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Shark week, grumpiness & touch typing

I’m hiding myself away in my room, trying to avoid people because I’m grumpy. Shark week has begun, and I have a massive headache that wont go away despite all of the painkillers I have used in futile attempts to kill it. So those things make for a grumpy Katie. I’ve noticed myself thinking annoyed thoughts at my flatmates, which are over pathetically small unimportant things – So what I gather from this is that I need to remove myself from everyone, until a more rational mind can make its way back. I know my flatmates have done nothing wrong, so I don’t want to accidentally be a complete bitch to them.

I don’t really feel like writing a blog post right now, so I am going to keep this short. 

I did actually have a really good morning, my prayers last night were all answered and I was not too anxious or tired, and really really enjoyed the meeting. It was like having a little break from my anxiety.

Unfortunately that didn’t last all day, the afternoon turned a little sour with the arrival of shark week hormones and my usual anxiety-ish self. So I have been sitting in my bed watching The Big Bang Theory, and working on my crochet. I have done so much crochet, that I’m getting a minor sort of rope burn on one finger!

Just now I was wondering if I should learn tough typing – as it could be useful for blogging. So I decided to do a touch typing test to see how fast my typing speed was at the moment. Turns out I type at 53 words per minute which is supposedly 39% faster than average. I think that’s pretty good 🙂

Anyway, that’s me for now, I’m going to go back to watching movies to distract myself from urges to hurt myself in some major way.

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Coffee

coffee

Its safe to say, that I really love coffee. Infact, I’m really craving a good coffee right now. Maybe that’s why i’m posting about it… I live in one of the greatest coffee capitals in the world – and everyone who lives here becomes a real coffee snob whenever they travel anywhere else. Or anyone who moves here, will undoubtedly become a coffee snob whether they like it or not.

The coffee is just that damn good!

I have a giant mug at home, (which I perhaps have an unhealthy attachment to) and it fills a litre of plunger coffee every morning. And I do actually drink the whole thing, or else my level of functioning is non existent

need coffee

And that brings me to my next point. Decaf. I do not understand at all, people who drink decaf coffee. Its wrong, utterly wrong. Though on some levels, I am jealous that they can even function without caffeine. But this next meme pretty much sums up my views on decaf:

decaf

So on that note, I’m now off to make me some more coffee 🙂

There are monsters under the bed!

scared

Do you know whats scary? When you hear drunk people walking past your house, and it sounds like they are right up by the window, about to pose naked in front of your bedroom. Or light the letterbox on fire. Or throw an empty wine bottle through the window. I panic enough as it is at night time… I really could do with falling asleep earlier on the weekends, so that I don’t lie awake at night terrified like a complete WUSS.

I’ve been getting progressively more jumpy lately. Say one of my flatmates simply comes out of their bedroom – I will get a huge fright and childishly cover my eyes and tremble after jumping about a foot into the air. Who would know I’m a fully grown adult?

Growing up’s overrated. (shhhhh)

Oh the joys of PTSD

DIY Suturing!

So I’ve been thinking a lot about last night. I cut, and then instead of having to go to the emergency department – I sutured myself up. I had bought the supplies online earlier. A lot of my brain is telling me “good on you, that’s some skill right there”, or “suck that you stupid system, i’m not playing your game anymore” and “whoop whoop I’ll never need to go to ED again!”. But then there’s this liiitle part of me that wonders if this is completely insane!?? I’ve not heard of anyone suturing themselves up before. But maybe i am just that little bit more awesome? Hah, I kid of course. 

sanity

 

So my dilemma today is… Who do I need to tell about this? Who do i not need to tell about this? And, What will this said person think of me if i do tell them? I have already concluded that none of my friends need to know about this, and that if i did tell them they would probably freak out and try and make me go to the doctors next time.

My mum? Well i’m kind of tempted to tell her.. she probably shares my belief that going to ED is a time consuming and infuriating process, that is best avoided at all costs. She also knows and trusts my level of medical knowledge, as she has a medical background herself. However, she does not approve of my self harm (surprise surprise) and would probably be more concerned with the fact that i was able to seriously self harm on a regular basis without telling anyone. Which is probably a valid point actually. Mum would probably worry too much and tick me off. If it wasn’t on purpose… she would probably endorse DIY suturing 100%. So on that note, I probably shouldn’t tell my mum. Maybe one day later on down the track I will tell her that i did suture myself up. One day when i’m not self harming anymore hopefully.

