“you are not permitted to leave.”

Tuesday 30th October

So I did actually go to the CDAT drop-in service today. My half best/half worst (I can’t decide) HTT was at the assessment with me, which would have been really supportive if it was one of the HTT people I actually find supportive. This one I know quite well. He tries so hard to be friendly and nice, which I obviously appreciate, but he often pushes familiarity too far then I get uncomfortable and want him to leave. He’s a mixed bag.

Anyway CDAT. It was really surreal. I don’t generally say things like this, but my gosh I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite so gay. The guy assessing me had the campest, scouse accent I’ve ever heard. I actually really liked him because he was such a sweetie. He told me his heart just wanted to look after me like a little sister, which might seem weird, but given his general personality, it was really nice. He is possibly the least formal person I’ve ever dealt with in the NHS ever. It was strange though because I (obvs.) had to do a urine test (again urgh) and whilst doing so, he sang Stevie Wonder and Diana Ross to me. He called me “babe” and “baby” a lot. He also told my hair was fantastic and that I remind him of his Mum in the 80s. Apparently, she was a hot Mum so he was always proud when she picked him up from school. She was also apparently “a fashionista” and dressed just like Madonna in the 80s and apparently I look just like Madonna in the 80s too. When I get anxious, I sometimes pick my nail varnish off, which he noticed, so I said that nail varnish is a great distraction technique because it means you literally cannot do anything bad for a while, to which he replied “Baby – do you really think I’ve not worn nail varnish before?” I think I might be slightly in love with him. He was so fantastic, though it’s weird to have someone sing to you whilst you pee. Seriously, it makes peeing really hard. He had the most perfect hair as well. He was really warm and friendly and made me feel comfortable and lovely.

It was kinda interesting. They tested me for bare drugs and I only passed/failed or whatever benzodiazepines and cannabis. Apparently, amphetamines are cleared from your body in three days which I didn’t actually know. And they don’t do standard urine tests for MDMA in case anyone was wondering. It was like drugs pregnancy tests. One line is positive, 2 is negative. I had no alcohol in my system either, but that was less of a surprise. The actual assessment was over an hour, so a bit intense. Lots of talk about my past (in both mental health and general terms), self-harm, abuse, family history (both personal and mental health) etc. Long tingz.

In the end though, he thinks they’ll help me. I don’t think I actually need their help, but the Psychiatrist wanted me to so that’s that. The guy that assessed me talked about day-patient treatment, but I really don’t think that’s necessary at all and said that. He’s taking my case to their team meeting tomorrow and he’s going to call me back to tell me about what keyworker I end up with and what the treatment will include etc. I don’t even know if they’ll take me because my problems seem pretty tiny in comparison to most of the people they must treat, yet he seemed pretty positive they’d help. But then isn’t that always the way – I assume my problems are completely not important to anyone but me, yet everyone else tells me I need treatment.

So treatment team number 5 is now officially involved. Five. Five treatment teams. Why do so many people not get the treatment they need, yet they keep throwing it at me when I don’t need it or deserve it? It’s not like I’m really that bad in comparison to some of the people I’ve talked to/emailed/read about. It really bugs me.

In other news, I’m not pregnant, which is pretty great. I’ve been freaking out about it for days. Incredibly late period, unprotected sex and yes I did use emergency contraception, but it’s less effective if you use more than once in like 2/3 months or something. So yer, serious freaking out, but I finally caved and did it and it’s fine, which is one massive stress off my shoulders, but it was quickly replaced by another – if I’m not pregnant, where’s my period gone? I do not want to have lost weight again and although I haven’t checked for a while, I was pretty sure I hadn’t, but now not so much. And there are so many other reasons you can lose your period, some of which are serious and some of which aren’t. I’m just going to pretend it isn’t an issue for a few more weeks and see what happens. I’ll go G.P. in a bit if it doesn’t sort itself out, but I’m there so often I feel like an idiot, needy bitch each time I go and think all the G.P.’s find me annoying and hate me.

In further, slightly (to most people) or incredibly (to me) traumatically, I accidentally shut the car door on my headphone jack today. If it had been the wire, it would have been fine, but it was the jack, which has now split. I now have no good headphones for walking with. I (obviously) immediately ordered some more on amazon and paid an extra £8 so they’ll turn up tomorrow, but I cursed and cried a lot a lot about it throughout the day. Plus I have no idea what time they’ll show up tomorrow, so I’m stuck in the house until they show, which both sucks (because I hate being shut in) and is great (because it means I won’t have to go anywhere with rubbish music capabilities). Plus my new headphones are prettier because they are cream colour.

But since I wrote this about an hour ago, I’ve had suicide threats thrown at me since and now I want to completely obliterate my entire brain into a haze of alcohol and drugs.

Fuck all this.

Thursday 1st November.

