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InequaliTy

Posted in activist, Anxiety, bipolar, depression, diagnosis, DID, Dissociation, driving, hospital, illness, insight, Internal Communication, mania, mental illness, MPD, Multiple Personality Disorder, NHS, parenting, politics, Triggers, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on June 27, 2012 | 25 Comments »

Today is bipolar awareness day, happy bipolar awareness day, may your day be filled with stability or shoe-purchasing, hilarious mania. I observed the day last year, when I was still officially the least convincing bipolar people in the world. I observed it with my usual mix of sadness, outrage, activism and piss-taking in 140 characters or fewer.

There are lots of awareness days, some kinds of mental even have a week (OCD) and some a whole month in which to be aware (Depression).

There is no DID awareness day

I’m not surprised- after all how on earth could we ever decide when to hold it? As a fellow multiple pointed out this morning we probably couldn’t even decide whether to hold it in the present or the past. Then we’d have to factor in those who remain in denial that they have DID, those who are too ashamed to admit it, those who would rather buy crayons, those who would ponder if it would be the perfect day for suicide and those who never know what day it is anyway. The chances of us agreeing on which colour the DID awareness ribbon should be are slim to none. I’ve taken to wearing these on my jackets, I assume the world thinks I’m gay, I know I’m a multiple.

We could just ‘celebrate’ all the awareness days/weeks/months for all our various comorbidities, for most multiples, every day could be an awareness day. Just think of all the cards and presents!

Joking aside, this is indicative of something far deeper, something I’ve been tentative to address, mainly as I’ve been to busy licking my (metaphorical) wounds and mourning the loss of my career.

Dissociative Identity Disorder, DID is many things but primarily it is a mental illness. I can’t decide if DID doesn’t fit the traditional ‘illness model’ or if the traditional illness model doesn’t fit DID, it doesn’t matter- the results are the same.

I am quite clearly as mad as a box of frogs; in short I believe I have several other people living inside my head/body, these other people all behave, think, act, dress and talk differently. Whilst there’s never a dull moment with DID my functioning is severely impaired, my quality of life impaired, my future affected, the lives of my children are affected, my income is affected- there is nothing DID, nothing the mental illness I suffer from doesn’t touch.

I can’t tell you the last time I saw a psychiatrist, this is not due to my usual problems with memory, this is because ‘my’ psychiatrist doesn’t want to see me. Don’t get me wrong, I can think of several people I’d much rather spend those precious 8 minutes every couple of months with (in fact, anybody) but why do I not see a psychiatrist? Am I cured? Am I no longer mental?

No and clearly- no.

I don’t see a psychiatrist because my psychiatrist doesn’t know what to do with me. There is no drug treatment for DID so I can’t be drugged into a nice, easy to manage state. Seeing the psychiatrist is such a triggering event that we invariably send our sanest part to consultations, she’s lovely but formidable and never shies away from pointing out flaws in professionalism; in fact I suspect the psychiatrist may still be recovering from the last consultation.

I have no care plan; never have; I’m not even sure what one is. Is this because I have no care needs?

No.

I have no care plan because current provision cannot meet my needs; I fit the criteria for a CPA but don’t have one. For too long I have accepted the blame for this having been told by many mental health professionals I’m “different” or “complex” and my favourite “challenging”. I don’t doubt for a second I am all those things and more- they are all symptoms of my illness.

This discrimination is nothing new to me. Sometime last year, during the perpetual crisis season I was visited by the Fantastic CPN, she was so concerned about the (frankly atrocious) state of my mental health the GP was asked to visit- the GP was equally concerned and they tried to persuade me to attend a mental health assessment- I refused. Mental health assessments are not something one can refuse as the answer to refusal is that you are clearly so mental you need get one anyway.

The psychiatrist did not bother to assess me as there was “nowhere suitable to put me” this was at the time my correct diagnosis was accepted but not allowed to be spoken of as I hadn’t had the official stamp on my notes. Don’t get me wrong, I’m relieved I escaped yet more time in the horrendous pit of shitness that is the local acute ward but that day, a Friday I was considered to be a danger to myself, a danger to my children and I was left, alone, all weekend. The children were removed from my care and placed with their father; I’ve yet to get one of them back.

