hospital wards.

So I said I’d try to do blog posts from the past and from now. The last one was a now one, and this one is about inpatient. I’ve had a pretty bad little while so have put of posting this. It’s a kinda sad post, and I didn’t want to think about the sad. Re-reading it, it’s ridiculous how emotionally detached I become when trying to explain how I’ve felt. Everything is a load of facts and logic. I was told by a social worker that it’s actually a problem for me. Emotionally connecting to events. I emotionally feel things and think other things. The emotions and the facts don’t connect. I duno if that’s true, but this is from early December 2013. It’s probably not that enjoyable, but it’s there to read if you want.

So I tried to kill myself. A shit load of diazepam and a shit load of alcohol. I wound up in A&E, in and out of consciousness. When I was medically stable, I talked to the psych staff in the majors ward and was asked to go to an inpatient mental health ward.

After 13 hours in A&E and several instances of self harm (some requiring stitches), I was put in an ambulance and moved to a mental hospital. There was another girl there with her Mum, but I didn’t want anyone to come with me. I wanted to be alone. She looked scared though, so I’m glad she had someone. I was scared too.

I’d already hidden razor blades in places where no one found them. And lighters. When they searched me, they found nothing. I gave them one one blade to look genuine, but kept the other eight. I’m not going to go into hiding places because it might give ideas, but I had them on me, as well as a stocks of first aid stuff from A&E, so I could still self harm there, and I did. Even though I was on every fifteen minutes, then moved up to twenty four hour supervision after I spoke with a consultant. They tried to take my shoe laces and the strings out of my hoodies, but I convinced them style was too important to me, even though I knew it kept me the option of killing myself.

It was terrifying to start with. Being searched. Being made to wait with people you’ve never met. I met this great BPD girl though whom I’m starting to make friends with. She made me feel safe. I respect her for that, regardless of her issues, but I guess that’s because they are basically mine. She’s safe though. And made me feel safer.

The first ward I was on was the first with a bed, although technically I shouldn’t have been there due to me not fitting into its catchment area. The ward itself wasn’t so bad. The beds were a bit uncomfy, but it was clean and you had your own en suite bathroom. You could still have electronic devices like phones and laptops, though the chargers were kept in a locked office and everything had to be charged in there so you had no access to cords. The lack of music was depressing, especially as it’s one of my main self soothe techniques and I was seriously distressed. My allocated nurse was lovely and really helped me with my orientation and said she’d work to keep me on that ward as I’d find it distressing to move. She also told me that if they did move me, she’d put on my notes that I’d need access to music for soothing anxiety and my macbook for uni purposes. Although we weren’t allowed lighters, we could smoke every hour, and often in between because the nurses were pretty safe. I began to feel I could be ok spending a week in that ward.

Then on my second night, whilst I was sleeping, a nurse came in and told me a bed had become available in the ward that took in those from my catchment area and I had five minutes to pack up and move. I was distressed, tired and crying. My lovely allocated nurse had gone home so I couldn’t even look to her for help. Luckily, the girl I arrived with and the girl I’d made friends with had to be moved too, so I wasn’t alone in my shock and distress.

Once I got down to the other ward, everything got worse. They took my phone, my iPad, my macbook, my 3DS. All because they had cameras. They also took my make up because most of it had mirrors in it, and my perfumes because they came in glass bottles. They wanted my shoe laces and hoodie chords. All the time I was crying because I though my original nurse was supposed to help me in this scenario and I was tired and confused. I can admit my behaviour was quite extreme, but still, what do you expect from someone in an inpatient mental health ward. I asked to see the consultant because I couldn’t comprehend what was going on, but he just shouted at me “Rules are rules. You are causing too much distress. Either you discharge yourself right now, or I’ll discharge you right now.” So I got my shit together and left.

Having no where to go, I sat in the hospital courtyard crying. I ended up self harming to try and make it better, but it didn’t help. I just wanted to die. I watched the blood pool on the pavement and felt the release, but still just craved for it all to be over. I can honestly say I was on the cusp of running away. Getting out of London, maybe to the sea.

Luckily, I saw someone I knew from the Home Treatment Team (HTT) who’d always been safe to me. I called him over and he gave me a big hug and took me to A&E. I was hardly there any time, but this great guy had made some calls and got my family to agree to take me home and to be under HTT care whilst I was still in “crisis”. My Daddy came and got me. My family had tidied my room and bought me comfy pjs and tried to make me feel homely. I just wanted to go to sleep. It’s hard to sleep on a Valium detox though. It’s three thirty am right one and I’m still going.

Since being home, I’ve been seeing the HTT and they’ve been giving me the appropriate detox for my addiction so I can’t hoard tablets. They still don’t seem to have picked up on the fact I have enough aspirin to kill myself. I’ve gone back to self harming once or twice a day and am plagued by suicidal thoughts. No hope. No belief. Each day is a challenge to not just do it and get this all over with, but as I’ve said before, I have my thread of logic. I just don’t know how long that thread can last before it snaps.

The HTT are beginning to worry about not being able to keep me safe, especially as my self harm is escalating in severity and quantity and I am still actively suicidal. For now, they think it’s best to keep me in the community, but they are definitely considering putting me back into the inpatient ward from hell. It’s talked about most times they visit.

I don’t know what tomorrow holds. Maybe it’ll be great, but it’ll probably just be more of the same. I don’t believe it can be better.

differences and change.

So it’s been a while since I last posted and a lot has gone on. I’ve written a lot of posts and I’ve written, lots of diary entrances when I haven’t had access to computers, but like, after being kicked out, evicted, sponging off my best friend, being dumped, gaining a social worker, a suicide attempt, hospitalisation, running away from hospital, a lot of time under the HTT, losing a social worker and gaining a new one, graduating DBT group and finishing individual therapy, completing level one addiction treatment at Turning Point, more time under the HTT, completing an Intuitive Recovery course with Turning Point (getting me a level one qualification in health and social care as well!), finally getting my own flat at the end of March (all be it through the council and it’s medium mental health supported) and yesterday I finally got internet! It’s been really bloody hectic but I have some posts. I don’t know whether I should even post them as it’d be backdating so much. Or if anyone would read this. Or if I should start a new blog. This began as an eating disorder recovery blog and has definitely changed direction quite a lot, but I’m trying really hard to build up a life outside of my mental health problems, and maybe this would tie me to them, or maybe this could help me see how far I’ve really come. I duno. Maybe it could help others who have gone through similar stuff. Maybe that’s just arrogance.

If there are any readers out there, lemme know what you think.

Lovelove x.

(ps. Sorry I haven’t been keeping up with everyone. I’ve not had internet access and I’ve gone through a lot the past few months. I feel rubbish. I hope you’re all ok x.)

confusing times

Hiya guys! I wonder if anyone even remembers this blog exists. I sure don’t most of the time. A lot has changed I guess. I think the biggest, bestest change is that I really don’t worry about food that much. I stay around the same weight, though I duno how much that is because I haven’t weighed myself in about six months. I know my clothes all fit the same, basically all the time. And it’s a healthy size too. So for an eating disorder blog, there seems to be a distinct lack of eating disorder happening. I just eat – sometimes healthy, sometimes McDonald’s. I still have a bit of a problem with drinking calories, but I do when I really want to and it has no real negative impact on my life, doesn’t play on my mind and doesn’t give me unreal amounts of guilt so I don’t think it’s a problem.

