Tumbling Down

Its starting not to matter anymore, the rules. If I had a gun I would put it to my mouth right now and pull the trigger, even though my family would find me, even though it would create an image they could never ever erase from their minds. I’d apologise but I’d do it anyway.

There are no un-locked up pills in the house, nothing that’s fast enough. I want to try and last until tomorrow so they don’t have to clean up the mess, I would rather wait until Friday, after Samuels birthday. Try and ease a little bit of the burden but the more I breathe, the less I care.

I am not ‘me’ anymore, well not ‘her’ I suppose and I can’t keep trying to live her life, it’s not even my life and I can’t keep trying to fake it – it isn’t real, it’s a fucking lie existing in a pretend world. It feels like it’s all a test for a course I didn’t enrol in, and I know now why it hasn’t been the same since, I know now that she died that day and the memories were told to me, given to me to uphold by me if she left, but I don’t actually have her memories, I only have her stories inside a mind confused by the attempt of two people, one who is no longer alive, to share the real estate when they had separate lives and separate fates.

That is why the playground is nothing but schematics and fluttering litter, I was never even there, I’m just along for the ride and she’s the fucking quitter so stop blaming me. It was her – she lied, lied to you and me and everyone else to, her choice became yours, became mine and I hate her for it, why did she mess it up and drag me down with her before she did a runner and left me holding the shit in a body I don’t want and in a life that doesn’t fit.

Me? Who the fuck am I anyway? I’m just the observer so give me a fucking break, I was supposed to go with her but something went wrong and she fucked up the order, now please just let me out now I need to be free from the hoarder of all this pain and illusion before the shrinks and the doctors hold me down and diagnose a delusion where there isn’t one anymore.

Prove that the unreal is real, tell me how, go on tell me what to say, tell me what to scream, tell me now! But you can’t cause you don’t know either, guess I’ll have to tell you what you want to hear just to please you so you don’t lock me up wave goodbye and throw away the key.  

Her? The girl you knew, the one you had before, she was the driver, she had the memories and the choices easy and hard- which she made, she took them with her to the grave. Now take the time to yell at her like I do, or mourn for her as you will too but she’s already gone she made her choice and its fruitless to argue, but say what you want, tell her how much you really hate her, it doesn’t matter she can’t hear you.

I don’t have the knowledge or the will to drive the way she did, it wasn’t what I signed up for this time round and I’m fucking trapped on the shelf in a glass jar and I can’t get off the lid.

Admission. Going to Hospital

On the morning of Tuesday 12^th May I woke up apprehensive and severely depressed. I had the bag that I had packed the night before containing my clothes, shoes, magazines and notebooks as well as my Plan B. I kept forgetting I had it in there and then remembering with a weird cross between relief and fear. I made a decision to try and get better first, before I used plan B as I said good bye to my children that morning – they thought I was off to Queensland to visit my brother.

We had planned to drop the kids off at school and head into a hospital in the capital city that my Doctor had recommended over the one in the town closer to where we live. I was told to go into the ER and tell them I was depressed and suicidal. I was anxious as hell the whole drive in wishing I could just open the car door and bail out in front of a truck.

 When we arrived in the hospital I freaked out totally, my husband had to coax me slowly out of the car and I was trembling all over, couldn’t see straight and felt like I would pass out at any moment. I wouldn’t let him take my bag because I felt sure they wouldn’t take me in anyway so he begrudgingly left it in the car and we made our way up to the ER.

My husband walked up to the triage desk as I hung back in the corner, I could hear her ask loudly what the problem was and I couldn’t stand the thought of all the people in the ER knowing what was wrong with me. I called out to my husband before he had a chance to answer and said “Its ok, lets go” and with out looking back at him I bee-lined out the door and back towards the car park.

He caught up with me and asked what was going on, I burst into tears and said “I CANT DO THIS!” He told me that I had too but I was too horrified at the thought of going back to where all those people just saw me freak out that I ended up telling him that I wanted to go back to the mental health unit in the nearby town where I had been last year during a manic episode.

He agreed to take me there, although I could plainly see that he didn’t want to and I was still trying to think of a way to convince him just to take me home again. After a long fairly silent journey that involved many tears on my part we arrived at the hospital. I held my husband’s hand tight as we made our way under the little covered walkway through to the ER.

I could feel myself starting to lose it again as we walked through the door so I said to my husband “you tell them what’s going on, I need to go to the toilet.” I locked myself in the little cubical knowing that the triage nurse now knew I was fucking crazy and half the waiting room would have probably heard too. I took a deep breath and went back out and sat down with my husband – he looked relieved that I hadn’t done a runner. I kept my head down and didn’t say anything or make eye contact with anyone, they all knew.

Eventually we were called in to speak with a nurse, I could barely speak – How the fuck do you say ‘Oh yes good morning, by the way I wish that I was dead and I am planning on making that happen ASAP’. I felt like an idiot and mumbled something about suicidal ideation, my head was pounding and I don’t remember much more of what she said but she told us to go back out to the waiting room and she would call the mental health assessment team from the unit to come and assess me.

We were called through and were ushered past all the beds full of sick kids and confused elderly people and into a room that had a bed much like at a GP’s rooms and glass walls, it had a video surveillance camera in it – I felt like a goldfish on a reality TV show.

My husband went out to use the bathroom and have a cigarette, I went to go to the bathroom but it was two way and someone walked in on me from the other side just before I sat down, so embarrassed as  I asked to use the one in the waiting room instead. They let me and feeling really overwhelmed I started plotting how I would do a runner but realised that by hubby would be standing having his smoke where I would need to go to run out anyway so it wouldn’t be an option.

 My head was still pounding, I grabbed some Panadol out of my purse, there were only 6 left, I took all of them, this felt like a migraine and I couldn’t handle that on top of everything else right now. I walked back to my little goldfish bowl, my husband appeared a few minutes later and after what seemed like hours the Mental Health Assessment team arrived.

A man and a women, both lovely, we talked for a bit and I actually started to feel a bit better, my head ache was finally lifting and I think the hardest part for me was admitting that I had an issue that I could no longer cope with. They toyed with the idea of sending me home, I could have quite easily bluffed my way out of the building at that moment but feeling stronger in myself I actually told them that chances are I would feel bad again tomorrow and I didn’t have any fight left in me.

They decided to keep me in after all, they took some bloods and told me they would sort out a room down in the unit and take me through to be admitted. I finally arrived on the unit and my husband had to go home and pick up the kids from school. I said goodbye, told him I loved him and would call him later that night ( The low dependency unit had public phone booths we could call from).

I was introduced to the big personality of psychiatrist Dr C. A solid but not overly tall man with a shiny suit and a pink paisley tie, he knew his job inside out and didn’t take bull shit from anyone; that being said there was something appealing about him – at least you knew where you stood. He asked A LOT of questions, I answered them as honestly as possible with certain omissions regarding plan B’s when asked if I had any immediate plans to harm myself – honesty was to my detriment though because Dr C decided to not only admit me, but admit me to the High Dependency Unit. I had spent a day on The HDU during my last admission while half unconscious recovering  from the drug OD and it wasn’t fun.