I struggle to label myself as a “trauma survivor” that’s kind of symptomatic of DID, particularly at this early stage in treatment. I’ve done the ‘backwards calculations’ though and as painful and difficult it is for me, I know I didn’t end up where I am today because I was a slightly miserable kid. In fact I like to think I was a veritable ray of sunshine who left a trail of happiness and rainbows in her wake.

I am a trauma survivor.

I suffer from all the same problems as other trauma survivors do- multiplied. From the little things to the big things- multiplied. I have PTSD- multiplied.

I haven’t survived the trauma of combat, just my life. There are a number of national PTSD organisations and charities in existence to help those traumatised by war and I salute their efforts. Had I survived war then I would be able to approach one of those organisations for support, guidance and maybe even some financial assistance. The first and best advice I got when I began treatment for DID was to get rid of anything in the house that was triggering, to make the home environment safe. How I wish I’d been told this before I became too ill to accept the new 5 year contract I was offered in May 2011. The back garden of the smallest house in the world terrifies me, I can’t go out there- all it needs is a 6 foot fence around the perimeter to make it ‘safe’, I can’t afford a fence, I miss the garden.

I recently replaced some cushion covers as the existing ones were triggering, I am now able to spend 6 minutes in my own living room before I scuttle back to the safety of the bedroom, 6 minutes is crap but it’s an improvement on my previous record of 4.

Then there’s  the stupid car, I had hoped “being too terrified to go over your own front door” would be enough to qualify for the higher rate of the mobility component of DLA so I could make use of the Motability scheme but alas as I have two legs this is not the case. The fact those legs often don’t move (freezing is a very common trauma response) or those legs are often very painful (somatic memory) is insignificant to the DWP. I need the stupid car to retain that tiny bit of independence I have, the stupid car, for all its failings is safe.

I am working hard in therapy and have made huge progress, I am a very active participant(s) in my own ‘recovery’ (a word I despise in this context but I can’t think of a suitable replacement) and with the right package of care I could be doing even better. I’m not a fool, I know my journey is going to be long and at times very difficult but it’s a journey I’m willing to travel. I know what my needs are, I am aware they don’t fit with the traditional needs of someone with a mental illness but they are needs that I have as a direct result of my illness/disability, I intend to apply for Direct Payments to meet my needs. I have no doubt I face an enormous challenge but I am determined. I have been NHS Fife’s ‘dirty little secret’ for too long, I’m not a bad person, I have a mental illness. I asked for a social worker to assess my needs on the 12th of June, I suspect they’re still drawing straws in the office, if it’s any consolation I have no desire to deal with any of them either- but needs must.

There are two survivor-lead organisations for those with DID, First Person Plural and PODS but they are small, under-funded and generally unnoticed. I hope one day to have the strength and stability to help move DID out of the shadows. Not because I think we’re special but because we trauma survivors deserve the same services and same recognition as everybody else with a chronic mental illness.

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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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To-Do List

Posted in 6 year old, autism, Awesome Psychiatrist, bipolar, blogging, children, communication, crying, depression, emotions, Fab Psychologist, Fantastic CPN, hospital, illness, insight, lithium, Lovely Dietitian, mania, manic, medication, mental illness, money, mother, parenting, recovery, social worker, stress, suicide, support, Wonderful GP, work, tagged , , , , , , , , on September 16, 2011 | 14 Comments »

I think this may be one of those posts on depression I talked about, I’m not sure, I’ll just write and see what happens.

It’s been a funny day- as in not at all amusing in any way shape or form and in fact nothing funny has happened so I’m not sure I can qualify that summing-up. It just feels funny. I’m sure there are many pathological explanations for this- a shift in mood state, the inevitable come-down after a period of elevation, the fact I stopped taking the dreaded lithium on Sunday night? It’s not my area of expertise so I’ll stop speculating.

I’ve had a hard week, again, nothing particularly difficult has happened (especially when you contrast this week with the past 3) and I haven’t actually done anything or been anywhere.

