Pretty Like Drugs

100th Post, and it's not good...

2011-11-11T01:55:00.001Z

Got the appeal result yesterday, and I failed.

So, bye bye MH Nursing.

Hello.... Something?
Not sure what yet.
Still sinking in to some degree.

Need to find out if I can use what I passed as credits for anything else.
Need a bloody job too.

Truth

2011-03-18T00:23:00.002Z

I've never had a talent.
I've been good, academically, but with every depression my mind has atrophied, faltered, failed.
My A's reduced to B's, to E's and to fails.

Now my physical health, constant colds and infections, is what steals my future.

I sound so bloody melodramatic, but fuck it. That's how it feels.

End of the line?

2011-01-11T15:44:00.003Z

After almost 3 years of training, just 2 months from qualifying, I may have finally messed it up.
I've been referred to the Conduct Board meeting due to extended sickness and absence during this final placement.
I've not been off work due to mental health problems, but due to flu followed by a rather nasty chest infection. I've clocked up 3 weeks of absence, and I fear that this coupled with my abysmal attendance during the earlier half of the course due to depression may be the end of the dream for me.

I love my job - in many ways it has changed my life, and the idea of losing it now is hard to stomach. I've stayed on medication (Venlafaxine) for a lot longer than I would have been happy to otherwise, in order to keep my place at Uni. However, I'm not happy to work when I know my health (physical or mental) would make me unable to do my job as well as I'd like to.

I know I can be a good nurse, and I have worked hard to get this far, but I also know that sickness and absence is what has cost me a job in the past, and what will probably cost me this one.

I'm hoping for a minor miracle.

Don't make a mole out of a hole...

2010-11-08T22:58:00.001Z

... As a nursing collegue quoted earlier.

I'm on placement now, its an team which works within the early intervention in psychosis model. I'm thoroughly enjoying it, or was, until this weekend.

My mental health seems to be taking a bit of a kicking, not helped by the fact that one of my previous consultants works within the team. I'm unsure whether he has recognised me or not, and am unsure whether to speak to him about it.
I was having some issues with racing/intrusive thoughts earlier today, and over the weekend, which lead to an arguement with my other half. We have sorted things out now, it was silly really, but I am extremely sensitive to criticism at the moment due to the critical, even abusive thoughts in my head.
I often wonder, given my borderline-psychotic presentation two years ago, whether my brain is gearing up for me starting to hear voices. I don't hear voices currently, however my intrusive, self-abusing thoughts have increased with each episode and I have little control over them. I am able to combat them with CBT-based techniques, however this can be very consuming, to the point that I can't engage in a conversation as if I break my concentration on them they may win.

This is probably just me bing over-vigilant given my placement area, but it does concern me.

I'm also considering having future counselling/psychotherapy of some sort, as I have something lurking on the borders of my sub-concious which I was loathe to bring up in my previous sessions. Essentially, I think that the bullying I endured during primary school may have culminated in sexual as well as physical abuse. I have a disturbing image of being held down, and then feeling dirty and ashamed. Knowing it was wrong but not knowing what it was. I am not sure if these are false memories, my mind playing tricks or an overactive imagination. However I think it may be something I need to address in future.

Disappointment

2010-08-25T11:32:00.002+01:00

Disappointment. If you don't get your hopes up, you may learn to avoid it.
Remember - not matter how much planning you do, it can and will go wrong.

I arranged my final placement a year ago. I persuaded the placement area to take students. I put my personal tutor and head of department in touch with the manager. I was told an audit would be carried out, and that it was all ok.

My tutor has just left. The placement-organiser was never informed.
They've given the placement to someone else.
They won't reconsider.

I am very disappointed.
Actually, I want to break stuff.

Please excuse me.
My boyfriend has put socks on his ears, and looks like a spaniel. Apparently, this is an apology and attempt to cheer me up, as he shouted at me that I was letting people walk all over me.

Urgh. Really can't afford to get sick right now.

2010-07-19T20:34:00.002+01:00

Feeling pretty awful, sore throat, headache etc. Fingers crossed it's just a shortlived thing, but unfortunately it feels like it's getting worse... I really don't need any time off sick at the moment. It is the worst thing about being a student - making up any sick leave.

Ug. I had planned to write more today, but I think I'm just going to go to bed.

Is this a common experience for nursing students?

2010-07-15T22:03:00.001+01:00

Do the majority of consultants and junior doctors you meet encourage you to study medicine?

Basically, at least six doctors have now seriously encouraged me to do the Graduate Entry Programme to medicine. At first, I thought nothing of it. Now, I'm starting to question whether, actually, I could be capable of it.

I want to go further than just the BSc Unclassified, most people reading this will know I was bitterly disappointed to not do the Honours degree. But, being a doctor? A Doctor? A Dr.? Little me?

Has anyone else encountered this? Has anyone else done it?

Feeling a bit brighter

2010-07-12T22:05:00.001+01:00

Think two days off helped, although I now have VERY painful sunburn on my legs. I decided, as I'd burned the backs, I'd have to burn the fronts of my legs as well. Regretting it, can't believe I chose to get burnt. I don't recommend it. Next time I'll experiment with some fake tan instead... Ha. I'm usually so pale it's unreal, and now I'm pink instead :s

Unsure what to do about the horses... I'm going riding tomorrow after work so I'll see how things go then.

Work was a little better, but the individual who has been giving me some hassle is definately targetting me... Not sure if this is some kind of delusional thinking in the mania or just that I'm easy to intimidate? Maybe in his situation, feeling powerless, the only way to assert some power is over me?

Working on a male ward has been quite challenging - generally, I find male aggression difficult to handle. I'm getting more used to it, but I am the sort of person who flinches. I'm not sure if I've written about this much previously, but my Mum dated a guy after my parents split up who turned out to be an ex-alcoholic. He was lovely, until one night he started drinking. I was about 5 years old, and it was terrifying. I remember the aggression, and being so sure that my Mum would run, and I wouldn't be able to keep up. I wouldn't have blamed her for running.
Him grabbing her by the hair in the street, as she tried to walk away. Me clinging to her coat, being knocked over into the gutter as he swung her around, grazing my knee on the kerb. I think the fact that he had been so nice when sober made it harder, it was a betrayal of trust as well as an incident of aggression.

I think that is probably why I flinch.

Placement

2010-07-10T01:38:00.000+01:00

I'm 4 weeks into an 8 week placement.
It was going well, but I'm putting a lot of pressure on myself.
I'm struggling with some of the recent admissions, mainly an individual who is very sexually disinhibited and another who is quite confrontational, and has spent all of this afternoon being very intimidating towards me.
I know they are unwell, but I am struggling as my mood has dipped.

Also, it appears that my share-horses owner no longer wants me - she has found two new younger sharers, one for each horse, and I feel increasingly unwanted.

A Review of Me, Myself and Blogging

2010-06-05T20:35:00.004+01:00

Do you think the people at My Therapy are going to be celebrating their success this weekend? "Look at all the people who have signed up - our online diagnostic tool is BRILLLIIIAAAANNNNNNTTTTTTT!"

Such a shame.

I think tools like this are good for two things -
a. A bit of a laugh
b. Double-checking that yes, you are still a MENTAL.

So... I took their survey, and according to my, possibly unrealiable answers, have been diagnosed with;

- Bipolar II (Depressive)
I was diagnosed during my one-before-last episode as having "severe recurrent depression on the Bipolar spectrum", so this sort-of-fits.

- Schizophreniform Disorder
This was based on my rather unusual ideas during episodes of high and low mood, and around food. I'm also a bit paranoid in social situations, but I think that is more to do with low self-esteem. I have been monitored for "emerging psychotic symptoms", but think I can safely say this isn't a correct diagnosis.

- Agoraphobia without History of Panic Disorder
I think this because I don't go out when I am depressed. Which I think is a pretty common experience. So, incorrect, again.

Overall, not too inaccurate, considering it is a computer. It might be on par with one Consultant I had the misfortune to be allocated too!

In other news, I'm questioning whether to continue blogging. It served a purpose during my last-but-one severe episode of depression, but I spend much more time readng blogs than I do writing mine. I'm not sure yet, but I am considering a hiatus.

I've also got a new hobby, or rather, revived an old one.
I've started part-loaning a pony, a couple of days a week. He is lovely, safe and has already started increasing my confidence greatly. It is also another reason to say "NO" to the eating disordered thoughts, as well as any suicidal ones.

I'm going to try and blog more often over the next few weeks, and then decide whether it is helpful or useful for me now. I can't promise anything, as I'm tied up with two essays which are progressing extremely slowly. I keep trying to write something, anything, but being unable to string together a sentence.

Shameless Plug - Check out my Mum's handywork...

2010-05-31T13:20:00.003+01:00

Please, please - check out her site, pass it on to friends and family, and help put a smile back on my Mum's face!

Fraud

2010-05-29T00:02:00.001+01:00

I miss smoking. I'm drinking more tea to make up for the lack of fags. Giving up is going well, but I do miss it.
However, Mother can no longer call me "Fag Ash Lil".

I got the Statement of Reasons from the Tribunal.

They have a point - although I satisfied the criteria for the 3 months before making the application, I didn't really satify it for the 6 months afterwards.

My new Connexion worker seems to agree.

I feel like a fraud.

Lungs still hurt.

2010-04-27T18:01:00.000+01:00

Have amoxicillin now though.
Collecting smoking cessation prescription on friday.
Resting.

My lungs hurt.

2010-04-24T20:48:00.001+01:00

I've been coughing for two weeks now. I really need to see my GP. Supposed to be having a blood test done too.

My "support network" is pretty much gone right now. Was glad when I finished having counselling, felt I'd made progress. Now I miss it, maybe even need it.

I have an Intensive Personal Advisor at Connexions, who basically performs the role of care co-ordinator/CPN, as I don't have either of those. She's left to join another team. I get Connexions support until I'm 25 because of the MH issues, but not sure I want to bare my soul to someone else. She'd been working with me for over 2 years, at times she saw me on a daily basis. She attended my DLA tribunal and is keeping in touch until they allocate me a new person.

Essays are going badly - tutor wants to see my introduction on Wednesday, no chance of it being finished by then. Basing the essays on Eating Disorders was probably a poor choice - I'm a bit over-involved in that area.

Was not impressed that I couldn't use the gym today - my scheme only has one weekend session and that is Sunday evening. Itching to go. Keep not eating all day, then eating junk in the evening.

On a better note, piggies are using new ramps.

Guinness, Paddi and Shammi

2010-04-20T13:32:00.000+01:00

... Are all refusing to use the ramps in their new cage.
I blew my last £50 on it, and they hate it.

:(

FAIL.

DLA Tribunal

2010-04-16T15:47:00.003+01:00

I had my Tribunal yesterday, for Disability Living Allowance.

The brief back story is that following November 2008, my Connexions PA said we should definitely put in an application for DLA. We got the forms, and began the process of filling them out in late February 2009, once I was well enough to complete them. They were sent in early March 2009.

I was declined for both Care and Mobility in May. My Psychiatrist's junior doctor had filled in form, which I felt was contradictory. It stated that I had no history of self-harm or self-neglect. Connexions PA and myself sent a letter contending this, I appealed, and it was looked at and declined again.

Tribunal was originally booked for November 2009 (I think). I wasn't too well, but made the effort to go. We were just leaving when they phoned and informed us that my GP's notes had failed to arrive, so it was postponed.

My GP notes were re-requested. I ended up collecting them myself on Tuesday, and Connexions PA faxed them to the Tribunal service, as they kept forgetting to do them.

So, the Tribunal finally went ahead, and it was horrible.
I had the three people who form the panel. There was another lady who I think was something to do with the decision making service (I was so nervous, I can't remember).

We were in there for over an hour. I'm pretty sure that isn't normal practice. I feel like they enjoyed grilling me. I hate talking about my low periods, when the depression really takes over. I hate admitting that I became paranoid, and had delusions. I hate reading how close I was to being prescribed anti-psychotics or even being hospitalised. I hate realising how unwell I was, describing some of the humiliating things I did. Not bathing for weeks or going out in my pajamas with a coat over the top, because dressing was too much effort.

Afterwards they said they would write to me. They said everyone was getting their decisions in the post that day, because of this lady coming to oversee things. However, whilst I was waiting for my expenses for the train ticket, a woman went in and came out less than five minutes later with her decision.

I knew I wasn't getting anything, and the letter this morning confirmed it. I was only hoping for Lower Rate Care. I feel like a fraud.

"Why Did You Kill My Dad"

2010-03-02T00:01:00.002Z

Available on BBC iPlayer.

How shall I put this...?

Um.

*Be polite GG*

The programme gave more screentime to a newsagent who described mental illness as being "away with the fairies" than to the experts they had graciously bothered to consult.

The insightful use of short sound clips from these experts was brilliant, especially how they managed to extract these from interviews to make it seem supportive of the point the programme was trying to make.

So remember, Mental Health Professionals

-If a person you have contact with goes on to commit suicide or homocide, feel safe in the knowledge that you didn't do your job properly, that you failed in your responsibilities, and must have handled their case in a careless manner.

- If the family of the deceased phone for information, sod patient confidentiality! Feel free to share all personal details of the service user, whether related to the case or not.

- Forget independant inquiries by suitably appointed experts. The best people to analyse a case and place blame are those most closely affected by the incident. Hey - that's an idea. From now on, all juries should consist of close relatives and friends of any victims. Then we'll get a reliable, informed, unbiased outcome, won't we?

- If the police ask someone prior to a search or arrest if they have sharp implements or anything to declare, its not a standard question. It implies that they are obviously a dangerous person. See, its written on your forehead...

- It's appalling to allow people to be free to commit crimes. If those with mental illness and a history of violence should be denied all freedom, as this programme seems to imply, then shouldn't any person who is convicted of a violent offence be detained for life?

Now, heed my warnings - or "the killings will continue".

Leave me alone.

2010-02-05T13:10:00.002Z

I don't know how much longer I can do this for. It's eating away at me, and I have no answer for it. No drugs or therapies which I think will work, no suggestions or witty remarks left. I cut myself, pathetic scratches on my arms when I want gaping wounds. I restrain myself, but for what? This is a slippery slope, you make tracks, then slip back, ending up lower than where you started. Maybe this is just life, what everyone experiences, but what I want to know if how do they cope, hold down jobs, keep relationships alive.
I go back to work, fail again, go back to work, fail again.
I want to disappear, maybe I could take a coach, hole up in a B&B for a few weeks until these thoughts settle down.
STOP TELLING ME TO KILL MYSELF. I DON'T WANT TO DIE. I just don't want to live. I don't think I do. I don't know anymore. I'm not hearing voices. I'm just having strong, strong compulaions, suicide is all I can think about, I can't escape it. My entire self is taken up resisting it, and I have no answers to this.

EDIT: I saw my GP this evening. I was advised to take my medication, go to work, and come back in a month. I do take my medication. I'm seriously struggling with work. I don't want to be here in a month.

