Things are suspended when you are on holiday. You can be someone that you are not and it is easier to forget the things that haunt you, the things that bother you. I was able to forget how depressed I was, albeit temporarily, because I was with people who only knew the happy me and I could show them the happy me. I did my best to shake off my moods and did my best to keep going. I wasn’t wholly successful and it’s a tiring act to put on, but generally I did feel a bit better. By pretending to be better, I almost convinced myself I was.

I’m home now though and I know I’m not better. During the drive back, all I could feel was churning anxiety in my stomach and my mind ticking over the things I faced when I returned. I didn’t want to leave the safety of the holiday. I didn’t want to come home. I could feel post-holiday blues descending like a big cloak of gloom. I know everyone suffers from post-holiday blues at the best of times, but I couldn’t help fear that mine would be worse than most. I couldn’t help worrying that mine would be a return to the suicidal depths of my depression. The fact that they haven’t been…quite, should be comforting, but I still worry that those moods are only days away.. hours away even.

Yesterday was a day of doing stuff. Unpacking, buying food, sorting things out, mowing the lawn. It was a list of chores, which a couple of weeks ago would have been unthinkable, but I managed them. I felt okay. Not as good as last week, but not desperately low. I wonder if I am improving, if I am better. Maybe I will be able to cope with work after all? I feel a bit better. I know I am anxious about work, but my mood has been much worse, even when I was still at work and performing well. Maybe the drugs are kicking in at last and maybe if I go back it will help me to get better? I keep trying to convince myself it is a good idea. I want to go back to work. I want to go back to pretending I’m fine.

I am trying to work out if I’m ready. The anxiety coursing through my veins, suggests I am not. The fact that I almost have a panic attack when I think of my inbox, suggests I am not. The fact I still find it hard to make myself do things, suggests I am not. The fact a conversation with my new line manager has put suicide back on the brain, suggests I am not. The fact I can’t face a future, suggests I am not.

Tomorrow I go back to work. I can’t stop it now. I will give it a go, but I just wonder how long I can last.

Written by intothesystem

Tuesday, 29th July 2008 at 5:30 pm