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A Girl Worth Fighting For?

Posted in communication, crying, diagnosis, DID, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Fab Psychologist, Fantastic CPN, friends, hypervigilance, insight, NHS, social worker, support, Told you it wasn't like Stephen Fucking Fry, Triggers, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on August 4, 2012 | 3 Comments »

It’s been a dreadful week [again] thanks to my amazing ‘insight’ which I’ve actually decided isn’t insight at all, simply knowledge and knowledge I only have as the other people I share my mind/life/body with choose to share it with me, I know why.

Having thought about and discussed the events of the week I’m left in a quandary [again] as to what to do with my new found knowledge.

Thinking back to the social work assessment I mentioned briefly in my previous post- I know what went wrong.

One of the peculiar upsides of DID is the ability to recall events from a third- person perspective, it scares the shit out of you when you first realise that not everyone ‘remembers’ things this way but you soon learn to file it under ‘handy skills’ with the rest of the ‘mental but useful’ stuff- like always having someone available to paint the nails on your dominant hand. So I’ve replayed the tiny portion of ‘film’ I have from Wednesday and watched it multiple times.

The assessment began ok, the right set of skills were present but around 8 minutes in, when the questioning turned from “name, address, date of birth” to “so tell me about [redacted]” it all went horribly wrong. At that point I left the room- I think it was under the thinly veiled excuse of “going to ground myself” but this was a classic trauma response- fleeing, running-away. I wasn’t going to ground myself at all (for the most part this is something I’m still incapable of doing except in very controlled circumstances); I had switched and from that point on had totally lost control of the situation and my mind. The assessment should’ve ended there instead of continuing to compound the trauma and chaos. I’m torn between thinking it was my responsibility to call the assessment to a halt at that point and feeling horribly let-down that the Fantastic CPN failed to notice what had happened at a time where I was unable to see it.

I’m very selfves-sufficient, whether this is borne out of strength or a complete inability to trust or rely on anyone else is debatable. My pathology suggests the latter. Self-sufficiency morphs all too easily into taking responsibility for everything, which in turn just becomes guilt and cries of

“It’s all my own fault”

To be fair though, I have very little evidence that it’s safe to trust or rely on anyone else. Again, my pathology suggests this mindset is firmly rooted in my distant past but two years or so of being let-down and betrayed by the mental health profession is fresh in my mind- unlike the distant past.

It’s all become a bit cyclical.

So I know what happened, what I don’t know is what to do next. I am driven, compelled to educate anyone and everyone about DID. I do this obviously here on one of the best blogs on the internet when I discuss the details, I also do it here and elsewhere subversively just by being who I am and saying what I say. This I can cope with, in fact I enjoy it or I wouldn’t do it. If, by telling my story more people learn about DID then that’s a bonus. What I don’t enjoy is the continued fight to get those who should understand to understand.

I’m told the social worker responsible for the shambles that was Wednesday felt “really bad”- she phoned the Fantastic CPN to tell her this, adding helpfully “I felt like I’d abused her”, the Fantastic CPN in turn then told me this. On one hand I’m glad the social worker was able to recognise she’d made several grave errors but I could’ve done without having to accept the guilt of someone else, particularly someone who had caused a lot of damage. I’m also still waiting for her to contact me to apologise…….

I’ve pondered over whether there is any point sharing what I know with those who need to know it. Is there any point in me telling those who made mistakes what those mistakes were or do I just cut my losses, stick to those who do understand and keep myself safe?

Obviously if I share what I know I have the ability to prevent something similar happening to me again. Though as the social worker made it quite clear I was the wrong kind of ill for the support they had available then gave me some bullshit about how I wasn’t eligible for direct payments as I had no physical care needs, I doubt I’ll be seeing her again. If I share what I know then perhaps the next person like me won’t have to suffer in the same way? How will anything ever change if nobody tries to change it?

I don’t think I can change it. I don’t think I can make people who can’t or don’t want to understand, understand. If the social worker cared enough to try and get it right, she would’ve done some work beforehand, perhaps even contacted me, maybe emailed me the assessment form so I could’ve looked over it, and seen it was far too triggering and not bothered with the assessment? If after all this time the Fantastic CPN still thinks it’s ok to say “I know it was dreadful but you did ask for it” then either I’m explaining things badly or I’m wasting my time.

I suspect this is how people with DID end up with no support. When support becomes something that poses a potential risk, it’s safer for us to go without.

I’m tired of the fight; I’m tired of not fitting, not being what those who should be helping me need me to be. I can’t imagine if I had the kind of illness that presented in a more traditional way, if, for example I wept throughout the assessment on Wednesday that those two professionals would’ve carried on. The fact that I switched chaotically and constantly was probably missed by both of them- except that I do recall saying at one point around 20 minutes in “I don’t know; I’ve only just got here”. I’m aware a lot of my switches can be subtle but when I had verbally drawn attention to it, perhaps it was time for someone to step in and protect me when it was clear I was incapable of protecting myself?