Off Sick Again

2010-01-22T18:05:00.002Z

Wednesday was extremely stressful at work. There is a bug going round the ward, and we have some patients in isolation. Running between rooms, taking obs, 5 sets of aprons and gloves, I felt like a hesdless chicken. Delayed train on the way home, finally got in, felt a bit sick, went to bed. Woke up at 4am and spent an hour kneeling in front of the toilet bowl. Havn't actually been sick, but have felt it, and couldn't eat all of yesterday. Had some food today, still feel a bit nauseous. Could just be somatic? Me, attention seeking mental and that jazz.

In better news, have got a letter offering me the Honours degree, and will be accepting. Now, I just need to get into good enouh shape to return to work.

Have lost 7 pounds in the two weeks. Not quite sure how.

Want to lose more, always the same, a little bit slips off and you think how much better you looked at under 100 pounds. Ha. Although you kept fainting and getting ill.

I don't like this placement. New mentor is actually a brilliant nurse though. It's just the general running of the ward, money seems to be extremely tight. Havn't really thought much about the money side of things on the ward before, aside from cab fares and expenses for activities or outings.

I suppose ending up sitting across the table from Grandad's consultant didn't help. I was so tense, felt like if I relaxed I'd end up shaking him by the shoulders, why didn't you help him? Why did he have to die? The only one who understood me, the one I am most like. I see his moods in Little Brother, and pray it's just the start of teenage angst. I'd give anything for him not to have to go through this.

Can we ever truely accept the impact of our illnesses?

2010-01-15T15:30:00.002Z

So, I went back to work on Wednesday. I worked Thursday. Today I slept through my alarm after a difficult night and I am totally exhausted.
I have had to realise that I was quite unwell when I originally started my placement, and that is hard. Will I ever accept it? Or will I keep battling on and being crushed every time I realise that it does have an impact on my abilities, and no matter how much I try, I have periods where I find it extremely difficult to function.
I am so tired. I feel like a huge failure, because I am unable to cope with what everyone around me seems able to do. 37.5 hours a week, that is all. I am exhausted after two days. I was tired after just 4 hours. I don't feel low as such, just negative, but I think that is because I am watching myself fail all over again. I know this placement is not going to last forever, I just need to do the hours and get it finished, but all I want to do is sleep.
I'm always more tired than my friends and my collegues. I don't know if this is the condition or the medication. I really feel quite hopeless. I just want some energy.

"Insight" isn't all it's cracked up to be

2010-01-03T21:52:00.002Z

I'm acutely aware that I am not in a good way right now.
I don't think hospitalisation is appropriate, or that it would be beneficial right now. Maybe in a few days if this continues.

It took my boyfriend a lot of prompting to encourage me to shower. Evntually he had to tell me that I smelt. Bad.

New Years Eve was supposed to be a good night of paced drunkeness. Instead, I got stupidly drunk. I still had a good night, overall, but I know that I was a mess. I climbed into a friend's bed to crash out for an hour or so, and I think I really annoyed his girlfriend. Firt time we meet, get on quite well, then they try to go to bed and I'm in it. Well done moi.

I'm glad that I am able to enjoy some things still, at least some of the time. However these rapid changes in mood are becoming problematic, particually as my main means of coping in social situations is to drink heavily. Actually, the only thing I have soberly enjoyed recently was meeting my baby cousin.

I met my mum at the shops today and I really found that hard. I hate feeling this detached from myself. She said maybe it is the new contraceptive, as she won't really acknowledge my mental health problems, and although I agree that could be a contributing factor it doesn't change the fact I'm struggling.

I can't concentrate on TV, even short programmes. I can't concentrate on reading even a page, although I used to read several books a week. I can't listen to music, as I'm finding it all too fast to take in. Blogging is hard, although can be helpful in short stints. Conversations are increasingly difficult, with me unable to finish half my sentances. I used to be articulate, intelligent, ME.

I want myself back. I don't want this, I never asked for this, I hate this.

Mental illness has turned me from a capable teenager with a bright future, into a young woman who struggles to care for herself and has repeatedly failed at life.

That is how I feel right now.
I have failed at life.

I was headed for fucking Cambridge and now I can't even care for myself.

Goodbye, Friend

2009-12-17T22:19:00.001Z

RIP Simon "Vampire Chaz" Martin.

A man found hanged in a secluded wooded area did not commit suicide, a coroner has ruled.

Simon Martin, 29, was found hanging in the early hours of Friday, August 21 – hours after he was reported missing by anxious family and friends.

Coroner Edward Thomas, however, ruled there was insufficient evidence to prove the popular call centre manager had intended to end his life.

Hatfield Coroner’s Court heard yesterday how the father-of-one was found, just metres from his Bucknalls Close home, sitting under a tree.

This unusual position, Mr Thomas ruled, meant he may have died accidently when a cry for help went tragically wrong.

Mr Martin, the court learned, had been struggling to cope with financial problems and the breakdown of his relationship.

It was also revealed that, just three days before Mr Martin’s body was discovered, he was assessed by a mental health nurse at Watford General Hospital when he was found by police officers “contemplating suicide” in another wooded area.

GP Dr Kay Mackell told how she had treated Mr Martin the following day, Wednesday, and advised a programme of counselling. Fighting back tears, she remembered how he had left her surgery in a “pleasant and positive” mood, vowing to tackle his problems head-on.

Later that night, however, Mr Martin left the flat he shared with his girlfriend after learning there was no chance of a long-term reunion.

The court heard how, in the early hours of Thursday morning, he left, promising to return in 15 minutes. He was reported missing later that day and his body discovered in the early hours of the following day.

Mr Thomas, after hearing two hours of evidence, said there was insufficient evidence to record a verdict of suicide. It was possible, he said, that Mr Martin had intended only to attract the attention of those he loved.

He added: “Did he know that that action would definitely cause his death? I think he would have known that this was a dangerous act. Whether he knew it would definitely cause his death – I don’t know.

“It doesn’t take very much [pressure around the neck] to cause unconsciousness and asphyxiation.”

Parents Helen and Mark said after the hearing: “He was the best son that anyone could have wished for. He was kind, caring and would do anything for anybody. He was a fantastic guitarist, a great skateboarder and one hell of a good guy. We all miss him terribly and always will.”

Mr Thomas recorded a verdict of self harm.

Also - Goodbye Scott MacNamara.
I miss the old days, me sitting on the sofa, brushing your hair.

Someone once told me by the time I was 30 a third of my friends would be dead by their own hand. I laughed it off but it does seem that way.

A Sharp Reminder

2009-12-15T23:15:00.002Z

I write this with tears in my eyes.
I have just watched the second half of the very moving "Can Gerry Robinson Save Dementia Care Homes?" [BBC iPlayer]. I feel so much for the residents of these homes, having spent most of last year seaching for somewhere suitable for my Nan before she died*.

I have also seen care of this sort, as it is often "the norm". People don't realise the capabilites of those with dementia. I had a placement on a ward, which I felt was generally good, but which certainly failed its usual standards in the early morning. Once staff had come on shift, following the handover, there was around 45 minutes for 6 staff to assist the clients to shower, dry and dress. Some where able to do this with little assistance, but normally there were around 18 people to assist. Most needed two or even three staff members to assist, mainly due to mobility issues, or because they could become aggressive**.
Older people have fragile skin, and often need much more care. A quick rub down is not sufficient to dry them, and they will often need to be assisted to apply cream etc. You need to check for pressure sores, bruising, soreness or damaged skin. You need to respect them as a person, assist them to change into their clothing, assist them to chose colours and textures whenever possible. I could easily spend a hour with someone, longer even, enabling them to wash themselves and choose their outfit, do their hair. 18 people, 45 minutes, staff working in pairs. Thats 7.5 minutes per person. It seems quicker to many staff to just do it for their clients to get the task done, because you simply don't have the time to take.
When I worked on a adult ward, I worked with a lovely lady who was very confused. I spent over an hour assisting her with showering, even washing and applying cream my own face to show her what to do, as she found it easier to copy than to follow verbal directions. Just spending time choosing her shower gel, enjoying the smell of it, or the feeling of having her hair done.

We need more staff, particually more regular staff. Bank staff simply do not know the clients and the clients do not know them. Staff need more training, and we need to have the time to spend with clients and families to find out the important things. What is your mother's routine? Does she shower or bath, morning or evening? What products do they use, lots of bubbles or just unscented soap and a soft flannel? Do they like to read books, or the morning paper? Do they take sugar in their tea?

How can we provide personalised, patient centred care, when we don't really know our clients?

I'm tired. I'll continue something along this line another evening, because the guinea pigs need their hutch cleaned out.

*On this note, I read each of the homes' reports in depth, for the past few years. I had whittled a long list down to just four which I planned to pay several visits to with my mum, in order to find somewhere that I was happy with. I forwarded this list to my uncle, to keep him informed, and he replied with the ones he had looked at. It was a list of every home in the area, including the ones I had sent him, with no attention paid to ratings or inspections.

**And why shouldn't they be aggressive? They've awoken in what may seem to them a strange place with people they do not know. They have been assisted half-asleep into a wheelchair, taken to one of several bathrooms, and these strangers are removong their clothing and putting them in water?

1st Class Honours In Plotting Your Own Demise.

2009-12-10T21:56:00.001Z

THIS MAY BE TRIGGERING.

We just received our results for the 2nd essay of Branch, Bio-psychosocial Interventions, Unit 2. I got 68%, which should be making me happy. I have more than proved myself capable of completing the degree, in an academic sense at least.

However, the current placement isn't going well. To be frank, it isn't going anywhere. I'm low. I havn't been to placement since the first week, when I managed just 2 days. I can't think, make decisions, concentrate. I'm sleeping 14 hours out of 24, and despite trying to force myself out of bed every morning this week I'm sleeping though the alam, or simply to tired to be of any use.

I'm reconsidering my career, and looking at working part-time if or when I qualify. Maybe I can work for Mind, Rethink, or a similar organisation. I don't think I am going to maintain my health well enough to work on a ward or in a community setting.

That's bullshit. I was reconsidering my career. Right now I'm considering dying. I am still being plagued by suicidal thoughts, and they are becoming increasingly worse. My mind is plotting to kill me, even though I try to smother the thoughts, divert my attention. I find myself thinking of suicide every time my boyfriend leaves the house, wondering if I have enough time. Enough time to make a proper job of it, not get found vomiting or swallowing handfuls of pills. I wonder which to take first, whether I should throw in a bottle of vodka or a few packets of paracetemol to help things along. Maybe I could try and get my hands on some anti-vomiting stuff, to stop me chucking the lot back up.

Maybe I would get half-way through taking them, and have to phone for help, mortified and disgusted at myself. Would I be disgusted at myself for taking them or for not finishing the job? To be honest I am not quite sure.

Would somebody please...

2009-12-01T20:46:00.000Z

... tell my mind to shut the F*CK up?

Numb, unfeeling, slumped in the corner and unable to move - I can deal with that, ok?

It's this round and round and up and down and the strange thoughts and feeling like I'm floating along, my feet bouncing off an invisible pavement 18 inches off the ground. I feel detached, unable to connect with anyone, I feel weird. I feel like a freak. I feel worried. This is not normal.

Samaritans

2009-11-27T21:40:00.001Z

I took the day off. I stayed in bed. I wait for Boyfriend to leave the house, voluntary work, the pub. I sit, I lay, I cry.

I want her to come back. I can't forgive myself for leaving her, small figure standing in the doorway, waving goodbye, alone. I didn't even think of her, not really, my mind so full of ideas of reclaiming my old life, returning home. I forgot that she was really my first home, Nan's house, cuddling on her lap, hot water bottles and warm lemon when I was ill.

I left it all behind and now she is gone and I can't turn back time, no matter how much I wish I could, no matter how much I beg and bargain with Gods I don't believe in.

I phoned them tonight, Samaritans. I sobbed, I'm barely coherent, everyone goes through guilt when they are grieving.

Not like me I say, I am to blame. I left her. Grandad told me, a few weeks before the overdose, I know you are busy but don't forget about your Nan. I forgot her, I left her. Now she is gone too.

Leucotomy, Tribunals and Placements

2009-11-24T19:44:00.001Z

I have just started a new placement.
It's an older adult ward, which I was extremely worried about - for my own health.
I don't really feel ready after losing my Nan. This will probably be my hardest placement yet.

On another note, I have to wear a uniform... euurrrrggghhhhhhhh.
The two hour commute (each way) isn't fun either.

One of my new service users underwent a leucotomy forty years ago. I am intrigued, and this person really brightened up the afternoon.

I have my DLA Tribunal tomorrow - I'm shitting myself. Literally, it might help my chances? Kidding... Has anyone seen the preperation that N putd herself through in Poppy Shakespeare (or indeed read the book)? Something like that maybe?

I <3 Journalists

2009-11-09T16:19:00.003Z

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

2009-11-08T23:03:00.002Z

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"

2009-11-03T19:10:00.002Z

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.

2009-10-15T15:36:00.001+01:00

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.

2009-10-01T14:58:00.003+01:00

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.

2009-09-29T18:59:00.001+01:00

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

2009-07-29T18:28:00.003+01:00

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.

It's Been A While...

2009-06-17T20:51:00.002+01:00

Hi, and hope you are all well, or as well as can be.

I am on Placement at the moment, which is always a trying time, but Boyfriend has recently moved in and is doing his best to help out. Even if he hasn't got a clue how to work the washing machine, he still manages to make me smile. The flat is full of black ink pen drawings of various smiling cats, and he leaves me little notes if I have a shit day. He loves me.

The fridge has become centre point of the house, with me struggling to stay friends with food. I've lost 7 pounds, accidentally, though neglecting to eat when I'm working, and this has fuelled my underlying desire to look like a stick insect. My eating has been very irregular, often only one meal a day when I do my best to eat 3 regular balanced ones. This has impacted on my mood, which started to dip, and on my physical health.

I am finally getting blood tests done - through all of this depression, no one has ever checked if there is an underlying health problem. My run down state has prompted my new Doctor to request for full bloods, so YIPPEE. Peace of mind over how much damage alcohol and diuretics actually did to my organs, eh?

Physically, I am quite concerned - I have extremely irregular periods, which often stop completely for months at a time, I seem to be getting constipation a lot, and I'm always exhausted. I just want to make sure I'm OK, and try to find out why I can't keep up with everyone else.

Placement has been going really well, although I constantly exhausted, and haven't found time to revise for my exam. I just spent two hours making preparations for my essay, and seem to have got nowhere. However I spoke to a friend from my cohort, and she hadn't started her essay either, so at least it's not just me. I'm not lagging behind completely.

Oh. My toilet is still leaking. It has been leaking since I moved in, and the plumber has replaced the pipe twice. Argh.

On a lighter note, when you turn on the kitchen light, the electric shower in the bathroom comes on as well???

Poltergeists, me thinks.....