It’s been quite nice taking a super long time off blogging because its given me time to get away from that eating disorder mindset. I haven’t focused on it and I don’t think about it too much. It’s good. Great in fact. I’ve been moving on and I’m doing well and kinda losing that bit of my identity. I mean, it still is plays a part in making me who I am, but in a kinda positive way. I eat a whole load of junk and I don’t have mad guilt. I now just think “I’m eating this because its tasty and I enjoy it and it makes me feel good.” I don’t even think about calories. I don’t read food packaging religiously. I just eat, but whilst actually thinking positively about it and enjoying food as it should be enjoyed really. I duno if I would have got to this point without having been eating disordered in the first place. I duno if I would have actually ever been able to reach a point where food is just enjoyable and good, with no baggage. And I feel fucking awful for anyone that struggles to eat without mental drama of some sort. Being a girl that eats like a beast is now a part of who I am. I like that.

What other things are new…

Well I’m basically living south of the river now (ergh) with some friends. There was essentially this huge dramarama involving self-harm, overdosing, stitches and Gym.  It really wasn’t his fault, but he was trashed and responded badly, then he was banned from my home so we moved to his. Then he got evicted, so we moved to whoever would have us. My friends said they’d put him up for a month and me up as long as I want. It’s good to get some space from what’s going on at home and I’m intending on heading back there, but for now I’m back in the family homestead.

See, I’m not sure I even have any blogging friend anymore. I’m not sure anyone who might read this will understand me or even care. I used to have blog friends, but I disappeared for almost a year. I got wrapped up in a boy who I love and gave all I have too. I lost myself entirely and in truth, I didn’t mind. I got attached in a really BPD way. He was my all or nothing. My emotional self became entirely reliant and I began to need him in a way I guess he didn’t respond to. I find trust almost impossible, find it hard to have him leave for a little while because it feels like rejection and I get desperate for him to stay. I try and fix anything and go to completely ridiculous extents. In one argument, he wanted space and tried to leave whilst I ended up on my knees, crying and begging him to stay. He controlled all my love and all my anxiety. I can understand my illogical, broken thinking, but it still effects my emotions and behaviours. Our arguments became fierce. My whole self became dependent on him.

At the same time, his life has kinda fallen apart. He’s homeless, with terrible credit and a job with shit pay. He’s shit at saving as well which doesn’t help and hasn’t got a great support network. He needs to sort his shit out. I’ve done nothing but try to help, but apparently my help wasn’t very good. In his opinion, he isn’t in a position to have a relationship right now. I get it, but it’s killing me.

Apparently I’m also too much. I rely on him too much and became too much of a priority for him. I stressed him though. I call too much, text too much, need to see him too much. I rely on him to help me be ok. He can’t do it right now and fix his own life up. He says it’s just too much. He says he loves me and does want a relationship right now, but he needs a break. A break to fix up his life whilst I fix up mine. A break of an undisclosed amount of time.

I didn’t want a break. I wanted to step back from the relationship, but keep a relationship going. He didn’t. We decided we’d stay friends during the break. We’d still contact each other, see each other a little etc., but then I think he changed his mind. He wants to emotionally detach from me. I don’t want this at all. I don’t even know if we’re good together but I want him in my life so much. So I sent him a text telling him what I was up to, but a few hours later he text me to tell me how much it wasn’t ok. I was out at a party, having a really nice time, totally trashed, but these texts devastated me. I had to go home, in absolute mountains of tears, too trashed to deal with it and hurting too much to understand.

We ended up texting last night. He told me it’s either no contact or break up. I said I needed time to think about it and he gave me the night. Then changed his mind that I had a night and stopped communication then and there. I don’t know if we’ve broken up or not. I also don’t understand how the break would end if we’re not talking and there’s no end date. He text in the middle of the night to explain why he was being a bit of a dick, but didn’t explain anything or apologise.

So now I’m just confused and hurting and I don’t know what to do. It sucks out really. Apparently I love him and he loves me, but maybe we can’t talk and maybe we can. Maybe we’ve broken up, maybe we’re on a break. I can’t ask because contacting might make him angry and hate me more. I don’t know what I want or what he wants and I’m desperately sad. I’m so sad because I’m so confused. It’s so unpredictable and unstable and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know whether to move on or keep where I am. I feel really horrible and I can’t turn to the person I care most about to help me.

Logic and emotion always fighting.

And what sucks the most is that I do think I’m making progress. I’ve been in treatment essentially since I met him and I am moving forward. My risk behaviours are way down. Almost none at all. I haven’t taken any really damaging overdoses or self harmed in months. I’m relying more heavily on drugs and alcohol to get through, but that’s less damaging. Maybe. The other day I was too trashed, slipped on a space hopper and broke my nose and possibly my teeth so it’s still a little bit damaging. My treatment is going good I think. I’m getting a new psychiatrist who I’m seeing tomorrow. I’m going to ask for maybe a mental health social worker if I can. I have housing and money problems now. My family home is supportive right now, but I don’t think it’s helping my mental health. After the drama, I feel kinda at a loss here. I love my family dearly, but after the drama and all the talk of not wanting to support me and how it’d be easier for them if I wasn’t here, it makes me need to go. I don’t know. I’ll be south of the river againIn a few days really. I have to learn to rely on myself. Money is a problem. My lack of structure is a difficulty. Basically, I’m in need to carving out a little life for myself.

So we’ll see. I’m going to hopefully start blogging a bit more about treatment and the steps I need to move forward and all that business. I want to start this up as a recovery blog again, but right now I’m not feeling strong in recovery right now. I thought maybe if I got this self indulgent stuff out of my system and started to find an outlet to talk about recovery techniques and skills and stuff again, maybe I could find some independent recovery focus again. I duno. It might not work and I might not keep the blogging up. We’ll see.

I’m going to read some blogs now. Distract myself from what’s happening right now and hopefully feel a little better. I think I need a lot of distraction right now. A lot of self soothe techniques, and general distress tolerance skills. Maybe I’ll blog about them soon.

I doubt anyone will I read this but maybe it’ll help me. Maybe write again soon.

flu.

I know I said I would blog more, but in fairness I’ve been really kinda ill. I wrote this a couple of days ago, so it’s slightly out of date. Sorry.

Firstly, I was mental health ill. I wound up in hospital again. Overdose on tranquillising prescription drugs and alcohol, plus some pretty horrid self-injury. Not good really. I don’t seem to be getting any real support from the NHS right now though, which I think is a bit of an oversight in their care. I don’t really know what I want from them, but I did kinda think the if you wind up in hospital for mental health reasons, someone should try to help you. Maybe I’m just naive.