I chatted with a nurse as she went through my belongings, they have to make sure nothing prohibited comes in mostly stuff that can be used for self harm such as ties on tracksuit pants, shoe laces, scarves etc. They take photographs of everything so there are no disputes about stolen items later. The nurse was lovely and we were having a good talk which came in handy as she started going through my toiletries. My heart skipped a beat as I remembered my plan B, she picked up the conditioner bottle I had hidden my 100 tablets in, neatly packed into a heat sealed bag white tablets, surrounded and concealed by white conditioner. I commented on something she had said and she laughed and put the bottle down and continued going through the rest of my things.

The nurse finished up and she began to show me through to the HDU. My shoes clopping as I walked due to their lack of shoe laces. Suddenly Dr C appeared out of nowhere and dramatically declared “Stop! She’s not going in there she needs to go straight to the ER!!”  “Wha..??” The nurse and I looked at each other puzzled. “Do you have something you would like to tell me young lady?” Dr C said staring at me. Fuck. How the HELL did he find out about plan B? The nurse didn’t notice- she was still carrying my bag with the evidence in her hand…

Dr C , still not breaking eye contact then says “well they why is your paracetamol count so high then?”  Did you or did you not take an overdose?

“Paracetamol count? What are you talking about? I haven’t overdosed on anything!”

“Ugh. She needs to go straight to the ER to have the antidote.” Dr C shook his head at me and walked off briskly saying “we will talk later”. I was still trying to work out what was going on when a nurse informed me that they had called an ambulance.

The unit is technically separate to the hospital even though they are only next door to each other and as such they ridiculously had to waste tax payers money by calling an ambulance to drive me 100 meters up the road.

So we are sitting waiting for an ambulance and I have a different nurse now. She doesn’t believe me for a second, at this point Im trying to think why and suddenly remember that I took two Panadol with breakfast as I had had a headache and sore throat and realised I had COMPLETELY forgotten about the 6 Panadols' I had taken in the loo. 6 wasn’t enough to give you an overdose blood level surely, I took bloody 50 odd of the things when I was actually trying to overdose last year and that only made me nauseous. I couldn’t admit that now as it’s embarrassing to say I frequently take 6 for a headache and it’s never done any harm before so I told them about the two with breakfast and continued pleading my innocence.

The Ambo’s arrived after about 45minutes (seriously!!?? 100m people I felt fine, could have walked!) and one of the ambo officers mentioned that Lemsip has paracetamol in it ( I had Lemsip in my hand bag when they did the inventory) I had also had a Lemsip that morning! Things were starting to add up… FUCK.

So as a result of a completely accidental overdose on 6 to 9 depending how you count it – paracetamol tablets I spent the night in ICU feeling 100% fine, bored out of my brain watching dodgy re runs on telly and listening to an old women with dementia ask the same series of questions over and over. I was annoyed that I can’t seem to kill myself intentionally yet the one time I do something accidently I am at a hospital and they can fix it.  So of course they rang my husband and he didn’t believe me either. Awesome.

 

 

Throw away the key

I'm starting to have regrets.
The Guru contacted my GP who saw me and is now contacting a hospital trying to get me a bed.

I don't want a bed. They are going to lock me up and throw away the key.

I managed to put off anything until Monday due to Sunday being mothers day and me not wanting my kids to wonder where the hell I have disappeared to and have "mothers day' issues for the rest of their lives.
Apparently I have to "let go" and get better. I don't want to get better, but I want to let go.
Right now I am done, I have made my decision, I have all my affairs in order, will done, notes done and I am ready to go.
I have a plan to use in hospital so I can die there where my husband doesn't have to find me - although I wont get to die where I wanted to.

I am feeling some guilt in relation to the kids, but at the same time I am 100% certain that they are better off without me. The way I spoke to them this morning was unforgivable and growing up with that is going to fuck them up way worse than them growing up without me.

I ate TWO bags of M&Ms yesterday. Hot chips today. Final straw.

This cant continue anymore.

Because I ate raisin bread...

Again and again and again, rinse repeat and yet I don’t seem to learn.

Etched in my skin forever, release the hatred in my mind as I let my body burn.

The binging needs to stop, clearly the burns don’t hurt enough, I am numb in my soul and in my skin hiding sins under long sleeves and cuffs.

I am running out of arm space and vague excuses for my scars,

So time will soon come to finish this fight but the victory won’t be ours.

 

I self harm as punishment and 99.9% of the time it has been related to eating something I shouldn't have. It never really hurts enough to stop me binging again though. I burn because there is no blood to clean up and I get to feel the pain again in the heat of the shower- symbolically cleansing to me for some reason. Then I look at my arm and I realise that I have to try tod hide it. The flatter blistery burn scars I blamed on our fire place, which can be feasible. I look at my arms when I am alone and feel secretly proud, but the rest of the time I have to hide it with long sleeves. I was called out once by a girl at my work, she is bipolar as well but it was OK because she just smiled at me and showed her the scars on her wrists.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

Intermission

A glance in the mirror reveals a mascara streaked, tear stained face, bright red cheeks showing through layers of caked on foundation that would be the envy of any cracked up hooker.

Hair tied back in a ponytail with a head band holding back the stray curled up fringe. Slobbery tooth brush in slobbery hand, sleeves rolled up revealing scars born from self hatred. Put my earphones back in, listening to a “mental illness happy hour” pod cast while kneeling over the toilet trying desperately to remove the litre of cookies and cream ice cream and crunchy nut corn flake ridden sins of the last hour.

It’s ok really though, because that was just a brief intermission from filling out the “legal will kit” that I finally bought so I can commit suicide with the peace of mind that comes from knowing my 6yr old daughter will legally get that necklace and my husbands accounts wont be frozen for 8mnths.

The worst part about this picture is when I look at it I am just pissed off that I cant purge properly.

I’m so fucked up.

Meds, Phone calls and other things I avoid.

I look down into my hand at the little pile of multi-coloured meds for the morning. Yes I started taking them again, only lasted a week because I am far more dependent than I realised and the withdrawals were becoming too obvious to hide.

The deep feelings of inadequacy this twice daily ritual encompasses are seemingly endless.

Today I finally googled the names of some psychologists that were recommended to me 6 months ago, unfortunately I am not the Queen and as my funeral would cost less than a visit to them that impracticality put me firmly back to square one.

 I then called the local mental health team to ask for a phone number for the psychologist that is covered by medicare. I need a referral from my GP then I can make an appointment.

GP is away until May. Might call back if I can be bothered seeing her - not much point once May hits, a little late anyway I reckon.

