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.

 

 

Catch Up

 I have been through a lot in the last few months and some of my thoughts and so forth were documented over the time but they are fairly scattered, so I am doing my best to write down what happened in the order it happened and eventually get back to writing in the present tense!
I will let you know that today, I am in a better frame of mind.

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.

Can't take it anymore

Well that fucked up. I don’t know what the fuck I want right now, part of me is angry most of me is sad – suck at life, suck even more at death. I have EVERYTHING, the best life anyone could hope for so WHY don’t I want it? Why do I just want to dissolve away into nothingness?

Why when I ask that question does it not change my thoughts at all? I cant stop moving, thinking, I wanna run, I wanna scream and I want to curl up and go to sleep. My mood is varying between agitated as fuck and euphoric, I have been anxious all day because of ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOTHING! I have nothing at all to be sad, angry or anxious about. I should be euphoric all the bloody time, I have everything that everyone could ever want. I dont know! I cant fucking handle it, Im so damn shakey I just want the whole thing to end, except I SUCK at suicide. I keep remembering and forgetting everything, EVERYTHING from why I walked into a room to that its my sons birthday next week so WHY WOULD I TAKE THOSE TABLETS THEN????? I sure as shit don’t want help for it.

Followed by fuck I keep waking up and the tablets havnt bloody worked, I will take more… Oh wait its my sons birthday next week, I FUCKING FORGOT AGAIN!!!
I guess im in a mixed state at the moment. Cant stop thinking, its like a runaway train – I cant think rationally – which brings me to my next point – if I KNOW I am not thinking rationally, then how do I know that they are actually wrong – I may not want to kill my self later, however if I go ahead with it I wont br able to regret it because I will be dead. So it wont matter.

I would love this fucking lithium to work, I would love this lithium to keep supressing my appetite. I would love this pressure neck head thing to stop – I don’t know if it is anxiety or the lithium causing it – only get it when taking Li but by the same token I am generally taking Lithium when I am rapid cycling/manically mixed state and by definition anxious.

God I just need it to stop, if if wake up tomorrow and this is still the same I don’t think I will be able to go to work. It just needs to stop – the fucked upedness is that this will NEVER TRULY GO AWAY. I cant live with myself knowing that my family, my perfect fucking family should be subjected to a crazy wife / mother / daughter. I cant EVER deal with the in laws finding out about this, which means I cant be truly honest with my Psych or GP because I know they would hospitalise me. Frankly I am aware that this is what I really need, but I cant be hospitalised because then the family would find out. NOBODY can find out. Its not ok for this to be me – I don’t care if other ppl have mental illness and I would jump up and advocate for them in a heart beat, but not me. That’s different.

If I end it they will never have to live with the shame, I wont have to live with the shame. I don't want to go to work tomorrow I don’t have the ability to cope with the pressure of the new training that I didn’t see. I bought new dresses to wear to work – this should mean I am subconsciously happy about going but I think I was just spending money cause I could, and besides I keep eating like the fat whore I am and this means those dresses wont fit much longer anyway. Another tick in the pro suicide column, I can die skinny – that would be so much better than having to become fat again. I CANT become fat again. Essentially I think that answers any question I have left. But again then I remember that its my sons birthday next week. OH GOD the original date is SO CLOSE, if I can just hold out until then. But I don’t think I can, if I make it that far it will mean that I will already be fat and I will already have suffered through work. I just want to quit, I have already written my resignation, its sitting on my desk top waiting to be sent. I cant be there, I jst want to cry and there is no reason for that either – they have done nothing, but I just cant help it, I cant be there. There has got to be a way to escape it other than the obvious – until after his birthday.

This is too hard. Way to fucking hard.

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.

 

 

 

Still Alive, Still Crazy

Today… Still alive, slightly less foggy headed from the lithium OD, but still dizzy as hell, shaky sore eyes with trouble focusing but not quite as bad as yesterday, very strong pressure in my head that comes in waves – feels similar to ice-cream headache only you start blacking out. didn’t take Lithium again as I cant stand this feeling a moment longer

 I was triggered horribly by a fucking 13yr old. I tried on a pair of jeans that were a size 8 and while they went on, my big fat calves made the bootleg look like skinny leg, I already wanted to cry seeing my giant shape in multiple mirrors is confronting enough.

