End of the line?

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.

A Review of Me, Myself and Blogging

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.

DLA Tribunal

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"

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".

Would somebody please...

... 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.

Praise to the GODS that are O2

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

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

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

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

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

Uni Rant

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

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

... 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

Well Done! Have A Gold Star!

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!

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....

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.

I'm Not Eccentric, I'm Too Poor

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.

How Mad Are You?

"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.

Tequila Hurts.

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].