I have consolidated a folder containing PDF downloads and great resources for the family of suiciders … suicidees? Suicide victims, people who commit suicide… whadevva you want to call them I have a stockpile of info to validate their feelings and give them ideas of ways to cope.

I have been binging like a mother fucker and my fat is expanding daily. None of my clothes fit me and a very small part of me WANTS to go to hospital PURELY because I can't binge there.

I’m going to go smoke a joint and go back to bed now. Not just because I am depressed but also because I have a killer sinus infection and my whole face hurts.

Depression Jacket

Self-awareness, it is something that I have but often choose to ignore for whatever reason. It’s funny though, when you sit back and really think about some of the more subtle signs of where your mental health is currently sitting.

I have noticed that not only am I generally stuck to my computer, I am stuck to my computer in my bed rather than my study (thank god for the invention of the lap top). A mired of empty soft drink cans, tea cups. Ice cream tubs and chocolate wrappers litter my bedside table, remnants of the most recent self-destructive binge. My hair will be un-brushed, my nails way too long and I am always wearing a blue knitted cardigan/wrap thingy. I still have a desire to connect, just that connection is only internet deep and tends to revolve around Googling suicide.

This blue knit cardigan is hideously ugly, not something that I would ever be seen dead in outside the house, but god is it warm and comfy. It is also several sizes too big, so even though I have gained a significant amount of weight it wraps around me with ease and so doesn’t make me feel as huge.

My depression jacket makes me feel safe and secure within my own misery, like an unplanned metaphor.

I sit here at 10 am – in bed of course having consumed a large chocolate Easter bunny, two pieces of toast and 4 cups of tea. I am thinking about the vegetable garden and how it won’t weed itself. I don’t even mind weeding – I actually find it quite relaxing. I am thinking about dusting off the treadmill that was my best friend for nine months of mania. It now lies dormant in its corner of the spare room filling me with guilt every time I open the door.

But the phone rings and instead of running to it to answer it I run to it and pull the plug from the wall, the last thing I want to do is talk to a person – I really hate it when the kids get to it before I can stop them and I am forced to talk to some school friends mother pretending to be all happy happy and deflecting all play dates to the other parties house because I barely have the energy for my own kids.

My husband used to complain that I spent more time on the phone than with him, once upon a time I would even jump up to grab it in the middle of sex – that always resulted in an argument (fair enough) I guess it was like an OCD thing for me. Now he is trying to convince me to call people back.  Even text messaging is a chore at least thanks to emoj’s I can fake happiness with the touch of a button.

So now I’m sitting in my bed firmly wrapped in my depression jacket writing this, Eminem blaring on the I pod and I will think again about leaving my nest in a while and make the kids some lunch, then sink back into my bed knowing I have to face the work world tomorrow and pretend everything’s ok.

Depression Impression

I never liked the word “depression” always seemed so, I don’t know – overused? Fake perhaps?

It’s the new black. Everyone has it.

So many people I know go around saying how terribly depressed they are/were and that now they are on anti-depressants and life is a fucking fairy tale again. Don’t get me wrong, I understand that the diagnostic criteria for depression is only low mood for two weeks – so I am sure that all of these people have been “depressed” but I had always personally viewed depression as something that stayed with you for months generally brought on by something bad happening.

 I on the other hand have always kept quiet and generally refused to admit to myself that these recurrent low moods I experience were ever actually as severe “depression” after all, nothing traumatic had ever happened to me. Sure I had done rather a lot of things for my age but nobody had died, I had a happy relationship, job I liked and a healthy baby – for me to feel this way, was just akin to the stupid selfish bitch I was always told I was by that inner voice that never ceased. I wanted to die so badly, in many ways with no proper “reason” it was just because I knew that my husband and child would be so much better off without a fuckwit like me around.

I couldn’t tell you how many of those little survey things the doc gives you after you have a child that I lied on – its rather obvious which boxes you are supposed to tick to say that you are happy as fucking Larry and the thought of coming across as anything but happy was not ok.

Sure I felt like killing myself, off and on since I was about 8 and more seriously starting to plan the when’s and where’s at around 14.  But everyone feels like that surely, its not like I had actually killed myself yet. I was a teenage mother and had to prove to the world I was capable.

My psychologists now ask me why didn’t I ask for help? Help for what? I didn’t have a problem, I sure as shit didn’t have a mental health problem and if I want to kill myself then that’s my body and my business. I was clued on enough to the fact that I thought a touch more intensely than the other teenagers I hung around and that telling anyone that I felt that way would have given me a one way ticket to the loony bin – a place that I was hell scared of at that time in my life.

My biggest fear about an enforced stay on the psych ward as a teenager was that it would most likely be due to the slightly psychotic anorexia I was experiencing and in vicious denial about. I knew that although to myself I felt the size of a house, that all they would do is make me fat –although I thought everyone was trying to make me fat. I honestly believed that my mum was trying to poison me by adding fats to my foods and I refused to let her prepare or even walk past any meals I was making… just in case. How I managed to avoid incarceration at that point I still don’t know.

Depression was the place I fell into with a thud time and time again, usually after an intensely chaotic part of my life had started off wonderful and then brewed and brewed until it got out of control and I burnt out into a depressive oblivion.  The job I was excelling at suddenly became an impossible task, I would want to quit before I got fired because I was so fucking hopeless and the constant suicidal ideation that had subdued for months would come back with force, a voice for every action giving an equal or greater reason why my death was a better option, for me, for my family and colleagues.

I am wallowing once again in the pit of what’s the fucking point? I’ve been back here for a while now months in fact but its hitting rock bottom again, not coping with life at all - I walked out of work on Thursday after pressing send on an e-mail that involved a multitude of swear words and a “you want to know why I didn’t do XYZ in the allotted time frame? Well frankly it’s because I am a fucking loser who sucks at her job.” Not sure quite what the repercussions of this are but it’s likely to involve a meeting on Monday. I might just quit, I can’t hack the pressure. I ran out of work a few weeks back after a panic attack of sorts and ended up sitting on a cliff edge with a bottle of pills in my hand ipod playing the current list of songs I want to go out to, just ready to lie down and go to sleep forever, knowing that once I passed out I would fall off that cliff I couldn’t jump from just to make sure.

Before I got a chance to enact my plan some random guy turned up walking towards the lookout area where I had jumped over the safety fence and I had to do a quick scarper away as being caught on a cliff edge with a bottle of pills generally results in police, a psych stay and if you are unlucky a spiel on the evening news.

I drove home slowly, bumped into my parents very randomly in a supermarket nowhere near their house and arrived home that evening to find friends were visiting. I thought how different everyone’s afternoon would have been if I had been successful. I wish I could say that these thoughts deter me, that I am glad that man walked down, that I am glad my liver is apparently made of steel and no amount of drugs can kill me- but I am not.