So yer, another waste of my time being a complete idiot. I was with Gym, but he was too drunk to realise just how many sleeping tablets I was taking. I just didn’t want to feel anything. He was crying because I’d self-injured whilst he was out with his friends and it upset him so much. He was riotously drunk to be fair, but he was oscillating between telling me how much he cared and how important I am, to how he can’t just have another person fuck up his life and how I’m hurting him. We drank some wine, then he decided, in some sort of quest to make me understand, that he too should cut himself. Again, he doesn’t remember this. There was a lot of rum by this point. It got very dramatic. He was hiding razors and making demands and it wasn’t so great. Then he passed out, so I took more sleeping tablets and cut myself more dramatically, and in that stereotypically BPD way, woke him up covered in blood and crying, dripping all over my bed. To which he freaked out mode, so I took more sleeping tablets and drunk some more rum to try to numb myself out. Then I suddenly clicked that shit, this was not ok and started necking Pro Plus, coffee, Diet Coke, paracetamol plus and cold and flu tablets for the caffeine to keep myself awake and called the crisis team, who immediately sent an ambulance. By this point it was 7am and my family were waking up for work and I was struggling to walk and had to go to A&E. Obviously no one went to work that day. It was all very dramatic. They put me on some drips of some description, glued me up (badly, so some of the wounds didn’t actually close) and made me sit there till like 4pm. Once Gym had sobered up a little, he was so incredibly apologetic and tried so hard to look after me. He stayed with me for a few days to keep and eye on me and apologised for his drunken and terrible behaviour and feels a lot of guilt I think. I have a lot of guilt too. I upset my family and am dramatically pushing a boy I actually like away. Basically because I’m a dick. The glue didn’t work for some of the worst wounds, so they opened again. And stayed open. And got infected. And I had to get them dressed by a nurse at my doctor’s. Urgh. Stupid life. I hate the state I get myself into.

I’m feeling really fragile at the moment. I’m trying not to let it show. I’m trying to keep myself held together. I don’t want people to worry and I don’t want to drag anyone into my drama. I’m constant dramarama I know that, but if I keep myself together for others, then maybe I’ll get together for myself. You never know.

Then after that, I spent a little while being too damaged head to think about writing, basically until I got super physically sick. I managed to get out of bed today, but I did have to have a huge nap this afternoon. I’ve had some sort of delirious flu tonsillitis vomit mess. It was super gross. I couldn’t really see properly. Or walk. It snuck into my joints first. I was like this little old lady because my hips just proper killed and I couldn’t walk without hunching over and Gym was all like “ewww. Look at my old lady girlfriend. You’re so old” (mostly because I’m 23 and he’s 20 and he likes to remind me of this often). It was terrible as well because it hit me during a comedown and I was like ”ARGH! WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!?” because I had no idea what was happening to me until I realised my temperature was way high.

Something that really fucks me off is that if I’m in hospital or in bed delirious or whatever, and I don’t make therapy with IMPART, it counts against me. I’m allowed to miss up to 4 sessions in six months, but anymore than that and I’m kicked out. I missed one because I was in hospital on a drip and even though I was in hospital and called the Therapist up to tell her I wouldn’t make it, she still told me to try to get out early to get there if I could, which is actually pretty fucking dangerous to tell someone I think. Then when I had flu, I called the day before to say “I’m really ill so I don’t think I’ll make tomorrow”, to which she replied “Well just come in and have a quick session because if you don’t attend at all it’ll be one of your non-attendances.” I actually think that’s maybe a little too strict really. I mean, I get why it’s important to have attendance rules when working with people with personality disorders, but not even being allowed to be sick is a bit much I think. So is telling someone to leave hospital if they can. It’s all a bit much. Then obviously, an actually important bit of therapy in which we did a chain thing for how and why I wound up in hospital, I was out of it with a temperature and unable to focus on anything, which is pointless.

I did have my first DBT skills group yesterday though and that was surprisingly not so bad. I got there in a fucking awful mood because a) I was really ill and b) Gym said he’d take me to make sure I was ok, but then he got too stoned and fell asleep too long and his phone ran out of battery and so on so I was pissed off. It wasn’t too awful though. I ended up getting really fucking agitated and talking bares and being a bit annoying, but I think I made a good impression. The group is all women and I’m pretty sure they’re all older than me. It’s sad because it seems like they’ve all had to deal with this shit way longer than I have and they all seem way more run down if you know what I mean. It makes me happy I’m in treatment when I am, but it still really upsetting to see. I duno. Anyway, they seem nice. A lot of them have spent a lot of time in in-patient wards, which again makes me sad but they all seemed to be really friendly and open. On the group rules it said we’re not allowed to sleep with anyone in the group, which I think is a hilarious rule and it made me wonder if it’s so explicit in all group therapy situations or just when working with personality disorders. A couple of people in the group said they thought my “look” was really “stylish”, which I thought was hilarious, but I didn’t laugh because I’m trying to make sense.

Ooh and also, in between all of this, I cut my hair really short and got it dyed blonde with some purple bits in and it’s really great. Finally I got back to blonde. It’s like super short on the back and sides, with a long sweepy bit up front. It’s really great.

So there you go. Updates init. Love to you all.

back again

things in the last few days.

Wednesday 14th November 2012

So I’ve been having a bit of a blog break. My world has been a moody, hectic and stressful. I withdraw from the blog world when things are rubbish. Things are a bit rubbish right now.

The biggest rubbish thing is that Juno is very, very unwell. She started vomiting everything she ate and got really weak and feeble. The Fam took her to the vets last night and she needed an emergency operation, which she had in the middle of the night last night. Turns out, she’d swallowed a peach stone and it’d got stuck in her intestine. It’d completely blocked her gut and her gut had started to grow around it, so it was becoming a part of her. If we’d left it any longer, her gut would have probably ruptured overnight and she would have died, but she’s healthy and young and got there in time so she looks like she’s going to be ok. They had to remove six inches of her gut, and they also spayed her so she’s pretty unwell right now. She’s still at the vets to be monitored, plus she’s super doped up on painkillers, but me and the Brother got to visit her today and she seemed pleased to see us. Her bat ears stuck up and she rested her head on us and ate a little food and drank a little water. Hopefully she’ll be home on Friday (if everything goes as smoothly as it seems right now), but we won’t know for sure if she’s fully healed till a weeks time. Luckily, they don’t think there’ll be any lasting complications. Fingers crossed.

Juno at the vets, snuggling the Brother

So yer, right now I have no dog and I’m worried and sad and have no one to look after me in that way that dogs look after you. They really do save you sometimes. I miss her and she’s only been gone a day. I hate not having a dog around. So much.

On top of this, our kitchen has just started being redecorated. This is stressful in an eating disorder way (obvs.), but also because my house is full of people and its loud and hard to feel comfortable. They turn up, bump into HTT, smash things and generally lead to me hiding away. I hate people in my house, especially when I’m meant to be home alone. I like my alone time. It’s important to me. I like empty space sometimes.

