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.

It's Been A While...

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.....

The Butterfly Effect

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?

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.

Damn That Boyfriend Of Mine...

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

Poppets, New Rocks and Turquoise Hair Dye

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.

GG's Best Friend

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...

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.