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Posts Tagged ‘mental health’

Mental For Five Minutes

Posted in activist, benefits, blogging, Celebrity Mentalism, DID, mental illness, NHS, Told you it wasn't like Stephen Fucking Fry, Twitter, tagged , , , , on April 24, 2012 | 56 Comments »

This has been swirling around in my head for years, so far I’ve kept it to rants on twitter in 140 characters or fewer but it deserves more words.

Today’s twitter rant actually leapt over the line from ‘rant’ to ‘just plain old abuse’ I don’t care-


It was a long time coming.

To quote, from the Rethink article

“We wish her all the best in getting through this difficult time and commend her for her continued honesty when it comes to talking about mental health.

 When celebrities speak frankly about mental illness they go a long way in helping to break down the stigma that still surrounds it.”

It’s a commonly held misconception with MH organisations that celebrity mentalism does anything at all to break down stigma. I’ve had this conversation calmly with Rethink and others in the past; I’ve also tried to get Rethink to make reference to dissociative disorders and DID on their website, they gave me some lame excuse about not having information available, I told them where they could get information, I offered to write information they still haven’t done anything about it.

That is stigma

Being afflicted by the MH equivalent of leprosy I am all too familiar with stigma, most of it comes from the NHS but the fact that MH organisations such as Rethink and SAMH refuse to make any reference to dissociative disorders or DID does nothing but compound the idea that it is the illness that must not be spoken of.

I am eternally grateful to Mind for their leaflet on dissociative disorders, it’s a great place to start for information, my only complaint is that they even address the ‘does DID exist’ issue (see ‘other theories’), to be fair they handle it very well but until mainstream literature stops even considering whether DID ‘exists’ or not, people will continue to question it.

So my rant at Rethink today has a bit of a history but my original point and one I have made many times is that celebrities ‘confessing’ to having mental illness does nothing other than provide a bit of a news flurry, an opportunity for the media to tie themselves up in knots about semantics and a few interviews, maybe a book deal for the celebrity in question.

Celebrity experience of mental illness never reflects the day-to-day reality for those of us living with a mental illness. I accept that the way celebrity and the media work are probably to blame for this but we cannot challenge stigma with

Has breakdown- goes to Thailand- is all better now.

Or

Has breakdown- keeps job- writes books- gets more jobs- is all better now.

Or

‘Catches’ bipolar- goes to clinic for 4 days- drinks smoothies- makes film- is all better now.

Or

Has breakdown- goes to Priory- enhances career with a touch of mentalism- gets more jobs- is all better now.

Etc.

My frustration is both personal and on the behalf of the many people I have come to know and love who are struggling with mental illness. All of these people have ‘bravery’ and ‘honesty’ in bucketloads- and the MH organisations follow most of them on twitter so see their stories unfolding every day. Day-to-day existence with a mental illness is grim, protracted and painful. Mental illness is pervasive; it destroys lives and steals futures. For most of us getting any care and treatment is a fight, getting the correct care and treatment is a fight, for most of us neither Thailand or the Priory is an option- if we can make it through the humiliating, degrading DLA and ESA application processes without attempting to end our own lives, we may have enough money to scrape by on.

Celebrity mentalism and the discussion of it could be a great platform for more useful discussion- discussion that perhaps does something to effect change, something tangible, but it rarely is.

Every day I have to watch people I care about going without care and treatment, being refused help, being mistreated, struggling, fighting, being brave. I’ve yet to meet anyone who has got what they need, when they needed it. I’m currently watching someone I love very much suffer through months and months of having no hot water due to massive incompetence on the part of her housing association, she’s got sicker as a result- I don’t see Rethink jumping in with a statement of support.

Mainstream media does and will always use celebrity mentalism as a platform for nothing more than gawking but I think we should expect more of MH organisations.

There is an army of honest, brave, frank bloggers within the Madosphere (most comprehensive blogroll here at TWIM)- all of them challenge stigma far more than any 15 minute interview with a celebrity (and you’ll note that those interviews are all ‘when I was mental’).

All of these bloggers provide education and information about mental illness- and any of them could be your next door neighbour, your daughter, your son, your boss, your postman, your GP, your child’s teacher, the checkout operator at Tesco, your friend. They just might not be famous enough to make the difference they deserve to make, they just might not be famous enough to really challenge the way you think about mental illness.

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Cute Metaphors

Posted in art, DID, Multiple Personality Disorder, tagged , , , , on April 20, 2012 | 4 Comments »

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The Right Help To Be Terrifyingly Confused

Posted in DID, mental illness, Multiple Personality Disorder, therapist, therapy, Told you it wasn't like Stephen Fucking Fry, tagged , , , , , , on April 18, 2012 | 21 Comments »

I was deemed worthy at last, funding was awarded for the long-awaited ‘right help’. I have a new therapist; her adjective is yet to be decided but she is both right and helpful. I’ve only met the <something> therapist twice but already I can see that the need to constantly explain myself, my thoughts, my symptoms, my actions, to somehow justify my ‘complexity’ has gone. I’m not complex, I am a bog-standard multiple (if such a thing exists- we are wonderful, interesting, exotic creatures) I am ‘normal’. Abnormally normal but normal all the same- I fit, my experiences aren’t wildly different from what they ‘should’ be anymore- there is some comfort in that. Just being able to speak to someone who ‘gets it’ instead of someone who looks terrified/confused/doubtful/anxious/conflicted/fascinated/horrified is, is- well it’s ‘ok’.