Uni Rant

2009-05-07T18:20:00.003+01:00

I don't really like some things about myself. Well, I half do and half don't. I come across as a bit of a teacher's pet, know-it-all smug cow at uni. I'm aware of this, and I hate it, but to be honest it's mainly because everyone else just sits there, mouth slightly open, with a uniform blank expression on their faces. I want to stand up and cry out, "aren't you interested? Don't you care? This stuff is f*cking AMAZING!", but somehow don't think it would go down too well. I seem to be constantly questioning, seeking more knowledge, and it's great that I enjoy learning about mental illness so much, but it doesn't exactly help me when it comes to interacting with my peers. I want to say, "I'm just like you", but I'm not. I'd rather spend my break debating some new controversial issue or mulling over the last lecture, not discussing kids or husbands. I'm also short tempered with people who are ignorant. I can't stand it when people make blundering errors or ask ridiculous questions. For example, someone said during a lecture that all incontinent people lack capacity. "Are you sure you mean incontinent? Are you sure you understand the meaning of the word?". Yes, they say, when I worked on a Older Person's ward all the incontinent people lacked capacity. I was disgusted. The same when someone refers to a service user as a Schizophrenic - for f*ck's sake, they have been diagnosed with schizophrenia, but that does not define them as a person. I also get annoyed when people are unable to see past a diagnosis - why do you need to put a person's diagnosis on their care plan? Surely the needs that you should be focusing on are the current symptoms, the things which currently affect that person's life?

Rock On The [Long] Weekend

2009-04-30T22:21:00.002+01:00

I may have mentioned this before [I'm too lazy to check], but my Mum and step-dad have a caravan in a tiny little hamlet somewhere in Essex. We'll call it Doris Bay. It has two caravan sites, two pubs, one marina and one post office, which is owned by a charming World of Warcraft addict and his Thai bride.

I was there last weekend, and I'm going again tomorrow evening, until Monday. My Mum has used the money my Nan left her to "upgrade" her caravan - that is, the new one is two feet wider, two feet longer and VERY pink. It was owned by the "only gays on the campsite" until last weekend, when my Mum purchased it. We have lots of work to do - cleaning it top-to-bottom, replacing the bedroom carpets and making part of the plot into a driveway area for my step-dad's speedboat.

I'm rather sad to be saying goodbye to the old 'van, after four summers there, but my step-dad is about to fall through the bathroom floor, and having a real bed as opposed to an 18 inch wide bunk will be a improvement. I say real bed, I mean 2 foot 6 by 5 foot 6 - leaving me about an inch short, but still an improvement.

The village is full of characters, and I just hope my ban from the pub has been lifted [I was drunk, and rearranged all the bins in the village]. My main concern regarding the weekend is alcohol - it tends to be a place where I drink. A couple of cans or a bottle of wine throughout the afternoon, a few pints at the pub, flaming Sambuca with my drunken uncles - staying sober has never been an option [and on that bed, who would want to?].

This week has been a bit problematic drink-wise. I returned from the caravan on Monday evening, and was extremely paranoid. In fact I was positive there was someone in my flat, and I spent almost the whole night awake, shaking, clutching my phone and struggling not to call my Mum. Tuesday night, I had friends over and got drunk. Result: They stay, and I sleep. It's safe. Last night, I went to a friend's house, had a few glasses of wine on an empty stomach, and once again, slept without too many problems.

I'm sitting here with a pint of cider and trying to decide whether to finish the bottle.
I'm also making an informed decision to start smoking again as soon as the shop opens.

Gash.
Why can't I stick to orange juice and sugar free gum?

Thanks For The Open Network

2009-04-27T20:40:00.002+01:00

... Lovely neighbours!
Yes, I'm being rather naughty, but some social contact and blog venting is needed.
This will be a quick one, and I hope everyone I haven't had time to catch up with is doing OK.
The flat is fine, but my mood is a little unstable. I was close to tears in Tesco earlier - I want to adopt a rat who needs a new home, but I can't afford a cage, and that inability to help him and continue experiencing the little spark of happiness as he licked my fingers was a little too much in my emotional state. I don't really know why I'm feeling like this, but the looming placement could have something to do with it, coupled with the little mantra of "I must not get ill -I Must Not Get Ill - IMUSTNOTGETILL".

The upheaval of moving, even if it was undeniably for the better, has probably just caught up with me, and Boyfriend has just gone back to Leeds after spending most of the Easter break curled up on the beanbags with me.

I am very very very poor - after paying for the flat and the electric, I have £135 per calender month to pay for my food, travel, mobile phone and everything else. Hence the lack of Internet. I'm quite concerned about managing this over placement - my travel expenses will be around £200 for the eight week period, and I can't claim anything back until afterwards, so I think I will be living on beans on toast until July. God knows how I'll cope when I have to pay for heating in the winter, but hopefully Boyfriend will have a job by then.

I have applied for the Access to Learning Fund at my university, and I'm awaiting a decision on my Disability Living Allowance application as well, so things have the potential to get better soon.

My wishes/hopes/dreams at the moment;
- For someone on Freecycle to reply for my [begging] advert for a rat cage
- To complete eight weeks in the acute setting without getting admitted to the ward
- To hold a £50 note at some point within the next year

Hiatus

2009-03-13T13:49:00.001Z

I am moving tomorrow, and I havn't got any provisions [or money] for internet connection at my new place. I will attempt to get on here as much as possible, and get some pictures of GG's new pad up.

Keep safe.
GG

DWP and Apologies

2009-03-10T22:35:00.003Z

I'm swatting up on D.L.A. know-how... I've already completed and sent the form, but now I'm worrying over it. It's funny, I never used to do that, not even with exams, yet now I do.
My Connexions worker assisted me with the form, because I concentrate for long enough to figure out what they are asking, and the form is exhaustingly long.
It's hard to fill out because my condition varies a lot over a week. I have days of ok-ish, able to microwave food, keep myself reasonably clean and presentable, get to uni, keep [almost] on top of my work. Then of being either better or worse, staying home and isolating, or sorting through unpaid bills and making a meal. Oh, and of crashing. Doom, gloom and staying under the duvet. Neglecting to eat, wash or talk.

My tutor at university spoke to me on Monday regarding my unacceptable attendance last year. I'm unsure if anyone else has told her what my "issues", as she put it, were. I wanted to say "I don't have issues, I have an illness", but it seemed more appropriate to grovel my apologies and get out of there.

Well Done! Have A Gold Star!

2009-03-07T19:53:00.001Z

Things I have accomplished this week:

- I attended our end of year evaluations, completed the mindless forms and collected the certificate. At the end of the session, 'cos they forgot me, but f*ck it.

- I attended part of the second year introduction, and made up a "believable but don't question me further" excuse about being ill.

- I lost my medication, but I managed to sort it out with only a few tears [and with the help of some Valium from the back of the medication box...]

- I went out last night to see friends, got a bit drunk, and I'm going out again tonight. I'm not going to beat myself up for spending money on alcohol - I'm going to enjoy myself.

- Most of my packing is done, and I know basically where everything is in the boxes and bags.

- I've got dressed EVERY day this week.

- I completed my DLA application, because I'm poor and, guess what, I have a disability. It causes me problems in everyday life, and it's a REAL illness, not me being silly.

- I haven't binged, purged, restricted, cut etc.

- I did my washing today. Who cares if I'm living off frozen tuna pasta bake - I don't smell and I have been fed. Go GG go!

Of Guinea Pigs and Mentalists

2009-02-28T20:00:00.002Z

Paddi is not very impressed. Guinness is hogging the snug, and won't share.

The guinea pigs moved out of the garden and into my room this afternoon, and they seem quite content. They were purring away when they first went in the cage, but now there is a problem. I only had enough fur fabric for one snug, and they both want it. Guinea pigs don't share food and they most certainly don't share snugs! They are also argueing over the new water bottle - apparently the old one just won't do. It's been fun, especially watching Paddi running in and out of the snug repeatedly, purring and wheeking.

Today was my last day of placement, and I actually feel a little bit weepy! Lots of hugs and farewells, and I honestly will miss that ward. All I can think of now is looking towards starting my second year, and I just hope that I have more placements which I enjoy as much as that one.

Having said that, if a certain patient had followed me around for much longer complaining of being unable to cope, and begging for help, I might have thrown the towel in. The constant answering of the same questions [What should I do? Should I sit here or in my room? What do I do? I can't cope...] to someone who would not listen to the advice was starting to grate on me, after 6 weeks of being her chosen target. Honestly though, I've loved the placement, and I think the main reason that particular patient made me feel that way was that I hated to see her that agitated and distressed. I accompanied her to ECT appointments, assisted her with mealtimes and personal care, helped her in every way that I could think of, and it was nowhere near enough. Somehow, I still feel good. I left her this afternoon on the road to recovery, clean, comfortable and with a full stomach. As a nursing professional, given the situation, I feel I have done that best possible for her today, and that makes me feel good. That makes me feel proud.

Working on an Over 65's ward has made me wonder about my future health. A person's health tends to deteriorate as they age, people collecting illnesses like my mum collects shoes, and mental health doesn't appear to be an exception. I don't want to be old and crazy. Old and crazy conjours up images of conversing with felines and smelling of piss. I don't mind young and mentally interesting, most of the time.

I'm f*cking low again.

2009-02-16T21:13:00.002Z

I want to cry right now. I've been crying for the majority of the last 24 hours, but now I actually want to, I have a reason to. I want to scream too, and stamp my feet, and maybe curl up defeated and exhausted. I'm going downhill again, fast, and I can't afford to get ill now. I'm on the verge of being discharged from the mental health teams, and I'm nearing the end of my first year, and now I'm fantasising about suicide and unable to stop this constant weeping. I'm grasping at straws, making unsuitable decisions [it's only the knowledge of this, and the therefore obsessive caution I have adopted which stopped me from renting a flat today]. I should have realised that I was getting worse, instead of being overwhelmed with grief and guilt on Sunday night. I'd been somewhat dispondant, flat even, over the weekend, but I put that down to knowing I had to come back to London and Boyfriend had to stay at university, but now I'm totally deflated. I wandered round the shops, killing time until the bus came after seeing the flat, and I felt so unbearably numb. I'm concerned because this numbness tends to precede a slashy-slashy incident, and I have 112.5 hours of work placement to complete within the next two weeks. I can't afford to be ill. I need help, but I don't know if there is anything to help me if I'm like this. I want to change things, anything so I don't feel agitated and yet numb simultaneously, but I also barely have the energy to get out of bed let alone take an interest in doing anything. I'm finally feeling emotion related to my Nan's death but I didn't want it like this; delayed, agressive and set off by anything. I'm breaking out in those awful cold sweats, I can't sleep at night but I'm dead to the world during the day, and my legs feel like they've been dipped in cement. I don't know how to explain this to work, again, and accept the fact that maybe I can't ever have a proper career, because I will always be bouncing between ill and almost well.

2009-02-10T22:13:00.002Z

Today I did very little.
It was my turn to clean, and I managed that.
I washed my hair.
I cleaned out the guinea pig hutch.
I attended my nurse check up.

Comparing this to how I was during my last placement, I am doing amazingly. I am coping, I am managing, I may not be 100% but I can look after myself at the moment, which is great. I still feel like I am giving myself this fake, patronising encouragement for doing next to nothing. I hate it, it's like "Yay well done! You're 19 and you can tie your own shoelaces!"*.

My check up was mainly for my contraceptive pill, but the nurse also weighed me. Ughh. I hate being weighed. I bit my tongue to stop myself informing her that my boots were heavy, and I had change in my pocket, and I was wearing a big jumper, and I'm NOT NOT NOT NOT NOT that big. The scales screamed back a 21 pound gain since November, and I am not ready to face that.
I just want to weigh myself properly, but I can only do it first thing in the morning, otherwise I start panicking about water weight, and chowing down on diurectics.
The ridiculous thing is that I'm supposed to be gaining weight, that was the plan, and yet every little gain makes me want to drop half a stone.

*When unwell, attempting to tie my laces has resulted in me in floods of tears, or retreating back under the duvet.

Introducing....

2009-01-27T19:20:00.002Z

LocumShrink.
Oh why oh why does he have to be a locum?
He listened. He replied. He actually told me what is going on, and he offered to send me a copy of my report [which I accepted]. And now he is going. Sob*.

He couldn't access the system due to a fault, so he did ask me some things about my past history, but not to repeat every sordid detail. He didn't want to know the colour of my socks, or piercingly stare whilst enquiring whether I was "compliant".
I like LocumShrink.

He also has an idea of what might be going on in this little brain of mine. It's just an idea at the moment, we'll see what happens, but it could explain why Prozac and Citalopram didn't agree with me. He thinks I might be Bipolar II, as after going on Prozac I had what is suspected to be a hypomanic episode, and possibly also following my brief spell on 'Tally.

Bipolar II, for anyone not so familiar, is depressive episodes with a few hypomanic episodes thrown in. No fullblown manias, just probable hypomania, periods of excessive everything which to be honest can be quite enjoyable if a little unpredictable. Well. More than a little. After the Prozac kicked in [and kicked me up up up] I was in a bit of a whirlwind for about 6 weeks. When I came out of it, I had started a nursing degree. Now, I love what I do, but prior to that I hadn't even considered it.

*The good looks and soft Irish accent helped. LOL.

New Shrink

2009-01-27T11:50:00.003Z

Eeeep eeep eeep.
Meeting the new mind-doctor today. Let's hope he does more than the last one did!
Important things -
Assigning him a new name, for use on this blog.
Remembering to take my diary - although I'm not quite as dependant on it as I have been.
Working out what to wear - too tidy and I'm discharged from services, too scruffy/smelly and I risk admission, not to mention my pride.
Oh. Holy fuck. I have pride in my appearance again. I actually CARE. This is great, fantastic, but also scary, as it is already expressing itself as a desire to LOSE 25 POUNDS NOW.
I hate these appointments.
New shrink usually means having to go through the last 19 years, and with my slightly squiffy memory, it's not that easy.
Fear of a BPD diagnosis - hmmm, young female who selfharms? What could that be.....
I will tidy this post up later, I'm just all in a muddle and I want another fag and I want to see Boyfriend for a good luck kiss but he is Oop North again :(
Half of me wants to let the numb feeling slide over me and crawl under the duvet for a few months, and the other half wants to skip and dance and tra la la la la all the shit stuff away.

Where The F*ck Are My Hipbones?!

