There's got to be some Zopiclone somewhere...

I mean, come on, I'm a walking pharmacy.I tend to hoard, and that extends to medications, and there MUST be some Zopiclone in my room. I've had barely any sleep this week, although I've hardly left my bed. It takes hours to fall asleep, and then I get less than an hour before I'm up again. Repeat several times, and you wake up more exhausted than when you started. I'm really anxious. I don't know why.

I saw my counsellor today. It's been two weeks since I last saw her, and so I should be more relaxed, less agitated. Instead I'm petrified I'm going to get carted off to MY HOSPITAL. She said I need to go somewhere to be looked after. Not necessarily an inpatient admission, maybe stay with family? Pffffttttt. My family? My mum would hit the roof if she knew I was still on the medication, my father chooses to ignore it, and the only person who really understood me decided to commit suicide. Thanks, Grandad. I NEED YOU.

Well, lets have a quick looksy at the family tree. You have lil GG, Mummy, Daddy. Mummy is rather barking, as was her father and all his siblings - BPAD or recurrent depression, and their kids are almost exclusively BPAD/PD's/addicts/depressives. Mummy hasn't [to my knowledge] been formally diagnosed, but then she believes that mental illness ISN'T REAL. So, I'm training to be a not-a-real-illness nurse. Goody.
Daddy and both his brothers have been on anti-depressants for varying lengths of time. Paternal grandmother has suffered with it for years, and now is "emotionally numb". Her words, not mine, when she called me to warn me not to end up like her.
Her father/step-father [hasn't been clarified, as Great Grandmother really liked getting married] committed suicide when she was a young child. Her older sister found him with his head in the oven.

Confused yet? Yeah, me too.

So how did GG end up in the gutter? I can't sleep, so you might as well get a brief picture. It goes something like;
Bullied at primary school - "Your dad doesn't live with you, you must have done something wrong". Ain't kids nice? Leave school on verge of nervous breakdown, self harming, and find secondary school slightly more pleasant. Well. I used to hide in the library.
Aged 12, stop eating. Starvation is my new form of self harm, but it is quickly stopped when I collapse in school.
Aged 14, have first major depressive episode. Lasts approximately 6 months, and triggered by being evicted from the house I grew up in. Mum throws things at me whenever she gets stressed out. I learn to dodge quickly. Increase the self harm, and discover joys of alcohol to "drown my sorrows".
Aged 15, arguments with Mum, second depressive episode. Self harming is discovered, and the household is subtly changed by the presence of razorblades with little safety bars, and blunt knives. Mum fails to understand that this isn't about her, and continually asks "why are you doing this to me?".
Aged 16, have been thrown out of home and college in quick succession. Have a termination. Third depressive episode. Characterised by lots of drinking, self destructive behaviour, and trying to throw myself under buses. Fortunately I have some very good friends, who tend to pick GG up and carry her kicking and screaming onto aforementioned bus.
Aged 17, bit more sorted, living with my Nan and back at college. Very homesick. Then - BAM! Fourth depressive episode, resulting in me staying in bed for 3 months and promptly failing my exams. Discover that Citalopram is NOT for me.
Aged 18, living in a house with friends, until the dishwasher sets it on fire. Stay with aunt and uncle, hold things together until I snap, spend a night walking on and off of the train tracks, then shimmy on down to A&E. Fifth depressive episode. Declared not suicidal, and sent home with a prescription for Prozac. Go to stay with boyfriend until I'm more "with it". Then have a possibly manic episode, which I remember barely anything of, except that when my mood settled, I had been fired from my job and started training as a Mental Health nurse. Irony!
Since then the Prozac has sufficed, although it's been gradually increased as the effects have decreased. I've had sessions with a psychologist, and I see a counsellor on a weekly basis.
Now, the Prozac has stopped working, and I'm close to how I was when I ended up at A&E. However,I don't have the motivation to get dressed, let alone get dead, so hopefully my mood will improve before my energy levels do?