Flying Lard

(Or: At Home – Day Sixty-One)

I lost the plot and started crying halfway through an aerial class because I couldn’t do the things I wanted to, and it completely broke me. I can’t do some things (because I’m not strong enough, and don’t have the technique yet) and forgot how to do things I have been perfectly able to do (because of muscle fatigue and idiocy, which is easy when dangling in mid-air).

If I’m being fair to myself, I acknowledge my own weaknesses and forgive myself for the things I can’t do.

However, I’m shit at being fair to myself, and I don’t forgive myself for what seems to be to be crass ineptitude. I’m livid with myself. I am so fucking jealous that my partner is better than me, that there are people around me who just seem to get it straight off and I’m here desperately trying to lift my oversized arse off the ground with fuck-all success.

So I ended today feeling stupid, humiliated, and very conscious of my weight. Because let’s be honest, it is far easier to lift 100lb than 170lb. For anybody. Not to mention that nothing in aerial looks good on anybody with a spare ounce – trust me, taut silk bisecting your thighs makes your fat squeeze out on either side. Try tying a thin string around a raw chicken breast really, really tightly for an idea of how it looks. I’ve tried to look at pictures of myself in the air and all I can think about is how, despite me doing surprisingly complicated things, I still look about as elegant and poised as a rhino on stilts.

I’m going to go have a bath and cry about my insecurities, boys and girls, while restraining the urge to slit my wrists. #selfcare

I keep hoping tomorrow will be better.

Dissociation

(Or: At Home – Day Fifty-Six)

I feel like I’m floating through time. It doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. I’m partly just heavily dissociating. Everything is blurry in some way, out of my grasp, and I sit to write and don’t remember the day that I’ve just had. Concentration is difficult. I don’t want to leave the house very much, but also can’t bring myself to care when I leave – my partner makes me leave, we have a number of things organised, and I do what I have to. I don’t have much impetus to argue.

Still no word or developments mental health wise. Group tomorrow morning.

I don’t know any more, I don’t know what’s happening to me.

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.

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.

Mental Illness Being Petty

(Or: At Home (almost, I’m on a train…) – Day Forty-Four)

I cannot always explain why certain things upset me in the way that they do. It does not always appear logical, or fair. In fact, sometimes they’re downright bizarre, but they’re also seriously valid because I’m currently in tears on a train because my partner has recently decided that going backwards on trains for longer than ten minutes at a time when there’s an R in the month and the moon is bright means she gets nauseous, which is total bollocks, because I’ve known her for nearly eight years and this appeared about three months ago. She prefers travelling forwards, great, that’s absolutely fine – but right now, this has managed to cause something of a breakdown on my part. I hate not having lines of sight from all possible angles. When I’m in the corner of anything – room, train, bus, fucking anything – I have lines of sight from anything that could be coming at me. I also don’t like to be boxed in, and I really hate people reading over my shoulder, so sitting with her next to me inadvertently invading my personal space is also not an option.

For various reasons, this configuration – which would have been fine, had I been allowed to do so – was scuppered by partner’s abrupt decision to play silly buggers. I’m really upset now and feel very uncomfortable, and no, I don’t entirely know why. I don’t know why it matter, but it does, and the level of upset I feel is making me livid at myself and even more upset so I’m winding myself into a frenzy.

Mental illness is not glamorous. This is mental illness. Petty and ridiculous. In tears on the train, in public, because I’m throwing a six-year-old’s tantrum about sitting in the wrong seat. I just can’t begin to describe the clawing paranoia, extreme anger, resentment, humiliation, anxiety and thrumming discomfort. I want to vomit.

And I certainly cannot have that conversation because active nausea trumps a feeling I can’t articulate properly so here I am, with no lines of sight and boxed in and genuinely feeling like everybody in the world is staring at me and judging me.

This is ridiculous.

Happy Days

(At Home – Day Forty-Two)

I have a friend. She is a wonderful friend. She is the opposite of me. I don’t know how she puts up with me, as I must be desperately boring, but she seems to adore me anyway so I’m just going to roll with it.

I’m going off to a friend’s house for a couple of days, and I’m very excited. It’ll involve games, low stress, people I know. Some alcohol. I’m so excited. Somewhat concerned my partner will over-police, but otherwise excited. I want to spend a few days having fun. I’ve not had any recent breakdowns, I’m keeping myself in control (enough) and I really don’t want to spend a couple of days irritably batting away my over-concerned partner.

Thing is, I get it. I do not want to be unfair. But sometimes, I want to let go, have fun, and go away somewhere and not needing to be policed constantly about my alcohol, my stress, my everything. So I hope to update tomorrow as a tipsy (/drunk) and very happy creature. Watch this space.

Wonderful People

(Or: At Home – Day Forty-One)

I think I’m starting to wear away on my partner. This isn’t surprising. She is my carer. I am disabled. I am not as good as I ought to be about making sure I go outside, which means she cannot go anywhere either. It isn’t fair on her, and I don’t want this to be any harder on her than it has to be.

Today has felt odd, and I’m not sure quite why.  Just I’ve felt odd somehow, and so has she. Why saw a friend of ours who is wonderful, who has been coming to visit every single week, and is taking us both up to Liverpool (where she lives) for a couple of days in a few weeks’ time. I’m so excited. She’s an incredible person.

I feel very surrounded by very wonderful people, wishing I could give more. I don’t have much, right now. I wish, wish, I could give them more.