I <3 Journalists

This concerns me.

I am worried that an action which could have been purely appalling practice, is being linked without question to mental illness.
I'm sure anyone in nursing has met or heard of people who have mistreated those in their care without having a mental illness. A quick look through the NMC's enquiries would tell you that.

It has been reported that this lady was diagnosed with Bipolar Affective Disorder at the age of 19, and later with "paranoia". The lady is now 52, and has been nursing for 20 years. How does this article help the public to understand that a family member or collegue who has a mental illness is not going to do something like this?

This sort of reporting disgusts me as it instantly assumes that the behaviour must have been because of the diagnosis - have you never heard of someone who is "sane" doing something which is against human morals?

This concerns me due to my own mental illness. I disclosed my history when I applied, and had to get a letter for occupational health from my psychiatrist to state that I was mentally fit to work. My illness has not affected me professionally, except for times when I have been less-than-ok and missed some time. I, luckily, am able to see warning signs that I am becoming unwell. I can recognise when my mental state would affect my practice, and that is when I don't work.

Some people, due to their illness, are unable to identify warning signs, or become unwell very rapidly. Since being diagnoses as probable Bipolar II, I have been increasingly concerned about such things as "Fitness to Practice". I'm quite confident that I am able to manage myself and my illness - I would rather take some time off than endanger my service users because of my poor mental state.

However, it does concern me in terms of my future, my career.


EDIT:
This p*sses me off.
Mental illness often makes people prone to committing crimes.

Some Nursing Stuff, and A Bit of a Moan

I didn't OD and I didn't self-harm. I did feel rather sorry for myself, which I'm now quite embarrassed about.
I've been having some issues with a female friend recently who I think I am realising doesn't really make me feel that great. I'm really questioning why I'm friends with her, and I've realised a lot about how she makes me feel. I don't really want to carry on being friends with someone who refers to me as "poor" and herself as "posh totty", because she has Andrex-on-the-go and a DKNY purse. What do I have? Value bog roll. I do have a DKNY purse - it was a present. I plan on selling it.

Ah. I think I've just answered my own question of whether I want to be friends with her...


Uni stuff. Oh, Cellar_Door, you are soooooo going to agree with me on this....

My university has a pass mark of 40%.
You need to achieve two units at over 60% during the second year to qualify for the BSc Hons - we have received the marks for 2 out of the 4 units which qualify for this.
I had a butchers at my course-mates marks - it anonymous, but I wanted to see if there will be enough of us to run the BSc Hons - if there isn't, I'll have to defer for 6 months and join the next cohort.

So, here goes...

4 people, including myself, have achieved 2 out of 2 units at 60% or more, and will be offered the BSc. Whether they accept it will be a financial decision, as you do not get the full bursary, and more people may achieve the required marks in the next 2 units.

6 people have failed to achieve 4o% in either of the 2 units for which we have received marks. These were not "near misses" either. None of their marks were above 30.

It concerns me. A lot. Not that don't worry about failing, about having a bad day and ballsing it all up. But I already worry that 40% is still a low pass rate. And yet people still consistently fail. Why are people allowed on the course if they are unable to make the required grade? The university is allowing, or even encouraging them to waste 3 years of their lives.

The 40% pass rate worries me because I think that the syllabus which we are taught and tested on contains only the bare essentials. So people are becoming qualified nurses, with only 40% of what they need to know. Now that scares me.

Stop Telling Me I "Look Well"

I don't feel well.

*** WARNING - TRIGGERS ***
I feel numb and overwhelmed, all at once, and I want to stop thinking about my medication. I want to stop adding it up.

A 40 year old man, with non-insulin dependant diabetes, and no other health conditions took 19g of Venlafaxine. He did not ingest any other medications or alcohol, and within 9hours it proved fatal.
He weighed 106kg.
I weigh around 55kg... so I should, technically, need only half that dose.

I have purposely not collected the 24 x 75mg tablets that the pharmacy had to order. However, I reckon I still have in the region of 8g.
And some fluoxetine.
And 20-something Citalopram.
And about 30 ibuprofen, just for luck.

This is spinning round and round in my head until I want to bang it repeatedly against a wall. I self-harmed, superficially, last week. The first time in a very long time. I used the vegetable knife, it wouldn't go through the skin initially so I used the tip to open up a small wound and then sawed at it until I could think again. Six small cuts, on my calf.

I keep thinking about my boyfriend's Stanley knife. I only found out he had it the other day - he was talking to a friend about using it for cutting the griptape on a skateboard, and now I know it is in the flat, and I have a pretty good idea where it is. I want it.

I don't know if I want to die. I just want all the shit to stop. I want to feel normal, not like I'm trying to speak to people through several feet of ... something... like a thick, jelly-like substance, a barrier between me and the world.

It could be so much worse... and that just makes me want to face the world even less.

Recovered, and paying the price.

I got over the flu-like symptoms - think it was just a very bed cold. Managed my night shifts (although the one I co-ordinated was obviously the hectic one).

Now I have to do 4 weeks work in 3 weeks... just short of 50 hours a week.
Yeah. It's fun.

When nobody wants to treat you.