I’m tired of the fight; I’m tired of having to fight by myself for myself. My complaint about NHS Fife is still with the SPBO, it came to light a couple of weeks ago that they didn’t have any of my notes from the Fantastic CPN- I had to contact them to tell them this. It came to light this week that they didn’t have my notes from the Fab Psychologist- I had to contact them to tell them this. I had to send copies of emails between myselves and the Fab psychologist to them as they didn’t have them either. I’m losing the fight, the process is too triggering and I know that the important bits, like the conversation between those in my ‘care’ team where they decided not to help me obtain the correct diagnosis as they believed it would be stigmatising for me, won’t be written in any of those notes anyway.

I’m tired of the fight; I’m tired of having to explain DID to people who I need to help me.

After the assessment on Wednesday I turned to friends for comfort, I relayed 3 of the questions I could remember and immediately friends replied “they should have known how triggering that would be for you” so again- friends get it. None of my friends are qualified experts in trauma and dissociation but they get it. I’m told by them, they get it because I explain it so well. I think it’s more to do with the fact they are willing to listen, accept, learn and care.

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Friends: The One Where Nothing Happened

Posted in blogging, children, communication, DID, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, friends, Internal Communication, mother, MPD, Multiple Personality Disorder, parenting, single-parent, Skills, stress, therapist, therapy, Told you it wasn't like Stephen Fucking Fry, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on July 29, 2012 | 16 Comments »

Nothing happened yesterday so I’m still fine.

I’m still coping, it still looks good.

It’s as though, when the 7 year-old returned home, I faced a choice-

Parent

Or

Have DID

Obviously this wasn’t a choice I could make and as with all things for those of us with DID, the choice gets made for us. I can see what’s gone ‘wrong’ for want of a better word, what happened wasn’t a wilful mistake, it was a reaction. The way things are now is working; yesterday even included some fun activities, such as-

  • Very brief visit to a fruit farm
  • Watching Mama put petrol in the car
  • Playing Lego Star-Wars on the Wii
  • Grief counselling (he didn’t save his game)
  • Sibling rivalry- complete with screaming
  • Watching videos of Brown Recluse spiders on YouTube
  • Freaking out about sweetcorn

I can deal with all of this- and more, I can remain calm and appear normal the entire time, nothing gets the job done quite like dissociation. It works well for the children but It’s not sustainable.

I’m exhausted and that constant, low-grade pain that appears to have been gifted as some sort of bonus with DID that I’d usually be able to ignore completely has shifted up a notch. I’m horrified at how rapidly shitty “coping mechanisms” (why we call them that when they are invariably methods employed when we’re not coping is a mystery to me) used in the past have tried to creep back in and saddened by how difficult I’ve found this weekend so far.

I’ve been buoyed by the messages friends have continued to send, here and elsewhere, our resident comment moderator has been allowed to sneak out in the wee small hours to reply- that connection is vital and I’m grateful to those of you who recognised that even when we’re not allowed to talk, we’re allowed to read. You’re all very special and very missed, the internal pining-o-meter is off the scale

The silence is making me desperately unhappy and the external silence is no longer reflective of the state of things internally. I’ve never been so glad that you can’t tell by looking and again, I’m grateful for dissociation as this has allowed me to parent seemingly unhindered by the inner turmoil. I have a million thoughts but very few words, I miss my words.

If nothing else, this weekend has dragged me out of the creeping denial that was setting in again and that’s positive though painful.

I won’t deny that things are incredibly difficult at the moment but as ever my natural curiosity and love of learning has provided a distraction. I don’t always like what I’m learning but I do manage to pique my own interest often enough to make it all a bit less shitty for a little while. My low emotional tolerance and high distractibility have been assets this weekend.

I have an appointment with the <?> therapist tomorrow and I’m awfully glad I do. I’m confident that between us we can come up with some things that will help make the current situation not better, not even ok but just less de-stabilising. At the moment I’ll settle for regaining the courage and confidence in my skills to face coming home again after the session.

I have some new practical issues to face tomorrow. In order to get to therapy on time I have to leave the house at 7.30am, half an hour before the 7 year-olds holiday club thing opens. I’ve asked the 15 year-old to get up some 7 hours before her preferred rising time and mind her brother whilst I’m out. She’s agreed to do this but has yet to be persuaded to go to the extra effort of washing dressing and delivering the 7 year-old to his holiday club thing. So I am a little concerned that the current need to crash out on the bed for anything up to three hours in a switchy, drowsy, head-noisy haze after a therapy session will have to be ignored in favour of a return to coping.

So as ever, I don’t have my troubles to seek and the pace of life just feels relentless at the moment, there’s never a dull moment with DID.

I’d love some dull moments.

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Personalisation(s) Of Services

Posted in communication, diagnosis, DID, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Fife, friends, insight, Internal Communication, laptop, mental illness, money, MPD, Multiple Personality Disorder, NHS, Nicola Sturgeon, parenting, Paris, single-parent, social worker, support, The Smallest House in The World, Told you it wasn't like Stephen Fucking Fry, Triggers, Twitter, tagged , , , , , , , , on July 22, 2012 | 7 Comments »

To quote from the Mind page on personalisation and to save me launching into a lengthy explanation of what it’s all about- The Government wants more people who use support services to have ‘choice and control’ in their lives. That is why they have introduced direct payments. I’ll leave the debate about Government, what it actually wants, what this means for mentalists in general to others.