I have never once regretted taking that overdose last year. Though I was high as a manic kite at the time and stuck rather firmly on the “flight” response, my only regrets have been that it didn’t work. While I know that the depression will eventually be replaced with a productive hypomania where I will accomplish much, solve the world’s problems and sing happily again when I’m walking around the house blissfully non suicidal. Even if that doesn’t escalate to the dizzying scary heights of Mania again where I will likely try to fly from the roof top, it will still as always be followed by a crash and continued suicidal ideation, but this time I don’t think I can handle anymore crashes.

The Purple Coffin

She was one of those people with more personality than she knew what to do with. She stood up for the world and was passionate about everything, a mother, a wife, a sister, a friend and to me she was a colleague. Her firey sense of standing up for people’s perceived rights could be downright scary at times depending on which side of the argument you were standing. I won’t forget the blaze in her eyes as she would snarl “just try it!. Her passion it seems, was born from her own inner demons, described as somewhat formidable at times, she was also a nurturer, a care giver, gardener and breeder of small dogs.

While we had talked at work often, I think I learned more about her that day in the room full of mourners, those that had loved her than I would ever have been privy to otherwise. Her bright purple coffin adorned with the most brilliant display of flowers collected from her own garden. I was somewhat saddened that we had so much more in common than I had realised and I wondered for the conversations that might have been had time permitted.

While the taste of salt trickled onto my lips, the feeling I had in my heart was not so much one of sadness but self-guilt – my outlook on what so many were calling a wasted life, is somewhat tainted by my own experience and feelings, I was glad for her that she had found the peace she needed at that time and secretly I was jealous.

Two of her children, the same age as two of mine – their faces. The way her eldest daughter spoke with guilt wishing she had said more, or less – never imagining that once her mother had been admitted to the hospital that she would not have the chance to take back any harsh words and tell her she loved her. That was hard to hear.

I took a deep breath and with a final look at that bright purple coffin I whispered goodbye. As I drove home my mood was rather surreal. The looks on those little faces, the same ones I would likely be causing on my own kids someday. It hurt so bad. For them so many more questions than answers.

The hardest part about this for me is it hasn’t changed how I feel in the way it seems it probably should. I was supposed to look at this as a realisation that I need to stay well for my kids, to TRY and want to stay well. But it didn’t work, I understand the intellectual concept and I feel as guilty as hell that i don’t FEEL it but I can’t help my own need for peace.

A few days later with these added guilty thoughts and pit of depression I had already sunk into before the funeral, I had an internal anxiety attack at work and ran out the door chased by a team leader asking what was wrong, I lied and said nothing I had to go and drove to a spot I had always regarded as a possible resting place. A beautiful waterfall that tumbles down a sheer cliff face. I cut through the bush track to avoid the safety rail look-out area and instead climbed down the rocky stream to the edge of the cliff. I sat there with a bottle of water and a bottle of pills in my hand and my legs dangling off the edge, feelings of numbness and simultaneous peace.

The sun was warm on my skin as I lay back absorbing the rays on my face for a while feeling very close to nature. My iPod on the ‘D’ playlist. I had no paper to write a note. – oh well, someone would eventually go through my computer and find my heavily passcoded ramblings.  A little voice in my mind kept saying – ‘this isn’t fair on Cara’ – Cara, my team leader who’s final words to me had been ‘are you sure there is nothing I can do?” with a look of startled concern in her eyes and a slight wobble in her voice. I had told her ‘no, but thanks..’ with a tears in my own.

Our team had already lost one of our own to suicide in the last week, and as I lay back in the sun tears stinging in the corners of my eyes I felt like I couldn’t do that to Cara- she would blame herself for not acting on her instinct, she’s only young and she doesn’t need that, it’s too selfish.

At that moment I heard voices from up the track. Shit! People were coming down to the look out. I shoved the pills back in my pocket and bolted up the flat rocks and back into the crevices of the boulders on the side. Getting caught on a cliff face with pills in your hand probably lands you locked up somewhere I don’t want to go. I got back to the car and drove the long way back to the city.

Muscle Memory

Muscle memory- wake up, get dressed, drive to work. Approx half way through the journey to work the two cans of sugar free energy drink and 3 no doze tablets secretly ingested start to kick in and you wake up and wonder what the hell you are doing here, again. You swear today won’t be like yesterday, set yourself new rules, new dates, new rituals. Get to work, today is like yesterday, new rules broken, dates become meaningless, old rituals take over as though you are out of your own body simply watching you find yourself walking powerlessly through the same old destructive pattern. Tomorrow is a new day, a new chance?

Rinse, repeat.

Each day your will grows weaker, your resolve is dying, it’s too hard now, it’s too late.

The drugs that were supposed to take away the beast and set me free have taken away the beauty too. You are gone and I’m on my own, flying blind.

Stockholm syndrome.

We were too bonded, the love I had for my captor too strong. When something has become such a very big part of you, you can’t just take it away – it was the only part of you that made sense, the one that took the lead, made the decisions and…. I suppose you were the dominator. I was the submissive, I lost my voice and spoke for me when I could not. Although you caused me such terrible pain and hurt me so badly, I felt loved by you, safe.

Now my heart is broken, wounds too deep my soul disconnected and bailed out before I did. Too late for this, better things to do.

My eyes water constantly from the smoke screen I am trying to hold up, I will soon drown in the pool from these tears. Finally a chance to quietly slip away.

The School Of Life

We all spend hours, days sometimes weeks pondering the meaning of life, finding the point of it all, I mean surely there is a point to it all, right? The trouble is while we look for the meaning of life we are constantly focusing on all the negative aspects such as Aunt Joan died of cancer, why? What was God/Allah/Buddah’s plan? When we focus on the worst parts we are turning a blind eye to the many good things that occurred before this event. One might say that so many people were devastated by Aunt Joans death that the funeral was packed – rather than thinking how wonderful it was to have an opportunity to share a part of their life with a wonderful person like Joan who had clearly touched so many peoples lives.

The meaning of life isn’t about the great plan from a higher being, it is actually very simple:

It is to simply live. No different to the ants or the sunflowers we are here to live, just that we as humans are lucky enough to have free will over our decisions and surroundings, intelligent enough to influence the world around us and emotional enough to love, laugh and cry.

That thing you are doing when you are not asking ‘why?’ the thing you do unconsciously every day. That, is living and that IS the point to it all. When you are looking at the negatives, you are blinding yourself to the reality of what you have, the positives that are all around you and the lessons you are able to learn and the fun to be had in Earths playground it is the school of life.

You only get one shot at this life, make the most of it until your lessons are learned, then retire to pasture or wave farewell with dignity.

Run Away

Recently on a freezing winter night we were visited from my neighbour and good friends other half, he arrived very upset, my friends 14yr old daughter had decided to run away.

We live on bushy farmland in the middle of nowhere, so running away from home in the middle of winter is at the very minimum inviting hypothermia. I went looking and found her on the side of the road about half way between her house and ours (we live about 5km apart). She had a jacket and a backpack with all her most loved worldly possessions in it including lap top, iPod and a few clothes.