So today, I finally sobered up. I had to be sober for therapy this morning. Generally, I’m all for dramatic displays of distress – I storm out of therapy, storm in again, pout in anger etc. – but I make a point of turning up at therapy sober (not including Valium). I want to have my actual emotions in therapy, not chemically induced ones. After my disastrous phone call and crying, I cut myself quite badly, the HTT gave me some Valium, I drank a lot of vodka, went to the pub, drunk more vodka, went home with some more vodka, then got a medium amount of off my tits till about 4:30/5am. I then took some zopiclone and diazepam, got comfortably stoned and fell asleep to 30 Rock. The next day was Hallowe’en and I was obviously excited. The Ma buys all these great Hallowe’en themed treats and socks and gruesome scar stickers etc., so I was running around, feeling the festive cheer. It all seemed ok.

Then the HTT psychiatrist came over and I had a horrible conversation, realised I felt really shit about the incident the night before so obviously I spent all of Wednesday abusing my secret stash of diazepam, smoking too much and watching Fresh Meat curled up in bed, absolutely fucked. Obliteration of the mind so you literally cannot think. Even walking the dog was a minefield of not falling over and not going the wrong way and now walking into trees. All I managed to eat yesterday was some Hallowe’en chocolate and the McDonald’s the Brother bought home for me. It was all high calorie so I’m hopeful it was enough food. I just couldn’t deal with how horrible my insides are and all the guilt and it sucked out, so I just made it too chemically difficult to have coherent thoughts.

I’ve eaten slightly better today. Lots of fruit and veg and whole grain carbs so I can feel marginally healthy. As well as some cake (obvs). Therapy was really early, so my sobriety started from the get go. Today, therapy was hard. I’m pissed at the Psychologist for calling the Fam, though I tried really hard not to be because I had too much on my mind to not actually talk to him. I’ve put myself in a situation incredibly difficult to get out of and really needed to find new angles to think about. I actually felt good coming home from therapy today because I felt like there could be answers, so was impressively productive when I got home. I paid the Ma back (I owed her over £350 pound), sorted out moving my student account from NatWest to Co-Op because Co-Op are just nicer, found out how to defer the payment of my Professional Careers Development Loan, called uni and found out my dissertation deferral has been accepted and what my new deadline is, as well as what I’ll need to do to enrol as a “Non-attending Student” (which means another student card!), called the uni library to get my books renewed (even though they are hopelessly overdue and I can’t afford to pay them back) and got told they’ll probably waive the overdue fees anyway due to illness, I completed my application for a London Only Mental Health Freedom Pass (FREE TRANSPORT! YUSS!), walked Juno and got her a new lead and decided I’m going to get an iPhone 5 (because I like the clean interface and I want it to sync with my iPad which arrives tomorrow). That is so much more than I ever do. Mostly, I do nothing. I write, watch crap television, lie down a lot and walk the dog. Not today though. I actually sorted shit out. I’m pleased with myself for that really.

But then, as per usual, another phone call, another devastation, another HTT visit (from my #1 favorite, which was good) and now I’ve had some Valium as prescribed and am drinking vodka alone. The HTT person told me I can’t be responsible for other people’s feeling and actions, but that would mean that other people couldn’t give cause my emotional responses and that’s bullshit. So now I think I am the most responsible, the only support network and the worse person ever for trying to put my needs first by using what I’d picked up in therapy. A lot of days wind up like this. In a minute, I’m probably going to get into bed to read some blogs, watch some crap television, cry and try not to cut myself again. Sorry I haven’t been commenting. To be honest, I’ve been a little bit to out of it for coherent sentences. Sorry for being a selfish blog bitch.

Now I’m going to give you a song I should never, ever listen to. I’m going to give you some Postal Service. Give Up has been one of my favorite albums since year 9/10 (whatever year work experience was in my school. I know it was early though because they were all like “it can’t interfere with your G.C.S.E.s blah blah blah.” I used to listen to it on my first generation, pea green iPod mini), so I’ve loved and hated it since before it was cool, whilst it was cool and after it was cool. It is right up there with Transatlantism by Death Cab and Twenty One by Mystery Jets int the top 5 albums that fuck me up. Too much emotional attachment. Too much heartache. Too many memories. So of course, I’m listening to Postal Service now and I thought I’d share with you exactly how my of a fucking disappointment I feel in one of the songs that makes me feel like I have nothing left in the world. So here –

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1 Comment

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One response to ““you are not permitted to leave.”

  1. Oh Lordy, Postal Service. Never ever listen to that when you’re down. I love them deeply though, have so since forever.

    Love, please, can you not find a way to hand over your med-stash to your mum when you’re in a productive/all-over-the-place mood? And for god’s sake, why do you still have cut-lery (ha, ha) in your room? Get the friggin’ razors out. Be well love. And play something happy for me now, preferably on your new headphones if they came in yet!

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