I mentioned in a previous post that I had applied for an assessment of my needs from the local authority in order that I could apply for direct payments. This assessment is on Wednesday the 25th of July. This is not about me having more ‘choice and control’ this is about me actually getting some sort of service. Currently I’m deemed ‘too complex’ for exisiting services, indeed the reason it’s taken so long for a social worker to arrange to do the assessment is because I am ‘so complex’. Whilst I’m relieved that this isn’t because the social worker was too scared to come back after being met with the simmering ball of frustration and hatred I was last time which, in my defence I only was because NHS Fife were still refusing to recognise, diagnose and treat my illness and the last thing I wanted or needed was someone to help with the shopping, I need to say something about my perceived ‘complexity’.

DID is complex, I am not complex, I’m actually very straightforward, all you have to do is listen to me. If you look at me as a disorder then I’ve no doubt what you see can be quite challenging but what anyone tends to be met with is an individual, sure sometimes things go awry and you can be met with several individuals but all you have to do is listen to what they say. My ‘complexity’ is used as a stick to beat me and a reason to treat me differently, it creates barriers. Instead of all those referral letters that begin “Zoë is a very complex….” How about “Zoë is a lovely…..” or “Zoë is a very funny….” or “Congratulations, now you too can experience, first-hand the sheer awesomeness that is Zoë….” Unless perhaps it’s a referral to social services in which case and in the interests of honesty and transparency the letter should probably begin “I’m sorry, Zoë will probably despise you by virtue of your chosen profession, it’s nothing personal as I’m sure you’re lovely but she’s had some very bad experiences with your kind….”

So I’ve been thinking a lot about what my needs are, what kind of things would be helpful, would make life easier. It’s very tricky as I struggle to ask for or accept help, I feel undeserving of help and a lot of the time would deny I needed any. Coping is what we do best, those who have DID or know about DID will know that the perceived level of coping is actually inversely proportional to the mental health of the individual and I know, personally that ‘coping’ is one of my biggest danger-signs and is usually a precursor to crisis. I’m keen to avoid coping so I know I need some things in place to help make things easier, especially as I am soon to return to caring for two children full-time again.

I’ve considered the obvious things, practical support- help with housework and shopping- and ruled them out. Having to deal with people is problematic; bringing a person into my life introduces a whole new set of challenges. In a moment of insight the other night, whilst sitting in my local Chinese takeaway I figured out one of the main reasons people are so triggering, I briefly felt like a genius until I realised that reason was ‘because they move’ I then felt like a persuasive case for euthanasia. At the moment I simply couldn’t stand having someone come into the house to ‘help’ with anything, I’d be constantly on my guard to protect myself and besides they’d have had a quick run-down on DID, and they’d be waiting for me to “do a Sybil”. I’ve never read or watched Sybil so my frame of reference is lacking in detail but I know enough about it to know that for the most part, it’s a very poor portrayal of DID.

I’ve tried to look at my average day to get an idea about what my needs are, I don’t have average days. The only constant running through my days is that they will be fragmented, random and involve some chaos. Today for example involved an early-morning excursion to Tesco for milk. The trip to Tesco was derailed slightly as the store I usually go to and have well-mapped had had a slight re-modelling. I only know this as there is a ‘distress tweet’ from around 6.30am saying this, I’m very sensitive to changes in my surroundings so it may be that Tesco is much the same as it was last time, they may just have adjusted an onion or something. So I came home from Tesco with all the essentials- milk, bread, cat food and three boxes of Fuzzy-Felts (dinosaurs, under the sea and pirates for anyone interested). So I suppose I could argue that having someone to do the shopping would be helpful- but then how would I get Fuzzy-Felts?

You see my needs are unique and whilst I’m sure one box would have sufficed I can argue that Fuzzy-Felts, particularly the dinosaur ones are an essential part of my care. Similarly I could argue that I should be given black Converse free on prescription. Confusion is a major feature of DID, black Converse are the ultimate, dynamic, age-appropriate footwear- they are shoes for everyone. In situations where it’s likely switching can be rapid and chaotic, making sure everyone is wearing shoes that make them feel safe is essential. I could also make a good case for being given stationery on prescription. Post-its are an essential part of my selves-management; notes to selves are a mainstay of internal communication. The “whiteboard of madness” which hangs on the bedroom wall is crucial in ensuring that the days hang together in some way, important things don’t get forgotten and needs, wants, fears and desires can be communicated. So I could add whiteboard markers to that prescription. Some internal communication is done through drawing so colouring pencils, felt-tips, crayons and paper are also much-needed items. Now that I’m no longer unnecessarily drugged into a nice easy to-manage zombie-like state and have freed up 70% of NHS Fife’s budget by becoming a free-range mentalist, I’m considering approaching the GP with my prescription requests. After all 99% of the time I would claim not to exist in a physical sense, have no body and therefore never experience physical illness so I’m hardly a huge burden as patients go. This may or may not be related to the fact that the GP is still on the long list of “THINGS THAT ARE WAY TOO TRIGGERING”.

