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.
Showing posts with label self harm. Show all posts
Showing posts with label self harm. Show all posts
Friday, 16 April 2010
Tuesday, 29 September 2009
Tribunals, and a return to writing.
I'm writing in here again because right now I need it. I don't need anyone to read it or to say anything, but I need to take control again and this is one of a combination of things which helped pull me through when things got bad again.
No promises that I'll be a consistent blogger, or a good blogger, or an interesting blogger.
I feel better just for getting this out.
I've been on my work placement, in an adolescent inpatient unit, and I love it. I love my work anyway, but this is even better. Despite struggling to fit in initially, and having no clue what to write my essay on, I am really enjoying it and really learning from it.
However, I'm slipping quite badly.
It started initially with being nervous, and having no appetite. Then, I didn't really want to eat in front of people, and I'm still quite constricted in certain areas with what I eat. Eating a meal every day which has been prepared by someone else and which I have limited control of is actually very hard.
I've lost 3 pounds in the past 3 and a half weeks, and I feel good, happier about my body, my smaller stomach.
This is me slipping into a danger zone, and I'm aware of that.
I've also been skipping meals, not taking anything except maybe a piece of fruit to eat during a shift, and weighing myself.
My mood has dipped, and I'm having migraines. I've had two pretty bad ones, and so I've missed two days of work, which I'll have to make up over the next few weeks. My self care and the housework have both slipped, and I'm neglecting to spend time with the guinea pigs and with my friends.
I'm constantly exhausted, and unfortunately still bleeding. I've had about 4 or 5 days this month when I havn't been bleeding. The medical verdict is to change my contraception, but I'm getting no guidance about what to change it too, or what may help. It's pretty much try it and see.
I'm managing, and I know that once I am qualified I am only going to work 3 or 4 days per week. 5 days is too much for me, and I can easily manage on part-time wages. However in the mean time, I need to make my 37.5 hours a week. I'm really struggling to do this, let alone manage university work on top.
I've also got my tribunal date for DLA coming up, on November 25th. I've written to them requesting them to get a supporting letter from my consultant, and a copy of my medical records. I tried to do this myself, but my consultant wants them to write to him, and the surgery want £18.30 for photocopying and administration fees. I'm so tired.
I have no idea what I'm going to say at the tribunal, I mainly want to contend the letter from my previous consultant that says I have no history or risk of self harm or self neglect. I also want to point out that I do require ongoing support with bills and correspondence from my Connexions work, and with ongoing low self esteem and the paranoia it cause from my Counsellor. If I got the lower rate of care then I could afford to go swimming regularly, which I have used in the past to improve my mood. It would also help with travel expenses to see my Connexions worker and Counsellor, and with the increased phone bill as I often need additional support from them, or my mum and boyfriend. When I'm travelling alone, such as to or from work, it helps if I can call someone for support as I often feel very unsafe.
I don't see myself as severely ill, but I do think I have a long term problem which means I require a little more support from those around me than most people. I still work, although it can be a struggle, and I'm planning carefully to ensure that I can continue to work in the future. I'm proud of being independent, but sometimes I need to ask for a little bit of help so that I don't become unwell, and therefore become dependant on others for everything from finances to getting dressed.
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.
Wednesday, 12 November 2008
La la la la la!
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.
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!
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.
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.
Tuesday, 11 November 2008
Firmist Butt In Britain
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.
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
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.
Thursday, 30 October 2008
There's got to be some Zopiclone somewhere...
I mean, come on, I'm a walking pharmacy.I tend to hoard, and that extends to medications, and there MUST be some Zopiclone in my room. I've had barely any sleep this week, although I've hardly left my bed. It takes hours to fall asleep, and then I get less than an hour before I'm up again. Repeat several times, and you wake up more exhausted than when you started. I'm really anxious. I don't know why.
I saw my counsellor today. It's been two weeks since I last saw her, and so I should be more relaxed, less agitated. Instead I'm petrified I'm going to get carted off to MY HOSPITAL. She said I need to go somewhere to be looked after. Not necessarily an inpatient admission, maybe stay with family? Pffffttttt. My family? My mum would hit the roof if she knew I was still on the medication, my father chooses to ignore it, and the only person who really understood me decided to commit suicide. Thanks, Grandad. I NEED YOU.
Well, lets have a quick looksy at the family tree. You have lil GG, Mummy, Daddy. Mummy is rather barking, as was her father and all his siblings - BPAD or recurrent depression, and their kids are almost exclusively BPAD/PD's/addicts/depressives. Mummy hasn't [to my knowledge] been formally diagnosed, but then she believes that mental illness ISN'T REAL. So, I'm training to be a not-a-real-illness nurse. Goody.
Daddy and both his brothers have been on anti-depressants for varying lengths of time. Paternal grandmother has suffered with it for years, and now is "emotionally numb". Her words, not mine, when she called me to warn me not to end up like her.
Her father/step-father [hasn't been clarified, as Great Grandmother really liked getting married] committed suicide when she was a young child. Her older sister found him with his head in the oven.
Confused yet? Yeah, me too.
So how did GG end up in the gutter? I can't sleep, so you might as well get a brief picture. It goes something like;
Bullied at primary school - "Your dad doesn't live with you, you must have done something wrong". Ain't kids nice? Leave school on verge of nervous breakdown, self harming, and find secondary school slightly more pleasant. Well. I used to hide in the library.
Aged 12, stop eating. Starvation is my new form of self harm, but it is quickly stopped when I collapse in school.
Aged 14, have first major depressive episode. Lasts approximately 6 months, and triggered by being evicted from the house I grew up in. Mum throws things at me whenever she gets stressed out. I learn to dodge quickly. Increase the self harm, and discover joys of alcohol to "drown my sorrows".
Aged 15, arguments with Mum, second depressive episode. Self harming is discovered, and the household is subtly changed by the presence of razorblades with little safety bars, and blunt knives. Mum fails to understand that this isn't about her, and continually asks "why are you doing this to me?".
Aged 16, have been thrown out of home and college in quick succession. Have a termination. Third depressive episode. Characterised by lots of drinking, self destructive behaviour, and trying to throw myself under buses. Fortunately I have some very good friends, who tend to pick GG up and carry her kicking and screaming onto aforementioned bus.
Aged 17, bit more sorted, living with my Nan and back at college. Very homesick. Then - BAM! Fourth depressive episode, resulting in me staying in bed for 3 months and promptly failing my exams. Discover that Citalopram is NOT for me.
Aged 18, living in a house with friends, until the dishwasher sets it on fire. Stay with aunt and uncle, hold things together until I snap, spend a night walking on and off of the train tracks, then shimmy on down to A&E. Fifth depressive episode. Declared not suicidal, and sent home with a prescription for Prozac. Go to stay with boyfriend until I'm more "with it". Then have a possibly manic episode, which I remember barely anything of, except that when my mood settled, I had been fired from my job and started training as a Mental Health nurse. Irony!
Since then the Prozac has sufficed, although it's been gradually increased as the effects have decreased. I've had sessions with a psychologist, and I see a counsellor on a weekly basis.
Now, the Prozac has stopped working, and I'm close to how I was when I ended up at A&E. However,I don't have the motivation to get dressed, let alone get dead, so hopefully my mood will improve before my energy levels do?
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?
Sunday, 28 September 2008
Things I Love
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.
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.
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