2009-01-26T21:16:00.002Z

Let's just bear in mind the fact that I've never really lost that much weight. My BMI has never been under 15, and I cut no skeletal waif-like figure even then.
I just can't stand this weight gain business. I'm almost back to my previous normal weight, and it sucks. It's shit. I hate it.
Oh, yes, it has it's advantages. I'm capable of working, I can study, I can get out of bed in the morning, and I haven't had a black eye from fainting and smacking my face on the toilet bowl in recent months. I haven't cut since November, and I haven't purged since before Christmas. I have more energy, I am not suicidal and I have breasts again.
I'm not special. Before I had something, something I cherished and nurtured like the life-sucking little parasite it was, but still it was mine. My special thing. It defined a lot of what I did. Now, I'm lost without it.
I know that my disordered eating only really comes into play when I am unwell, so the recent weeks have reflected me being much better than I have been in a long time. I also know that messing around with my eating greatly increases my chances of a relapse into depression, as the two tend to strike together. I know all of these things are good signs, that I am getting more and more stable, and yet I WANT HIPBONES. I want bones. I want jutting bones and paper thin flesh and I want purity and all that is good and the effort of day to day living to show. I want to be special again.
If I put half the effort I have expended on disordered eating into something productive, I would be special by now, and yet that just makes me want to lose 25lbs even more?

My Size Zero Is Better Than Your Size Zero...

2009-01-22T21:37:00.002Z

Or the wonders of so-called "vanity sizing".
I usually wear a pair of lowrise jeans, bought from Asda, which claim to be a UK size 4. They are getting a bit tight now, but they stretch a bit after an hour or so of wearing them. Today I bought a pair of leather trousers [for motorbike rallies and the like] from The Gods Of Clothing, the almight Topshop. They are a UK8, however they seem quite tight. Part of this is because they have a higher waist, and I have high hipbones, however they compare more to a size 6 in most of the other high street stores. I also tried a higher waisted pair of Topshop jeans in a UK10 [!!!], which hung off me, and made my mother grimace and comment on how I "need feeding up".

A UK6 in New Look still fits relatively well, although they seem to think I have the thighs of a UK14. Boots are never small enough on my calves. Most clothing stores seem to think I have no breasts [I have them again! Back to a 30DD! Mwa ha ha ha ha!]. Although getting a longer leg length is relatively easy, getting tops to fit my [ridiculously] long upper body is still almost impossible, and for someone who HATES their stomach, this is very frustrating. I tend to buy t-shirt dresses, or get men's band t-shirts and sew up the sides.

Shirts are a nightmare. The arms and body are never long enough, and if I get clothing from the "tall" section, I need a UK4/6 which is hardly ever available.

What is the deal with this vanity sizing business anyway? Why can't everything just be available in tall as well as petite? Almost all the hghstreet stores cater for the *ahem* fuller figure, with Plus Size clothing getting it's own section, designs and even name, yet tall clothing is limited to one rail, if there is any!

The only options seem to be paying extortionate prices at specisalist online stores, which usually don't do smaller than a UK8, gaining lots of weight [Noooooo! This is big enough!], or having life changing surgery to shorten my body and arms, so that I can wear normal clothes!

Next clothing rant: How DARE La Senza stop selling 30-inch back sizes!? Now, I have to buy from specialist, not to menton expensive brands such as Freya. Or spend hours at my Mum's sewing machine removing inches of excess material.

Funerals can be FUN!

2009-01-12T15:00:00.002Z

My Nan's funeral was hilarious.
The priest was Welsh, and my Nan hates welsh people [something to do with a long ago camping trip and an obnoxious welsh shepherd, apparently].
He kept calling her by my Mum's name, and then went off on a huge rant about sinners, Jesus and the Gaza strip.
We had requested a simple reading, only one hymn [all things bright and beautiful], and minimal religious bullshit, but we got several other hymns and plenty of bible bashing.
My Nan would have had a coughing fit.
I was rather rude to the poor old bloke afterwards [apparently, he was asleep when the funeral director found him, and they had to wake him to do the service]. I refused to shake his hand, and told him quite bluntly to get the names right next time.
I then demolished a bottle of wine and hid in the conservatory for most of the buffet-come-mourning afterwards.
To be honest, I'm glad that it was funny. Otherwise I would have completely broken down. I thought my little brother was crying, but he was just laughing and trying to smother it. It was better, really. She would have liked it, I think.

I got home last night, and did something quite strange. I got drunk with my housemates, and actually, they aren't so bad. I'm just perpetually grumpy at the moment.

Late night paranoia and plotting revenge...

2009-01-06T03:36:00.001Z

If I am accused of stealing coffee or failing to empty the tumble-dryer filter one more time I am going to hurt someone, most probably myself.
I've been here the longest.
I showed you how to clean that sodding filter, remember?
And the reason I was being quiet was because a) I'm ill b) I'm being considerate and c) it was 11pm.
I was not "sneaking" around, I was showing some f*cking consideration for people who may have been sleeping. Turn off you f*cking Akon crap and try doing the same?

At the same time, this may just be my paranoia. Or maybe I just hate you and your annoying habits.

Maybe, just maybe, I'll stop cleaning, and I'll start playing music loud with my door open? I'll pop in and distract you whenever you sit down to eat, and I'll make extra sure that I have an annoying little brat so that you can get woken up nice and early too.

I'm making a mountain out of a molehill, I know, but I've put on nearly 10 pounds, I'm pissed off and these ignorant, insufferably mind numbingly boring individuals are not helping.

I'm feeling a bit better

2009-01-05T14:12:00.001Z

I got up to visit the bog [ain't I lady-like?], and thought I heard something coming through the letterbox, so I headed downstairs. My foot hadn't even touched the first step before mature student housemate appeared, peering up and grinning like an amused overweight vulture.

"Oops. I made a mess. He he he he he."

Turns out the noise was not the letterbox but the aluminium mop handle knocking into the fridge, as he cleaned up the vast number of muddy footprints covering the route between the back and front doors.

Now, why that struck him as exceptionally funny, or made him think that my ill, dressing gown clad self would find it hilarious, is totally beyond me.

I do have , honest sense of humour, honest. But seriously, is what he does funny? Am I just a bitter twisted girl? To be honest, I enjoy dry bitter humour, and think Nemi is a goddess, but living with his alien sense of comedy is driving me up the wall.

GG - "Oh, Right. Um.... Any post?"
Mature Student - "He he he.... Oh, post? No, nothing for you. He he he."
GG - Oh, ok. [Heads back to bed].
M/S - You can come downstairs...
GG - [What, and put up with your humour?] "No, just wanted to check if there was post."

He can't understand why, at 2pm, GG thought there may have been post. GG has to explain that she thought she heard the letterbox banging, which he denies happening, so GG has to explain why she said she thought she heard it, but is aware now that she was mistaken. He flatly denies making any noise at all. GG returns to bed to write this. At this moment he is repeatedly running the hoover up and down the wall outside my room, despite the fact it isn't his turn to clean.

Snuffle Splutter Snuffle

2009-01-04T23:05:00.002Z

I have an awful cold, courtesy of my wonderful housemates, so apologies if this is rather boring, and peppered with references to coughing up lime green slime.
I want to move house.
I have sent a text to my Connexions PA begging for help in finding somewhere suitable, and I'm prowling the Internet for a job delivering leaflets. I plan to be sneaky, sign up to several companies, then whack out 3 or 4 leaflets at each house - therefore greatly increasing my earnings. This is also clever, as it means I can pace the streets without people worrying about me, my weight or my mind.
Getting back to the point, I need to move house.
Not only does delightful mature student think it is vastly amusing that they have passed on their plague, he still seems peeved that I said I felt ill, and did not want a conversation. I mean, surely I can snuffle my way downstairs and rest my head on the table while I wait for the kettle to boil without being subject to his abysmal sense of humour? Seriously, it is like having your soul sucked out through a too-small orifice by a half-hearted anteater.
Second housemate has a child. Yes, a small noisy creature, which of course hates me, and decided that early this morning, when I had finally got to sleep, that the best option was to cry. Loudly.
It stays over most weekends, which was most certainly not what I signed up for when I moved in. If I wanted sleepless nights and screaming children, I would have had my own and got a nice cosy council flat, right?
Also, if he uses my facecloth to wipe his kids arse again, I am going to literally hit the roof.
I am quite annoyed at the moment. I'm like this when I'm (physically) ill, I get grumpy because I feel like shite and every time I try to do something, my nose starts running. Particularly if I'm up to my elbows in washing up.
I've done nothing to my Insight project over the holiday's, but I've had a bit more on my mind, what with Nan being ill and then dying, Boyfriend getting himself kicked out the other night, and desperately needing to move.
I think they've got the point that I don't want to talk right now, they haven't knocked on my door since I went down stairs and made the point that "it's half ten, can you at least turn the music down if you insist on listening to that shit?!". They've tried talking, but I once again pointed out that I'm ill, I don't want to talk to you, I just want to go back to bed.
I need some sleep but I can't breathe properly, I'm so stuffed up, and lying down makes it worse. I've got my eye on a little flat in Hornchurch, but I don't want to call the estate agents if all I'm capable of saying is "Uggg".
Well, I hope you are all feeling better than me, and that you avoid the Winter Lurgie...
GG
xxx

The first work sounds like duck, and the second word is the opposite of on...

2008-12-27T09:50:00.001Z

My Nan died on Monday 22nd, and although I felt like blogging, I didn't quite know where to start. I spent Chrtistmas Eve until this morning with my Mum, and my Dad is picking me up in an hour. This is just a quick post to say; I'm ok, Happy Christmas, and I GOT A DUCK.

This is the second rubber duck I have been bought, and I'm feeling a collection coming on. Pirate duck and Lulu Guiness Love-Hate duck are the beginning of something new...

I hope everyone else is bearing up ok, and I will provide duck pictures soon.
GG
x

But I Don't Want To Sleep.

2008-12-19T01:59:00.000Z

I want to stay up. All night.
Preferably with a bottle of vodka, but some cereal and a fag might serve as a suitable replacement.

Dr. Bill Oddie tomorrow, and back to work on Monday. Eeeek.

I am much better than I was. I just hope I'm not tempting fate by trying to cram my placement in before March - I haven't got a choice though. Otherwise I have to find the money to support myself for 6 months and rejoin the course in September.

Hopefully that can still be a fallback plan if I right royally fuck it up.

Hmmm. That fag won't roll itself.

Knock on my door and I'll break your face.

2008-12-15T20:53:00.001Z

Shit doesn't just happen, at least not from where I'm sitting.
Rather, it is hurled at you repeatedly by "life" until you find yourself up to your neck in the stuff. Sometimes, if you're lucky, some kind soul will help you dig your way out, but to be honest what is the point?
Why do I constantly swim against an unforgiving tide, where every ounce of energy is sucked out of me, just to keep my head above water.
I'm not a survivor. If I was in a zombie scenario, I'd take that gun and shoot myself in the head. I don't have the physical or mental strength to keep fighting it. I also don't have the strength to end it. I meander on through life, not really going anywhere or acheiving anything, yet not I'm ill enough to be blissfully ignorant. Instead I'm tormented by my own failures, I'm bitter, cynical and unkind. If I'm in a bad mood, I reserve the right to take it out on anyone who dares to be cheerful.
I am not a nice person. I am not interesting or intelligent. I am not a beautiful unique snowflake. I am a nasty girl who holds grudges and wallows in self pity, and no amount of medication is going to change that.
I tell you what I want. I want a home that is mine, that isn't going to be taken away from me, and where people don't turn the heat up on the tumbledryer and shrink my favourite jumper. I want to curl up with a book in the evenings without my housemates piercing laughter or the sound of the latest Akon CD pumping through my head. I want to do what I like, and sometimes it would be nice to leave a coffee cup on the side without complaints. I want to interact with people that I like on my days off, instead of people I have to live with, and I want my housemate to stop shoving his latest culinary work of art under my nose. I want more space than my 9 x 7 foot room, and I want to do something in my life which I enjoy, and hiding under the duvet is not a very fulfilling hobby.
I want my Nan home for Christmas.
I want to know that if I have a baby, I won't relapse and have it taken away from me. I want to know that I could be a good mother, and I want to believe that just because the world is so materialistic, I don't have to be. Time to grow my own food, make my own living, and the space in which to do so.

Uni tomorrow...

2008-12-09T00:13:00.001Z

Time for a fag, a cup of tea, and a vague attempt at sleep.
AbsentUncle has taken over the selling of Nan's house, and is keen for her to go into residential care. I think that is the best route too. I think. I've done a bit of care home searching, hopefully we can get her into one near my Mum's in Basildon.
This is a huge relief, and I need to stop being a paranoid bitch, and finding elements of "ain't-I-the-martyr" in his voice. I'm really not a very nice person right now.
Right. Clear head, get uni over and done with, then shimmy over to the hospital to see Nan. Perfect. Sorted. Done.

What's life going to throw at me next?
Shall we have a poll, or just throw some random answers out there?
I'm voting on developing an allergy to yogurt, leaving me without my main safe food. Now there's an unthinkable disaster just waiting to happen. I might actually be more scared of this than I am of someone dying on top of me during sex. Yes. That freaks me out, ok?

Oh, Christ(mas)!

2008-12-08T22:12:00.001Z

This was a comment for the inspiring Seaneen (Secret Life of a Manic Depressive), but it reminded me of how my comments are often better written than my actual posts, as there is a much higher chance of someone reading them, and they are more focused on a subject or point. I thought I'd post this here as a reminder of how I would like my writing to be, as opposed to the usual distressed venting.

Seaneen,
Oh, the joys of Christmas, the great eating festival. As an agnostic I find the whole event extremely annoying, but I try to pull on the Pagan and Norse parts of this time of year. My Christmas presents are also awful (”Make your own!” says counsellor. Huh? Really? From under the duvet?), and my Nan, who brought me up, is in hospital and barely recognises me. I’d give anything to skip the whole thing.
On the subject of privilege, your post pretty much reflects on how I beat myself around the head with the “Come on, it could be worse” baton. I, like you, have a roof over my head, and food in the cupboard. Things are tight, but when I’m well-ish, I can manage, and my Connexions PA helps me sort out the backlog from when I’m very unwell. To be honest though, we aren’t really living on our respective pitance. We are surviving. Shrink suggests I take up swimming again. He doesn’t understand that there is no money to spare, unless I give up eating altogether.
This is become rather a rambling comment, but f*ck it.
The worst part of Christmas? Visiting my Dad. Going out for a meal or two, and watching a month’s rent being blown on food and drink. Sometimes they tip more than I have to spend on food in a week. I’m proud to be independant, but sometimes I wish he could see how I live compared to him. I want him to appreciate how privileged he actually is, but also that I’d rather have more time when I am well, than any amount of money.

GG
xxx

The Butterfly Effect

2008-12-08T19:12:00.002Z

What comes up must come down.
Cause and effect.
Universal balance.
Insert another theory here, then remember that they are only that.
Theories.

Boyfriend is unhappy. He is unhappy with uni, unsure about whether to continue, unconvinced that the next five months will be enough to gain a degree which will reflect the work he has done. I don't know what to say, except that I love him just as he is. Whatever he wants to do, I fully support him in that, and will sacrifice whatever we have to so that he can be happy. Making him happy is one of the few things that makes me happy, and if something makes him sad then I want to fight it, tooth and claw, for daring to hurt him.