Monday- a social worker from the local children and families team came to carry out an assessment in light of the 3 “child at risk concerns” from the police following my behaviour over recent weeks and contact from the ninja CPN. The assessment was a gruelling affair and ultimately felt like a lynching. I had it all under control for around 45 minutes until the ninja CPN arrived (45 minutes late) and in my words “painted me as a total loony” in her words “told the truth”. Either way the assessment went on too long and I lost it towards the end, partly due to nicotine withdrawal, partly due to being talked about as though I wasn’t in the room and partly due to the social workers insistence on informing me that there may have to be a child protection investigation.

The social worker herself was patronising and clearly had little understanding of mental health. I know I’m not the best mother in the world and I know I don’t always try my hardest but to have to sit and listen to a complete stranger tell me just how badly I was failing was very difficult indeed.

Of course maybe she never implied that at all? I have noticed this week that every interaction I have had with the ninja CPN where I mention something someone else has said, she insists on me recounting it verbatim so that she can point out where I am misinterpreting things, employing magical thinking or just fabricating things. I can’t even trust my own thoughts and impressions any more. I feel stupid, childish and powerless.

I am not surprised or ashamed that my family has come to the attention of social services; I’d be more surprised if we hadn’t. My argument against their involvement is simply that they have nothing appropriate to offer. I was also more than a little annoyed that suddenly they were intruding on our lives when in all the time the 17 year old lived here and his autism wreaked heartbreak and havoc on us all they never offered a service, in spite of being asked. What my family needs in order to function properly is for me to be well- thinly veiled threats about child protection measures aren’t going to help me achieve this. The social worker wants to come back- well at least I think she does, I received a letter addressed to me and the 6 year old, making an appointment to visit the 6 year old and someone else who doesn’t even exist. Clearly just an admin error and my rage over it is no doubt my own fault for being difficult and misinterpreting things but it pissed me off anyway.

I assume the appointment is to see the 6 year old and the 14 year old again. The 14 year old is largely unimpressed with the social worker, her opening gambit of “I know it’s not easy being different, well some people like to be different- like Lady Gaga” sealed her fate with the 14 year old. The 14 year old is a wonderful creature, intelligent, engaging and probably the funniest person I know. She may be a little “old for her years” at times but she can spot a patronising bastard a mile away. I don’t disagree that the 14 year old would benefit from some emotional support, after all if I had cancer others would be falling over themselves to ensure she was ok, I’m just not sure that social services are equipped to offer her the kind of support she needs.

So the intervention of social services has me hell-bent on proving that their services are no longer required, maybe that’s the way it works?

Tuesday- the Fab Therapist visited me at home, she was impressed by my apparent fineness given the horror stories she had been told by other “team members” since our last interaction some 6 weeks ago. I don’t think we talked about much, I’m not really sure but we can’t have done as I don’t recall having a meltdown after she left. It was kind of her to circumnavigate my avoidance by visiting me at home and I expect our next appointment in 4 weeks will only have me moderately filled with dread and fear as opposed to having dread and fear seep out of every pore like usual.

This brings me to the realisation I’ve been generating this week- mental health professionals cannot make me better. I have a great “team” (that makes me want to vomit) an Awesome Psychiatrist, Fab Therapist, Wonderful GP, Lovely Dietitian, Fantastic ninja CPN and even an ok-ish community based psychiatrist (promoted from “dickhead” after he didn’t put up a fight against my discharge from the local bin last Thursday). They are all very knowledgeable, compassionate people that work very hard but there are no magic wands.

At the end of every appointment, at the end of every day, I am alone with the mental.

Part of my problem is I don’t know where I am or what I should be doing. Am I ill? Am I recovering? Am I all better now? Should I be taking it easy? Should I be trying harder? I simply don’t know. The last few weeks have been a kind of perpetual crisis and I knew what I had to do then, I had to fight, fight against the horror that is admission to the psych ward, fight against the intrinsic death that is psychotropic medication. I won both of those fights- my prize?

I’m still mental.

