New Medication Developments

(Or: At Home – Day Fifty-Three)

I do not have much by way of mental health progress, though I wish I did.

The main point of interest right now is that I spoke to the GP regarding options for my weight. Now let’s be clear: I’m not obese, by any stretch of the imagination, but I am overweight. I am also extremely unhappy about this fact, and it has a huge effect on my mental health. The GP is prepared to prescribe me orlistat, BUT I cannot take carbamazepine (or similar anti-epileptics) at the same time.

So, I am considering options. My mood is unstable. I’ll be seeing a psych soon(ish). I intend to discuss coming off carbamazepine – which to be honest, I’ve not been wildly keen on – and considering alternative medications. I want to stay on quetiapine. The only reason I’m coming off it now is because of weight, and if that is negated, that’s a whole separate kettle of fish. With my mood this unstable I’ve been extremely frightened of reducing my quetiapine, so staying on that would be absolutely ideal. I’m also interested in looking at aripiprazole, which had nasty side-effects when I was younger, but was regrettably a very effective drug.

Many things to think about, and will be simpler when I see a psychiatrist. I have a fairly solid idea, though, of what I think would be best. It’s now a case of waiting, thinking, and sleeping on the idea. Impulsive decisions would be a bad idea, esp when considering very serious medications.

We’ll see.

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Going Backwards (lucky me)

(Or: At Home – Day Fifty-Two)

At my worst, I experience dissociative seizures. These are the bastard child of a panic attack, and an epileptic seizure. I dissociate heavily, spasm, scream, cry. It’s a nightmare. Haven’t had one in a couple of months…

… until last night.

They’re back.

So overall, understandably, I feel like my health is going backwards rather than forwards. I sent a strongly-worded email to my care co-ordinator today (Sunday, so will be actioned tomorrow) expressing everything that is currently wrong and detailing the places I wish to be referred to. I am out of patience, and I’m running out of time. I fear that without stability, I’ll be back in an acute ward before too long, which I’d really rather avoid (for reasons why, see my earliest posts; acute inpatient was horrendous).

Help.

Losing It

(Or: At Home – Day Fifty-One)

I feel like I’m threading my life together with the finest of threads, and nobody except my partner is even vaguely listening.

My care co-ordinator is a liar, as discussed. I’m also musing on how, in two weeks, I’ve gone from ‘definitely fitting criteria’ to ‘unlikely you’ll even be assessed’. I don’t understand that gap.

My parents are linear-thinking people who cannot understand the MASSIVE area between ‘well’ and ‘unwell’ and ‘desperately coping however I can’.

I’m fed up.

What is Life

(Or: At Home – Day Fifty)

Started a personality disorder support group today which was – wait for it – actually really helpful!!

I know, I know, the shock of me positive might finish you and myself off, but no genuinely. It’s a weird environment, but I think it’s one of those ones where you get out what you put in. I intend to start going as a point of regularity and importance. You never know, it might do some good.

Spoke to my lying care co-ordinator. I’m less inclined to actively murder her now, which is good, but I’m still pretty pissed off. The lack of response from my assessment she flat-out admitted was her fault – the email got sent to the wrong person, but she still could have dealt with it – and refused culpability on the lying front. She didn’t deny lying, though. Is evidently not keen on referring me to other treatment places, but fuck that, she’s my care co-ordinator and I want to be referred SO hopefully there will be some progress. If I haven’t had written confirmation from her by next Tuesday that I’ve been referred, I’ll kick off. Again.

It is so fucking boring to be in constant mortal combat with the people who are supposed to be helping me.

Oh, and I need to see a psychiatrist (because, you know, suicidal thoughts and transparent mood instability is a bad thing and reasonably urgent, FOR GOD’S SAKE IS THAT NOT OBVIOUS) which will hopefully happen next week, but amazingly, there is only one psychiatrist in my entire area actually working for the next fortnight. I appreciate that holidays happen in August but Christ almighty, did nobody think this through when GRANTING holiday?! I worked in an opticians, as a fairly low-placed salesperson, and wasn’t granted holiday leave over CHRISTMAS when the place was DESERTED because other people got priority because PRIORIES ARE IMPORTANT IN PEOPLE-SERVICE INDUSTRIES.

Is this just me? Or is this just an amazing, extraordinary institutionalised ineptitude that seems to hit me at every single one of the worst possible moments?

And my grandmother is starting chemo, and I’m not allowed to tell my parents (because they’re estranged and both sides would probably murder me).

*headdesk* sometimes my life feels like a comedy sketch in motion.

Out of Hope

(At Home – Day Forty-Nine)

I feel utterly hopeless, deflated and intermittently suicidal. I don’t see that this will ever improve. I don’t feel like I’m ever likely to get anywhere sensible. I have no trust left in anybody in the mental health system, and I have mental health problems that will never go away. This is it, for me, and if it wasn’t for my partner I would have thrown the towel in quite a long time ago.

Sorry. Not much joy over here.

Fucking Liars (or: The NHS)

(At Home – Day Forty-Eight)

My care co-ordinator has been lying to me for the past several weeks.

I have not been referred to anywhere else. Three weeks ago, I was told she would be referring me to four other treatment programmes around the country, for inpatient care. For the last three weeks, I have been asking her how the referrals have progressed, and she has flat-out lied to me. I know this because I called all four, and they have no record of me or a referral whatsoever.

Additionally, I know I was rejected from the treatment programme I was assessed for six weeks ago. This is because I picked up the fucking phone, and asked. It took about sixty seconds. They claim my care co-ordinator was contacted over a month ago.

The last six weeks have been a fucking nightmare for me, and I have been lied to. I have lost any and all trust in the NHS and CMHT. Again. I have no interest in listening to a damn word they say, or trust them with my care. I evidently have to do all of this myself, so I’m going to. I’m beyond livid, but mostly, I’m upset. I don’t deserve this.

To add to today’s shit fortune:

  1. Said care co-ordinator is off sick, and had to rearrange today’s sessions. Conveniently. I also need to see a psychiatrist, which also has to wait now, so that’s another week. Probably for the best, as I am inches from committing homicide, so I have a week to calm down and consider options.
  2. My engagement ring fell out of my bag while I was at aerial. It has now been found, but that was pretty traumatising.
  3. Fucking rain. Fucking soaking fucking rain. Fucking England in the fucking rain.

and

  1. I HAVE BEEN SYSTEMATICALLY LIED TO FOR WEEKS WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS.

This is the NHS, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome. I should have known better than to trust the NHS ever, ever again after the inpatient debacle.

Well, now I know.

Aerial and End of Patience

(Or: At Home – Day Forty-Seven)

Aerial was absolutely amazing, although my fitness is shite and my arms hurt and most of me hurts quite a bit but totally worthwhile in the end. I lost my sanity halfway through my second class, managed to get angry with myself and tripped over a crash mat so my knee hurts, oops – my own anger at my inability is the biggest thing. I feel inadequate so my anger goes off the charts.

My own anger, my own inadequacy.

Anyway – so this happens. I am out of patience with my care team and the lack of any, any response. I’ve lost my shit with all of this. It’s been six weeks and counting since my assessment. If I don’t hear via my care co-ordinator, I’ll be calling them myself, because I’ve lost any and all possible patience with this. I’m so angry, and I’m so upset it’s off the charts.