Like grains of sand.

Time seems to go so quickly. I can't believe it is July.
I berate myself for lack of achievement, and feel I have done little with the time I've been given. I'm not in the best place at the moment, so the guilt is immense, and I beat myself up over it constantly, feeding the cycle and making me feel even worse.

I love my brain.

It always reminds me of this excellent post - I often feel like I have my own little Egbert (or maybe Englebert, a cousin twice-removed?) working away diligently, turning my thoughts to venom. Little shit.

Realistically, I have only myself to blame - I will quite happily advise others of the importance of diet, exercise, sleep and making time for the good things in life, whilst neglecting all of these things myself and then wondering why I feel so awful. I feel different, too. Very irritable, panicky, nervous of everything, snappy, agitated. I'm holding it together, but I can feel the pressure building and the cracks have started appearing, the seams are coming apart, it's only a matter of time.

The motivation to make changes, to tackle it head on, seems to have completely deserted me. I tell myself over and over that I should be proud of myself, that I can do whatever I put my mind to, but it feels so false. I tell myself that the ideas about people hating me, being out to get me, the things I think I should feel so guilty about, those are the false ideas, but they are the ones that see, so real.

I have done things I should be proud of - I had a promotion at work at the beginning of the year, I've been at this place for 19 months and not had time off for mental health problems, I've been off medication for about 17 months. I've had bad periods and I've weathered it and made it through relatively unscathed.

But this feels different, and it scares me.

Fidgetting is good for the soul

So, long time between posts again. Not going to beat myself up about it, this blog is and always has been predominantly for my own use and for venting, so it's probably a good sign.

I can't keep still this evening. I have done several loads of laundry today, washing up, a "quick clean up" which ended up with me washing the bathroom floor on my hands and knees because somehow it seemed better than using the mop, cleaned the living room windows and patio doors, started cleaning the blinds, couldn't concentrate, came on here rather than making a series of embarressing facebook posts etc...

Not quite sure what to do right now but figured writing was better use for this energy than starjumps or tapping out rhythms to any sound I can hear. I wish I knew how to write properly, engage people, tell a story but I guess I just don't do it enough.

I don't even know why I'm posting this.

Fuck it.

Looking Forward

I have been sorting through my past Uni notes, and it has been a stark reminder of how unwell I was for portions of my course. It's brought up a lot of emotions, including some anger about the lack of support I received at times, and the lack of insight I actually had. I had six ringbinders filled with detailed notes, as well as copies of all my essays, and the contrast between these "well" periods, and the blank pages and scrawled half-notes of my unwell periods shocked me.

 I often think of myself as having good insight, but that is not really the case - in reality, I seem to have insight when I start becoming unwell, but it gets to a point where I am unable to fully comprehend how unwell I actually am. I remember my Connexions worker talking to me about how I was after going through a really bad period (back when I stopped eating), and thinking that she was laying it on a bit thick. People who meet me when well are understandably unable to understand that I can become very unwell. I isolate almost completely when unwell, and if I do venture out I tend to get very panicked and slightly paranoid in any social situations - hence I avoid them. My Psychiatrist has never seen me when I have been very unwell - only on the way down or the long road back up.

Looking through those old notes, and back at a younger, often more vunerable "me" has made me think about this blog and it's use as a tool, a record. I have thrown the notes (I'm never allowed back to nursing, that has been made quite clear), but kept the essays as a reminder of what I am capable of. Hopefully they will be counted towards an Open University course in the not-too-distant future. I have thrown the old diaries, filled with activities, meetings with friends and family, during well periods and vast empty pages when ill. I am prone to self-depreciation - that's an understatement, I am my own worst enemy - I don't need the evidence of failing surrounding me. So, in future, I'll keep the good stuff - not necessarily big acheivements, but acheivements none the less.

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

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

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?

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...

... 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.