This evening I find myself back to struggling to find the will to live. I am aware I have very few coping strategies for times of “distress” (that also makes me want to vomit) so I’ve had a quick look on some websites to find out how other people do it. I’m still none the wiser. Yes sure I can sit here, in my corner and name all the colours I can see but that won’t help sort out the mess that is tax credits, it won’t help me be able to put up with the simultaneous noise from the TV, the DS and the 6 year old when he is here, it won’t help me be able to sit and enjoy a film and some mother-daughter bonding time with the 14 year old, it won’t get the school uniforms washed, dried and ironed in time for school on Monday, it won’t help me get back to work, it won’t pay the mortgage, it won’t cut the grass or fix the bathroom…..I could go on. When your life is a catastrophe, it’s very easy to catastrophise.

Wednesday- I have no idea what, if anything happened on Wednesday- oh yes, I wrote my last blog post and sure enough as I said in reply to one comment I am still as lost and clueless as I was when I wrote it.

Thursday- again, nothing happened that I can recall but in truth it’s therefore not impossible that there was a zombie apocalypse or a plague of sharks or something, my recall of events is sketchy at best.

Friday- AKA today. Well I think I’ve outlined above where I am today, I’m not sure even if I read it back I will have any idea. I think I’m back at the “must get a grip” stage, I have a to-do list for tomorrow- it has one item on it-

Get washed and dressed

 

In all honesty that will be a major achievement, wish me luck.

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To Whom It May Concern

Posted in bipolar, communication, crying, Eating Disorder, emotions, high, insight, mania, manic, mental illness, suicide, The Fear, tagged , , , , , , , , , on September 14, 2011 | 39 Comments »

As I write it’s Wednesday 14th of September 2011, just after 8.30pm. My day has been unspectacular, especially by my own standards of late. I woke before 4,30am, on the sofa in the same clothes I had worn and slept in since Monday.

That paragraph sounds much like the beginning of one of those posts on depression I am so loathe to write, it’s not.

My mood remains “elevated” but it’s not the colouring-in, book writing elevation that we all like so much. This elevation can be fun, it gets me through the long days, the kids love “manic breakfasts” (bacon and pancakes- sometimes real sometimes imaginary), laundry gets washed and occasionally dried on the same day, I am (I like to think) funny, fun and engaging for my twitter audience. My energy levels are high and more than ever I miss my stupid car (it’s still in Newcastle) as there are so many places I want to go- usually to buy stuff- usually stationery. Mostly I just want to run away.

However this kind of elevation also brings with it a mix of anger, fear, rage, irritability, distractibility and anxiety that turns most days into a waking nightmare. I can’t concentrate on anything; basic conversation is beyond me and anything anyone says winds me up to a point I can’t hear them over the noise in my head. Writing this is a huge struggle and I’m not even sure what to say.

I am consumed with anger and rage at the slightest stimulus, be this political or personal. I get so overwhelmed by these feelings I end up going mental in some of its most basic forms- laughter, crying, a mixture of the two, fixating on rhyming words, taking risky walks in the dark alone, rocking back and forth, pacing or becoming completely immobile. All the while my thoughts are fast, jumbled and largely useless. I am easily confused and inclined to forget things, going out presents the ever-present danger of getting lost

We’ve been having the fine/ill debate regarding my mental health on twitter for some time now; for the most part I insist I am fine with fleeting moments where I confess I feel less than well. Many others have told me I’m not very well and haven’t been for sometime. I have had some advice to the contrary, the kind of advice that suggests I’m being somewhat self-indulgent and need to simply “stop” doing what I am doing. I can’t even comment on that advice right now except to say, maybe those who say that are right?

Every health professional I’ve encountered recently has gone to great lengths to tell me that they are “concerned” about me and that I am “very concerning”. This concern makes me feel guilty and I am going to extraordinary lengths to no longer be a “concern”. My attempts are superficial however and mainly involve lying about my mental health and telling people what they want to hear. I feel vindicated in doing this as I very quickly discovered “concern” never mutated into anything useful for me.

I don’t want to be a concern, I want to be fine.