My case worker? Well shes away for the next 6 weeks anyway, so if i do tell her it will have to be later on down the track. Her fill in person? Meh, I don’t even think i’m going to go and see her fill in. I hate that awkward first dating a counselor type session. But moving away from the point.. Case worker yay or nay? She has the confidentiality agreement… but then I have had those broken sooo many times in the past that I don’t really trust that anyway. Potentially she would have to tell my psychiatrist. Potentially they could collectively freak out about how weird and creepy it is that they might stick me inpatient.. But I imagine what would happen would be an initial reaction of shock, but then she would compose herself and go on about how this is “just your reality at the moment and that’s fine” – which she says to most things. She really secretly, underneath it all is just thinking this:

therapist

They probably wouldn’t stick me in hospital, because even when I was seriously suicidal the other week – had a plan, means and opportunity etc – she just sent me home, and then was fine with it when I emailed to cancel the next appointment. I was rather shocked at this actually. I felt in a really risky head space. Though I was super relieved to not have to go into hospital – once you’re in there, its hard as heck to get out! So I could tell my case worker when she gets back. But then, that isn’t probably necessary, and might look like a bid for attention (which I don’t want). So I shall have to see how that one goes…

My GP (family doctor) or the lovely nurses at the practice? This is probably the most important one, and the one I have been musing over all day. It is probably sensible to tell them. But on the other hand, I am quite scared of their reactions. On friday I went to see a nurse there (because of an infection in a cut that has stitches from ED the other week). She was really lovely and understanding and got a script for antibiotics etc. She did ask whether I had seen my mental health team since I did that cut (which I had). She wants me to come in on Monday to get the stitches taken out, and for them to check how the infection is going. I wasn’t quite so keen on that idea seeing as I thought it very unnecessary. I can easily remove sutures myself, its not hard people, and I know when an infection is looking better or worse – I’m not an idiot. But she still wanted me to come in, so she said they would send me a txt on Monday. She wins this award from me:

nice-person

I’m still not sure whether I can be bothered going in or whether I should be good and go.. But I have an appointment with my doctor on Thursday anyway. I could take the sutures out myself and just wait till then. Save my time and theirs. But then that leads me to my main question again… Do I need to tell my doctor about suturing myself up? My gut instinct is telling me, “yes, yes you do”. Its probably wise, however, even thinking about telling her is making me feel nervous! How do I tell her???

how to say it

Will she know how to handle this level of craziness? I hope so. Some doctors despise when patients think they know best. Or patients who actually do have a bit of medical understanding. She doesn’t strike me as one of those doctors, but you never know. Any ideas of how to tell her anyone? I don’t want it to be like.. “oh hey and by the way, look what i did. It doesn’t need anything from you, but hey, thought i’d show you anyways…” because… well… that would be awkward. Maybe breaking it to the nurse first would be an easier segue into it, seeing as she will potentially ask if I have self harmed since she last saw me, and i could tell her then. And then she would probably write it in my notes and my doctor would then ask me about it later. Hmm food for thought!

Anyway, just realised how much I have rambled on, and I am getting hungry! So thanks for reading this insanely long ramble! Any comments much appreciated!

A year in review..

So I’ve been slack. Very slack. I’ve just read my last post and its nearly a year old! So whats been happening since then? A LOT! Infact, its such a lot that I don’t even know where to start! So from my last post, my mental state started deteriorating… I had a rather large psych assessment in which I had to divulge a lot of past trauma stuff in detail – the whole thing lasted nearly 5 hours! So after that, I started having much worse symptoms of post traumatic stress disorder, and everything went quickly downhill. I then ended up quite suicidal and started cutting again

.hate hospitals

 

Shortly after the self harm episodes I ended up kidnapped by my team and whisked into hospital under the mental health act. I was not impressed. But at this stage (having never been in a psych ward before) I was terrified mostly. I was under the assumption however that I would get out within a week tops! They started me off in the unlocked side, but then after a few days I was self harming again and they didn’t like that very much. So the psychiatrist decided to transfer me to the locked unit (damnit). I really HATED having no control over myself and things escalated pretty quickly – I got really sneaky and managed to get blades in, and managed to find ways to hide them really really well. My self harm became more and more serious requiring lots and lots of stitches on many occasions. They tried to get my blades off me by doing room searches, but they usually couldn’t find them. As the self harm was becoming a huge problem, I was put on a one on one watch for a large part of the time. I hated this most of all, they had to watch me use the bathroom, shower, sleep – everything! Some of the watchers were nice, and i got on well with them, other were horrible and just stared at me and told me off.