I’ve thought about my ‘social needs’ I do have them but again I’m constrained by my current, somewhat fragile state. I adore people but I fear them too and so, my social needs are best met in a virtual way and this suits me. In fact I suspect I spend more time with friends than most as I can do it in a way that’s comfortable, controlled and safe for me. So I could ask for help to pay for my broadband service? I can justify this request if necessary but I can’t see the local authority understanding. Similarly I could make a good case for having my mobile phone contract costs met by the local authority. The phone is essential in helping me keep track, avoiding confusion. Whether this be a photograph of a person/situation/place that later helps remind me where I’ve been, what’s happened and who with or a tweet that discloses my mood or location or a text to a friend to let them know I’ve been attacked by the ‘silencing mentals’ and not to worry as I’ll eventually be back,  the phone helps me communicate and more importantly, communicate in a way that leaves a written record so that it can be accessed again later. Since the Paris trip I’ve also undergone a comprehensive self-led training course in Google maps and navigation so having the phone with me is an extra guard against getting lost.

I’ve considered my recreational needs; I do have some as I have multiple hobbies. I enjoy the very occasional film though am still limited to watching films I’ve seen before and therefore have a fair idea of the potential triggers and can guard against them, those of you who know me elsewhere may remember the harrowing emotional rollercoaster that was my first and last viewing of Disney’s Up, I remain in two minds about balloons to this day they bring me right back to that film. I have a small team of film reviewers on twitter who have a good understanding of my needs but sadly, we’re still at the stage where the conclusion is usually “it was good but not for you yet” so I can’t go to the cinema and I don’t really need DVDs (DID and films/TV is another one of those book topics I mentioned in a previous post). I adore music, my tastes are ‘eclectic’ music is essential and again, DID and music is a potential book topic. I could argue that there is a need for my music supply costs to be met by the local authority but as I ‘purchase’ all my music from isoHunt I suspect I’d be fighting a losing battle.

So I’m a little stuck, I know I need something but I don’t know what that something is. On paper I’m an ideal candidate for self-directed care, I’m intelligent (another attribute used as a stick to beat me, MH services prefer their mentals to be stupid) I’m articulate, have a good understanding of my condition and am keen to make progress but in practise trying to define the support I need is just another cause of confusion for me and another thing that makes me feel different.

The other problem I have is that I am more than capable of doing everything myself. I have no doubt that eventually after a few weeks, maybe months this would cause complete de-stabilisation and a spiral into crisis but I can do it, I can do it all. I’m trying to convince myselves that just because we can do it, doesn’t mean we should or that we have to. It’s not easy. Self-sufficiency can be a very good thing but can also be incredibly self-defeating when it becomes more about control, lack of trust, fear and keeping everyone away than confidence, empowerment and choices.

So I’m still none the wiser as to what I should be asking this social worker for, I intend to give the matter my full attention over the next few day, in between playing with my new Fuzzy-Felts.

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365 Days of Noise and a Silent ‘H’

Posted in Awesome Psychiatrist, depression, emotions, Fab Psychologist, Fantastic CPN, friends, hospital, mental illness, NHS, stickers, suicide, support, tea, Told you it wasn't like Stephen Fucking Fry, Twitter, tagged , , , , , , on December 31, 2011 | 52 Comments »

2011 has been a dreadful year, a year which has seen my mental health decline rapidly, as I sit, writing this I have little hope that the 366 days coming up in 2012 will offer me any relief from the fear, confusion, pain, sadness and chaos of my current existence. I dread each one of those 366 days and nights as I have dreaded every day and night for some time. 2011 has taught me that there are places lower than ‘rock bottom’ and places far scarier than your worst fears. I have been badly hurt, betrayed and let down this year, mainly by the medical profession but other people in my life have had a go too.

I don’t know how I’ve made it this far, I don’t know if I want to make it any further and the truth is I don’t know, I just don’t know.

Being New Year (however much denial I am in about the whole hideous event), I thought it might be appropriate to do an honours list; I checked the honours list this morning (around 4am) and was disappointed not to be included- again. In fact nobody who I thought should have been included was so I am going to right that wrong, right here, on one of the best blogs on the internet.

The Professionals


I have encountered far more than my fair share of professionals this year, not just in mental health but also the police, air-ambulance team, medical staff, social workers and paramedics.

The highest honour I can bestow, the order of the ‘sparkly, rainbow-tailed unicorn‘ must go to the obvious recipient-

The Fantastic CPN

The Fantastic CPN has continued to be an enormous source of support to me, she is at the mercy of a system that inherently appears to treat people badly but she continues to do her job and do it well. The Fantastic CPN is caring, compassionate, understanding, determined, clever and funny. She has never once made it obvious that she would just like to run away and leave me in the hands of someone else, I’m sure she’s been tempted, I’m not the easiest patient. The Fantastic CPN is representative of an army of individual, conscientious mental health professionals that are out there in our communities, doing what they can with damaged and broken people caught up in a badly broken system. I wish everybody who needs one could have someone like the Fantastic CPN but of course you can’t have the Fantastic CPN as she’s mine and I’m not very good at sharing.