The £2,000 peach stone

There are good points to it though. In one of my more hyper moments, I decided to create an incredibly selfish Facebook event in which I invite myself to people’s houses for dinner so that they can cook me nice foods to make the transition a little easier. I’ve been struggling with food a bit recently and I’ve lost a couple of kilos, so I think it’s important to try keep my eating up regardless. I figured what better to kick an eating disorder sneaking back in than letting other people cook me normal people meals. I used to find other people cooking for me horrific, then uncomfortable, but now fine. I figure this way, I’m less in control and will probably at least maintain a vaguely healthy weight for a while. Maybe I’ll even gain some weight. That’d probably be a good thing if it does happen. It’s only two weeks. Plus I’ll get to spend a little more time with my friends, which is always fun. Yesterday I saw a couple of people and their aces gecko Ricardo and we ordered Thai and drunk wine and gin and I had a nice time. It was good to see people. Especially people I don’t see enough and actually really like.

But yer, the kitchen makes life more difficult. It’s annoying and makes eating hard. Especially with Valium withdrawal. Valium withdrawal symptoms come and go in varying intensities, but it basically sucks out. I occasionally break and end up taking more than I should, but it is so hard you have no idea. It’s like the worst flu ever – tremors run through your entire body, you’re exhausted but can’t sleep, you get extreme fluctuations in body temperature and mood, my brain is louder, my appetite is just gone, there’s dizziness and generally feeling like you could collapse at any point, your head gets foggy and everything gets less real, you shake and have that not sleep you get with a fever, nightmares, increased urges self-injurious thoughts, anger, irritability, feeling like you literally might be about to die because you can’t breathe, feel nauseous and so dizzy you literally cannot stand. It’s shit. Another reason blogging has been a little rubbish recently.

Another stress had been the major amount of life admin I’ve had to go through recently. Sorting out my freedom pass, upgrading my phone with O2 and Carphone Warehouse, sorting out the Ma’s new phone contract, switching banks, sorting out a new student bank account, trying to work out uni, sorting out deferring my Professional Careers Development Loan due to being in benefits, having no money. It basically means I’ve spent what feels like years on hold. On hold to O2, Carphone Warehouse, NatWest, Co-Operative Bank, Tesco Mobile, Job Centre Plus, university etc. Urgh. I actually feel like I’ve done so much, but it’s probably haven’t done all that much really. I still haven’t decided if I want to insure my iPhone and iPad, so that might be a little bit more admin, but it’s like the least important bit left.

Treatment is also really bringing me down. I’m hating on the HTT, arguing with CDAT, telling the Psychologist I hate him more than anyone else and how he can’t help me, telling everyone off, shouting at the IMPART group that I’m never coming back because they suck. I don’t even know if I need help, but everyone thinks I do and I don’t know what to do about it. Double urgh.

Thursday 15th November 2012

So I did my finish my post yesterday – I got too Valium ill. Sorry.

Things are a bit brighter today because I got to pick up Juno from the vet because the recovery has been going so well. She’s going to need special food and special medications and special walks for a week, but she’s doing well. She’s very confused from all the painkillers and I think they make life a little difficult, but she’s beautiful and home and the vets all really like her and she doesn’t even have to wear a cone on her head because she’s been so good and isn’t even touching her stitches because she’s so well-behaved. I love my puppy so much. I’ve been appointed supreme pup watcher for the next week so I’m going to be well on watching her to keep her safe. She makes me so happy. I’m still scared, but it looks like she’s going to be ok. I now have a purpose again – keep Juno safe and healthy and happy.

I also actually went to my IMPART group today. It wasn’t as bad as the past few weeks, but I think I’ve realised that I’m actually quite behind where a lot of others in the group are right now. I’m pretty sure I’m the youngest and I’m pretty sure that I’m not as good at managing my emotions and impulses as most of them. What they are showing us seems impossible right now. Today, it was anger and anxiety management, but it was all like “in between the trigger and the behaviour, you have all this time to intervene and stop your thought processes etc.”, but all I could think was “what time between trigger and behaviour? There is no time between trigger and behaviour.” It made me feel pretty useless. I don’t think I can stop my impulsive behaviours. I honestly don’t know how. In showing me how, I got to listen to what other people do and it was all like “exercise” which I can’t do without going overboard, or “learn to be assertive” or “step outside the situation.” I am really not good at being assertive and have pretty poor interpersonal skills. I do ok with the people who know me really well, but not so much with new people, and even when the people I’m in love with make me feel too much, I often react in the wrong ways. They deal with it though. I think there’s a general feeling within my friendship circle that I’m not actually the problems, which makes my friends super aces. I’m just realising I really don’t have any coping mechanisms for managing my emotions. Except self-harm, spending money, not eating and getting fucked. Way to go Ellie – fucking useless at self-regulation. Triple urgh.

I am actually complying with treatment though. Kinda. I struggle with the Valium thing a bit, and I drink too much and smoke too much, self-injure too much. I know this, but I’m not trying to fix it because I don’t have any other ways too. Still, I actually went to all my appointments. On most days, I do actually get dressed and out of bed, even if I haven’t slept much. I am really trying to be budget and to eat lots and to stay as safe as possible. I don’t call the HTT as much as I should, but I don’t like them as a whole unit. They can’t keep me safe from myself and I won’t let them really. Maybe I’m half complying.

The thing is, although I’m taking some action to get better, I’m not sure if I believe I’m ill or deserve help or need to get better or have the motivation to. Intense emotions suck out, but sometimes they are great because intense love and intense happiness and intense excitement are really fabz. However fleeting and uncontrollable these emotions may be, I honestly believe I feel them stronger than other people. I know black and white thinking can be bad – everything is all or nothing. However, I have a strong sense of right and wrong and I like that. When applied to myself, it sucks, when applied to outside circumstances, I have a strong opinion and without the grey, I gain passion. Sure, my identity and opinions can change rapidly depending on my surroundings, but I think it means I am more able to empathise with other people sometimes as I really do absorb their views so whole heartedly. My impulsivity around things like drugs and alcohol and shopping etc. make me more fun to be around sometimes. Sure, the dissociation, negative self-beliefs, parasuicidal behaviours, impulsivity when alone etc. suck, but there are positive things about the way I am now. And that’s the thing – this is who I am. I don’t know if I want to be anyone else. I’m taking action, yet I see the positives and don’t know if I’m ready for change.

Still, being unable to work and being unable to do the things I want to do and struggling every fucking day might make this all worth it. I just don’t like knowing what’ll be left of me when this is all done. Will I even be me? I hate not knowing.

But finally, some other great news – my uni have decided to waive my fees and make me a part-time student so I can access all the support I need. This makes me supez happy. It’s also scary as it means I’ll actually have to finish my degree this year, but I have a whole year to do a dissertation so hopefully it’ll be ok. I’m scared, but at least I’m able to access any support I need. Fingers crossed. Once my freedom pass shows up, I’ll be back at uni to try sort it all out.

So goods and bads and lots in between. This is some sort of update I guess. I hope you’re all well.

Juno having a nap – home again :)

angry.

I guess this could be a trigger. Sorry.

So last night I called the HTT crisis line because I was so worked up and distressed and I’d just got off the phone to the Ex and I felt out of control and fast and mean and basically the whole world sucked and I blamed treatment.