As I was getting dressed again I hear someone talking to a girl saying “ooh lets try the size 7s shall we?” and when I walked out I saw miss size 7, the jeans were way too baggy. I KNOW she was only 13 and I am a grown women nearly 30 FFS but still, I guess cause I’m a fruit loop it triggered the crap out of me, I want to be that small, I NEED to be that small. On my way out of the shopping centre all I saw was stick thin women with perfect legs and perfect hair and I just wanted to die.

Then I had to pick up like 4 things from the grocery store that weren’t for me, I had them in the basket in 5 min and proceeded to spend nearly 40 min doing the old pick up and put back things that I wanted to but could never eat. I hate being this ridiculous.

new job, old tricks

Start Job, End life

I need to die now. I am ready to go, its time. I had a great life and for that I am truly greatful, but I have now hit the point of no return. I am not willing to give up the demon that has reclaimed me, her voice is too strong.

Started my new job today, it sucks. The team leader is like a size 4 and drop dead gorgeous, I am so intensely jealous I cant function when she is in the room. My legs are unforgivable. She must not have eaten in years.

Today I fucked up, I narrowly avoided having lunch at the mall, got as far as the food court before having a panic attack and getting the hell out of there. I then ruined this COMPLETELY by having a 500kj boost juice after work. Instead of learning to throw it up like I should have I had 5 grapes and got home only to eat a vege meal of possibly up to 100 cal. I can’t believe what a loser I am. I have already gained weight from it, you could see in the mirror when I went on the cross trainer this evening, ass thighs and my size 8 jeans that fit yesterday are snug and downright tight on my calves.. Now its going to add an extra two days at least.

I have started Lithium in place of Sodium Valporate and it is making me feel awful, got a call from the dr 2 day re my lithium level bloods & other bloods.   enough Li levels r too high and my liver is mildly affected (yay! Now how to finish it off, or better yet, induce heart attack – quicker method. Have been downing V drinks like a madwomen for the heart and slipping in many Panadol as possible to quietly finish off the liver. What got me was that my cholesterol was really high!!!!!!!????? Im not complaining, its 1 more thing to add to the self destruct arsenal, although this fucks with my head majorly as I don’t understand –WHY? – I don’t really eat... – particularly saturated fats, god maybe thinking about eating those foods really can add calories… I guess this simply means that I need to reduce my food intake generally and stop thinking about all those fat causing artery clogging foods, as much as it would increase my heart attack risk, the chance of weight gain just isn’t worth it,

Must go to bed now, tired & dizzy. With a bit of luck lithium toxicity will set in and I wont wake up, otherwise I need to be ok at work tomoz as now that I am casual, sick pay doesn’t exist for me any more. Try and earn some more $ towards my funeral costs. I need to cut or burn to remind me that food is forbidden, then I can poke it everytime I think of eating as punishment.

Betrayal

I don’t usually throw around sentences like “Breach of confidentiality”. This time I was hurt.

The Guru sent my GP a long letter, I don’t actually know what was in the letter exactly but I feel completely betrayed by it. I specifically did not sign the piece of paper allowing her to contact my doctor. I know I shouldn’t care and that she’s ‘trying to look out for me’ and all but frankly she can get fucked. All trust has gone, she should have told me first and she didn’t.

The letter thing was coupled with the fact that the GP suddenly seems to have forgotten which drug she has put me on and after a slightly frenzied discussion on my eating disorder which I hadn’t previously mentioned and must have been in the letter put me way out on the defensive she added that she was glad she put me on something or other starting with L as its not known to cause weight gain where the others do.

I got home and googled it thinking that it might be another name for the one I’m on and it fucking isn’t. It’s a totally different drug and now I’m guaranteed to be back to being a fat fucking whore in no time.

Also the one I am on is supposed to be monitored with blood work so they can make sure it’s not fucking up your liver. Lucky for her I want to die anyway so it fucking my liver would be great news, but other people don’t want to die and they should have the right not to be fucked around. So as general angry retaliation I have researched how many I need to overdose on so maybe that would be the best way to go down, that way she can feel a little bit fucking guilty and think in future before writing down the wrong thing.

I have been hungry as fuck and eating way more than I am comfortable with, my stomach is getting really really flubby and my thighs are so devastating I just want to cry when I see them. I might not be manic but feel far more out of control than I have in a really long time. I would much rather be manic. I am trying to make it to the end of the month as I’m supposed to be going to Melbourne with some friends for a girls weekend, haven’t seen them in a while and should leave them with some good memories I suppose but frankly I can’t be fucked and it doesn’t matter to me.