Sometimes I wonder why I can't love myself as much as I love him. Why can't I apply the same way of thinking to me? My counsellor says this to me - it's a bit "inner child" centered for my liking but she has a point. If I met a 10 year old girl who had been beaten up by her classmates, I would want to protect her, help her, give her a big hug and let her cry on my shoulder. Yet, I spend most of my time hurling abuse at myself as a 10 year old for not standing up and fighting. For being weak, pathetic, a loser. For lying down and taking it.

I'm trying to be a bit nicer to my "inner child". I don't like that word. I don't know how else to describe her right now, but as much as I hate to admit it, that stage of my life is still a big part of how I am now. I can't just wallpaper over the cracks and pretend it never happened. I'm also concerned that me being so low may have put extra stress onto Boyfriend, as well as his workload.

Boyfriend's concern over his degree is making me think about mine. I love my work placements, although I do find the social situation of university and also in working as part of a nursing team quite stressful. I find it hard to let anyone get too close. The more they know, the more they have to use against you.

I just spoke to my Dad. There's a nice big puddle forming on my keyboard, and I'm so angry. I hate this. I had to tell him my Nan is ill, and that I might be leaving uni for a while to go and look after her. He says I shouldn't have to deal with it, but if I don't then who else will? I can't trust anyone to look after her properly, and she can't care for herself now. I can't afford to pay for a decent residential care home, and the current property market has made it almost impossible to sell her house.

I want to bury my head in the sand, but there's a distinct lack of beaches in Dagenham, and the idea of a small child finding my corpse in their sandpit makes me cringe and giggle simultaneously. F*cking morbid, eh?

Racing thoughts, anyone?

2008-12-07T17:16:00.002Z

Nan has decided she is dying, and would like discuss all the details, if only she could remember her words well enough to explain. "The chemist isn't boiling properly". GG, looking puzzled, "Oh, do you mean the kettle, Nan?". "Yes, the chemist, there's something wrong with it".

She was much more "with it" when I visited yesterday, seemed brighter but still quite confused. Apparently she threatened to hit my mum when I snuck out for a fag though, and between stifling giggles I had this big flashing DEMENTIA sign illuminating my tired brain with all the colours of the rainbow.

The second-to-last thing I want to do is go back to Bleakness-On-Sea and live in the ghost town of bungalows again. They haven't got a pub.
The last thing I want to do is leave Nan on her own.

I'm not even sure that I could look after her. It would just be until we could sell her house and get her into residential care, but with the current housing market, plus having to take a gap from uni, and then find a new place to live afterwards.... Fuck it. Mainly, I don't want to watch her deteriorate.

I've been restricting less this week, and I haven't purged in about a month. I say restricting less, I think it just seems like that because now I have a mini-binge once a day instead of thinly spreading out the calories.

I can't think straight.
GG

Attention!

2008-12-02T23:25:00.000Z

Donuts.

That is all.

I <3 Threatening Letters

2008-12-01T22:05:00.003Z

I might write them more often. They make me feel very empowered, even when I don't send them.
I forgot what an excellent release they actually are. The council tax office couldn't talk to me and Connexions PA, because they're computer system was down. Therefore, Connexions PA wrote a very official letter, which basically boiled down to "stop harassing GG, you bastards". She is great, really. She helps me with all the forms and bills that I've been hiding under my bed for the last few months. Actually, there are a lot of things which have been building up since the fire. I just can't deal with it all.
She also agrees with my opinion that Shrink is hopeless. I've seen my medical records [advice: don't leave the projector on, Shrink. It puts all my notes onto your magnolia walls in large print easy to read letters. Yes, mentals can read too!], and they are very basic. They miss out a lot of key stuff, and if I left notes like that, I'd be in deep sh*t. Plus, even though I've been under his care for nearly a year, I first saw him 4 months ago. In this time he has never adjusted or even discussed my medication, contacted my GP, or arranged a referral to Psychotherapies or any other service, despite saying he would.
Basically, my medications are managed solely by my GP, who luckily has been on anti-depressants and is relatively knowledgeable, compared to your average Doc. Counsellor looks after my mind, checks out my suicidality [is that a word???], and makes sure I'm not slitting my wrists or starving myself to death. Connexions PA keeps my finances afloat and the bailiff-wolves at bay.
I'm pretty well at the moment. My drinking has increased, but so has my eating, I'm pretty clean and this evening I cooked. I've been to both my exams so far, and today I almost finished my Christmas shopping. I'm in a right muddle at the moment because the impulse-buy wrapping paper doesn't match the gift bags, but I've found the perfect one, so I'm going to pop into Poundland after I see Counsellor tomorrow, and negotiate an exchange.
The gift bags are gorgeous, and will hopefully make up for the budget pressies.
I found the perfect card for Boyfriend, and a gorgeous pressie for a friend of mine. I think she needs some cheering up at the moment, and she looked after me last week when I was down. She bought me a toy kitty-cat :)
I might go back and get a couple of bits I saw for my two nieces, I'd like to be able to get them something so if I'm careful with the food budget I should be able to get them a little pressie each.
I <3>Venlafaxine. Please, please don't desert me like Fluoxetine did.

It's December!!! WTF!?!

2008-12-01T08:22:00.001Z

Where has this year gone?
At least most of the Christmas shopping is done now, I just need to work out what to buy for my step dad. Oh, and whether to make my own Christmas cards, or just buy them?
I'm tormenting myself over whether or not to look at some cheap studio flats, or just stay put until Boyfriend comes home in May. I think that's a better idea...
I have to talk to the council tax office again today, but the chances of me handling this calmly and rationally are pretty low. Cue GG effing and blinding down the phone at a quivering call centre employee.

Eat-A-Thon

2008-11-30T22:23:00.001Z

Or Sunday Roast, courtesy of Mum.

Uggghhhhhh. I feel awful.
I downed a bottle of wine to get through the mammoth meal, and I hate the way she points out how thin I am, when inside I'm screaming that I'M NOT I'M NOT I'M NOT.
I've gained weight again, I'm sure of it. I want the scales, but I can't weigh myself until the morning. I was standing in Topshop yesterday, trying on some ridiculously flamboyant high waisted shimmery gold trousers, size 6, eyeing myself up in the unforgiving changing room mirrors. They weren't hanging off my hipbones. I wanted to cry. I drank two bottles of wine yesterday night, and didn't eat today until the meal this evening.
I'm working on my Shrink to refer me to Mind or another organisation, to see if I can get a free membership to the gym or swimming pool. If I'm doing more exercise, then I'll be more likely to eat little and often. I might even manage breakfast, lunch and dinner for more than two days in a row! My eating habits are ridiculous at the moment, I go from consuming stupid quantities at my Mum's or Boyfriend's house to appear "okay", then I'll starve for a day or so, then it's back to 400 calories of low fat yogurt and cereal, occasionally throwing in some soup or vegetable chilli. Oh, and my drinking is definitely increasing, even though a pint of cider gets me bladdered. The two bottles of wine had a serious effect on Saturday.
It sickens me that the 26 inch jeans I was so proud of squeezing into are now hanging off me, where they once clung in all the right places. I can grab handfuls of material round the bum, and they are so baggy around my calves. I'm dreading my next work placement because nothing is going to fit.

Multiple Choice Exams and The Depressed Mind

2008-11-28T11:52:00.001Z

Quite simply, it is not a good idea.

The written questions weren't too bad, I just wrote down whatever I could vaguely relate to the topic, and attempted to stay on the topic. Multiple choice is really not a good idea for me right now. I can spend hours in Sainsburys debating over whether I should buy chickpeas or lentils. I can't pick between two flavours of soup, and don't even get me started on buying things like shampoo. They all promise so much!

The exam was a bit disasterous - I was desperate for a cigarette, and being given 4 slight variations of essentially the same answer was confusing and frustrating. I kept getting stuck on words, going round and round until I couldn't tell you which one I originally thought was most probable.

The worst part was that itchy feeling, the one I get when I desperately need to make a list. Pre-exam, list making isn't really an option. I ended up being escorted to the bathrooms, where I proceeded to scrawl some meaningless crap about plucking my eyebrows on my inner calf.

I'm supposed to be going to my Mum's to do some Christmas shopping. It's cold and horrible outside, and I want to get back into bed. I also need to eat the cottage pie I defrosted, but I know that she'll force me to eat again tonight.

On the plus side, my curtain rail decided to fall down on me at 3am. How fun!

I'm Not Eccentric, I'm Too Poor

2008-11-27T21:51:00.003Z

I have spent this evening once again avoiding revision. My biology exam is tomorrow morning, and it appears I am totally ignorant of the working of the human body. Maybe it's because my own body is so frustratingly confusing. How the f*ck have I gained 5lbs? I blame the indulgence of a whole bottle of rose, and quite possibly the roast dinner I was forced to eat on Sunday. Bastards.

Moving swiftly on, I've been shedding weight in another way. I decided to collect together all of the paperwork, final demand letters and correspondence which has made me want to slit my wrists in the past year, and dispose of it. I've had to keep a few necessities, until the council tax have stopped trying to take the clothes off my back, but other than that I'm throwing it all out. I hate being scared of the post, of the debts, of the bailiffs.

This is one way which mental illness breaks you. It steals your dignity, your self respect, puts you in situations which you couldn't deal with normally, let alone when getting dressed is the equivalent of climbing Everest. For example, have you seen the size and complexity of the average housing benefit form? I couldn't fill one of those out when I was well, let alone navigate it since I've been on the brink of f*cked. I am living on the breadline, because I can't fill out the forms, gather all the evidence, sit for hours in the waiting room surrounded by screaming children and their oblivious teenage mothers.

I've been spending a fortune on medications, and burying my head in the sand when it comes to my bills. Bills have a nasty habit of becoming final demand letters, and court orders. I guess that since July I've been spending at least £20 a month on prescriptions for various medications, and it doesn't sound like much, but that is basically all I have left after I've paid for rent and food. I've been keeping my receipts, and trying to get a HC1 form [for help with prescription costs] for months, but to be honest that was pretty low on my priority list. I've got the form, and now it turns out that my carefully hoarded receipts are worthless. You need a special receipt, signed and stamped by the pharmacist, which you can only get on request and at the time of collecting your prescription. Therefore, the NHS handily avoids paying out to any of us who don't know the complete ins-and-outs of the system. Once again.

I've never been in debt before. I've always paid everything up front, been extra careful so I had a bit of money behind me. I had quite a tidy sum when I moved out of my Nan's, from working and saving EMA payments. That paid for the deposit on my house and the first months rent, leaving me a little bit just in case. Becoming ill again and getting fired soon used up that. Then my lovely ex-housemates leaving all the bills to me, plus the house in a state, resulted in me losing a lot of money. Would I have let myself be walked all over if I was well? No. I would have done something about it. At the time, I couldn't do anything about it. The direct debits just kept going out, and the rent money stopped coming in.

The problem is, you see, that when I was well-ish, I thought I could do everything. I could, most of the time. i handled all the money, because I soon discovered that they were both pretty much incapable. When the bills arrived, they stuck them under the sofa. No joke.

I take everything upon myself, because depending on others generally means that nothing will get done. At least if you do it yourself then you know who to blame. I'm ashamed of the financial mess I've got myself in. I can't even show my Connexions PA most of it because I don't want to admit that, deep breath, "I can't manage".

I found a ridiculously cheap one bedroom flat to let today, and realised with a bit of belt-tightening, I could afford it. Think about that - no more living with strangers, sharing the bathroom with unknown men, and having to make polite conversation when all you can think about is the kitchen knife he is holding. Back to the good old days of, shock horror, having your friends over a couple of nights a week, getting back to having a social life even when you have absolutely no money, even just having Boyfriend over for more than one night. Leaving the washing up on the side until the morning. Eating somewhere other than in bed, because nobody is watching anymore. Hogging the bathroom, dyeing your hair, waxing your legs, whatever reason, just because you can. Only having safe foods in the house, rather than staring longingly at the block of cheese or packet of Jaffa Cakes that your inconsiderate housemate left on the side.

The downside? I'd be in even more of a mess. I can't remember to buy loo roll, let alone pay the gas bill. By the time Boyfriend gets back from uni in May and moves in with me, I'll be living in a bare flat hugging my eviction notice.

All I can think of is me and Boyfriend snuggled up on the beanbags in our humble little flat, ignoring the threadbare carpets and dodgy shower, and just having our own space. Oh, and the added bonus of having some money for once, seeing as this little apartment is £20 a month LESS than my little room. I know I'd have bills on top, but I don't pay council tax 'cos I'm a student, and who needs heating anyway? Being cold just means I'll burn off more calories.

Damn That Boyfriend Of Mine...

2008-11-26T18:09:00.001Z

He's gone back to sodding Oop North. I feel like I've been kicked in the stomach, it's winded me, as it always does.
Pffft.
I'm also extremely on edge, as the council tax c*nts have sent me a lovely letter informing me that, whoop-de-doo, the bailiffs are coming for my meager possesions. Good luck flogging my battered books, oversized dreamcatcher and graffitied rubber duck. Touch my laptop and I'll bite your f*cking hand off. I'm mental, donchanooooo???

Grrr. I'm a student. They told me I had been removed from the council tax list. Chase my ex-housemates for the £53.43 that we apparently owe you. I've lost so much money over that sodding house, not to mention been fired, and had a severe relapse of depression. I can't take any more of this shit. Hence, my Connexions PA got a rather incoherant text begging her to sort it out. She is rather useful. Otherwise, I think I would have gone on a bulk-buying mission of paracetemol and vodka. Bye bye liver!

My Nan has decided she is dying. I'm not very impressed.
She has heart failure, and they are giving her lots of medications which seem to interact badly, and also slow her pulse. I checked it before she took the pills, and it was under 50 bpm. This, coupled with her hallucinating ["there's little furry weasels running around the living room", apparently] meant that I've lost faith in Middle-Of-Nowhere's medical team.
I blame myself. I do that with everything, but especially this. Since I moved back to London 18 months ago, she has gone from independant to housebound. I can't believe how much her health and spirit have declined. This was a woman who would go to Alice Cooper concerts with me, and the only alcohol she touched was straight vodka.
I'm also angry. How dare you threaten to die on me? You're my Nan, you practically brought me up, and I still need you. You ain't going nowhere, missy.
Mainly, I keep crying. I can't even phone her, because we both end up sobbing down the phone.

Argh. Apologies for the disjointed post.

Shrink was his usual self, eg. asked a few questions and did absolutely nothing. Oh, and he said he'll transfer me to another Shrink, because I've moved. He said that in August too.

Right, I need to wash my hair, because my new fringe is greasing itself to my forehead. Uggghhhhh. I am rather gross right now. My guinea pig Paddi left me with some lovely scratches on my chest, because it rained when she was in the garden, and she hates being soggy. I must bath tonight. I have clean bedsheets, so if I don't bath, I'm sleeping on the floor.

GG

I'm Not Dead

2008-11-25T16:07:00.000Z

I've been at my Nan's, and yesterday I went to see Dylan Moran. Mood has improved, eating is so-so, another exam on friday so this is a quicky post.