The next honour, the order of ‘the sparkly box of empty promises’ goes to-

The Awesome Psychiatrist

The Awesome psychiatrist receives a mention in the honours list in recognition of his wonderful job of re-traumatising me. Whilst this was a largely horrific affair for all who experienced and witnessed it, it allowed the truth about my mental health to come out. Unfortunately the Awesome Psychiatrist will be stripped of his honour immediately as he refused to believe the truth he had helped to uncover. I still enjoyed the time I spent with him and think that should you ever be the kind of mental that fits neatly into a psychiatric box then you will struggle to find a more knowledgeable, caring, skilled gentleman to meet your needs.

The order of the ‘Schrödinger’s stickers’ goes to-

The Fab Psychologist


I don’t doubt I have presented a bit of a challenge to the Fab Psychologist this year but I am grateful that for the most part she appeared to take it in her stride in spite of the obvious challenges she faces professionally and personally. I’ll be very sorry to lose her in March and even sorrier that her blind hope I will somehow be any better by March will not come to fruition. I like to think I’ve played a part in the professional development of the Fab Psychologist, I just hope it’s not that the next time she gets someone similar in the patient raffle she runs screaming from the room.

The order of the ‘sparkly, magic, disappearing hammer intended for nailing mental jelly to a wall’ goes to-

All the mental health professionals who have assessed me under the Mental Health (Care and Treatment)(Scotland) Act and the Mental Health Act this year.


Well done all of you, you all made the right decision…….

The order of the ‘ever-present fear you will see me in the Spar and recognise me’ goes to-

The Police (both forces involved)


Thanks for tracking me down all those times, I’m less grateful for the place of safety order but I appreciate I generated a lot of work for you this year. You did your job well.

The order of the ‘it must’ve been awesome; I wish I could remember it’ goes to-

The Air-Ambulance Crew


Thank you for using your skills and valuable resources to rescue me, even though I suspect I was a little reluctant to be rescued.


The order of the ‘magical teleporting to hospital machine’ goes to-

All the paramedics I have inconvenienced this year


I think some of you saved my life, I think some of you had a wasted journey, I am grateful to you all for the work you do.

The order of the ‘itchy steri-strip’ goes to-

All the A&E staff I encountered this year


I don’t actually remember being in any A&E departments but I know I was, you all did a fantastic job, I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time.

So there are the professionals all honoured. To the mental health profession as a whole, I cannot resist awarding the order of the ‘just how much do people’s lives have to be destroyed before you do anything useful?’.

The next bit is hugely predictable for anyone who knows anything at all about me. It has to be done.

I cannot put into words the honour I would choose to bestow on the following people; your importance in my life is priceless. There are not enough rainbows and unicorns and there isn’t enough glitter in the whole world to illustrate just how much you mean to me.

All my Twitter Followers


Since the giant follower cull I have been fortunate to gather a rather small group of very important people to help me through my days. Thanks for all the hand-holding, advice, soothing, virtual cups of tea, news, virtual toast, politics, company, presents (real and virtual), letters, mental mentoring, weather reports, cards, music, care, reports from the future, understanding, acceptance and love. Thanks especially for all the laughs as we do like to laugh.

I don’t doubt for a second that it is down to you that I have made it this far.

There are less than 12 hours of this year left, I’m glad and I know many of you are too. I also know that many of you share my dread of the upcoming year.

There isn’t really anything left to say, I was going to say “I hope we can all make it through safely and that things improve for us all in 2012” but in all honesty I am out of hope and have been for some time.

We’ll just take the time-honoured approach of crossing our fingers and tweeting voraciously, see you all there.

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I’m OK, You’re OK Two.

Posted in alcohol, Awesome Psychiatrist, bipolar, diagnosis, DSM, Fab Psychologist, Fantastic CPN, friends, health, labels, mental illness, money, NHS, psychiatrist, therapy, Wonderful GP, work, tagged , , , , , , on November 24, 2011 | 26 Comments »

You’ll remember that last time I blogged about my mental health I referred to the “constantly emerging jigsaw that is my mind and my life”? Well, good news! We solved the jigsaw, it turned out to be complete after all, most of the pieces were there in the box all along, the edges were completed, those tricky bits of sky inserted into the right places and the picture on the box emerged.

The picture on the box turned out to be so abhorrent, so distasteful that the Awesome Psychiatrist decided that not only could he not see it, he refused to believe the picture on the box existed at all. The Awesome Psychiatrist is not alone in his denial of the existence of the picture on the box, indeed he appears to be in good company. I’m still waiting for a title for my picture; I think we’ve ascertained it’s not “bipolar” but my picture for all its vibrancy, colour and impact remains unnamed. Incidentally there is a very similar picture to mine contained within the DSM-IV but that is clearly not enough for the MH profession. I have gone from “concerning, troubling, confusing and complex, someone who needs help” to “Woah! Fuck, retreat, retreat!” you’ve never really tasted stigma until you’ve been stigmatised by the psychiatric profession, I have gone from “heart-sink patient” to “toxic patient” and nobody it seems knows quite what to do with me. If it were not for the Fantastic, Ninja, refuses to be beaten by psychiatric arrogance CPN and the Fab Psychologist I would have no input from MH services at all and it’s not because finding my picture has in some way cured me.