I literally have nothing normal left in my life anymore. Since starting treatment over a year ago I’ve only lost things. I’ve lost thing after thing till now I’ve got nothing nice left. The only thing I’ve gained is a bunch of professionals that are paid to pretend to care about me, but make it pretty fucking clear they don’t give a fuck. I didn’t feel safe.

I told them I never wanted anyone to come to my house again. The guy I was speaking to is actually nice and he got worried. I told him I’d lost everything and that having people barely conceal their contempt for me only hurt me more and I didn’t want any part of it ever again. I told him I wanted out of it all and I didn’t feel safe and they weren’t helping and everything in my life has just be getting worse and worse. This went on for a little while and he eventually agreed to the HTT calling me instead of visiting this morning and told me he cared and was worried and would listen and I should call him back if I needed to.

I didn’t call back. Instead I self harmed. It was quite severe, but I managed it with my now expert injury first aid and eventually felt better enough to fall asleep at about 4am.

I then get woken up by the HTT knocking on my door, and not just them, but also my new key worker from CDAT. I got so angry and told them over and over I didn’t want them there and had been told they wouldn’t come and they refused to leave because I had to talk to the CDAT woman and I hate her and I hate them and they lied and I wasn’t dressed and I hate every single part of my mental health treatment.

After they left, I called the HTT and asked them never to come back again and I didn’t want anymore treatment from them. They lied to me and didn’t care and they make me hurt more. Apparently they’re going to call me this afternoon, but I don’t even think they will seeing as they are full of lies and don’t give a shit. They talked about sectioning me if I didn’t comply with them, but I can’t even see how they have the power to do that. You need like two psychiatrists to section someone, and it’s not like any of them talk to each other. Like this morning I was told they’d come back this evening, then on the phone I was told they’d come back tomorrow morning. None of them have any fucking clue what the plan for my treatment is. I doubt they could get two psychiatrists in the same fucking room.

I then called the CMHT to asked to be discharged from them. The Psychiatrist is on leave so I can’t leave them till next week.

Following that, I called the Psychologist and left a message for him to call back. He didn’t, so I left a subsequent message saying I never wanted to see him again. He eventually called back and said he “hopes I turn up and he won’t discharge me yet” and said he’ll leave it in my hands to contact him if I don’t go. I’m most angry with him because he pretends better than everyone else. And if he didn’t tell me the Ex was a cunt, I’d probably still have someone to love me. If he hadn’t told me it was ok to take time out of uni, I’d probably have a fucking degree. If he hadn’t told me I needed further help, none of the other fucking teams would be involved. And he called my fucking parents. How am I supposed to trust him?

I can’t get in touch with IMPART because I didn’t save their number and I’ve swapped phones. Imma try get their number from someone else, but I don’t know who yet. I fully intend to leave their services as well.

CDAT can go spin to be honest. I told her as much, but she made an appointment for me anyway. I’m not going to go. She said if I don’t go, she’ll call, but it’s not like I have to reply. Calls from mental health treatment places always come up as private numbers so its pretty easy to know which ones to ignore.

I then called uni to ask to formally drop out, but I have to talk to my personal tutor before I can do that and he’s not in so I emailed.

I want to be out of treatment now. Out for good. All I’ve got from treatment is a worse life. All I had left was my fucking degree and that’s gone now so fuck it. If I’d never started treatment, I probably could have aced a dissertation by now and be finished and not care that all my friends hate me and my family think I’m disgusting because I’d be pretty and small and that would be enough and I’d have a boy and future. Instead, I’ve complied with everything asked of me and have essentially lost everything. I make the Fam cry, the Brother always chooses others over me when I really need him, my friends all think I’m rubbish and weird, the Ex treats me rubbish and I hurt him and the DVIP people keep calling me to tell me how shit he is and he calls me to tell me how shit they are and now I’ve lost uni. The one fucking normal thing I had left.

So fuck them all. I did as I was told and tried and now I’m angry and alone and have horrendous withdrawal symptoms. I keep having panic attacks and can’t focus or sleep and get tremors all over and I fucking hate every part of ever having entered treatment. So I no longer have an eating disorder? It’s not like I have anything else.

It hurts me more to be surrounded by people who pretend they care then it does to be alone. It’s better to not have it rubbed in your face that the most important thing you do is provided by people who think you’re worthless. Fuck them all. Seriously.

crazy 24 hours.

Last night was really bad. I tried to distract myself, but it didn’t work for long.

I duno what flipped in me, but I flipped and got really agitated and distressed. I wound up on the phone to the HTT at midnight or summin with a bottle of aspirin and the full intent to die. Because they’re in and out of A&E at night, they had bad signal and promised to call me back in 10 minutes. It took me about 3 minutes to decide I couldn’t just sit, so I self-harmed pretty badly down my already gnawed up arms. Nothing that needed A&E, only steri-strips. That lasted about 45 minutes till I called them back again and there was no answer. So I then called the Crisis line, which was also useless and just burst into tears until they found someone to connect me to. He talked to me for about 45 minutes and persuaded me that yes I should take my meds rather than try to hoard them and I calmed a little, but still felt unsafe.

I got the Brother to come and sit with me. I told him how I felt honestly, even that I wanted to just die because it all burnt so much. I think that was brave of me. He made me some apple squash, put on Time Trumpet and watched it in bed with me and Afiq (my teddy). I even took my zopiclone, though it didn’t work so well. We got through the whole season before I felt sleepy, but he left me falling asleep to the Armando Iannucci Shows. The Brother was good and picked things that made me giggle and lifted my mood up a lot. He looks after me better than anyone else in the world. He doesn’t cry or tell me how he doesn’t understand or ask questions. He accepts it and goes “Right – let’s do something nice together right this second. For as long as it takes.” I need that when I’m feeling so desperately lost and low. I can’t find a way out myself, so asking me anything and expecting positive outcomes is ridiculous because I can’t find the answers.

I woke up not too drowsy and a little bit more hungry than I have been the past few days. I think the initial side effects of the zopiclone are wearing off a bit now. I was able to eat breakfast, a cookie and a big lunch, though I feel too sick to eat right now so I duno how dinner will fare up. I was in a foul mood though. I was angry. Like really angry. I was fuming at the HTT for not making it better and not taking me seriously. Sometimes I think I should just kill myself so people will finally believe I’m not making all this up. I get paranoid that everyone thinks I make it up so they don’t listen to me or take anything I say seriously. Then I start to think that I am making it all up and I’m fine, so I need to make myself less ok. Then I realise I’m not ok in the first place if I’m thinking of doing serious harm in order to get other people and myself to believe me. It’s a cycle of thought with no clear exit. Anyway, I was planning on shouting at them and telling them that they don’t care and don’t listen and don’t understand, but I managed to keep myself marginally acceptable when they came. I was argumentative and rude (which I regret), but I didn’t tell them how much I fucking hate them or anything. I don’t even hate them. I just felt like they didn’t care, which made me hate them at that moment in time.