I don’t think I am fine but I’m not entirely sure what to do with this revelation. I think  the part of me that surfaced over the last few weeks and tried to destroy me is on her way back (I still argue that starving my body kept her quiet) and I’m not entirely sure what to do (early signs are the drugs inventory and purchase of new razor blades). I am currently safe though it’s through conscious choice at the moment. I still don’t really know what happened over the last few weeks but I know I very quickly got to a point where I had very little say in my own safety. How do you keep yourself safe from part of yourself, a part of which you have little awareness until you see the cuts on your body or have to talk your way out of yet another MHA?

I don’t know where I’m going with this, I’ve just read it, it’s not one of my better pieces, (actually it’s shit) but it’s going up on the blog as I think it may be a cry for help whilst I am still able to do so.

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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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Premeditated Murder- Part One

Posted in Anxiety, Awesome Psychiatrist, birthday, blogging, depression, diagnosis, duloxetine, Eating Disorder, emotions, illness, labels, lithium, mania, manic, medication, mental illness, psychiatrist, stability, suicide, tea, The Fear, Twitter, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 4, 2011 | 31 Comments »

As I mentioned in my previous post I am considering taking lithium again. This was not my idea, in fact it comes way down on my list of ideas somewhere after “stick pins in my eyes”, “swim in a crocodile infested pond”, “go to a Miranda Hart gig” “listen to Demi Lovato”, “eat offal”, “take up card making as a hobby”….you get the picture.

Lithium is the idea of my Awesome Psychiatrist, a gentleman I was very lucky to be referred to and even luckier that he found me “interesting” enough for him to continue reviewing my diagnosis (diagnoses?) and treatment. It is not surprising that in light of recent events he thinks it might be time to try and introduce some sort of chemical stability into my chaotic life.

I trust the Awesome Psychiatrists completely, I did instantly, I have no idea why, I usually make mental health professionals work very hard indeed to earn my trust. The Awesome Psychiatrist is very skilled and very experienced he is a “designated national specialist” according to one website, I’m not actually sure what this means but he’s a nice guy, very funny, gives me tea during appointments and laughs at my jokes, all good qualities as far as I’m concerned.

In spite of this I am still in a quandary over taking lithium again, for reasons I will explain, some perfectly rational, some possibly less rational but no less pertinent for me.

I have taken many psychotropic medications in the past, so many I’m not sure if I can remember them all but I will try- bearing in mind I only came to the attention of the psychiatric profession (this time around) in January 2010 this is quite a list-

Fluoxetine

Venlafaxine

Olanzapine

Quetiapine

Aripiprazole

Carbamazepine

Lithium

Agomelatine

Sodium Valproate

Duloxetine

Various benzodiazepines

Various hypnotics

I took propranolol in an attempt to counter the tremor lithium gave me- it made me almost blind

I was also once prescribed Risperidone for about 20 minutes but never took it

These drugs were in various dosages, in various combinations at various times, I stopped taking anything on the 19th of January 2011. I started taking Agomelatine on the 16th of  March and stopped taking it some 8 weeks ago for reasons that will probably soon become clear. I could write a blog post on each one and the reasons I hated it but this post is about lithium.

So I’ll start with the rational reasons I don’t want to take lithium again.

Lithium has many nasty physical side-effects; in my experience it causes agonising leg cramps, nausea, dizziness, constant fatigue, headaches, disabling whole body tremor, constant thirst, an insatiable hunger and accompanying rapid, uncontrollable weight gain. I don’t cope well with physical ailments, I tend to ignore most physical symptoms, preferring to ignore the fact I actually have a body at all. Feeling ill all the time forces me to acknowledge I have a body that is more than just somewhere to apply pyjamas. It makes me very uncomfortable. When I look back at diaries or blog posts I am reminded of just how dreadful I felt whilst taking medication. I accept I was over medicated, poorly medicated and poorly monitored but I have no confidence this won’t happen again. I would be mad to volunteer to make myself physically ill again.