Zoetrope

I feel like I am being punished for drawing the wrong picture; I didn’t draw it, if I had it would be of stars, rainbows and unicorns, my picture was drawn for me and there isn’t a rainbow in sight. My picture, for all its ugliness is a fair representation of my past, present and future- it doesn’t look good. If I could erase the picture and redraw it I would in a heartbeat, my crayons are poised, I have attempted to redraw my picture many times so that others would like it more but my picture, as with everything else I do is honest, it is true and I cannot help it if others do not like it.

A cursory glance over my exterior would suggest all is well (perhaps except today, it is Thursday, I have worn and slept in the same clothes since Tuesday), I’ve stopped saying “I’m fine” have substituted “I’m OK” it means the same thing- breathing, not dead, no active bleeding so most of the time I am “OK”.

My quality of life is non-existent so I’m currently thinking of a way to reassess that as well, I’m thinking of awarding QOL points to every cup of tea to see if that helps. I make it through most days in one piece mainly thanks to online friends, luck and a weekly wine coma (the administration of enough alcohol to ensure no movement, thoughts, dreams, ideas or voices for up to 7 hours) so far so good- still here, still OK.

The 30th of November marks the 2 year anniversary of my coming to the attention of mental health services (this time around) on the 30th on November 2009 I went to see the Wonderful GP and confessed I was rather unwell. This was mainly as I could no longer hide the rapid and severe weight loss I had experienced from friends and colleagues. In those 2 years I have played the game, answered the questions, tried the drugs, sampled the hospitality and all around me life has fallen apart. The woman who went to see the Wonderful GP that day had a job, a life, a future. I have nothing and it’s not my fault.

But I’m OK. HMRC Tax Credits finally got back to me yesterday, having done the sums I can now reveal that I will have £9.21 a month left over once fixed expenses are paid- fixed expenses does not include food, the Stupid Car, clothing, indeed anything else you can think of so it looks like I may lose my home too.

But I’m OK.

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We Are Not Amused

Posted in Awesome Psychiatrist, blogging, friends, insomnia, mental illness, sleep, support, tea, Twitter, Uncategorized, tagged , , on October 2, 2011 | 3 Comments »

It’s been a while since I blogged, it’s not that nothing has happened, as ever I could probably fill a book with the events of today alone (it’s only 8.50am but I have, as ever, been up for a while) I was simply waiting for my blogging muse to visit.

I can’t/ won’t/ don’t want to go into detail about what’s been happening lately, I daresay at some point in the future I will feel compelled to come here and broadcast all the gory details, but not today.

Life recently has mainly revolved around the constantly emerging jigsaw that is my mind and my life. I’ve discovered things about myself I’d really rather not know, there has been a lot of pain, fear, confusion and sadness. Mainly confusion- though fear rates quite highly too. I don’t think I’m very well, in fact I know I’m not very well as the Awesome Psychiatrist told me so. I feel about as stable and safe as a very unstable very unsafe thing.

As ever I continue to play out my life on twitter, having re-read my tweets I think it may be better if I start to carry a notebook and pen to record my days, there must be a limit to how often someone can publicly unravel. I suspect I reached that limit long ago.

The blog was going to get a facelift as someone lovely from WordPress who had seen my Babybel wax animals on twitter and saw my quest the following day for a new hobby, very kindly sent me an upgrade. I was initially very excited by this and the possibilities seemed endless- until I remembered how much I hate change, so the blog will remain as is for now. One of the best blogs on the internet- with the most boring fonts and no fancy borders.

I take a lot of comfort from those of you who have contacted me about the blog, those of you who join me in the insomnia Olympics team on twitter, those of you that stay in touch with me even when it’s quite clear I have lost touch with myself. I feel lucky that so many people are willing to accompany me in some way on my horrible, terrifying journey.

So again, a brief update that doesn’t really say that much but it’ll do. Now that the blogging muse has visited I await the housework fairy and money munchkin and still hope for the magical mental-curing unicorn to turn up at the foot of my bed.

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Not All The Gory Details

Posted in bipolar, friends, health, high, hospital, lithium, mania, manic, medication, mental illness, NHS, psychiatrist, suicide, tea, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on September 9, 2011 | 19 Comments »

So I took my first dose of lithium last night, it was a traumatic affair. Today I feel poisoned, vacant, drowsy and unwell. I agreed to take the lithium in order to get me out of hospital (this was hospital number 4) after a somewhat tumultuous week.

Those of you who follow me on twitter, are members of the local constabulary, ambulance crew, health profession, journalists, social workers, air ambulance crew or one of those poor unfortunate people I have picked on to be friends or family will know just how frankly mental and unwell I have been recently.