After a hell of a lot of convincing I managed to get her and her 45kg bag to come into my warm car and talk, she eventually opened up to me and apart from the usual teenage mother/daughter clashes I was saddened to hear how she has been bullied mercilessly at school. She has been very down for a long time and I think she would most definitely fit the criteria for depression.

As we talked, I told her how I was bullied horribly in school, and while I will never forget that things will get better and that even though it doesn’t feel like it now, high school is such a small part of life compared to the rest of adulthood. I made some suggestions of different coping strategies she could use while thinking in the back of my mind what a complete and utter hypocrite I am.

I tell her how it’s all going to get better yet the other part of my mind is still plotting my impending suicide. I remember thinking of her as I drove home after taking that overdose and hoping she wouldn’t find out why I had died, I felt guilty for lying to her – it doesn’t always get better.

Perhaps things will be different for her, perhaps she will be able to find the happier parts of life and cling to them. There is a window of opportunity where people will still look for and see the good things when they happen – you see this particularly in children - No matter what awful circumstances they are living in they grab onto the little sparks of light hoping everything will turn around. Unfortunately after enough times of your hopes getting dashed and nothing changing you eventually give up, your spirit broken and resigned to the fact that some things can’t be fixed.

Even as an adult, I have thought of running away often, mostly to save my family from the burden of living with me. But I also know that running away wont fix anything, I can't runaway from myself sadly and it would make the kids feel abandoned in a different way to the way death would.
*Sigh*.... I hate being like this, I am trying I want to try to get better or at least I want to want to...

Que Sera

There isn’t much time now and I must get ready to say goodbye. In the end everything turned out exactly as it was always meant to.

By chance I was able to see or reconnect with almost everyone that I intended to and please know that this brought me great peace.

There is a playlist in my music folder marked ‘funeral’ it has the songs that I most related to and is in my preferential order.

I want to be cremated with all but a handful of my ashes scattered across the back paddock at the farm (the one near the back neighbours place at the area just before the trees start) facing west on the spring evening of a red sunset. (not that I’m picky or anything).

For the last handful of my ashes, take me to the top of my magic mountain near where I grew up on a warm breezy day and stand overlooking the mountains. Feel the wind on your face as you lean forwards and hold your arms back until it feels like you are soaring high across the valley below. There you must let the last of my spirit fly one final time. This is a sacred place to me and was the place where I first learned of the destiny of my soul.

Despite the challenges along the way, I wouldn’t change a single thing. The way a story ends is not always an accurate summary of the chapters lived between.

Thank you, all of you for such an amazing ride. Nobody could hope for a more fulfilling life with their soulmate, a wonderful family, great friends and the opportunity to understand and achieve their destiny.

Take care, remember que sera sera, cest la vie. Let peace be forever in your hearts and I will see you on the flip side!

xx

God Theory

Depression sucks, being high is awesome. I’m the happiest I have been and yet I am ready to cease my life. I guess that I want to go out on a high. Does that make me sound depressed? LOL

I feel better than I have in forever, I am so complete and fulfilled and to the amusement of anyone who has ever known me, I think I found God! OK, rather I have summarised my interpretation of the meaning of the word ‘god’ and how ‘god’ fits into the creation/ development of our perceived world.

I watched a movie today called Lucy. Very long story very short, u know how humans only use 10% of their brain? Well this lucy chick ends up using 100%. The movie speculates what would happen if we had this ability. (*Spoiler alert*)When she reached the 100% she disappeared and essentially became everything or as we humans would view it, a god like entity.

Anywho, I was thinking about it after and came to the conclusion that using 100% of brain function is you become so in touch with your structure and the environmental structure at a cellular level that you become one with all matter which is equivalent to ceasing to exist. So therefor you are unable to use 100% of your brain potential until you are using none at all. Death is equivalent to complete life, in the way that all colours are white. This is probably where the perception of a god like after life state or going to be with god when you die originated from. If you think about it, the fact is that we are all simply energy particles forming and changing shapes.  Perception truly is the only reality, we perceive energy particles around us to form in a predictive manner, what ever causes these particles to connect together to create and duplicate cells until they form a ‘physical’ being surely potentially causes a energy image or shadow style effect of the previously existing cellular structure that is left behind once these cells die and go back into the energy pool. It would therefor be plausible that people who are more sensitive to changes in energy levels around them to pick up on these ‘energy shadows’ and perceive them in the shape they once held as a physical being thus giving rise to the theory of ghosts.

If purely energy based, these apparitions would not have any intentional function to visualise such as walking or spontaneous movement, they would merely behave in a replicate manner  or photographic style model of the physical form they had been previously connected to, for this purpose the existence of a ‘soul’ for example would more likely be present in the replicated energy field than within the breaking down cells from the physical form.

Depending of the energy frequency the human perceiver is tuned into, these ‘spirits’ for want of a better term may be able to communicate although this would only really be possible using implanted imagery or word based thoughts transmitted via energy particles. Actual ‘speech’ as we know it would not be possible for the same obvious reasons that tree frogs don’t verbally communicate the same way dogs, cats or even ppl do – the ‘speech’ or method of communication using sound relies on physical structure through a collection of cells. The sub atomic structure that goes into creating just one physical cell is nearly infinite and can only be increased via duplication. Always continuous equal parts, always in pairs – DNA, Reproduction as a general – to create the existence of any cell based object it must involve a level of duplication. This process is not (by sheer natural design) supposed to be reversed. The splitting of an atom, creates an explosion – this almost proves the big bang theory in one simple step, we reversed the natural process and created an explosion, thus an explosion would have created an atom in the first place, atoms must be duplicated in order to form anything else. – What would be interesting is to know exactly what substance was released in the explosion of the atom splitting as that substance is essentially what creates life as we know it, that substance IS energy, the molecular everything or “god” not in the man with a beard way, but in the true scientific sense of the word.

We can never harness that substance as it is God, there for it is everything. Halving one atom creates “God” energy. Halve the “God energy” and we would cease to exist, one can only imagine what comes before that – unfortunately our 10% brain capacity doesn’t quite stretch that far… 

As far as the alien debate is concerned, I think the forming of physical structure in such a predictable manner (ie humans are one form, cats are another) is probably magnetically based, when we look for life on other planets we need to pay particular attention to places that have a magnetic core like earth rather than focusing so much on oxygen and water. Our physical structures have evolved like that due to their environment however if another planet had a life, it would be plausibile that it is the magnetic structure of the planet that governs the way atomic particles cluster together, creating a unique environment which in turn would see life forms model physical designs based on their individual environment ie lungs might not be required at all but cells may form from gasses absorbed through the bottom of a foot or hoof or talon. 

What ppl need to remember is that HOW and WHY don’t always matter. Just because we have the ability to ask these questions doesn’t always mean it is necessary, or ideal to do so. Sometimes simply being present in the moment and knowing what IS and observing what CAN be will be a far more powerful and liberating thought process that dwelling on the things we have no control over.