Drug-induced weight-gain is tortuous, for anybody, for someone who likes to be in control of food as much as I do it’s even worse. I have managed to crawl to quite a sound footing in terms of eating disorder recovery, most days I eat three proper meals a day, snacks in between and have managed to make it through a whole month without any self-induced vomiting. No mean feat for someone who appeared hell-bent on starving herself to death a short time ago. I remember the incredible lithium hunger so well, I would be drop-down-dead starving almost all day, it never went away. I can’t help but think introducing a drug that messes with my metabolism would be self-sabotage at this stage.

Lithium is a mood-stabiliser, yes it helps prevent extremes of mood but it also has a tendency to cancel out all the ones in between as well. I functioned on lithium but I was without thoughts, ideas, feelings or reactions. I was empty; I am in danger of straying into the less rational reasons for not taking lithium so I will direct you to this post written by a much loved friend on the subject, she explains it better than I ever could.

So those are my experience-based, rational, understandable reasons for being reluctant to take lithium again. If I have the words and the courage I will try and explain the other reasons. I would appreciate anyone reading to let me know that they nodded and said “uh-huh” throughout this next bit as opposed to laughing aloud or further questioning my sanity, I have awareness that my beliefs are a little skew-whiff but this does not stop me believing them.

I often joke about being “poisoned by the medical profession” in fact during my first consultation with the Awesome Psychiatrist I made him promise not to poison me, I make it sound funny- I am deadly serious. I believe the medical profession want to poison me and make me something/somebody I am not. This belief  has some basis in fact, after my diagnosis there was a tendency to attach pathological labels to all my past behaviour. All the things I did, all the things I achieved were painted with bipolar, taken away from me, turned in to symptoms as opposed to qualities.  I believe that the psychiatric profession do not like me being who I am (or perhaps rather who I can be when not hooped-up on mentalism?) I am tempted to self-censor here as I know that what I’m about to say merely supports my diagnosis but I will go ahead. The psychiatric profession want me to be the same as everyone else, they want me to conform, be normal, be boring. I haven’t quite made up my mind if “they” (ie- everyone else other than me in the whole world) feel envious, threatened or just don’t like me, either way I know they want to drug the Zoë out of me.

The way I feel about this is paradoxical to my general feelings of self-loathing and I can’t really explain that other than perhaps by referring to that shameful symptom of bipolar- grandiosity. It is my understanding that grandiosity is a symptom of a manic state though and high or low I feel exactly the same way about lithium and exactly the same way about what “they” want to do to me. Even when I am crushingly low I would rather be dead than take lithium.

Simply thinking about taking lithium again makes me panic, it gives me the fear I shake and sweat, my heart races and I start scurrying around inside my own head. I have got as far as allowing the Awesome Psychiatrist to start the process, I am still in control, at this stage I have no intention of taking it.

I believe that in voluntarily taking those tablets I would essentially be killing a part of me. This sounds like a standard case of “missing the highs” and maybe it is, it feels much scarier and final than that though.

Lithium mutes the Zoë in me, it leaves behind a fat, trembling body inhabited by functioning parts, things get done but we don’t “do stuff” (“stuff” being a handy catch-all word to describe the stuff  Zoë does). Having re-read that (very long) sentence I am aware I am possibly making little sense, except perhaps to myself. It’s 3am I should probably stop and have a milky drink.

I don’t know what to do about this situation, I clearly cannot continue the way I am, I am just not safe- in either mood state and I accept that I am unwell (though I am willing to argue as to just how unwell I am). However I know that if I take lithium, the author of this blog will die and I suspect she’ll take the twitter account holder with her, I will still exist in some form but I won’t be living.

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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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The Weirdest Day Ever

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on August 20, 2011 | 9 Comments »

Today began much like any other- early, around 3am. Immediately upon waking my body demands tea; I spent some time this morning debating with my body whether tea or Zopiclone was the correct choice- ultimately we decided on both. I drank tea whilst I waited for the Zopiclone to do its magic, a magic that frankly is so unmagical and unimpressive it would be found in the same magic set as the metal puzzle. I slept again from around 4.30am until just after 6- I think.