Going to see Boyfriend's band practice tonight, have the "other girlfriends" to chill with, and a bottle of rose wine, which could prove to be my downfall. Must make sure Ladders & MissRockabilly outdrink me....

Love to all
GG

Exam...

2008-11-21T12:26:00.001Z

I don't think it went to well.
How many actual quotations could I remember & reference? Zero*. Zilch. Big Bad Nothing.
However, I think I babbled as much as possible, plus I didn't fall asleep. Actually, some of my stuff on attitudes might drag me over the 40% pass mark. It sounded academic-ish.

On the plus side, I got 90-something% on the Mathematical Calculations test, and I just found out that my pathetic attempt at the Critical Incident Exam got me a fantastical 50%. The pass mark was 40%, and I only wrote 1300 words out of the required 2000, so I'm pretty chuffed.

Pat on the back, GG.

*Same size as the jeans I'm wearing. Pfffft. I'm useless at the willpower thing. £5 in Asda? I don't need a litre of Ben&Jerrys, I'll have the jeans instead!

A Master of Avoidance

2008-11-20T15:08:00.001Z

I have successfully managed to avoid studying. I decided to print out all the missing lecture notes for Psychology & Sociology, but when it came down to actually reading them I didn't do so well. You see, I don't actually know how to study. My brain used to work like a sponge, absorbing information, and then I used to just "mentally vomit" onto the exam paper, and somewhere out of that I'd get an A. I tried to study, but it usually consisted of reorganising my notes, or reading up on some morbid off-topic subject which had caught my interest. It used to work, but now my brain takes a hell of a lot of abuse before it accepts information. That's in all areas of life, not just studying.
GG, for fuck's sake EAT SOMETHING. Um, no. I don't need food. It's a government conspiracy to make us all fat, haven't you all worked that out yet? The re-education of my mind is proving rather hard.
I tried reading some psychology stuff, things which usually would have caught my interest, but none of the important information is sticking. Maybe if I ingest some Pritt-Stik?
I think I should just give up and get some speed. Me and my friend Ladders used to talk all the time about getting some speed and spring-cleaning the house. Maybe that would work with studying? However, the horrific comedown would not help with the examination itself.
I'm wondering how I'm going to be awake enough for a 9.30am test anyway, considering that I haven't managed to surface since I started the Venlafaxine. No doubt, my mood has definitely improved, and the late afternoon-early evening has proved relatively productive, as far as bathing and washing bedsheets goes. I even treated myself to a bit of Russell Brand last night. I just need to get through the exam without falling asleep, or being in a general zombie-like state.
On a lighter note, my guinea pigs have been in the garden since 11am, I just put them back in the hutch and Paddy was very displeased. She was squealing at me in her pissed-off tone, like she does if Guinness steals her food. I've got an appointment with the counsellor soon, and I was going to leave them out until I leave at 4pm, but next-door's cat is taking a keen interest in them, and I don't trust it. It sits on the fence pretending to ignore them, then when it thinks I'm not looking it stares intently at them, licking it's lips. I can imagine it prowling around their run, singing "I'm gonna eat ya little guineas, I'm gonna eat ya little pigs...". Think "The Cat" from Red Dwarf with the robotic goldfish.
I try to make myself relatively presentable when I leave the house, and this also applies to going to see the counsellor. I'm not to bothered when I go to Dr Oddie's, as it's a 10 minute walk, but the counsellor is in town, right by the pub, and to be honest a bra, deodorant and brushed hair are kind of required if I'm going somewhere where I'm quite likely to see friends, and to avoid abuse on the bus.
I have a Shrink appointment next week, Connexions PA is attending to make sure that we actually discuss certain issues and to see if she can help with anything. I think I'm being referred to my new area, but I'm not sure. This is a bit of a conundrum, because Connexions PA usually sees me when I'm not-overly-repulsive, and I made an effort the last time I saw Shrink. This approach has got me nowhere, so I'm considering welcoming them to my world, eg. the one where I don't spend the whole day pulling myself together to get ready for the appointment, and just show up in whatever was lying on my bedroom floor. Maybe I should take my duvet?

Home Hairdressing

2008-11-19T20:03:00.001Z

I'm actually quite good at cutting my own hair. I just gave myself a rather fetching fringe, and I'm quite please with the result. I'm also quite pleased that for once I cut my hair because I wanted to, rather than as an alternative to self harm.
I had a bit of a habit of cut/shaving chunks out of my hair whenever I thought that I'd go much to far if I self harmed
I gave myself an all over number 1, pure skinhead chic, when the Citalopram decided it just wouldn't work. I grew to quite like it, but at that point I liked anything which screamed "for fuck's sake just HELP ME".

I'm quite glad I have hair now, and that I've managed to make it look quite, well, pretty.

I also succeeded in eating some noodles today, which have been a banned food for about 6 months, so I'm quite proud of that as well.

I just read Lola Snow's post on TIDYING, and I've been there a few times. Today, however, when I got stressed over revision, I organised my notes - it gave me something to do when I needed something, and tomorrow my revision will be easier.

See. I can find positives. I can be positive.
Hmmm. Fag break!

Taggededed By Lola Snow

2008-11-19T13:50:00.003Z

Lola's was quite apt, so I think I'll give this a go...

Pass it on to five other bloggers, and tell them to open the nearest book to page 56. Write out the fifth sentence on that page, and also the next two to five sentences. The CLOSEST BOOK, NOT YOUR FAVORITE, OR MOST INTELLECTUAL!

The nearest book to me is Prozac Nation by Elizabeth Wurtzel

Page 56 is the end of a chapter, so this isn't going to be very long.

"Lizzy, everyone likes you fine just the way you are, she says, because that's what people say in these situations.
I sit there with my face in my hands as if to catch my head, to keep it from falling off and rolling across girls' campus like a soccer ball that someone might kick by accident."

I still want to know what fuzzy creature would be on Page 56 of Lola's Pets with Tourettes book, if the author had made it longer...

Um... And I tag the next 5 people who happen to come across this, and you have to copy your answers as a comment so I know when 5 people have actually done it!!!

How Mad Are You?

2008-11-18T22:37:00.001Z

"Schizophrenia is the psychiatrist's equivalent of diagnosing someone with cancer".

This sentance shocked, saddened and angered me, but unfortunately, the man has a point. The social stigma attached to a diagnosis of schizophrenia is terrible.

It seriously saddened me, because of a young man I knew. He had spent most of the past 6 years as an inpatient, and the lack of effect of every medication and treatment I saw him try was another kick in the stomach. I can't bear to think of him, so full of promise and potential, losing his family and friend's because of an illness which he can't control.

At least with cancer people don't cross the street, because they read The Sun, and think that schizophrenia = murderer.

Poppets, New Rocks and Turquoise Hair Dye

2008-11-18T20:16:00.003Z

Today I have eaten two slices of toast, some yogurt and muesli, and two packets of Poppets.
The Poppets were compulsive. We have a box of 36 packs on the kitchen tables, and all I want to do is cram the whole lot down my throat.
I'm back to the point of having almost no proper food left, just some tinned soup.
I have some sauces, pasta and rice, but they aren't allowed.
Poppets are though?!?
I don't even like the toffee flavour ones, yet that is what I'm eating.

I have an exam on Friday, and I just looked at some past paper questions and have absolutely no clue. No surprising, as my attendance is awful. My counsellor keeps saying I shouldn't be doing this course, but her idea of the alternative is to go and get a job. I can't make it to lectures a couple of days a week, how am I going to work enough to live? How am I going to hold down a job, concentrate and be productive? I lost my last job after missing two weeks of work following the A&E incident, but I'd been a complete mess for quite a while prior to that.

I'm reasonably functional at the moment, I'm out of bed by midday and I washed some clothes this afternoon. I'm dressed, I need a shower but I'm not filthy, I can't cook but I should be able to microwave some soup later. I'm drowsy and a bit lightheaded, but I haven't collapsed.

However, I'm aggressive and agitated by the smallest thing, and I am not usually that sort of person. Every little thing winds me up, particularly human company. I'm snapping at people, I'm increasingly sarcastic, patronising and short tempered. All I want to do is turn round and say "for fucks sake, can you just fucking LEAVE ME ALONE???".

I want to make something of myself. I want to make people proud. I don't want to be like this.
I've wanted to do this City & Guilds Corsetry qualification for ages, thought I could make time to do it once I'd qualified and then maybe sell some handmade corsets and lingerie online, as a hobby at first but see where it leads. Now, I'm too scared to do it because how can you run a business, and complete your orders correctly and on time, when you can't look after yourself? Sometimes I just want to crash and burn, so that people around me will understand the effect this actually has on me, on my life, so they can understand some of the things I've done and the mistakes I've made. I'm not trying to rid myself of all blame, but some things are related to my illness or my medication.

I have this image of myself in years to come, where I'm happy. Socializing in a club with friends and acquaintances, handing my card to the girl in the toilets who compliments my corset, measuring eager Suicide girl look-a-likes in the back of my boyfriend's record store, sewing perfect seams on frozen winter evenings while he plays guitar, and we are both so happy. I don't spend days in bed, I don't push him away or hold onto him too tightly, instead we can both be ourselves, but better. A day when I don't longingly gaze at pots of turquoise hair dye or lust over piercings and tattoos which aren't suitable for my work.

I love what I do, but now I wonder if it isn't much too close to home. After all, I am a little bit jealous of people I see who get an inpatient admission and leave us with support, fixed. I know that's probably not true, and most cases are much more ongoing, but sometimes.... Well, at least they get taken seriously and not as attention seeking, pessimistic, moaning GG, 19 years old and still can't stand on her own two New Rock clad feet.

Truimphant and Sickened

2008-11-16T23:07:00.002Z

Triumphant at the fact that I got into a pair of gorgeous size 4 grey Dollhouse skinny jeans.

The name "Dollhouse" is perfect, everything in perfect miniature, the way I sat for hours arranging the tiny beds and chairs in mine as a child. Sitting in the spare room at my Grandmother's house, rain pattering against the window, perfecting the contents of my Grampie's labour of love. The wallpaper was remnants from the house, so it was a perfect miniature, until the cat decided that she liked to squeeze through the impossible small window and sleep amongst the matchstick furnishings, tail curling out of the front door.

I got into them. However my large high hipbones gave the impression of FAT. Now, I know that if I out on a stone, I would have curvy hips, an hourglass figure. I know that what I perceive as "overhang" is just my hipbones sticking out over the low rise waistband, and not FAT. However, it still looks too big. Fleeting thoughts of "hip surgery", ways of fixing them, if I wear a corset constantly could I force my hipbones further in? Have a bit sanded off the bone? Is there fat cushioning the sockets, and if so by losing more weight will that knock off that extra half inch?

This is sickening. Mum grimaced as the size 6 dress slid down my depleted chest, and she spent the rest of the day coaxing me to eat. I eat around her, just to stop the fights. I only have to do it once in a while, I make up for it over the next few days, and at the time I push it to the back of my mind. There are ways to get rid of a few extra calories, and I use them. My cat is very useful, and little brother can polish off my dessert.

The worst bit is, I'm not even that small.
I weigh myself first thing in the morning, on the same scales, on the same floor tiles. I weighed myself a while ago, which I know I shouldn't have done, as it was 9pm and I wouldn't get a "true" weight. With my dinner inside me, I appear to have gained 6 pounds since Friday. I know this is probably mainly water weight, food and a small gain, but I feel like a failure.

I know I can be down to a beautiful, previously unreached weight before Christmas, and I might go back and buy those jeans as my motivation.

Then again, that's the exact same reason I left them on the rail.

Neurotic And Agitated.

2008-11-14T01:09:00.003Z

I have a diagnosis of Severe Depressive Illness [apparently!].
Unfortunately, a diagnosis doesn't come about in one session or meeting. Originally it was an "Adjustment Disorder", but sometimes it takes time to assess an illness. My psychiatrist and various GP's have written a whole variety of different things on assessments and sick notes.

Personally, I'm pretty neurotic about BPAD. I have a strong family history of BPAD on my maternal Grandfather's side, and depression on my Father's. I didn't know any of this until after my 4th depressive episode [except about my Grandad, that was after my 2nd], so I do not count myself as "self fulfilling prophecy" in terms of Depression at least.

I do worry about BPAD, purposely inform my Doctor of the family history as I know some medications have a greater likelihood of triggering a manic episode, and I do worry more now because most of my BPAD family members had their first manic episode in their late teens/early twenties [I'm 19].

Sometimes, I hate being more like my Grandad. His siblings had a diagnosis of BPAD and in terms of medications etc were managed relatively "consistently".

My Grandad was the least understood, I still don't know his official diagnosis as they just weren't sure. I suppose the closest they came to it was again, Severe Depressive Illness. Cue a long stream of anti-depressants, mood stabilizers, good old Lithium and countless other treatments. Chuck in a load of inpatient admissions and you'd think they'd have an answer by now.

I know that if I became full blown manic, I would probably be unable to see anything wrong. I'd be in complete denial. It's a mixed state that I'm more concerned about.
My Grandad' siblings have an alarming habit of what I presume to be mixed states. Either that, or they like blood when they are high as a kite. There's a lot of slashy-slashy going on just when they seem to be out of the Depression. The mood lifts, you think they're fine, then you find out Aunty-So-and-So is back on life support or has giving herself some interesting arm decorations.

Grandad himself... A mystery and yet the person who understood me best? I don't know. He would be so low for so long, then be irritable, argumentative, then decide we had to go to the Millennium Dome. Again. Suddenly this need to go to a museum, where he'd refuse the wheelchair until he couldn't walk any further, which usually meant he would use it like a Zimmer frame whilst pushing me around in it. Art galleries, where he would get so excited.

Yet, somehow, he was never as manic as, well, manic. He seemed to gain this "zest for life", but I don't know if that was part of his personality or his illness, because by the time I arrived he had been ill for many years.

Then, one day, he took to his bed and stayed there for 8 months. I couldn't bear to see him like that, partly because of my family's reaction to it, and partly because I would do the same thing when depressed. My Nan went out for an hour to get some shopping, and he took every prescription medication in the house.

They wouldn't let me see him. My Nan said he wouldn't have known I was there, "better to remember him how he was". I regret that so much. Two long weeks of tremors, fits, coma... Then he died.

I'm 19, I'm on my 3rd antidepressant, I'm messing up my life and all I want to do is stand at the weekend of Walton Pier where the lifeguards scattered Grandad's ashes, and cry and cry and scream and cry. I want all the pain and anger to wash away with the tide, and if it doesn't then I might as well throw myself of the f*cking pier rather than struggle for another 55 years before topping myself in a similar fashion.