Now by this stage i was discovering that if i didn’t have control, then i got very sneaky and broke almost every rule i possibly could, just to feel in control of myself again. Usually I would never self harm when there was a chance of someone catching me. But on a watch, I never had that time to myself. So I would end up trying to self harm under the blankets etc – they would usually catch me or figure it out and on occasions, when it was severe, I had to be restrained. One time, I must have been doing this, (I don’t remember very clearly, i dissociated significantly – but i heard about it) and it took about 6 staff members to fully restrain me on the ground and drag me off to the ICU section. It must have been really triggering for me because apparently the next day i woke thinking i was 7 years old and had NO idea where i was or how I got there, or what was going on. I apparently wrote a letter in that state, but they wouldn’t let me read it later because of its content. I had gone truly whacko! But when they moved me back to my usual room it started coming back to me. Whew!

On several occasions i managed to escape and run away. Now I recount all of this in a light way, but I was very very sick at the time and it was not at all funny for me or my poor friends. But I really was quite sneaky. Once I scaled a 3 meter wall to get out. The staff told me later that they were watching it on the security tapes and it was quite an amazing set of skills! That particular escape didn’t last too long for me, as i had had strong meds just prior, and after getting more blades and self harming, I ended up passed out on the street and someone called an ambulance. On other occasions though I managed to be free for hours and hours, running up through bush areas where i thought no one could find me. Those times I was eventually captured by police, nearly tazered, and forced to the ground where they then put handcuffs on me, read me my rights and then took me back to hospital. 

psych-ward

Time went on, and I eventually started to get a smidgen better. They wanted to send me to a private psychiatric hospital in a different city, that focused on long term recovery. So when I was stable enough to go, (3 months later) I was taken down there by a nurse and started my next leg of hospital stay. I cannot stress enough how AWFUL this place was. It was a course of tough love! It was all group work, and they would not tolerate any “bad behavior” so  they would publicly reprimand you and all the other patients would chime in with staff and tell you they were angry with you etc etc. This happened a lot until you were SO TERRIFIED of doing anything remotely wrong, that you learnt to keep everything bottled up and put on a happy face. They gave me a huge scary male therapist that looked exactly like someone who had abused me in the past, and refused to give me a different one. Even though I asked and petitioned and begged for months. So i just refused to go see him because I was not getting any good out of it. So no individual therapy for me, and the rest was all group stuff where people would consistently criticize you. And that was encouraged.

bad behavior

 

I didn’t find this place very useful, and I really really wanted to go home. But they wouldn’t let me. I was still under the mental health act and they also wouldn’t take me off. So I was stuck there. After about 4 months I decided to fake it till i made it, and be the super good girl they wanted me to be and managed to “behave”. I begged and begged to be allowed to discharge. Finally, begrudgingly they let me after 5 months. Now this was quite an accomplishment, seeing as they usually like to keep people for 2 years on average, and I was one that they had suggested stay that long. So on the 4th of July – independence day – I finally got my independence back and was able to move back to where I usually live, except in a nice new flat with new flatmates etc. 

Ive been in my new flat for a month and a half (wow it feels longer). I have lovely flatmates, and the location is great. Im now under a general mental health team (not the eating disorder service) and my case managers quite nice. Although shes going away for 6 weeks as of today. Ive been majorly up and down since being back, but Im so so so grateful to not be in hospital! I managed quite well for a bit, and wasn’t self harming, but things have started slipping again. Oh well. My main objective is to not end up in hospital again. I had a close run in the other day because I rung a heath line to check whether i needed stitches or not and that person rung the police and an ambulance without telling me and i got dragged off to ED. Where they wouldn’t let me go till my usual team came to see me the next morning. 

So since then, I decided i need to take care of my own wounds, and so I bought suturing equipment (sutures, forceps, needle holder and scissors) and taught myself how to suture. Tonight was the first night I self harmed since getting the equipment, and so I am quite proud of my efforts at stitching myself up. I think i did a pretty pro job. I kept everything as sterile as I could and Im already on antibiotics, so risk of infection is low. Im feeling much better mentally now and super stoked that I didn’t need to have any other medical care. BOOM!

freedom

I will try and update this blog more regularly from now on, I have a feeling im going to need it to survive the next few months. Especially with my mental health worker being away, my friends being sick of me being sick and me not wanting to end up in hospital. So this shall resume as my rant space as I have to keep everything hidden, whilst staying sane!

I hope someone reads this… If you do, please comment to say hi! I love my readers 🙂 

Happenings, selling stuff and a wooly head!