I have scared myself, I am carrying the buckets of shame that often come after an episode and I have caused more worry and disruption to more people than I care to quantify. I am very sorry.

I don’t have the words or the desire to blog properly; I am barely managing to drink tea today. I have a lot to fix and I don’t even know where to start, the extent of my activity today has been lying under a blanket feeling ill.

I met a new blog fan this week, it’s always nice to meet a fan and thank you for your kind words but I still can’t believe you let me convince you to let me leave that hospital on Tuesday night, out of my face on a modest overdose of benzos, covered in my own blood, wearing a hospital gown, in a taxi. Given that I had no recollection of getting to the hospital and it was in a fucking helicopter you’d think someone would’ve noticed something was amiss. I clearly come across rather well when faced with the possibility of detention under the mental health act. It’s a gift.

And they say I’m mental.

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I Always Hated The Pantomime

Posted in bipolar, depression, diagnosis, driving, Fab Psychologist, Fantastic CPN, friends, high, hospital, insomnia, lithium, mania, manic, mental illness, NHS, psychiatrist, social worker, suicide, therapy, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on September 2, 2011 | 12 Comments »

Again so much I could write here, I’d have no idea where to start with an account of the time since I last blogged. Those of you who know me will know there is an awful lot I could write about. To sum up, in handy list format-

The stupid car is 157 miles away

I’ve been in two different hospitals in two different countries in a week

I didn’t get sectioned (three times)

I don’t think I am very well

I could recount all the gory details but to be honest I don’t remember that much of them, there are “highlights”, again in handy list format-

 Having to get all my appointments with my entire team rearranged as I had “discharged myself” from mental health services.

 Almost puking my own skeleton up during a 20 hour Parvolex infusion (a fitting punishment for my abject stupidity).

 Meeting my newest psychiatrist and being told a hot milky drink was the cure for that chronic, severe insomnia I talked about.

other hot milky drinks are available

The Fantastic CPN becoming the “ninja CPN” after she appeared, unseen, unexpectedly, unannounced and played the pivotal role in ensuring my most recent “episode” didn’t end in disaster.

9 hours or so in A&E (157 miles away) practising my dinosaur impressions, pacing, being stalked by security and getting into completely unwinnable, protracted arguments with mental health professionals.

I have been a monstrous consumer of resources of late, again a list-

      Ambulances

      Doctors

      Nurses

      Police

      Social workers

      Psychiatrists

      CPNs (both ninja and non-ninja)

      Hospital beds

So I haven’t exactly covered myself in glory recently. If I do a little CBT reframing of the past week or so I can come up with the following list-

 I’m still alive (in all honesty undecided if this is a positive but feel obliged to say it)

I didn’t get detained under the Mental Health Act or the Mental Health (care and treatment) (Scotland) Act.

I was again reminded that a lot of people care very much about me and will go to great lengths to help me. (thank you all for everything)

 The children appear well and happy (though I am aware I am raising the next generation of mental health service users).

So what’s next? In all honesty I don’t know, there are a lot of unknowns at the moment. I could make some predictions based on my knowledge to date but for fear of any of them becoming self-fulfilling prophecies I’ll resist.

I am considering re-starting Lithium therapy, this decision deserves its own post and it will get one. I had that MRI I was agonising over in my previous post, no results yet but am now also awaiting an appointment with a neurologist, these tests are mainly to rule things out, just a case (no doubt previously unheard of) of a psychiatrist being thorough. I have an appointment with the Fab Psychologist on the 13th of September, I will agonise over that nearer the time.

So yeah, I’m still here and again if rapid-cycling was an Olympic sport, I could be a real contender for the gold.

So a short post, covering a short time where an awful lot has happened, there’s a lot missing, follow me on twitter for the minute by minute account of the pantomime that is my life.

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Where I Play And Do?

Posted in 6 year old, blogging, children, emotions, friends, illness, insight, insomnia, laptop, mental illness, parenting, sleep, tea, Twitter, tagged , , on August 1, 2011 | 13 Comments »

And so my self-analysis continues and as promised, blogging continues.

I bring this post to you from the comfort of my old laptop. My old laptop isn’t actually that old, I’ve no idea when I bought it, it may even have been as recently as spring 2010, it became my old laptop today upon the purchase of a new laptop.

The new laptop was a spontaneous purchase; I had been ruminating for a short time about purchasing a new laptop in order that everyone in the house could have their own. Again this morning I had to listen to the 6 year old sob as the 14 year old rose form her bed and reclaimed her laptop from his hands. The 6 year old joined me in bed and requested some time on my laptop; I put him off until I’d “checked just one more thing” several times. I’m not sure why I don’t like others using my laptop, I suspect by the time I get to the end of this post I may have a clearer idea- but I know I don’t like it. I decided in that moment that the solution was to buy myself a new laptop, give my old laptop to the 14 year old and give the 14 year olds laptop to the 6 year old.

I set out on my mission to PC World, I had a vague idea of budget and an even vaguer idea of desired specification for the new laptop. Faced with an array of shiny new laptops in PC World, I discovered I could do only one thing to choose between them- write. On several laptops in PC World, Kingsway Retail Park Dundee today there was a WordPad document that read simply-

“do you like this keyboard?”