Keeping my anger in didn’t last long though. I’ve been getting angry lately that the Pa wants to walk Juno all the time. We share care for her. He gives her breakfast and a quick morning walk, I give her a long daytime walk and lunch, the Ma feeds her dinner and the Pa gives her a quick evening walk. This works out well for me because generally, I’m home alone during the days, so I can walk her whenever and we get lots of bonding time. Granted, now the clocks have gone back, the walks will literally have to be earlier, but I have trouble motivating myself to do anything for hours once I wake up so I generally walk her between 3-6pm (now it’ll have to be 2-4pm. Fucking daylight savings). The Pa has some time off work because it’s half-term for the Ma and it was Eid on Friday so she had that off too. He’s kept asking me if he could walk her or saying “I’m thinking about walking Juno now” at like 1pm, whilst I’m probably still in pajamas. I’ve got it into my head that he hates that she’s not his dog and his dog only. I think he’s trying to steal her from me. My walks with Juno are one of my favorite parts of the day because I have music and my pup and autumnal weather, so this has been really getting to me. Juno looks after me and I love her and I don’t want her to stop loving me (some next level abandonment issues. I mean, come one – She’s a dog. She loves everyone). Anyway, I went downstairs to give her a hug and she ignored me calling and just sat by the Pa. Now I know she’s a dog and has no bad intentions, but this really really hurt me anyway. I then told the Pa he could walk her and he’d won and he’d got her all to himself now. I then ran upstairs and started hitting and biting and ripping etc. Obviously I had to go upstairs because I didn’t want Juno to feel stress in the household as it would upset her.

Anyway, the Brother came to talk to me and suddenly I was devastated. I was crying about how no one loved me and the Pa had stolen my dog from me and I had no one to care for me and even my dog can’t love me and blah blah blah. I was angry and devastated and confused. Mostly, I was just way too emotional. The Pa came into my room and I shouted and cursed and cried some more. Standard. He told me to just hug my puppy, but I told him she doesn’t love me anymore and I didn’t want to be rejected again etc. You know the drill. So I told him off, cried, and kicked him out my room. He threatened to send Juno to Battersea because he “doesn’t want a dog to tear a family apart” (which I think is a bit dramatic, but I know I was being dramatic too). I told him that I love her too much to let her go. It was a bit of a scene.

Once left alone to my own devices, feeling like death and wanting to self-harm, I checked the Daily Puppy (I know I keep going on about it, but still), just to see whether they’d accepted or rejected her. I did not expect to see my beautiful Juno staring at me as the puppy of the day 27th October 2012! All of a sudden, my mood changed entirely. I was ecstatic. I called the Pa and ran downstairs with my laptop to show him. I read all the comments, told everyone how many biscuits she had, started scouring twitter for all the Juno related tweets, ‘liked’ the Daily Puppy facebook page and shared their picture of Juno and commented on it and linked her profile on my page and was just really happy. As of right now, over 1,000 people on Facebook have ‘liked’ her picture and 54 have shared it, she has 1,611 biscuits and 52 comments on her Daily Puppy page. People are even putting her on Pintrest. I got major excitement. Bouncing off the walls excitement. We went on an extra long hour and a bit walk today so I could show my whole neighbourhood the puppy of the day. She’s a local celebrity, even though no one recognised her. I’m generally not someone to show off their pets like this, but with Juno I just feel so compelled. She’s too adorable.

Suddenly, I love everyone and everything and today is fantastic and I complied with the HTT treatment and took my medications in front of them. I promised I’d call again if I have another minor crisis or need to self-harm again tonight. The CMHT Psychiatrist (who will, at some point, be just the Psychiatrist, but I’m taking a transition period to not confuse people) emailed me this morning and told me I should go to the local Community Drug and Alcohol Team (CDAT) for help with my Valium issues. I emailed him back to tell him it was stupid this morning. I already have four teams involved in my care – adding another seems a bit much and a bit confusing. IMPART + CMHT + EDU + HTT + CDAT = waaaay to many acronyms. Plus, I’ve already been working on it myself to get off it. Then this evening I talked to the HTT about it and now I’m going to go tomorrow. I have to be there at 9:30am to get seen quickly as they only offer drop in sessions and the later you get there, the longer the wait, which sucks, but they’re in the same building as the HTT so I can kill two birds with one stone in that trip. Plus an extra hours walk is an extra hours worth of headphones so it’s not so bad. Still, at least group is cancelled this week so I don’t have that to cope with as well as all this other treatment malarky.

What is rubbish though is that, with the HTT coming twice a day (due to my tablet hoarding compulsions), I had to miss dog training today. The Pa can show me it all tomorrow so I can catch up, but I hate missing it, but it’s only one class and its session two, which is the same one I saw when I visited the group to see if it’d be good for Juno. I reckon I can figure it out better with the HTT by this time next week (if they’re even still seeing me twice daily. To be fair, if they are, I’d prefer them to come evenings anyway because I can’t got out in the dark as it is, but I can get them to come earlier).

This might sound all positive, but I’m not sure it is. Right now, I’m less excited. More lonely and sad. That’s probably because I just had some Valium though. The problem is, as I’m lowering my Valium intake or as more life stresses build up (having to repay my Professional Careers Development Loan, broke without a job for instance), my personal life gets more complicated and painful or my duloxetine needs to be upped or for whatever mixture of reasons, my emotions are becoming increasingly volatile. Both in a good, and bad way, they are getting more and more intense. More and more difficult to manage.

I’m getting more obsessive over little things too. Right now, I’m obsessively trying to decide between an iPhone 5 or a Galaxy SIII. I’m also obsessing over the Daily Puppy thing. It’s not like I mind being obsessive, but I find it hard to do anything else. Especially the things I need to do (like sort out how to pay off this loan and try to change my student bank account to Co-op so all my accounts are in one bank, thus easier to manage and getting the Psychiatrist to sort out my freedom pass etc.). I look over the same webpages again and again and I can’t not do it. Everything else becomes secondary to whatever I’m obsessing over. I’m also starting to get hyped up about my iPad 4 turning up (I had a major breakdown in Sainsbury’s, so even though it was against store policy, they gave me a refund so I pre-ordered the new one. Not a mini one though. I don’t want a mini one). I’m counting down days. Literally. It’s arriving on Friday and I cannot contain myself. Then on Monday I can upgrade my phone and well…. that’s its own minefield. These things cost money I shouldn’t spend, but I figure I can deal with it at some point in the future.

I’m also getting more irritable. Little things are triggering anger, rages and hate. Like the fact that it’s half term and the Fam are all around and I get irritated when they speak to me because this is my time and if they try to hard, I get angry and hate them. Of course, they are all trying too hard because the Psychologist told them about my increasing level of risk and stash of painkillers. I’m self-harming more and more, and it’s getting progressively worse. None of this is really that good. I’m not trying to stop it either. I don’t know how to and even if I did, I’m not sure I have the motivation for change. I’m acting as if I’m ready to change. I’m taking all the right steps and trying to do what I’m asked sometimes,  but if they don’t watch me take my meds, I hoard them. I’m not trying to cut down on self-harm. I’m not giving the HTT my stash of pills like they keep asking. I’m perfectly aware of the fact that it’s dangerous to have them there as I tend to act on impulse, but I want to keep that option open and I know that if I gave them away, I’d just buy more the same day and not tell them.