As previously stated perception is reality and therefor reality is perception, we can choose our perceptions and how we react to them. Your life is your choice, take today to take charge.

THAT is the true reality.

A reflection on how mental illness has affected my life

The brush has claimed yet another clump of my rapidly thinning hair, I pull it from the knobbely pins and drop it in the waste basket. Taking a deep breath I look down over my skeletal frame briefly acknowledging the place where my breasts used to be. My skin has become a dry slightly greyish colour and the dark circles under my eyes could make people begin to question my husband’s integrity.

The sad thing is while I endure the day in day out nausea and dizzy spells caused by this war I am fighting, it is inevitably a losing battle. This battle is not against cancer as an outsider looking in may imagine at first glance, no, this is a war against myself and one entirely of my own making.

Suicide is a funny thing, usually a quick solution to a painful situation that feels inescapable, in my case it is a long slow drawn out process, but one that can no longer be stopped, and one I have no will to stop. I have anorexia nervosa and bipolar disorder, I am putting a psychologists children through the finest collage and keeping the pharmaceutical industry running.

Whatever motives I had when this journey first began, back when I still had a choice in the matter, have long since been replaced by a compulsion, the simple terrifying phobia I have developed about gaining weight.

My relationship with food and weight loss isn’t because I want to look like some super star in a magazine or attract a man, it never was. This began as a teenager when I was bullied for being overweight and decided to do something about it, lose weight or kill myself. When I did manage to lose weight the thought of ever going back to that dark place was so terrifying that gaining even a gram was unacceptable, in fact I needed to keep losing a few, just in case… Of course that spiralled out of control quickly and soon I was in the grips of Anorexia.

Lots of things happened after that, long story short I moved out of home at 16 and met the love of my life, that relationship saved me in so many ways, I slowly stopped caring about my weight, I was truly happy, one thing led to another and at 17 I was expecting my first child. That pregnancy forced me to give up my vegetarianism due to anemia and that let me cut my final tie with the weight obsession that had owned me for so long.

Over the years 3 more children followed, my weight issues came back from time to time but only in a mild manner, I was able to acknowledge that I didn’t want to go back to that place and chose to eat in a more health conscious manner to avoid excessive weight gain.

Although my weight issues weren’t taking over my life I was still waging war on myself, I had always been at the mercy of my moods, I was generally fairly content and had no reason to complain at all however I would go through months of severe suicidal depression which I tried very hard to hide from the outside world, I had the perfect life after all I shouldn’t be unhappy, it was WRONG to feel that way. In stark contrast to these bleak times I would sometimes find myself so increadibly happy and grateful for the things that I had, my spiritual oneness with nature would bloom and blossom, I would make it my mission to inspire those around me, I would join groups and committees and come up with hundreds of brilliant and grand ideas that I would stay up all night filling notebooks with lists and lists of the things I would do and achieve, telling anybody that would listed all about them.

I went through different phases and tended to spend too much money for our meagre budget on these things, like the time I spent $2000 on Christmas lights after seeing a house all lit up on TV and deciding that I could DEFINITELY win that competition the following Christmas. The time I joined AMWAY which my family and friends have kindly never spoken of again, or that time when I decided that I was going to immerse myself in learning how to cook – a task I have always loathed – so I looked up and saved hundreds of recipes off the internet, I went and bought a stack of expensive pots and pans and cook books and made spreadsheets and lists of menu ideas putting them in catagories. This phase, like all the others ended when eventually I would burn out from trying to do absolutely everything on my list at once and plunge into another deep depression as I was a failure who couldn’t do anything right and generally rather broke given the unwarranted spending on my latest failed venture.

Fast forward several years of similar scenarios and I finally cracked it totally, I went through one of my energetic excited learning phases when I got a new job, this started out great as my bosses loved my enthusiasm and drive and the fact that I was inspiring others too, I won a stack of office awards and life was peachy, then the depression hit again this time was different though, I was still energetic and felt electricity running through me but simultaneously wanted to die. I won another award and hated myself for getting it, I knew I didn’t deserve it, the other staff were whispering about me behind my back and how I was the teacher’s pet. ( A few childish types really were)

 I didn’t trust anyone, they were all against me. I started getting really forgetful, I couldn’t control my thoughts their fast pace I usually used to my learning advantage had gotten out of control, I would sit staring at my work not having a clue what I was doing, I was struggling to remember my name. In order to concentrate even a little bit I had to put headphones on with fast paced dance music, this seemed to occupy the part of my mind that was running away from me and let the other part get a little bit of work done.

Every lunch time I would go for a fast walk to get the energy out and try and hopefully lose a bit more weight while I was at it– I couldn’t control my thoughts but I could control my eating. I didn’t want to sit with my colleagues, they would notice I wasn’t eating and whisper about me even more. I would walk up the little hill and work out the best place to go to die, should I run down to the highway and jump in front of a truck? If I popped out just past the bridge they wouldn’t see me so definitely wouldn’t have time to stop, I didn’t want to fuck it up and end up quadriplegic or something.

Just as Christmas approached it got too much, I thought my head was going to completely explode, I was fairly aware I was going crazy and trying desperately to hide it. I had to go to my in-laws for a big family Christmas do on Christmas eve and I was terrified, I could barely construct a sentence, they would surely know something was up, they couldn’t know, they could never know. The only solution I could come up with was killing myself before Christmas eve.

In a brief moment of clarity I thought perhaps I should see my Dr, so I rang to make an appointment but she was away. I then asked a friend if I could have the number of a psychologist she was seeing, she wasn’t available until after Christmas. So fete had spoken, suicide it was.

I dreamed up several different ways of performing the act which were all dependent on circumstance, I guess I knew I was nuts because I had a paranoid fear of people trying to lock me up in the psych ward and most of my suicide plans involved escape scenarios and fast acting suicide for that exact situation.

My favourite scenario at the time was to do 180km into a particular tree I had picked out. I was doing a lot of high speed driving, the 100km speed limit of my daily journey to work and back felt like snail’s pace to my racing mind and so I tended to float around the 140 mark and on a quiet stretch where the police don’t hang around I tended to do 160 to 180km p/h I had a personal goal to hit the 200km but I kept running out of road.

I had decided that 180km into the tree should be enough to kill me, retrospectively 100km was probably enough but it felt so slow at the time that I remember thinking I would be lucky to sprain an ankle at that low speed.

The trouble with Christmas time, is that our family has A LOT of birthdays in December, so trying to pick the optimum day to kill yourself that wont make the death anniversary on or too close to a birthday proves very difficult. I felt bad for the kids and thought that if I knocked myself off before Christmas it would screw up Christmas for them as someone would have to arrange a funeral and insurance etc so ppl might forget to give them their presents.

So I decided I needed to wait until after Christmas and try my very very hardest to get through the holiday period without giving away my position.