I had no idea when I set out on my mission that the one deciding factor for the new laptop would be how it felt. Feelings do not come naturally to me.

I adore gadgets and shiny things in general but today I was not seduced by high-end specifications I was looking for something much more. I didn’t find it. None of the laptops I tried today felt right, I picked the one that felt the least wrong, purchased it and took it home. There followed an afternoon of file moving, browser downloading, account synchronising, log-in detail forgetting, tea drinking, tweeting, housework ignoring and parenting. By dinner time everyone in the house had their own laptop. The 6 year old was delighted and we spent an evening together at the kitchen table- me doing my thing and him doing his. I admired his Bin Weevils nest, we watched a trailer for the new (frankly dreadful looking) Horrid Henry movie together on YouTube, we surfed, read, played, tweeted, emailed and chatted. The evening was so pleasant that it was well after bedtime before the 6 year old finally made it to bed.

When the 6 year old was in bed and the 14 year old safely home from her trip to the cinema- with a boy, I settled down, as is usual these days, at the kitchen table for the evening. I still can’t stand the omnipresent TV so I avoid the living room, I am trying to do the mentally healthy thing and stay out of bed unless I am “sleeping” in it so I have annexed the kitchen. Our kitchen is now home to my paper, pens, crayons, notebooks, post-its and of course my laptop- tonight, my new laptop. I did the things I usually do, read emails, re-read some things I’d written, tweeted, read some blogs, read some articles and checked the news and weather.  By 10pm I had identified some tangible problems with the new laptop- namely that the space bar was insensitive and the keys didn’t sound right.

I love the sound of typing, I love the way I feel when I can hear myself typing, I’m not sure what that feeling is- I’ve likened it in the past to feeling efficient but it is so much more than that. I adore the way my thoughts and ideas are transported to my fingertips (two of which are still numb as a result of illustrating the Lunatics Lexicon) there is a freedom for me in the air  between fingers and keyboard that I never seem to achieve between heart and mouth. The keyboard on the new laptop didn’t make me feel any of those things and the continued failure of the spacebar to respond to my touch made me feel very inefficient indeed.

I didn’t dislike the new laptop, specification wise it was much the same as the old laptop and once all my “things” were installed it looked much like the old laptop too. It just didn’t feel right.

I don’t like change and I am inclined to avoid it wherever possible, I have several identical items of clothing, have used the same shampoo, deodorant and toothpaste for years, I don’t smell like myself if I am not wearing the same perfume I have worn for years, I eat the same foods repeatedly, I purport to be fiercely brand-loyal but the truth is I just know what I like and like what I know. It should’ve come as no surprise to me really that I wasn’t comfortable with the new laptop.

I attempted to tough it out, to challenge myself and my fear of change but as I stood smoking in the garden watching our resident hedgehog I realised that I was feeling very sentimental about my old laptop. My old laptop has been there for me throughout my journey, it was where I sent and received all those emails, where I viewed all those photos, where I had all those conversations and of course where I created one of the best blogs on the internet.

My back was aching from a day spent sitting on a kitchen stool (we live in the smallest house in the world- furniture must have storage incorporated or it must be stackable), so I retired to my favourite place- bed, taking the new laptop with me. I had decided that the litmus test for the new laptop was going to be blogging, I knew what I wanted to write- it was this post or something largely similar and I settled down to write it.

The words came easily but they didn’t sound right, I wrote and deleted, wrote and deleted over and over again- on the old laptop I write and I write, I correct as I go along, I re-read then I publish. After writing for a while I decided to get my old laptop back.

There followed another period of configuration and I settled down to write this post.

I have thought about today’s events in my usual all or nothing way- I was “pathetic”  for pining for my old laptop then I was right and justified to have formed an attachment to it after all we’d been through together. I was hoping by this point, 1173 words in that I would be a little clearer as to what I was really feeling that I had chosen to project onto an HP Pavillion Dv6, I’m not sure I am.

Perhaps it was just one transition too far given the recent, significant changes in my life?

I suspect Winnicott would have had many theories on my experience today and I note that the one key on my very well used keyboard that is worn so much the letter is almost invisible is “I”.

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Lunatics Lexicon

Posted in Anxiety, art, bipolar, book, crying, depression, diagnosis, emotions, friends, high, hospital, illness, insight, labels, love, Magic Invisibility Sunglasses, mania, manic, medication, mental illness, mother, parenting, Pernicious butterflies, psychiatrist, suicide, tea, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 19, 2011 | 87 Comments »

There is so much preamble I could put here, but I’m not going to. I’m so relieved that I got this project out of my head and onto paper before “that” feeling was gone, it’s taken almost 23 hours of almost solid work. So lots of colouring in, very little sleep, very sore hands, some scanning, lots of little niggling imperfections but here is is, my latest project. Please leave comments- I will reply- probably up until around Thursday or Friday when I will no doubt slide into my pit of black sludge again………

All images and in fact everything on this blog subject to copyright, don’t steal my shit.

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