So I don’t know if I’m doing good or not. I don’t know if I’m being compliant with treatment or not. I don’t know what I want to get out of it or if I’m ready to change. I don’t even know if I even need help or not. If I’m acting or I really feel like this. I don’t know what to do or if I’m doing everything wrong.

All I know is that no one hears me screaming and I’m desperate to find a way of letting the whole world know how much my insides burn so that someone will understand and make it better. I don’t even think that’s possible.

remission/recovered.

Today was a big day in terms of treatment. Like a really big day.

Firstly, I had an appointment with the Psychiatrist at my EDU. Obviously, I was weighed. It was down from last time by a few kilos, but I think that’s due to natural variation due to time of the month, what I’d eaten etc. Still well within the healthy range though. My BMI has settled to a healthy 21 (ish), regardless of what I eat or how much I exercise. I’m getting a whole load better at understanding my hunger signals – I eat whatever, whenever. Today I even had a greasy spoon sausage baguette (don’t judge me. It’s literally one of my favorite foods. Deep fried, bad quality sausage in a buttered white baguette tastes so boom its almost obscene) which is something I never thought I’d ever eat again. The Psychiatrist was so pleased with my progress. She said it was really surprising considering some of the shit I’ve had to deal with whilst with them, yet I stuck with the treatment plan fairly consistently for an eating disorder patient and that she’s really impressed with my perseverance. She has pronounced me eating disorder free! I know that my eating is something I have to keep my eye on (probably forever) as relapses are common and eating disorder behaviours can sneak back in or manifest themselves in different ways, but right now, I live basically eating disorder free. It’s actually really good. Life is a lot less tense. Plus I actually am getting used to my body and don’t entirely hate it. I’m almost sad that summer is over because I can’t wear crop tops as much any more. Today I did wear an incredibly tight, incredibly short black dress though so it’s not like I’m ashamed of my body. I don’t even think I’m that big. I look big sometimes, other times not so much. I eat what I like, but I don’t want to eat everything. I don’t have weird cravings to eat all the dried fruit or all the calcium or all the nut butter or all the honey. Some of my recovery foods seem a little bit sickly now. It’s ok though. I don’t always want biscuits or chocolate or chips, but when I do, I can eat them happily. I can and do eat whatever I like, yet I don’t actually want to eat everything, all the time. I didn’t think it’d ever be possible again. Sometimes I eat so much cake I feel a bit sick, but I don’t purge and my weight doesn’t change and it doesn’t upset me too much. Sometimes I don’t eat enough, so I grab some extra fruit or have some cereal or whatever. It is entirely possible to get to this point. You’d think it wasn’t, but it is. I’m even losing my food morality things. I used to thrive in the moral superiority in eating low-calorie, low-fat, lots of veggies, lots of fibre, lots of fruit, or nothing at all, especially when other people are eating around me. Now I’ll happily munch on some chips smothered in salt and pepper in front of everyone I know. I’ll even make chip sandwiches because they are too lovely (carbs go so well with other carbs I swear). It’s not hard to order something I know is higher calorie than what people around me eat. The best bit is that I don’t think about food or plan food or count calories 24/7. And my fat is redistributing a bit. My belly isn’t too big – it’s kinda soft and nice. My arms look so much healthier it’s ridiculous. I actually think my legs are well buff, even though my thighs definitely touch, almost entirely.

So yer, I’ve basically been discharged from my EDU. I never have to be weighed by anyone but myself for the forseeable future and that makes me happy. I hate other people weighing me. I like to weigh myself first thing, naked, before a shower which might be weird, but it’s entirely fine because it doesn’t disrupt my life at all. I’m just more comfy when I’m at my lowest possible weight of the day, but I’m also fine with the fact that that weight will increase as the day goes on, I just don’t have to see it. I’m never going to see my EDU psychiatrist or dietitian or family therapist again. It actually makes me happy. The only reason I’m not fully discharged is because I’m still seeing the Psychologist until I’m under the care of a more appropriate service because he thinks it’s crucial that I have regular contact with mental health services. I’m a “high risk” and “unstable” patient so the NHS have to know whether I need urgent intervention or crisis care. As soon as I’m under more appropriate care though, I’ll be out of the EDU. Hopefully forever. I’ll be really sad when I lose the Psychologist, but I’m happy to be out of the rest of it because I honestly don’t feel like I belong there anymore. It took over a year, but I just don’t think I need their help any longer. I am thankful to them in every way though. I know lots of people have terrible experiences of eating disorder (and mental health more generally) treatment on the NHS, but I can really only sing their praises. There are obviously issues with waiting lists and being able to contact your psychiatrists and stuff, but without their treatment, I’d probably still be sick. The treatment the offered me was all in line with the best evidence based treatment I’ve learnt and researched about. I had regular contact with everyone on my team, there was a heavy focus on refeeding as the single most important aspect of initial treatment, an emphasis on reaching a BMI over 20 and flexible care that tailored around my needs as they changed. They’ve been so brilliant. I literally could not see a way out of anorexia, but with their help I found one and I’m all the better for it.

So now I’m no longer classified as having anorexia nervosa or an eating disorder or disordered eating or anything. I’m ‘recovered’ or ‘in remission’ or however you’d like to put it and I intend to stay that way. Ker-fucking-ching.

Today was also the day of my initial assessment for IMPART. It was basically a screening for all axis II disorders, so all the different personality disorders were checked for. I can officially say that I don’t have antisocial or narcissistic or schizotypal or histrionic or avoidant or dependant or schizoid or paranoid or obsessive compulsive personality disorders. That is good news. That’s so many mental health problems I don’t have to worry about.

However, I did finally receive an official diagnosis. Only a personality disorder specialist psychiatrist can officially diagnose personality disorders and now, it’s official – I have borderline personality disorder. Although I already knew that, I kinda hoped it would turn out to not be true and that a specialist would tell me I was fine. I also hoped they’d tell me it was true so I could be given the hope that I might one day have a better quality of life. It’s a mixed bag of emotion. Apparently I score very highly on the borderline part of the test and am considered to be “severely affected” by the disorder. I guess I knew that already, but I hate when people say it. The assessment was over two hours long. It was seriously hard work and incredibly stressful, but I got through it.