Whilst I can already see that the right help is both right and helpful it is also a number of other things, mainly confusing, a word that means more daunting than daunting, terrifying and uncertain.

The confusion is painful, endless and ultimately a bit confused. I don’t think even I could come up with a nice, flowery metaphor to explain it. It is agony. Whilst each session of the right help so far has brought  relief at not being treated like a psychiatric curiosity or a problem, comfort in finally being heard and the knowledge that there is now ‘something’ there to help- there is always a period of intense sadness afterwards when I realise the <something> therapist didn’t at any point say-

“I’ve made a terrible mistake, I treat DID, I am the wrong help for you”

Of course the confusion is compounded as she might well have said it and I just don’t remember…..

I may have to invent a word that means more daunting than daunting, I’m not sure there ever could be a word that sums up the way it feels to finally be starting your life, nearly 37 years after your life officially started. Whilst  that feeling may hint at something resembling positivity, I’d argue at this stage it’s more a recognition of potential, potential.

The right help is also terrifying; I think it may even be more terrifying than no help and the wrong help. I can’t decide (see ‘confusion’ above) and I can’t put it in to words. I spent so long appearing never to need any help for anything; it’s hard to adjust to allowing help- especially help that might actually help.

Nobody can tell me how long the right help will take, nobody can even guess but I know it’s going to take a long time. I always have millions of questions; many of them don’t have answers. I think I’m supposed to do the whole ‘acceptance’ thing but it’s just not happening. I’m also supposed to just ‘be’ I’ve never been able to ‘be’ I ‘do’ I don’t ‘be’. I think at this stage I’d accept being lied to if it meant I had something tangible instead of the constant uncertainty about what comes next and “when will I be able to <insert anything from the mundane to the fanciful here> again?”

I’m exhausted, career mentalism is draining and challenging, the rewards are few and far between, the pay is terrible and my annual leave entitlement is zero.

My job is survival, out of all the jobs I’ve had (and they have, unsurprisingly been many and varied) it is without doubt the hardest. I often have nothing to show after a 24 hour shift other than the fact I am still breathing. There is nobody to recognise my ‘achievement’ other than myself.

I know she is in there somewhere.

The conditions, pay and benefits may be atrocious but there is some hope for the pension, I just have to survive long enough to accrue it.

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March for Survival

Posted in mental illness, psychiatrist, tea, Told you it wasn't like Stephen Fucking Fry, Uncategorized, tagged , , , on March 1, 2012 | 12 Comments »

It’s March, I survived February.

February, with its extra day was both painfully long and upon reflection short- reduced now to nothing more than a blur of things I don’t know and things I can’t remember.

February brought more pain, fear, confusion and suffering. February took with it, as it went, more hope and optimism than I would have imagined possible. The further, rapid degradation in anything resembling my quality of life is unquantifiable. I’m not living; I do not even exist other than in the moment.

I am surviving.

In 7  days I have an appointment with a specialist, another appointment, another psychiatrist, another specialist. I’m told this appointment is with the ‘right help’, the right psychiatrist, the right specialist.

I hope they’re right, experience tells me to be extremely cautious, I’ve been told this before and it ended badly. Very badly.

So for 7 days I will continue to survive, hoping, in the face of what I know, in spite of all my experience,  that I’ll finally get to meet someone who listens to my story and says ‘I’ve heard stories like yours before, you’re not wrong, it’s not your fault and I can help.’

I don’t know what I’ll do in 8 days.

I don’t know.

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Reports Of My Death Are Fairly Accurate, Right And Wrong

Posted in mental illness, NHS, Told you it wasn't like Stephen Fucking Fry, tagged , , , on February 1, 2012 | 88 Comments »

It’s February, I survived January.

 

Sadly, I have to bring you the news that I am dying.

 

That one little part of the (156cm tall, arm-span equal to the width of a king-sized bed) person-shaped space others refer to as ‘Zoë’ that I see as self not other is disappearing.

 

I am terminally, mentally ill.

 

The NHS continue to provide me with palliative care but my pain and suffering are huge. There is treatment available that could slow, maybe even stop my death but it’s not available to me yet.

 

I am the wrong kind of ill.

 

I was right all along.

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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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The Magic Number

Posted in birthday, blogging, mental illness, Uncategorized, tagged , , on October 16, 2011 | 18 Comments »

So today one of the best blogs on the internet is three years old. I hate birthdays so I invented “Blogiversary” and to avoid any confusion I have defined it for you-

Blog-i-vers-ary

Noun         1. The date on which a blog was begun in a previous year

  2. An occasion marked by showering the author of the blog with gifts

It’s been an interesting 3 years and the blog tells its part of a rather fascinating story in a way that wouldn’t have been possible before. It’s a story that’s been shared with a lot of people, a story that needed to be told, a story that I hope will continue. The story doesn’t have an ending yet but I’m determined to write it one day.

Thanks to everyone for everything, I have a piece of virtual cake for you all, enjoy.

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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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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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