This post is becoming very long and drawn out, but after one failed suicide attempt I did make it through Christmas, My birthday, New Years and just barely my sons birthday in Jan – which there is a post somewhere on here about, the rest is pretty much documented below.

Dark Nights

The nights are getting darker, in a figurative sense. I close my eyes and see things I never used to see pictures of unfamiliar people and places, playing like slideshows in my mind have now given way to early motion picture style sequences of the same. Who are these people? Why do I know them?

I hold on to most of my guilt throughout the day and it comes exploding out into my mind when the house grows silent and I close my eyes, I come up with imaginative ways in which to punish myself and prevent the infinite loop that encircles my mind, I dream of being able to cut the excessive flesh from my body with a knife, burn welts into my skin – the physical pain a punishment and the scar to serve as a reminder of the regret that always comes later, every time I open my mouth.

 Like the depression that always follows the mania, food and guilt are entwined together and always will be, but there is no chemical compound to silence that incessant voice that chastises every worthless move you make. When it comes down to it I lie awake on these dark nights pondering, imagining and yet I always come to the same and correct conclusion; that there is always only one way to permanently end this cycle.

Limbo

So many hours are lost to this disease, the ‘unhelpful thinking’ patterns as the Guru puts it. It’s ridiculous when actually put into words or thought about in any logical way. But still it remains, every hour it creeps in, at some point a comment, something you see or hear that reminds you or god help it you catch your reflection or need to go to the bathroom.

Eating is the worst, it’s a constant battle of instinct vs mind. Your body takes over gorging everything in its path while all you can think is how worthless you are and how desperately you want it all to stop.

If I had a dollar for the amount of times I have glanced at that knife block while stuffing bread down my gob just longing to plunge it deep into my flesh or slice deep into my wrists. End the torture.

Silence. Inside, outside. Peace.

My husband walked in just as I typed that sentence and I slammed the computer down like a 14yr old girl hiding something from her parents. Now he’s upset because I wouldn’t tell him what I was doing, what I was hiding. Is it wrong that I would almost rather he thought I was having an affair than writing a diary like this? Honestly, I don’t know which one of those would hurt him more.

I hate myself every time I eat at the moment. The trouble for my messed up mind is that I am eating constantly and I cant stop. It’s too hard.

succumb to the call...

I knew it was coming, I could feel it. But I chose not to heed the warning signs and now it is too late, I am owned.

I have had my mind infiltrated by my best friend and worst enemy. I now hear her as a voice separate to my own, which is different to the way it was before. She made a whispered promise to help me reach my goals, to set me free from this depression and stabilize my hectic mood swings as she has an amazing power to gain control. But she lied. Of course she did, she always does.

I am depressed and mostly at her will it is decided whether I retreat into myself or not. I want to partake in conversations I normally would, my own voice is still there in my mind as it always was, making small talk, laughing at jokes and making smart arse comments but I am unable to speak out loud unless permission is given by her. My thoughts are racing, my concentration sucks and my thoughts are darker and darker the further out of control I get the more I need her to be in charge, her voice is loud, belittling, sarcastic and often contradictory, but it keeps me functioning in society.

As much as I know I should fight it, her, for my own mind. I am too weak. Frankly, I am done trying to escape, the pain of fighting it is so much worse than the pain of succumbing to her call and I am stuck again, sucked into the vortex she creates, that I created for myself and I know deep down I won’t get out this time, it’s over.

Like a cliché Stockholm syndrome, I have fallen in love with my captor.

I have been put on Lithium in conjunction with the Lamotrogine for the bipolar and when I went to see my psychiatrist after a fairly good morning with intention to ask for help with the ED I was rendered almost unable to speak or concentrate, her voice loud in my head a constant stream of:

 “You cant say anything you fucking idiot, then she will want to weigh you, maybe put you in hospital and then make you EAT. If you EAT you will get FATTER. Do you want to get FATTER? Do you WANT to get more depressed? Why not go end it now then, jump through the fucking glass window and slice your femoral artery. Go on! I dare you!! You know why you’re not doing it? Why you haven’t killed yourself yet? It’s because you are a weak piece of shit and you’re never going to have any sort of control over yourself.

Watch as you go the fuck home and eat a tub of ice-cream then come back and cry about how sad you are – see now that she thinks your depressed again she’s upping your meds. You know Lithium makes you fat right? REALLY FAT. You have photos on the weekend, you wanted to pretend to be normal for a minute, thin and normal wearing your jeans that used to fit you until you went manic and thought it was ok to eat. Hot chips! REALLY???!! WTF is wrong with you, you dumb whore, each potato has 150 Cal and you had them deep fried in lard and fuck knows how many potatos are in a bucket of chips – Oh and don’t forget the icecream. I hope that you had fun in Melbourne because you are NEVER EVER going back there, 8kg, 8kg!!!!! the consequences aren’t worth it, are they?

Or… You could let me help you? You don’t have to get fatter- even if you can’t pretend but actually have to take the Lithium because of the blood tests. All you have to do is say no. Every time you eat when you take Lithium, your weak piece of shit self will end up binging again, so stop eating. COMPLETELY stop. You know the tricks, you know how to lie! Hell you might even be able to lose weight before the photos! You have 6 days to prove yourself, if you fuck it up then you are a lost cause, destined to be a fat heffer for the rest of your life.”

It was Monday, so I filled my script, went home and didn’t eat, kept my 1hr exercise regime up. Tuesday, I didn’t eat and exercised properly AND got offered a new job with less hours and better pay.  – A reward for my diligence, she suggested.

Wednesday I had off work – this would be my biggest challenge, especially as I was supposed to meet a friend for dinner. I managed to turn dinner into coffee and then of course didn’t have a cake like she did.

then this morning (Thursday) I woke up tired and weak and a bit nauseated, so I didn’t exercise ‘she’ suggested that I weighed myself for the first time in around a month – mostly to teach me a lesson about not exercising – But I was pleasantly surprised, I had actually lost weight!! She allowed me to try on my clack shorts and grey pants and they fit perfectly. So today was allowed to be a good day and she has left me alone somewhat although I was hungry a bit during the day but she gave some gentle encouragement and I managed to deflect it by chewing gum and guzzling diet coke.

I am slightly messed up however by the slight reaction I have been having to the Lithium – an uncontrollable shaking of my hands making it very difficult to write and dizziness, I am aware that some of that may be attributed to the lack of food too.

Then tonight at dinner time I fucked it all up. Badly.

 I ate some zucchini stuffed with cauliflower, garlic, onion and capsicum. It tasted so good while I ate it, until reality set in and I realised what I had done, my stomach seemed to grow before my eyes, I desperately wanted to throw it up but for whatever reason I am incapable of purging, always have been. So we went to bed and watched some episodes of Fringe, all the while I am too busy listening to the loud voice in my head reprimanding me for my actions, I hate myself.