So now I’m on another waiting list – this time for a psychologist to become free to take on my treatment. Apparently its six to eight weeks, though it could be shorter because I was one of the earlier ones to receive a round one assessment after the summer break and they still have a lot behind me. The psychologist may decide that I’m not suitable for treatment with IMPART at all so again, it’s scary. I tend to think that everyone will see that I’m not deserving of help so I always assume people will think I’m completely fine and don’t need their help and be told to go away. The second assessment tries to work out what the best course of treatment is for each individual. It also screens for any axis I mental health problems which may need to be treated before treatment for BPD can begin. Thankfully, because many people with personality disorders have suffered trauma, PTSD won’t rule me out, and because substance abuse is high in people with BPD, that won’t rule me out either. Both are treated within the service. If, for example, I was still suffering with anorexia, that would have to be treated for that first so IMPART wouldn’t take me on. I don’t consider myself depressed (even though I have that diagnosis right now) and I don’t think anxiety would be too much of an issue for them as it’s probably part of the BPD package. Seeing as I have no other diagnosis and don’t think anything else is wrong with me, I hope it’ll be ok. I’m worried about it though. If they take me on, I could be offered 6, 12 or 18 months treatment of CBT or DBT, but the woman who assessed me thinks it’s pretty likely I’ll be offered 12 or 18 months DBT, considering my high risk behaviours and BPD score level, with options to continue treatment if necessary after the completion of the initial time frame. That’ll involve a weekly group session and a weekly individual session. There’s also a possibility I’ll be put into other group therapies like mindfulness group or anxiety group, but that’ll be worked out at the next assessment. She also thinks my treatment will involve regular telephone consultations with whoever my psychologist ends up being. It all sounds pretty intense and apparently it’s actually a lot of hard work, but so was my eating disorder treatment so I’m hopeful I can manage it.

For now though, I have been given her work mobile number to contact her with any queries or questions, either through call or text. I’ve also been invited to join a group session specifically designed for people in this phase of treatment – all the people with personality disorders who are waiting for their second round of assessments. I don’t know if I’ll go yet. It’s quite far away from my house and in an area I don’t know that well and I get pretty scared in places I don’t know. It’s essentially a starter group for CBT and DBT style treatments and to get comfortable working in a group, as well as keeping in contact with the service in order to remain more likely to comply with treatment. We’ll see I guess. I also got a self-help pack. No lie – the NHS have stated that if I’m feeling distressed, I can comfort myself by smoking a cigarette. They also suggest making a secret code, smashing a watermelon, having a polo, trying to wake up before lunch time, building a house of cards, staying in bed, eating chocolate, asking a friend to hold me and creating my own cartoon legend (yes they did use the word legend). There are other things as well, but those are the strangest. There’s also some stuff on relaxation exercises, emotional health and mindfulness in it, as well a lot of numbers to call in a crisis. I got given a crisis card to keep with me as well (in case I ever need to contact crisis services out and about).

All in all, it’s been a very emotional, hard, happy and stressful day. So much to think about – both good and bad. I’m both optimistic and devastated. Excited and anxious. Happy and sad. It’s a lot to take in and I think I might need a little bit of time to recover from it all. Lots of sleep and puppy times ahead I hope.

iBalls.

Today, I have an excruciating eye. I couldn’t sleep last night because it was so bad. Out of not where, my right eye started really hurting and now it’s red and swollen and sore. I don’t think it’s conjunctivitis because I’ve had that before and your eye goes all gunky, but it isn’t this time. It’s just really really painful. I saw my G.P. about it and he’s given me some drops and told me to go to A&E about it tomorrow morning when the eye unit opens because he thinks I scratched the cornea. Gah! It’s really horrid. It made today especially stressful, extra specially because I had a hair appointment and horrible pain eye with lots of hair in it is worse than just the eye on its own. Still, my hair is pretty.

So anyway, where are we at? I had a psych. appointment yesterday at the CMHT. I love my psychiatrist there. He’s so aces and not at all up himself like other psychiatrists I’ve seen. We talked about my upcoming assessment and he was really good about it. Again, another person who thinks that IMPART will take me on no sweat, though I’m still terrified obvs. The most important thing we talked about was my serious diazepam dependence though. He’s upping my prescription to help to ween me off it slowly rather than me lying and cheating in order to get enough to feed my habit. Now I’m prescribed 30mg a day which is better. I can’t sleep without at least 15mg, and the rest I munch throughout the day. Now there’s a real effort and plan to get me off it by lowering my dosage by 5mg every two weeks which is probably good.

I sometimes think I take too much medication. My pharmacist keeps a little log of what I take and when so that they don’t accidentally give me some combo that’ll fuck me up or be really ineffective because I’m such a regular. Right now, I have seven prescriptions in my name. Fucking hell. It makes me feel like one of those little old women with their pill boxes. I’m thinking of getting a pill box now though because they seem pretty useful. At least then I’d know remember what I’d taken and missed each day. Way too many meds.

Anyway, seeing my psychiatrist was surprisingly good, but I’d been anxious about yesterday for a whole host of reasons for a while now so I simply cracked and displaced that anxiety with consumer excitement. On Monday, I decided I was going to buy a tablet. I then spent hours and hours researching tablets on the Internet. I settled on a Samsung one, but in the end I couldn’t go to sleep I was so excited. I managed about 2 hours before waking up again at six in the morning with excitement. Only to research more and change my mind about the tablet I was getting obvs. Seriously, I haven’t been that excited in ages. It was like christmas or something. Purely uncontainable, childlike, overly agitated, adrenaline fuelled excitement. I felt kinda out of control. Tuesday involved a lot of running and jumping and skipping and tripping and dancing and singing and all sorts of ridiculousness. After my psych. appointment, I basically ran to get the bus to the big Sainsbury’s to pick up my new iPad 3 (my brother works in Sainsbury’s so I used his discount. I didn’t go that far in such a random direction for no reason don’t worry). I am now the proud owner of an iPad (late to the party I know), which I’m using to type this out because it’s exciting and fun and new. I’ve got so many apps you wouldn’t believe. And also, I finally get to play this Infinity Blade my brother has been harping on about. It is actually pretty fun though. That is, until your eye starts to get stabbing pains. Fucking eyes. Seriously, what the fuck?

I have so many nerves right now its ridiculous. I’m so close to being out of stress city though so hopefully I’ll calm down soon. At least the diazepam should help. Plus it should also mean less heavy reliance on other drugs to chill me the fuck out. I hate emotions. Hate hate hate them. So much. I self medicate to keep myself stable when actually, that’s a really shit idea. It’s just that if I’m completely sober, my brain starts whizzing about to all these annoying places and I get caught up in thoughts and start to get increasingly destructive and end up doing damage and increasingly becoming a danger to myself. It’s a problem for me. Except it’s crap because if your brain is constantly fried, you can’t do much else. It becomes a toss up between fried brain or fighting off suicidal thoughts. I’m really hoping that once I’m through stress city it’ll be ok. At least I have Ben Goldacre and my new iPad to distract myself. Hopefully they’ll work and I’ll be ok. At least when my eye gets better. Tomorrow I’ll probably spam the Internet with many A&E waiting room posts. Gosh you lucky people. You get to read along with me moaning.

This whole post has been a whole lot of not talking about what bothers me most today. You’d think it was my eye, but it isn’t. It’s more to do with being a massive prick and having such changeable moods and not knowing how to predict myself and upsetting people and not wanting to be a let down, but I’m not really sure how to modify all this though. The CMHT psychiatrist guy says therapy with IMPART will help, but that doesn’t stop me from being a prick right now. Ack! I’m being cryptic so I’m going to stop now. Stupid girl.