Homemade vs. Tinned

2008-11-13T18:43:00.002Z

My Connexions PA is lovely, she helped me sort out some debt issues* today, but she doesn't seem to understand that cooking is a huge effort. I mean, come on, I tried to go to uni in my pajamas today [I had my jeans on over them, but still...]. She suggested making homemade soup, but here's the other big problem - calorie counting.
I have enough trouble trying to ignore working out how much my vegetarian chili contains, let alone adding another mystery-calorie food to my diet.
Obviously, there is no logic to eating disorders. One minute I'm crying over the increase in calories of my usual soup, the next I could be binging on whatever unsafe foods I can get my hands on.
Currently, I only eat 3 different meals. Low fat yogurt and muesli for breakfast, although I've resisted weighing the muesli so far, I do use individual 100-cal yogurt pots so I know how much I'm eating.
Depending on how I am, I may have lunch. That's where the soup comes in, with one or two slices of wholemeal super-seedy bread. Nasty fact, but this is to avoid constipation, which is a bitch. No laxatives allowed in the house, I am not going down that road again.
Dinner is the veggie chili, onion, pepper and mushrooms with a variety of beans, pulses, lentils and tinned tomatoes. The beans and lentils contain Tryptophan, which is used to make Serotonin, and then I chuck in lots of chili powder, because apparently spicy food ups your metabolism?
I haven't got a clue how many calories are in a portion of that. Honest. Ok. I lie. I refuse to work it out properly, but probably around 250?
If I'm feeling extra good [or extra faint!] I chuck in some mozzarella cheese. Once it's melted, it's hard to pick back out, see?
Throw in the occasional binge, and the mandatory "see, I eat normally" meals at my Mum's or Boyfriend's house, and you have it.

I originally dropped 20 pounds by just, well, not eating. Now I'm on this, not purging [much], and not using laxatives and diuretics, I feel a lot better.
I gained back 6 pounds in the first week [ouch!] but I've lost 4 of them. I think I was just on starvation mode, plus water weight...

So. I'm now a size 6.
Hmmm.
I was fine with being an 8. I don't like double figures, but an 8 was nice and comfy. Now I'm a 6, all I can think about is dropping to a 4.
That little voice, pointing out the size 4 little black dress in Adsa, "Look GG, you could be in that by Christmas. Make sure you've got a bit of room though, you don't want to look like you've squeezed into it. Fat bitch."

GG

*When they stuck me on Prozac and everything got a bit sparkly, not only did I start my nursing course, I also got some books out of the library. I don't remember this, but I received a £200 fine last week, and found the offending literature under my bed. I think I still have to pay £75, but we'll see if they take pity on the mentally f*cked. What interests me is how I packed and unpacked them whilst moving house, and still didn't realise?

La la la la la!

2008-11-12T23:38:00.001Z

Babble babble babble.

Anyone else hate being an in-between?
Not mentalistic enough for inpatient or intensive treatment, but just f*cked enough in the ol' brain department to scare yourself?

I was sitting in the kitchen, half-watching Scrubs whilst attempting not to consume the contents of my cupboard.
Enter my housemate. Early-forties, mature student, irritatingly cheerful. Wants to share every little giggle with me, and doesn't really pick up hints.
I mean, I'm sitting here, answering your constant spew of absolute drivel with occasional grunts, with absolutely no interest in having a conversation, and yet you just keep trying to make me join in. You're just making me feel guilty for being "mean" to you, not joining in your enthusiasm over a psychotic cat on Youtube.

I had to get out.

I took a trip into town to meet a couple of friends, and although I was dreading it and nearly cancelled, his arrival meant I was keen to get out. Queue GG, sitting in a pub garden, with a pint of lukewarm water, smoking like a chimney. Oh, and shaking like a leaf of course.
I can hear this tap-tap-tap, and I realise it's my right leg, with a mind of it's own, knocking against the bench. I firmly plant my tootsies on the ground, problem solved, right? Nah. Now it's my hand, then my little finger just won't stay still.

I'm sitting there, feeling like I'm levitating and about to float off at any moment, and my friends arrive. Hmmmm.

Act normal, GG. You aren't mentally interesting. You are mentally concerning.

I managed to hold out for quite a while, although I alternated between laughing hysterically and fighting back tears in the loo.

Walking home from the bus stop was a nightmare. I don't exactly live in the best area, but it's the best of a bad lot, if you get my drift.

I was petrified. Every shadow, dark doorway, and parked car was hiding a multitude of sadist rapist monsters who fancied ripping me limb from limb. I was scared shitless, walking right down the centre of the road, with the local paper headlines for the next week whizzing through my head.

"Local Teen Raped and Beaten"
"Girl Commits Suicide After Assault"
"Body Found In Bin"

There's a little selection for you all.
Why am I such a bundle of nerves?

Hmmm. This Venlafaxine stuff had better improve.
I'm all for sticking it out but I'd rather be the beast-from-under-the-duvet than crazy-girl-attacking-imaginary-foes-in-the-street.

Awww F*ck!

2008-11-12T16:37:00.000Z

I've bathed and washed my hair, and feel a lot better for it.
However, the price was a small amount of self harm.
Nothing serious, just some superficial cuts on my leg.
I hate the way I did it some calmly, so detached.
In a way it was more conrolled, but at the same time... not in my control?
I don't know.
Pfffft.
I'm stuck on the essay, need to find at least 600 words and some references.
I keep looking through my books and coming up with NOTHING.

Firmist Butt In Britain

2008-11-11T22:20:00.002Z

Or possibly just the most bruised.
I am attempting to relax at the moment, but I am extremely restless. I attempted to watch a film earlier, as a break from numerous attempts at completing my essay. I paused it at least 8 times, not for toilet or tea breaks, but just to do RANDOM CRAP. I got up and moved all my DVDs from a shelf to a storage box under my bed. I sorted out the rest of my fire damaged items. I keep finding things to wash. I went to town earlier, and spent ages in the supermarket, almost in tears, because my 3 usual flavours of soup have been replaced, and there are only 2 new ones with low enough calories. I then ate a packet of biscuits, because I couldn't stop. I was just trying to be normal, have a biscuit with my tea, squeeze in a few more calories to make up for my erratic eating. Last night I tried to go to bed at 10pm, gave up after an hour, went back to bed at 1am, was up at 3am, 4.30am, 6.15am, 7.45am, 8.50am, 9.45am, then dragged myself up at 10.30am. over 12 hours of attempted sleep. I'm sitting here, typing this, constantly alternating clenching my buttocks, because for some reason that is something I have to do whilst sitting down. My bum hurts. I can't have a bath, because at the moment if I get a slashy-slashy impulse I'm pretty sure I'd act on it. I keep opening files on my computer, or grabbing a notebook and pen, then wondering what it was that I so desperately had to write down. I don't think I'm manic, I managed to cook a chili earlier without burning the house down [that way I have food for the next few days, I just have to microwave it]. I'm not myself though. Normally I'm pretty happy to curl up on my beanbag with a movie or a book, but today I'm not. I'm really irritable. My housemate was laughing in his room whilst watching a program on BBC2 about people with mental health problems. I wanted to rip his head off and spit down his throat. instead I just snapped at him to close his door next time he wants to laugh at other people's expense. I mean for f*uck's sake I'm a trainee mental health nurse, does he really think that I'm going to appreciate his ignorant jokes?
ARRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

When I see my psychiatrist in two weeks, I am going to beg for support getting council accommodation. I can't live with other people when I'm like this, I'm a nightmare and then I just feel so guilty. I'm trying to be civil and "normal", and yet I want to tell them to F*CK OFF!

This is from the girl who turns everything inwards. I can't even do that now. Hiding self harm scars isn't fun, and I promised Boyfriend I wouldn't shave my head again.

There is nothing left to CUT.

The Clown Photo

2008-11-11T09:50:00.003Z

The sad clown photos were taken by a friend of mine as part of her photography project. I love those pictures, I loved dressing up and messing around with make up and clingfilm and stockings for my friend's photographs. Two of my friends have asked me to pose for them, one for an underwear shoot and the other for a burlesque style piece using a chaise lounge. I really want to do them, but since this photo was taken a few months ago, I've not been very nice to my body. I lost 20 pounds, I've gained back about 6 pounds now because I kept collapsing, but my breasts are ruined. To put it bluntly, they look deflated. My thighs are still large and scarred, and I haven't got a nice toned stomach because I don't have the energy to work out.
I look at that clown photo, and I miss my body when it was just a little bit fat. It had potential, I should have just toned it up rather than starved it. I miss those little dimples on my arms, and the way my body wasn't covered in bruises just from sitting in the bath or crossing my legs. I'm in limbo, and part of me says that if I've ruined it this much, I might as well resume the restricting and exercise, and get THIN. Right now I just look beaten, run down and all I can see is the fat creeping back on. I need to stop hiding in bed and get out there, walk, swim, run. Stop mindlessly eating crap and pay attention to my food. I have to eat [apparently!] so I should ensure that it's the best food, to improve my skin, hair, nails. I need to get back on the multivitamins and drink more water. I'm aiming for healthy and toned.

With more pronounced hipbones.

So It Continues.

2008-11-10T19:18:00.003Z

This abnormal dreaming is quite confusing, and is affecting my sleep quite a bit, but I can deal with that. Hopefully it will settle down soon, and then I can work out if it's the medication or the depression. My dreams are often odd, but these are a whole new league.

On a lighter note, I'm definately much better today. I was up at 10am, despite waking up loads during the night, and bathed and dressed appropriately by 1pm. I know that 3 hours sounds like ages, but it's amazing for me! I actually feel happy with my appearence today, and I've eaten a can of sweetcorn soup and two slices of very seedy wholemeal bread, plus a cereal bar that wasn't even low calorie.

I've been drinking loads of green tea because my mouth seems quite dry, but I don't feel 3 feet to the left of life. I feel a bit more sorted. I can think [!] and I just whacked out 800 words of my essay. I've been alternating between consuming my fingernails, lying under the duvet and just plain avoiding it for weeks, because of this huge mental block, but now I can write.

I'm not great, I'm not 100%, but I'm certainly better than I've been in ages. Possibly the best I've been in over a year. I finally sorted out my "Fire Box", which contained all the fire damaged sentimental objects, photos, everything that I managed to salvage after the fire we had last year. All the important things, the things on display, on the wall, on the shelf, were just coated in thick black smoke. Today I've washed quite a few things, including my MONKEY:

Ha! My monkey is so getting a pirate costume now!
Well. I'm sure you can tell I'm rather brighter... [don't be manic, don't be manic...]
Um.
Back to the essay tomorrow morning, for now I think another cuppa, some monkey snuggles and possibly a film before I get an early night.
I need to go and buy more soup tomorrow, so I'm planning to be up and dressed bright and early-ish to go into town. I might even pop into Peacocks and see if they've got any corset-ish-belt-thingies left...

Slight Delirium...

2008-11-09T23:24:00.000Z

... Or just overly surreal dreams?
I took my first dose of Venlafaxine, and maybe it was because I was nervous about it, but I had some very odd dreams/delusions.
I'm siding with the "it was a dream" idea at the moment, but I'm pretty sure I was awake, or almost. However I managed to convince myself that there was a man in my bed [to the point I nearly called Boyfriend to apologise for cheating], that I had spoken to my friend when I got home that evening, and that my housemate had woke me at 7am for a fry up. I've been in a huff with him all day, and can't exactly explain that the reason is that I'm a bit nuts.

I'm thinking it was just dreams, my over-active mind, but the medication leaflet says that less than 1 in 10 will experience abnormal dreams, and less than 1 in 10,000 will experience delirium.

I'm going to take my second dose now, so hopefully this will settle down. While I'm experiencing it, there is to be no watching horror movies or reading serial killer books before bed time!

Drinking Again Missy?

2008-11-08T01:17:00.001Z

Ha ha ha TRUMPETS!

That is, quite possibly the cheapest advert ever. Three camera shots, and nothing moves!

Yeah. I've been drinking again, because honestly, the idea of a night without Boyfriend to curl up with was unbearable.

I think I might get Miss Bending, a lovely singleton-ish mate of mine, to come for sleepovers, just so I'm not so lonely.

Maybe my friends are right. If I come off the meds, and don't think about everything, then I'll be okay? Fixed? Normal?

Focus On The Positive

2008-11-06T23:39:00.005Z

... Says my counsellor, and my Connexions PA.

Now, they do have a valid point in saying that, but giving yourself Brownie Points for every little positive step just seems a bit like cheating. After all, the positive isn't important, it isn't what people remember you for. It's always the negative stuff they pounce on, using it to rip you to shreds, whereas the positive stuff is so easily ignored.

Lets try listing "good stuff" since returning from 'Oop North.

Here goes nothing.

Kudos for going to Connexions session, counselling and Doctor's appointments this week.

Double Points for doing my jobs on the cleaning rota.

Smiley Face for making (and eating!) a veggie chilli, and for going food shopping.

Gold Star for bathing, washing hair and de-fuzzing legs without any slashy-slashy business.

.... ignore "not going to uni"....

GG's Best Friend

2008-11-06T00:18:00.002Z

I want a Papillon dog. Papillon means "butterfly" in French, on account of the big ears and symmetrical markings.

Dogs give unconditional love, even if you haven't washed your hair in over a week and you've been eating dry pasta because cooking it takes too long.

They don't stare at you when you're taking an assortment of pills for breakfast, and they certainly don't tell you to pull your socks up, take life by the horns and for God's sake smile.

I've wanted a dog for ages.

Now, I just need to hold out until Boyfriend or I have qualified and obtained some form of employment, then we can get our own place rather than renting rooms 200 miles apart, and I can get a dog.

I really need my own place, or maybe a place with Boyfriend. I've been renting rooms and staying with relatives since Mum threw me out over 3 years ago, and I want a place to call "Home".

Also...

2008-11-04T22:58:00.001Z

I still can't sleep and I have a desperate urge to eat EVERYTHING in the cupboards. However I have no mustard powder, therefore cannot guarantee a thorough purge, and I've already eaten 3 portions of yogurt.

I don't think the void is my stomach, but I can't work out what it is that I need.

I want Boyfriend to love me, want me, keep me safe, but I'm becoming even more of a clingy emotional moody cow every day, and I'm so paranoid that he can't put up with me, he's going to dump me, which just makes me even more needy.

Argh.

I'm working so hard to keep my disordered eating tendancies at bay, when half the time I want to embrace them, let them become who I am because surely that will be better than the inner turmoil. I can't be taken seriously as having disordered eating, because my BMI isn't low enough, I don't purge enough and sometimes I manage "normal" eating patterns because at work or with family, I don't want them to suspect, or to accuse me of attention seeking.

Remember. It's all my head. I'm just like everyone else, and if I really wanted to be happy, I would be.

Shiny Pretty Bright New Drugs

2008-11-04T21:00:00.000Z

Venlafaxine [Efexor] is the new drug of choice. Fluoxetine [Prozac] has deserted me once again, and that was 60mg daily, so we're trying something else.

Dr Bill Oddie apparently used Venlafaxine for a while. He described it as "very strange, feeling like you're three feet to the left of life". Hmmm. Not instilling much confidence, but that "three feet" maybe put me slap-bang in the middle of real life, and I'm ready to try anything. I have exams in a few weeks, and an essay due, so I need my brain to start working. Pronto.

