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Posts Tagged ‘plans

Nothing Changes…

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That’s how it feels at the moment. Everything is the same. Nothing has changed and I’m fed up of it.

I don’t know what to do with myself because everything feels pointless. I try and keep busy, but when I do it all feels meaningless and that only leads to frustration. I have enough frustration already.

I saw Dr G earlier today. I had to wait an hour as she was caught up due to an emergency. I hated every second of my wait. I get so, so nervous every time even though I’ve seen her so many times before. I just can’t seem to get over it. I sit there and feel sick and can’t sit still and it’s just horrible.

The appointment itself was fairly uneventful. She told me the CMHT have been in touch, which I guess is positive. She said that she needs to call a Dr B to discuss things and handover. As Dr N said to me the other day, I’m collecting a whole alphabet of doctors slowly. She didn’t know how long it would take for everything to get sorted out though. It could still be a while before I get some more support.

I kinda told her about Thursday, but didn’t say so in as many words. I think she got the idea, but didn’t bat an eyelid. I don’t think anything I say to her surprises her. She’s used to the constant suicidality. I wonder if there’s any point saying any of it. I am trying to be more honest about things and it doesn’t seem to help. I wonder if I’d be better off going back to playing the roles I was playing before and pretending things are okay, even though they clearly aren’t. The thing is that wasn’t working either. I just don’t know what to do any more.

Writing this blog isn’t easy any more. I can’t be truthful. The bloke always gets upset with me, whenever he reads the truth. I don’t know how to be honest and not upset people. I am still trapped.

Every time my partner reads my blog, he expresses his wish for me to stop reading other people’s blogs. He thinks that we bring each other down by writing about our depression and all being depressed together. He doesn’t understand that this community is like group therapy, only free and accessible at any point.

There really is little to tell between this blogging community and a Support Group at The Priory. There you are in a room with a number of strangers, some you may know already through therapy and others you may not, and you all talk about your current issues and moan about your depression, whilst the others chip in with comments and try to offer support. Here, we all write about things and support each other with comments, but instead of being confined to two hours at a specific time and costing hundreds of pounds, the support is available 24/7 and is completely free.

He doesn’t tell me to stop writing anymore, but he doesn’t understand that I can’t write and not read. The help I get from reading others experiences is valuable and I would feel guilty if I kept writing my blog and people commented but I could never read their blogs in return and offer my support. That just wouldn’t work. It would be all take.

He tells me it is my choice, but the problem is it feels like it’s no longer my choice. The blog doesn’t feel as helpful as it once did, now I feel I can no longer be honest. Every time that I am, I end up with a fiancĂ© that either stops talking to me or cries at me. That’s not helpful, even if the comments I get are.

I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t just mean that about my blogging, but about everything. I find myself with empty days, not knowing how to fill them, because everything I could possibly do feels pointless and a waste of time when all I really want is to not be alive. I find myself thinking over new plans and strategies, but fear that none of them will work. I find myself wondering how to get myself out of this mess and as much as I try to force myself to take positive steps, I just don’t know what is worth trying. When is all of this going to change?

Hope or Hopeless?

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Reading back over my last post, I’m struck by the hopefulness of it. I didn’t think I felt especially hopeful when I was writing it, but that is the sense I feel looking back. At the time, I thought I was going through the motions, self-censoring my words to make it seem like I was hopeful. I had it in my mind that I would not return from London. I had it in my mind that I had to present that I was okay and going to be safe down there for my partner’s sake, but deep down knew I’d be battling against the safety measures that I had put in place.

As you can see, I have returned from London, so maybe my hopefulness was genuine? Maybe I realised that I would overcome my suicidal wishes and survive the weekend? I don’t know. My hope is as fleeting as my moods.

It was touch and go at times. On Sunday night, I genuinely thought I would not return. I had a clear plan in mind and was preparing myself for it. I was on the edge. I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to die. I got scared by my mind and the clarity of it and forced myself to take double sleepers to knock myself out. I think they worked. By morning, I woke feeling less certain of my plan and keen to get home. I felt mildly optimistic and even, dare I say it, happy?

How can one’s perspective on things change so quickly? I don’t know if I am coming or going. I don’t know if I am full of hope or hopeless.

My weekend, overall, was good. My mood was unstable, as is the usual, but I did enjoy Saturday night. Lots of alcohol and lots of dancing and I was okay. Moments of withdrawal and sadness descended if I stopped to breathe, but I kept them at bay with a relentless performance of “coping”. I tried to live in the moment, something we are continually preached about at The Priory. It was enough to keep me going and even enough to let me smile a little and actually believe in it and mean it.

Sunday was a slow one and much harder. I didn’t have an alcohol hangover, but a mood one was definitely apparent. We didn’t do much. Stayed in the flat most of the day and went for food in the evening. There was no pressure and with that, I could manage. I had to battle against the thoughts in my head, but without any need for a performance, I could concentrate on that and concentrate on the moment. It was okay.

Last week I didn’t see past the weekend. I didn’t expect to see today. A friend of mine said to me on Friday, life is like driving in the dark. You can only see as far as your headlights allow you, but you know that if you keep going you will see a little further and if you keep going like that you can go all the way. I think that is how I’m living life at the moment. I can’t see very far. I don’t really want to see very far, but I am still getting through each little bit. I just hope that my headlamps don’t go out any time soon or the fog doesn’t get any worse. I’m still struggling and I hate it.

My mood dropped again yesterday. I was at The Priory and although Art was reasonably relaxing, Support was uncomfortable. I was agitated, unable to stay still and the conversation was irrelevant to me for most of the session. I sat and tried to listen, but all I could think about was my unrealised plans from the weekend. When it was eventually my turn to speak, I unleashed my frustration at my mood. My frustration at the speed in which it twists and turns. I did not know what else to say and neither did anyone else. Their depression is explained by divorce, family issues or work stress. Mine is explained by nothing. By faulty brain chemicals or a disordered personality? I do not know and I still don’t have any answers. I am fed up of it.

I don’t know what else to say anymore. On Sunday, I had lost all hope. On Monday, it returned. Yesterday, it was wavering. Today, I do not know.