I realised I hadn’t taken my tablets so I got up to do so and for whatever fucked up reason opened the chocolate ice cream sitting in the freezer and bloody ate some – about 100 cal worth. SHIT. So that essentially renders today’s minimal 300 cal exercise null and void and she is very, very angry with me. The voice is too loud to sleep… Many suggestions are that now might be an ideal time to finish things, It would be good timing really as I am changing jobs, the photos will be done so there will be something for the kids to remember me by.

I also now have Lithium at my disposal, FINALLY a drug I can use to properly OD on, I would still combine it with the original cocktail, but at least it guarantees the outcome and is a great quick escape should I find myself cornered.

But on the other hand, this new job brings in great money, so I could stay there as per the original plan and use that extra income so we can finish the house and yards off a bit and make up some savings for the funeral, they are so damn expensive – Far out, a cardboard box in a bonfire at the farm is fine by me. If I can keep up the not eating, eventually my heart will fail and I can sleep in peace, really I do feel this would be a much nicer way of going than the throwing up and shitting myself overdoses may bring if I fuck it up and end up not actually dying, also worried about screwing up the drive into a tree thing and becoming a quadriplegic. Other options tend to involve excessive bloodiness and scaring someone else for life – that’s plain unkind and so of course it’s my last resort.

Tomorrow I have to stick with it. It’s my last day at my old job and they want to take me out for lunch but I have to somehow not eat or maybe choke down a small garden salad as I NEED to be ready for these photos on Sunday. I am also really worried that after that I know I kinda need to start eating a little bit because I have two weeks of intensive training at my new job and I really need to be able to concentrate and remember things, but I am scared to do that. Gaining weight is NOT AN OPTION, and I am worried that I won’t be able to maintain my current weight. I really need to go 3kg under my goal so that I have a safety net to rely on. *sigh*

Back on the roller coaster.

 

 

 

You Are My Sunshine

 Today is the day before mother’s day, I have been really sick this week with Lithium toxicity, went to the doc again today after stopping the lithium 3 days ago, my symptoms are still getting worse, I am trembling constantly, I have a thing called Nystagmus where my eyes jump around all over the place when I try and focus. The doc said the Lithium should have cleared my system by now and has ordered more bloods, she thinks I also have a sinus infection which is contributing to the feeling like hell so I’m on antibiotics too.

I was left feeling awful terrified that this could be permanent, my eyes are so bad that it is taking me forever just to type this and its quite painful. Suicide has been on my mind again lot lately and then something happened this afternoon that made me feel really guilty about it, less like I would be doing them a favour.  

My 5yr old daughter (baby bel) came up to me handing me a little creation she made and said “This is for mother’s day tomorrow but I want to give it to you now. Then I can give it to you again tomorrow.”

This is the card:

She the promptly looks me in the eye and with a big smile starts singing

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine you make me happy when skies are grey, you never know how much I love you, so please don’t take my sunshine away. 

Mum, you are my sunshine, I love you SOOOOOOOO much!”

Please don’t take my sunshine away. Fuck.

Sorry baby girl, I promise I will try my best I love you Sooooo much too! You may have just saved my life.

 

Meds and Mania

I have been taking my medication for 9 days now, the first 7 I experienced no change, still caught up in the whirlwind glow of my most recent hypomanic enthusiasm that left me aware of my inability to work but completely un phased by it. On day 8 however, something changed. I woke up, which was pretty special in itself as it meant I had actually slept the night before. This should really have been a good thing, but instead I had risen irritable and tired with my mind still racing but my body feeling as slow as a snail.

The children bore the brunt of my angry outbursts for the morning and I shipped them off to school only to come home and sink into the pit of depression. The knowledge of some of the goings on in my most recent hypomanic phase were slowly sinking in, the fact that I had gambled, drunk and OD’d myself for no decent reason, spontaneous road trips at 200km/ph all alone while spending to the tune of $1000 we don’t have spare, on junk I didn’t need and then feeling that turning up to work while hallucinating was perfectly reasonable had very nearly cost me my job, and had most certainly cost me my integrity.

Yes, the aftermath wasn’t pretty.

I find now days that there is a very fine line between, ‘I’m not feeling happy’ and ‘I must die’. In the old days, I would slowly get more and more depressed until the only way out that seemed reasonable was the permanent one. Now the dive to rock bottom is almost instantaneous.

My mood remained unchanged for the rest of the day and I was due to see the GP that evening. The journey to the medical centre was wholly uninspiring, I didn’t feel she could help me anymore so why bother going at all? Every tree was looking like a more attractive target proposition and by the time I arrived I think I only went into the building because my body was acting on autopilot.

 I had to wait 45 or so minutes as she was running behind. The last 43 of those minutes were spent hatching an escape plan, I shouldn’t have gone in and wanted to leave, I wanted to die right then and there yet my body felt frozen to the seat. What would I do, where would I go? I decided to amend and enact the emergency OD plan I had concocted and prepared for previously.

I would get up and walk out the next time the secretary left the waiting area and run up near the train tracks where I would hide in the ditch as I would not be easily seen there in case followed and take my concoction before falling blissfully asleep never having to deal with this awful feeling again.

While I was waiting for the receptionist to leave I had the sudden realisation that there was one massive flaw in my plan, I didn’t have a water bottle with me. How was I going to swallow a few hundred pills without water? FUCK. It was an evening appointment and the local store was shut and the waiting room unfortunately didn’t have a water cooler. I was still trying to work out a way around this ridiculous blip when the doctor appeared and summonsed me in.

 I was so angry with myself for not having a drink with me that I could barely talk, I didn’t really need to – she sensed my tide had turned a 180 since my last visit and did most of the talking for me. I neglected to mention how her lack of putting a water cooler in her waiting room had probably saved her a late night visit from a policeman and begrudgingly took a card for the mental health crisis team from her as she was going to be away for two weeks, I was instructed to call ‘just in case I felt un safe’.

A useless proposition really as I would never call, because when I feel that way I DON’T WANT HELP and when I do want help, I DON’T FEEL THAT WAY. Catch 22. I also hate the term un safe, I know perfectly well what is meant by it but frankly when I’m suicidal I feel perfectly safe, because I want to be that way Thank. You. Very. Much. I feel like I actually have an ounce of control for once.

 I’m certainly not afraid to die, there is no “oh no, help me, I don’t want to kill myself”. I cant really imagine that people who are actually want to die anyway, surely they are just crying for help. No, I am quite at peace with the concept of death generally and am utterly desperate for it when in such a mood, however irrational my motives at the time may seem to be later on.

I have just as yet been unable to get my shit together in the moment and the moments are relatively fleeting so I am distracted or interrupted and plan and prepare to do better job of it next time.

Yes the “mental health crisis team” card is about as useful as the “suicide prevention plan”. I think they just give them out to make the GP/Psychologist feel better, or at least reduce their risk of being sued by a disgruntled family member later.