Boyfriend's bolthole 'Oop North was just what I needed. TLC, lots of hugs, encouragement to eat/shower/get out of bed. Slight moan though - I told boyfriend that I keep a blog, for venting etc, and he thought that it was a really bad idea, and would just encourage me to dwell on my problems.

Not sure whether he has a valid point - I think it comes back to the lesser of two evils concept. When I would normally binge, purge, self harm or drink myself to oblivion, I blog. It may be a web page devoted to my endless whining, but this doesn't involve scars or throwing up blood. Also, how come I'm training to be a mental health nurse, I suffer from a globally acknowledged condition and yet so many people still believe that if I really wanted to be happy, I would just snap out of it, pull my socks up, THINK POSITIVE.

Maybe it is "all in my head", in which case, I want to get out of my head.
Pass the horse tranquilizers.

Ah. Crap. You gave that all up with the heavy drinking, remember? F*ck it. I'm at least having a fag.

All Hallows Eve...

2008-10-31T18:05:00.003Z

My favourite holiday.

I'm not going Trick or Treating*, but I am getting dressed up for a party tonight. I made my mask all by myself, and I'm very proud. I'm going as a leopard. So, every leopard print item of clothing I own, plus my very fit mask and a tail [from Topshop!?!].

Will attempt to post pictures [stolen from someone who owns a camera].

I'm not going to be around for a few days. I'm going to my boyfriends place 'Oop North for the weekend, but I should be coming back on Sunday or Tuesday, havn't decided yet.

Lovelove.
GG
xxx

*Small Brother is no longer small enough to use as a cover for my teenage trick or treating. Damn! I used him as my decoy up until last year, but as he has just started secondary school I think he would be, quite frankly, mortified to be seen with his 19 year old sister when she is dressed as a leopard.

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

2008-10-30T23:05:00.003Z

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?

It is recommended that you do not consume alcohol whilst taking your medication.

2008-10-29T22:49:00.000Z

Pfftttt.

Well. The "no drinking or smoking" plan has not worked out very well.

Lovely Prozac makes alcohol MUCH more effective, so a couple of Vodka and Diet Cokes are having quite an effect.

And I've had two cigarettes.

And a few pulls on a joint.

F*ck.

None of the above is going to have a positive impact on my long-term mental state. However, they've kept me from self harming and purging, for this evening at least.

Lesser of two evils?

That Brick Wall.

2008-10-28T15:18:00.002Z

I feel like I've run head first into a solid wall. Like I've pushed and pushed and then BAM!

This is going to be poorly written, but I'm not very "with it" right now.
I went to work yesterday, first time I've gone since Tuesday. And today? I'm back in bed.

I haven't bathed, washed my hair or cooked in over a week.
My laundry bin is overflowing, my guinea pigs are quite frankly being neglected, and I'm living off the occasional forced down bowl of cereal.

Welcome to my world, eh?
So, next time my Connexions PA asks me, how does my illness affect my everyday life, well, I think I'll direct her straight to this post.

I have a splitting headache, I'm dehydrated but that means I have to get out of bed less to use the toilet, so I don't care, and I'm repulsive.

I want to die quietly and apologetically, because this existence isn't helping anyone.

I Love My Job

2008-10-20T22:00:00.001+01:00

Today I got offered an interview to become a Veterinary Nurse, my idea of heaven. I turned it down because I love my job. I love looking after these amazing people, I love every second of it, even the ones that make me want to cry.
I can do this.

Sooner Or Later, You Will Fall

2008-10-12T22:16:00.002+01:00

Well.
Work was going very well, I was starting to gain a bit of self confidence. I managed most of last week, and was supposed to work today instead of Friday because I was going to a wedding with Viking. Friday went well, Saturday night I felt like things were falling apart because he was going back to Leeds, and this morning - I couldn't get up for work. I miss him so much. When he isn't here, my reason for getting out of bed, for eating, for breathing, is just gone. I need to live for myself and not for someone else, but I can't do that until I like myself.
I managed to eventually clean out the guinea pigs, chuck in some oven chips and watch some Russell Brand to up the comedy value in my pathetic life. From that, I realised that the answer to my problems is a loyal and sincere addiction to heroin. Sorry. I mean to stop beating myself up?

Hmmm.

Prozac, My Knight In Shining Armour

2008-10-03T09:22:00.002+01:00

My increased Fluoxetine dose [60mg] is having an effect.
I was starting to lose faith, but now... I have breathing space. I have a little bit more control over the depression. I have an interest in doing things. Staying in bed isn't quite so appealing.

Knights in shining armour come in all shapes and sizes. This one is special, because it puts me back on my feet, and back in control.

I'm going to the Condom Motorcycle Rally this weekend, on Mersea Island. I've missed the last few rallies, but I'm definitely up for this one. I've done my hair [big chunky dreads - maybe a bit too big but fuck it - they make a good pillow when you're camping]. Boyfriend is in Leeds, so will be going with some friends. I've never pulled at rallies anyway - the idea of one night of very drunk and probably very crap sex in a tent just doesn't appeal.

The weight is coming back on at an alarming rate, but this weekend I aim to dance the night away so I might shift some of it. It's kind of saddening to gain it back so quickly when it was hard work to lose it.

Can You Make A Career Out Of Starving?

2008-09-30T21:54:00.003+01:00

The simple answer to that is yes.
Whether through perseverance, disability benefits or inpatient care, you can "live" with an eating disorder.
However, I don't base my happiness on financial gain. I base it on having time and space. With an eating disorder, all your time is spent calorie counting and fixated on the food you can't eat. You have no personal space, as wherever you are living there are people who are trying to make you eat. And, also, you share all your space with your eating disorder [which takes up a lot of room, while you continually shrink].
You can't enjoy social events, as they tend to involve food, drink, energy... or all three.
You start lying to the people you love, and to yourself.

Today I was honest.
Yes, I'm using diuretics and laxatives.
No, I haven't eaten more than 1000 calories in total over the the past 10 days.
Yes, I'm telling you this because I'm having chest pains, I feel faint, I do faint, I can't get out of bed, let alone go to work. I tried to walk to work yesterday, and I collapsed. Fun, eh?

Dr. Bill Oddie's reply was "for fuck's sake, you stupid fucking girl". He apologised for this explosion but to be honest I think I needed it. The chest pains are because I'm hyperventilating, and my blood sugar levels and blood pressure are very low. My heart sounds ok - for now. The diuretics are making me severely dehydrated, the laxatives aren't very helpful if you aren't eating, and my body is in starvation mode, hence how I put on two pounds by eating half a sandwich. This is because my liver was replacing the starch I forced it to use.

So, I now feel FAT. Very fat. My stomach is not flat. I have consumed food, and it will probably go straight onto me as fat. I went to work though. I completed the whole day, and told them I had a stomach upset. That's why my clothes are hanging off me. I feel skeletal, which is repulsive and gorgeous in the same instant. They offer me food, I have some so nobody suspects the vomiting was self-induced, and I think about what Bill Oddie said today.

I asked what my calorie threshold to keep me above starvation mode would be, and he reckoned around 1100.

That's a big fucking jump.
So, the plan for eating now is to remember, my body needs fuel to work. I'll be on my feet for at least 10 hours a day, walking the wards, and travelling to work.
No collapsing in a ditch in Brentwood.

I'm thinking, I'll have a sensible breakfast, like cereal and low fat natural yogurt, some fruit, a green tea or fruit juice. I'll allow myself 350 calories for breakfast.

My "main" meal will be pasta/rice/jacket potato with some fish/lean meat and vegetables or salad. Either midday, or evening if before 6pm. Allow 400 calories for this meal.

Then I'll have a meal, either lunch or if I'm eating after 6pm, like a sandwich with low-cal bread and filling, or a salad. Allow 250 calories for this meal.

That's 1000. Plus a coffee or two at work, say another 100 calories, and at least 4 pints of water.

There. Lets see how it goes. If I draw up a proper meal chart, I'll let you know how it goes.

I'll post about my placement at the end of the week. Too tired now.
Seriously.
Healthy eating - I'm emphasising both those words, because you can't be healthy without eating.

Although to be brutally honest - I want to get better. I just don't want it to involve food.

Things I Love

2008-09-28T16:50:00.002+01:00

I love grass. I love the sky. I love forests, with gnarled trees, the forest floor mottled by the sun shining through the leaves. I love the branches reaching out to touch me, because I am me.

I went to where I used to live, and stayed with a friend of my mum's. We were throwing a party for another friend, and I just got home. I was waiting for the bus near my old house and the forest was just calling out to me. I can't resist nature. It takes my breath away that in the outskirts of London there is this place that is so beautiful. I used to skip lessons and go there to get lost. To lose the world, the worries. To lose myself. I lay there in the grass and for those moments the world was beautiful again and I was so overwhelmed.

My eating is becoming a real problem. I told my mum, she doesn't understand. I don't understand. Telling me I have to eat, my body needs food, stop cutting yourself, why do you do these things, don't do anything stupid.

My grandad commited suicide two years ago. I love my grandad. I think he understood me better then anyone else. I was so angry when he died. How could he leave me to face this all alone, I needed him.

I don't think I would kill myself. I keep myself grounded enough. What would happen to my guinea pigs? They need me. There. One reason to keep going.

This is a really bad blog. I have another bad hangover, and I really shouldn't be drinking on my medication. But I had to tell someone about the grass, the sky and how the world is beautiful.

Tequila Hurts.

2008-09-27T14:14:00.003+01:00

I have the worst hangover ever.
Maybe not ever.
But right now, it feels like it.
I just woke up next to an almost empty bottle of Tequila, but luckily I didn't binge in my drunken state. I do vaguely remember having a lot of trouble working out how to use the door key though.

However, the marvellous upside is... 7 stone 5 pounds.
BMI 16.1

I am ecstatic.

While I'm here, I might as well add a quick medicines update. It's 60mg Fluoxetine [Prozac], Cerazette [contraceptive], multivitamins, Boots Diet Pills and the occasional 2mg Diazepam [Valium].

This Ain't No Bell Jar

2008-09-25T11:31:00.004+01:00

I thought the best introduction I could give you to my life would be to give you an overview of my week. I ain't no Sylvia Plath and this ain't no Bell Jar. However, that said, I will try and make this as grammatically correct as possible. It might even be vaguely amusing, but no promises there.

Monday tends to involve an appointment with Dr Bill Oddie. He is exactly like Bill Oddie. Except slightly more interested in medicine than birds, I hope. It's the last appointment of the evening, plus over an hours waiting time. I'm not sure if I'm developing OCD tendencies or just get bored, but I do tidy the waiting room. A lot. Magazines by type and date, books by size. They look too messy by author. Anyway, Dr Oddie comes out with most amusing quotes like "what did you do that with, a cheese grater?". This of course referred to my last self harming spree, armed with only a blunt razor and the desire to draw blood. The results were numerous but superficial, all though another observation of Dr Oddie's was that it appeared I had "stuck my arm in a blender". I feel this to be rather exaggerated.

Tuesday means a trip to the chemist, handing over another ridiculous sum for the drugs which can't even get me out of bed in the morning. Unfortunately the lady who serves me is a friend's mum, so while I wait for my prescription I nip down the road for some dressings. Collect the meds (cue a pitying look from the pharmacist, or so I imagine), and it's back to Bill Oddie's surgery. His receptionist leaves several hours before I actually see him, so I have to go back to make the next appointment. She knows my name now. It makes me feel a little bit special and rather suspicious. Are my pathetic problems being shared among the other surgery gossip? Am I Mel, Cheese Grater Girl? I leave the surgery, resisting the urge (and it is STRONG) to chastise the children messing up my carefully organised books. Can't that old lady see that the Woman's Weekly does NOT belong in the Glamour magazine pile?

Wednesday involves even more of what I do everyday, which is stay in bed. I have no reason to leave it (except for, of course, the degree I am failing and the friends I am losing), and I don't. Late afternoon is time for "The Binge". This tends to involve large amounts of chocolate Hob Nobs or a whole baguette stuffed with brie. You see, I know I will go to a rather shit "alternative" night with some friends, to keep up the illusion of being okay, and I will drink and I will dance. Neither is a good idea as the former makes me VERY drunk due to the medication and the later makes me look like a twat. But hey, all in the name of burning calories. How does drinking dispose of pesky calories, you may ask? Well, as I am and always will be rather shit at purging, and am aware that laxatives don't do much to help, I drink and then I have a legitimate and easy way to throw up. That girl who rents the room upstairs throwing up in the bathroom a few times a week is suspicious, but someone purging in a club toilet? Totally socially acceptable.

Thursday (which happens, darlings, to be when I am writing this) is counselling day. I spend a lovely afternoon with my lovely counsellor, who gives me big meaningful "now isn't that a silly thing to do" smiles, complete with "and did that solve the problem?" style quotes. Actually, she's rather good. I can actually talk some of these feelings out of me, but I don't have an answer for why I have no motivation anymore, and neither does she. Also, I'm not allowed a cup of tea when I'm there. It always gets my goat a bit, I mean fair enough we can't smoke inside anymore but surely a cup of tea and a chat solves everything? That's the East End girl coming out in me.

Fridays, once again stay in bed until there is some sort of social gathering, which I drag myself too. I have this great little "Happy Mel" mask I can put on, but recently it's really been slipping. This can be another opportunity for a binge and purge, not on such a large scale, but maybe a bag of chips which I can sneakily chuck up later.

The weekends are a mixture - either visiting Mum, Dad, Nan or boyfriend. Boyfriend is a Viking and lives in Leeds for university. He is amazingly talented, and I don't deserve him, or rather he doesn't deserve the crap that comes with dating me. When visiting family or boyfriend, I am still careful with food, and if the opportunity to purge presents itself I will. However, family would hit the roof if they knew and Viking is rather saddened by it. Also, rather odd rule, but as I am a people pleaser I would rather eat at least some of what someone has made me than disappoint them. Visiting Dad is the worst. It's all restaurants and Pizza Express and foods which I can't even begin to count the calories in.

As to my usual dietary intake - the staple diet revolves around low fat yogurt, low calorie soup and lots of apples. I sometimes chuck in the odd sandwich or jacket potato, then laugh secretly to myself, because they don't realise that I can make a sandwich under 150 calories and that a small potato with tuna isn't much more. Any the reason I eat fish? "Oh, it's much better for you than meat". Bullshit. It's because a piece of white fish has around 60 calories in it, and you, ignorant housemate, will never know.

This makes me sound like a conniving bitch, and I probably am - I don't want to gain weight, I want to lose it, and I mess it up enough by binging without you deciding to force feed me. The worst part of all this is, it isn't really me at all. Really, I know that losing a few pounds is not going to sort me and my life out and will probably make things worse. I'm a Student Mental Health Nurse and I should have more sense than this. I really, really should.