Im still here (YAY) and not feeling too bad actually 🙂
Got up this morning to have a cup of tea thrust at me.. now im not an avid tea hater, but im definitely not a fan 1st thing in the morning half asleep! Ugh. I am good at pretending though.
Im quite stoked, i finally got around to selling my bike on trademe, not exactly with high hopes. But to my delight, within an hour someone had clicked ‘buynow‘ whoop whoop! One less thing to get rid of before my move.
I get round to 1.30 and think – lunchtime. Not at all hungry, but trying so hard to keep eating anyway. Ive done so well in the last month, not freaking out too much about food. But these last couple of days have been killer, incapacitating anxiety over eating. I guess its a build up of all my emotions and its broken my efforts on the ED. One can only be so strong. Yesterday i found myself on the kitchen floor, hunched over, not able to breathe because i was faced with eating. The pantry is such a daunting place at times! Today however, i plucked up enough strength to eat breakfast (that plus mum blocking the way out of the kitchen) and now, have attempted lunch! Go me! Admittedly I was shaking, intermitantly breathing and didnt quite finish those two pieces of toast with creamed corn, but hey! I gave it my best! Nows the battle to avoid throwing it all up. *Breathe*
Tuesdays looking closer now. I think i can make it. What will i say to M!? Everythings so hard to explain, i get embarrassed and let her just ask me questions.. but then thats not really helpful in this instance, i know i need to go over all this with her, set up some plans of attack, but how on earth am i going to muster up the gumption to tell her exactly. how. it. is.?? She doesnt even know about my plan to move in a couple of weeks! So i have the pleasure of telling her that exciting news that should be making me happy… but then explain that im actually suicidal. Helloo?? Weirdo. I dont want her to think im not capable of leaving home. Thats not true, home is just as bad as anywhere,if not worse. But its going to look like that isnt it? And i know i really ought to be in hospital to protect myself right now. Perfect timing i have right? If i go, then i wouldnt be allowed to leave – mum would deem me ‘too sick‘ and then keep me like a prisoner for who knows how long. So i must keep trucking on. Hoping like heck that life starts to improve. Hoping that my head will sort out its mess. Maybe its just the meds. Maybe this is temporary. Lets hope so.
Did i even take my escilatopram this morning?I have no idea.. my brain is full of bull.

So here i am

Lying in bed… clocks telling me 12:25. Nah, feel far too awake for sleep. My tiny little pill is sitting on my bedside table, daring me to take it in,ingest it, and fall into blissful sleep. Theres an internal battle going on here, I know i ought to take my quetiapine now,whilst that lone piece of toast is still vaguely in my stomach, and so i can get enough sleep to warrant a slightly less grumpy me tomorrow. Theres that versus starting this new blog… hmmm. 1st option is obviously more logical, but guess which one im choosing? Stupid fool. Ill regret it in the morning!
Anyone else watching the olympics? Duh, stupid question i guess. Im a bit of an oddball, i cheer for whoever looks like theyre winning – not neccessarily my country, and my muscles start twitching.. its like theyre so into the race or whatever that they want to join in. LOL.
So pretty much, ive managed to survive these couple of days. I dont know quite how. Ive been that close to ending it. Just cut a little deeper i say to myself. Go on, you know how, just do it. But alas! im still here, still fighting. I cant believe that my psychologist (M) did not take my request seriously.. or she didnt realise i was desperate.. or she doesnt care.. or she just hates me?? Anyway, the point was, Ive been desperate for some support since Wednesday, after she cancelled monday on me! I plucked up the courage to txt her on Thurs asking for an appt asap, to which she replied the next day with an abrupt – ‘tues 10:30. M‘. How pleasant is that?? And the thing is, Thursday I was oh so suicidal, that a friend rang the hospitals emergency psych services on me. Not being a fan of talking to new people, or wanting to cause havock, i told them i was fine. Whatever. The lady who called me said she would ring M and let her know they had been in touch with me regarding this issue. Gosh! I feel like M will hate me now, think im being silly. I know she wont… technically.. but the thoughts still there, nagging away at my core – piercing my conscience for even having these bad thoughts! So after all of that drama, i get this very short and sharp txt from M, giving me an appt for tuesday… TUESDAY!!! How on earth am i going to survive till then??? It makes me wonder if she even WAS told about my situation, because one other time i txt her in panic about a cut that was rather deep and i didnt know what to do, and she rang me immediately and had me rush in to see her. It wasnt even that dire, in comparison. So im left waiting till tuesday, feeling rejected and lonely, contemplating suicide every minute that goes by, and cutting to relieve this incredible pain.
HOW WILL I LAST!!??
Just two more days.. #sigh.

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