I had a busy and somewhat productive morning, nothing special just housework and laundry. At some point I decided to paint a mural on my bedroom wall but it appears I never did find the idea I was looking for, the wall remains lilac and brimming with potential, the paints put away for another day. I wrote a letter to a friend, in the most ironic fashion the thoroughly modern world of Twitter has ultimately led me to a situation whereby communication with this particular friend is only possible the old fashioned way- with envelopes and stamps

So my morning continued with the usual mix of normal and I suspect not-so normal. I did housework, I parented, at some point I got dressed and went to post that letter, I fought my urge to satisfy my new found love of setting fire to things, I cooked bacon for breakfast but no pancakes as we are out of maple syrup, I completed all the laundry, I set fire to some things, I drew pictures, I read my usual eclectic mix of websites, I argued with myself over whether to keep my appointment for my brain MRI or not- and failed to come to a conclusion, in another example of irony I gave career and relationship advice via Twitter, I am considering including a disclaimer in my profile.

The 6 year old was collected by his dad around 11am (and I realise now I crammed an awful lot in to a short space of time this morning), I had expressed a desire for the 14 year old to go with dad for the weekend too but as 14 year olds are wont to do she expressed her autonomy and decided to stay at home. I crave solitude and peace, I adore being alone. Having carried out two experiments in the last two weeks that involved entering the real world and mixing with real people I have come to the definite conclusion that real people make me mental. If I could spend my days alone with only the safe opt-in relationships I have fostered online I suspect I would be perfectly normal. So why given that evidence I said “yes” when the 14 year old asked me if she could have a friend sleep over tonight is beyond me. I suspect it was something to do with avoiding the ire of the 14 year old wrapped up in a whole heap of maternal guilt. Whatever the reason I now have two 14 year olds for the night, suffice to say I am currently hiding in my bedroom writing this and hoping our guests parents are not following me on twitter or indeed are fans of this blog.

I have had a very difficult week. When I reflect I can’t actually believe it has only been 6 days since Monday, I have said, done and thought so much and my sleep-disordered and deprived, distorted sense of time leaves me feeling like I experience life as one long continuum of disorder and abnormality with nothing to break it up. Friends and professionals have expressed concern about my health this week at times I can see why, I’m really not very well.

I could relate numerous specific examples this week that would support the general opinion that I am not very well- from the incident at the bank-

“when you think you are chanting “hurry the fuck up” at the person in front of you in the queue for the ATM in your head- and they respond”

To the road trip (from St Andrews to Inverness) summed up by this statement-

“I used to think they should dual the A9 all the way from Perth to Inverness. If I get home, I’m going to start a campaign to have it nuked”

These aren’t even the extreme examples really, just snippets (obviously Tweeted snippets) of the disorder and chaos I am currently pretending is life.

So I cling to the tiny bits of evidence I have that I am “fine”-

There’s food in the house……..food purchased at 3am with money I don’t think I have as I have totally lost control of my finances.

My car insurance is renewed……I have no idea if the policy is suitable, or the best deal, in fact I only know I bought it because I tweeted about it and have the confirmation email in my inbox.

The house is quite tidy……….we have completely run out of clean crockery 3 times this week, I have a lot of crockery.

The children appear well and happy and have attended school with all the appropriate uniform and sundry items……….I avoid the children, keep interaction to a minimum as I am aware I am a toxic parent at the moment. The 6 year old now believes it is entirely normal to deal with any troubling, official paperwork by having a bonfire in your back garden (complete with propellant). The 14 year old was forced to leave school early one day to collect her brother from school as I was halfway up the A9. The children’s uniforms were both bought in a haze- an expensive haze, I am grateful the 6 year old is a standard age 6-7 and that the 14 year old was able to email links to the correct purchases for the items she required.

I could go on. I’m not coping, I’m barely functioning- on the surface all appears well, peek under the surface slightly and it is a mess. I have many times over the last few days considered throwing my hands in the air and declaring “I’m ill, I’m not fine, I’m not coping” but I have yet to figure out to whom I would direct this declaration, what I would want them to do and what I would like the outcome to be so I will carry on and hope that “that thing” that may happen to provide the final push to my seemingly sane exterior doesn’t happen. I don’t know what that thing would be, it could be something huge like bereavement or an accident, and at the same time I am aware it could be something innocuous like a broken cup or running out of tea bags.