But at this rate I might not be able to last that long anyway, its prob better before to keep it away from bubba’s birthday after melb doesn’t leave much time, I am pretty much left with the 15^th.

Now I don’t even have a psych I can vent too, before seems like a much better option the more I think about it, I will have to still see her still and pretend I’m not seething at her betrayal and that these meds are making me all fucking better and I don’t need her as much anymore – make up some bull shit that I’m looking forward to so she doesn’t twig something’s off before I get a chance to finalise this thing.

 I am so done with trust betrayal. I have REALLY gotta get some sort of control over my eating too, I can’t believe I could come so far and fuck it up like this and right at the end too. It’s like stopping just before the finish line. At this rate I won’t even fit in the bloody coffin.

Anxiety?

 

I don’t know anymore, don’t know how I feel, think I’m possibly sobering up from my latest high, starting to be normal, maybe? Hopefully?

I think I have forgotten what normal feels like, I know I forgot how boring it is to be at home all day, forgot how it feels to have children, forgot to call my friends.

Everyone is asking how I am, haven’t seen me in ages apparently, somehow through the last several months I have managed to avoid everyone, mostly and then in the last two weeks I have seen everyone, its weird. A lot has changed for me in the last half a year, I am still the same person on the outside, but inside I have changed, intensified, too much realisation in a short time is starting to take it’s toll.

I’m actively socialising but it’s different, I don’t know why. I have always been and liked being a social butterfly, the ‘life of the party’ chatterbox, can be relied upon to talk too much too loud and regret things later. Generally this is cause I socialise when I’m hypomanic and hide when I’m depressed but now shit is changing.

I have been rapid cycling so fast for the last three months that now I have held the same emotion for a few weeks I don’t quite know what to make of it, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, expecting the fall but it hasn’t happened, I’m not depressed at all. Maybe, just maybe the meds are starting to work?

 I’m still hypo but calmer, clearer of head, but I still want to avoid people, the thought of socialising is freaking me out, part of me is like YES LETS GO, LETS DO EVERYTHING! And the other part is like, oh my god I hate people. I think I’m kind of scared to make plans in case I get too high and embarrass myself or the shoe does drop and depression swallows me up. I haven’t been to work in ages, and the only ppl that know this are TBH, one friend and work. I have been hiding supposed to be at home “resting” but instead I go gallivanting across the country side, shopping.

 I go back to work on Friday and I don’t know what’s going to happen or how to explain my absence to my colleagues. There will be questions that demand answers and I haven’t got them.

 I wonder if this is anxiety? – this is pretty new to me, except for in totally whacked out and entirely reasonable situations or occasionally during intense psychotic manic paranoia…

This, however, is like a generalised social phobia, I’m nervous all the time despite being generally euphorically high when on my own, as soon as someone else enters the picture I start shaking and getting dizzy, check out chicks in woolworths, the road worker guy that yelled at me for speeding, I’m even nervous to see the school bus driver in the mornings, a meeting that merely consists of a ‘good morning’ and comment about the weather.

People keep asking me to do things, I can’t say no, I’ve never been any good at saying no, so of course I say yes, and then spend several hours writing to do/ how to lists relating to whatever I am supposed to do or organise but instead of the usual enthusiastic excited all be it slightly disjointed list writing I regularly participate in when hypo manic, it’s more of a shaky, trembley nervous compulsion, like I gotta do it now, GOTTA or, or I dunno I will forget or something bad will happen and I will fuck it up, I don’t know why but I GOTTA DO IT NOW.

Ugh, it’s an uncomfortable feeling and I don’t like it at all. It does make me a tad more productive than usual, as I have actually been checking items off my list and today I COMPLETED a list – which is big for me as I tend to run around in circles all day very busily getting distracted from one task by another until it’s time to pick up the kids from school and I have half started everything but completed absolutely nothing. Geeze it’s 3am again, that went fast! Last time I looked it was 1am, I’ve been writing non-stop for two hours, I wrote some songs, a rant, a letter I will never post and now this. I should stop writing, Im still not tired – guess I wont sleep again tonight, how unusual. Y doc said the new med Im on should help with sleep, and I think it has a little bit as there is a definite pattern of sleeping every 2^nd night emerging for me at the moment – much better and more sustainable than the 3,4 or 5 nights of no sleep- they generally end badly.  Might go play with you tube now.

Au revoir