I'm too hot. I'm too cold. I shiver, I sweat, I burn up.
I've missed all my recent appointments with my Counsellor and Connexions worker, even though now is when I need them most.
I think I'm sick, but I don't know. The apathy, tiredness, low mood - they could all be part of the depression, or at least that's what the GP always thinks.
I need to go and pick up my prescription, I've missed two doses of Venlafaxine and that's probably not going to help.
I've missed 4 days of placement now, time which I'll have to pay back.
I haven't even started the essay.
Last night I wanted to overdose.
I don't have enough tablets to make a decent attempt. It would have been different if I'd collected my prescription yesterday, 28 days of Venlafaxine, 4.2g.
I don't want to die - I just want this to stop. I want help. I want - and I hate myself for this - someone to take me seriously.
I'm going to be in so much trouble when I return to Uni. Everyone thinks I shouldn't be there. I'm obviously not commited to the course. They were surprised I made it through the first year. I hate the fact our failures will always take precidence over our acheivements.

Tribunals, and a return to writing.

I'm writing in here again because right now I need it. I don't need anyone to read it or to say anything, but I need to take control again and this is one of a combination of things which helped pull me through when things got bad again.
No promises that I'll be a consistent blogger, or a good blogger, or an interesting blogger.
I feel better just for getting this out.
I've been on my work placement, in an adolescent inpatient unit, and I love it. I love my work anyway, but this is even better. Despite struggling to fit in initially, and having no clue what to write my essay on, I am really enjoying it and really learning from it.
However, I'm slipping quite badly.
It started initially with being nervous, and having no appetite. Then, I didn't really want to eat in front of people, and I'm still quite constricted in certain areas with what I eat. Eating a meal every day which has been prepared by someone else and which I have limited control of is actually very hard.
I've lost 3 pounds in the past 3 and a half weeks, and I feel good, happier about my body, my smaller stomach.
This is me slipping into a danger zone, and I'm aware of that.
I've also been skipping meals, not taking anything except maybe a piece of fruit to eat during a shift, and weighing myself.

My mood has dipped, and I'm having migraines. I've had two pretty bad ones, and so I've missed two days of work, which I'll have to make up over the next few weeks. My self care and the housework have both slipped, and I'm neglecting to spend time with the guinea pigs and with my friends.

I'm constantly exhausted, and unfortunately still bleeding. I've had about 4 or 5 days this month when I havn't been bleeding. The medical verdict is to change my contraception, but I'm getting no guidance about what to change it too, or what may help. It's pretty much try it and see.

I'm managing, and I know that once I am qualified I am only going to work 3 or 4 days per week. 5 days is too much for me, and I can easily manage on part-time wages. However in the mean time, I need to make my 37.5 hours a week. I'm really struggling to do this, let alone manage university work on top.

I've also got my tribunal date for DLA coming up, on November 25th. I've written to them requesting them to get a supporting letter from my consultant, and a copy of my medical records. I tried to do this myself, but my consultant wants them to write to him, and the surgery want £18.30 for photocopying and administration fees. I'm so tired.

I have no idea what I'm going to say at the tribunal, I mainly want to contend the letter from my previous consultant that says I have no history or risk of self harm or self neglect. I also want to point out that I do require ongoing support with bills and correspondence from my Connexions work, and with ongoing low self esteem and the paranoia it cause from my Counsellor. If I got the lower rate of care then I could afford to go swimming regularly, which I have used in the past to improve my mood. It would also help with travel expenses to see my Connexions worker and Counsellor, and with the increased phone bill as I often need additional support from them, or my mum and boyfriend. When I'm travelling alone, such as to or from work, it helps if I can call someone for support as I often feel very unsafe.

I don't see myself as severely ill, but I do think I have a long term problem which means I require a little more support from those around me than most people. I still work, although it can be a struggle, and I'm planning carefully to ensure that I can continue to work in the future. I'm proud of being independent, but sometimes I need to ask for a little bit of help so that I don't become unwell, and therefore become dependant on others for everything from finances to getting dressed.

Praise to the GODS that are O2

We finally have INTERNET.
It has taken numerous phone calls, technician visits and kicking of the wireless box, but I am connected.
I need this blog right now, so I'm bloody grateful.

Talking of bloody, the irregular menstrual cycle appears to be related to it's grand return [it was also on hiatus following my little weight loss episode prior to Christmas], and possibly some effects of the Pill. My blood tests detected nothing - I'm am medically healthy.
I'm slightly disappointed. I was hoping it would throw up a little thyroid trouble or similar, instantly explaining my mood disorder and moving me from "mental" to "a bit physically ill". Let's face it - it would make life easier.

Food-wise, I appear to be having a slip. I came across a dreadful picture of me from a few weeks ago in which I look huge, and it hasn't exactly helped. I'm at my body's "healthy weight", the one it bounces back to whenever it is allowed to eat, and yet I feel like a whale. I have been surveying the pro-ana sites again, buying lo-cal bread and stepping on the scales a little too often. I'm at the top of a very slippery slope, and I'm making sure everyone knows it, because if I try and throw myself down it, I want the f*cking cavalry out to stop me. I am not wasting away under the duvet again. I want to just be happy with my weight, not keep hiring the anorexia videos from the university library so I can admire the competition. "See, you are huge -she is perfect". Bearing in mind that "she" is 4 and a half stone, and on her way to the Bethlem.

Part of the food problem is that I feel like I am always hungry. This gnawing sensation in my abdomen won't go away and it is having a real effect. I can quiet it for a short while by eating, but I'm pretty sure it isn't just hunger, I think it's an effect of the Venlafaxine to be honest. I have been trying to see my new consultant since March, but still haven't had any luck. The secretary is on sick leave, and the scheduled appointment is during an important lecture.

I am totally confused by food and weight now. My stepsister has two young children and is much smaller than me, she must be a size 6. She works out constantly and is so fit. I can't afford a gym membership and I'm too embarrassed to go running or work out anyway. I have no idea what is a healthy, well-balanced meal, I don't know what is a healthy size, and I feel huge huge huge.