I wrote the title for this post before I had written any words- I never do that, blog post titles come to me during writing or upon completion. I realise now I haven’t qualified the title in my writing. I was going to explain all about my sleep paralysis and how I spent the afternoon doing all this stuff- then woke up and realised I had been asleep. I was going to write about how I had to spend an hour or so looking for clues as to whether my afternoon had been as it appeared or if it had in fact been one long lucid dream or hallucination.

This post could easily be entitled any of the following-

The weirdest day I have put into words today

The weirdest day- since yesterday

The weirdest day- so far today

The weirdest day that in fact is rapidly becoming unweird and perfectly normal for me

So yeah as predicted the blogging break was brief and I have returned making even less sense than I have previously. I don’t even know why I wrote this post, I don’t think I know anything anymore.

I don’t know.

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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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Reveling in an Alternative Mood Scale

Posted in bipolar, depression, emotions, illness, insight, mental illness, mindfulness, recovery, Revel Mood Rating Scale, suicide, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on July 16, 2011 | 30 Comments »

Anyone suffering from poor mental health will at some point no doubt have been asked to keep a track of their moods- from the simple note in a diary approach which requires  rating one’s mood between 1-10 (with 1 and 10 and all the numbers in between being rather poorly defined) to more sophisticated methods such as Moodpanda. I have attempted to do this on a number of occasions but have failed miserably at either A- identifying my mood, B- rating it on the arbitrary scale and C- being bothered to continue doing it much beyond 3 days.

A very brief Twitter based conversation yesterday with Chris O’sullivan (@mentalcapital) and Jennifer Rowe (@thecupcake_girl) gave me that familiar rush of inspiration. Unfortunately the rush of inspiration was fleeting and I was again ensconced in the black sludge of depression.

Today I think it’s back- to the point where I actually went out to get the required materials- this is no mean feat for someone who has been too anxious to go out of their own front door for weeks. I suspect my trip to the shop was aided by the rather large amount of benzodiazpines I have ingested this morning in the pursuit of sleep- figuring sleeping the day away was preferable to another day spent wading through the black sludge. Whatever the reason I present you with an alternative mood scale and a reflection on recovery preferences.

This is a 140g bag of Revels it contains 51 Revels. I  purchased it from my local Spar this morning for the extortionate price of £2.35, a price I’m willing to pay if my mind stops racing enough to make this next new project as good as I hope it’s going to be.

I hate Revels- it’s like playing Russian Roulette with confectionery, you never know what you’re going to get- much like mental illness. I cannot control Revels- the closest I can get is spotting the easy ones (chocolate, raisin and to some extent the Malteasers)- the more insidious, complex ones require to be bitten in half before one can ascertain the variety. The parallels with mental health are obvious- some of the symptoms are easy to spot- for others you have to consume half of them to figure out what they are. Both the half-consumed Revels and half-consumed symptoms of mental illness, cause trauma, confusion and leave a nasty taste in your mouth.

So I present you with my Revels mood rating scale-

Revel

Characteristics

Accompanying Sensations

Emotions you may be experiencing

Symptoms elicited
Coffee Tastes like death Bad taste in mouth Disappointment, anger, shame at being stupid enough to select the wrong Revel, grief, anguish and incapability of overcoming the sheer horror of the situation Crying, shouting, hiding in bed, wearing pyjamas all day, foregoing self-care
Texture of flesh in the early stages of putrefaction Bad feeling in stomach Anxiety Shakiness, nausea, fast heart-rate, sweating, racing thoughts
Smells like coffee from a vending machine Nose invaded by the noxious smell of cheap coffee Hyper-sensitivity to surroundings Wearing magic invisibility sunglasses indoors, paranoia, sticker over webcam
Impossible to distinguish from Orange Revel Shocked and surprised“This is not the Revel I want” Cheated, disappointed, “my life is so unfair”,”everything bad happens to me“, “what else is going to go wrong today?” “EVERYTHING is a catastrophe“ Possible psychotic episode, Suicidal ideation

(more…)

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