Thursday, August 31, 2006

Day 11

Black, yellow, green. Yellow, green, black. Black, blue, purple, orange, gelb. Dear lord my life has become a swirly display stand for stickers. I think I might re-name this blog the “Doom Blog”. “The Blog of Dooooom”. “Angst Blog” is another option or “Trauma Blog”. “Self Obsessed Blog”. “Pitty Blog”. “Supid Blog”. “What’s-The-Point? Blog”.

Love it.

Today I bought arm warmers to cover my scars. That was weird. When I first self harmed I didn’t think enough about it to be bothered to cover them up. Apart from when I saw my Gran. I would however spend time thinking what I would say when someone asked me. “I had a fight with my depression” was the closest I came to a witty response - giving just enough information to answer the question and hopefully ending the conversation. Needless to say everyone keeps their gob shut about them and no-one has ever asked me about them - apart from a shop assistant in Neal’s Yard and a bloke that works with a mate of mine. Both times you could have knocked me down with a haphazardly placed band-aid; I had become used to the ‘people not mentioning it’ thing. The former concluded for herself, when I tried to splutter out a response, that they were burns, the latter – I said. “Oh, just burns”. I didn’t realize I would have such trouble telling people what they were. I am trying to battle the social stigma here. Or at least I thought I was. So today, I got the stripy cover-all’s.

I don’t know any adults that self-harm – I thought it was just teenage Goth’s that did it. There’s also bugger all information about it on the world-wide-web or through any of my clinics, surgeries or psychiatric offices. Apparently along with anorexia – it’s just a kid’s thing. Adults are far too old and sensible to do anything so silly or dramatic. The websites and chat rooms that I have found are all a bit self-gratifying for my taste and all a bit “I was like soooo depressed” – “tell me what you do” – “ I collect my own blood afterwards and smell it later”. Seriously.

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Day 10

Boris 2 released to the wild this morning. And I self harmed. Once again the clever dumb balance is restored. On my way to meet with my new NHS psychologist.

Day 9.1

What is it with this flat and bloody giant spiders? Honestly. Boris 2 has now entered the spider catching jar and awaits his release in the morning. He's even bigger than Boris 1. Maybe this whole seeing creepy things out of the corner of my eyes has bugger all to do with psychosis...

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Day 9

I went outside the house today. Imagine my surprise. One minute I was pissing and moaning (to myself) about getting dressed, up and out - the next I was on my old friend the number 5 bus, heading straight towards town. This was however, all after I accidentally swallowed some mouthwash and thought I was going to die. I had visions of having to drink litres of milk and crawling to the local hospital to have my stomach pumped. Then I remembered that that was what you do when you swallow vast quantities of bleach. However, if I suddenly vanish and the CID are now scouring my hard drive for reasons why I was found crumpled on the floor looking a bit blue around the gills – Mr. CID man, I swallowed some mouthwash - the bottle is on the side of the bath.

Duties for today include: Sending off more forms for stupid loan insurance. Trying to get the stupid bank to give me back the money it has still stolen, and chase the Housing Benefits office.

Who said being a bit bendy in the head wasn’t fun? Oh yes, that was me.

P.S I haven’t decreased my medication further yet for I am too chicken.

Day 8.2

Flashdance is on BBC1 - things are looking up.

Day 8.1

Tonight has been slightly more productive and I have actually managed to stay awake throughout the entire evening and make myself something to eat. Thoughts however have been wandering to the men in my life. Old and new, I find myself flicking through the list like an invisible rolodex, trying to find one that could possibly fit into my life now.

Why do I feel the need to have someone in my life, a partner, someone that when I find them, my life will begin? It has taken me all my adult life to get to this point. The point where I have finally recognised that I believe I need to part of a couple to begin my life. The thought of having my own life, on my own without a man, terrifies me.

I relive relationships past and remember the desparation of making all of them work – regardless of our incompatability or unsuitability. Throwing myself into each and every relationship thinking “this has got to be the one”. The past two relationships I have been in, I had my doubts about early on - but I chose to ignore those doubts and fling myself into being a couple with an almost maddening voracity. The last relationship I remember being in where I fell head over heels ‘naturally’ was when I was at college, during my second year. There was no doubt in my mind initially. None whatsoever. The doubts only crept in when I could feel things changing from his perspective – I could feel him beginning to leave and I became as clingy as a limpet. Constantly questioning and needing answers, trying to define things, bolt them down so that my faith, hopes and ambitions could be restored. He did leave in the end and I was devastated - I was also right. After the initial shock was over and I returned to my flat after a break at home, I was so desperate not to let him go, not to let him leave me. I would phone him and beg him to change his mind, a hideous memory and behaviour that now makes me squirm when I think of it. He was steadfast in his decision and eventually got people to lie and say he wasn’t home when I called; eventually as time passed I got over him. I think something had changed within me after that relatinship started to end. Although it was a mutual decision that we split up I remember him leaving me, not as a decision that we came to together, which is how it actually happened.

The next relationship I was in was very full on and ended bitterly with me fleeing our shared home in the middle of the night - literally terrified for my life. I never went back. This was the first relationship that I remember beginning with doubts about our compatability. The next and last relationship I was in began in a similar way. I was hesitant; one minute it was all on, the next it was all off and then suddenly we were living together. How did that happen? Reflecting on this now I don’t know if this uncertainty was a self defense mechanism or if we were fundamentally wrong for each other from the start?

Now the men in my life are friends and family only. I have contacted an old friend from college recently that I hadn’t spoken to in years, but my contact with him makes me very paranoid. We have seen each other twice since my coming home in March and both times I felt he was only meeting me out of some kind of obligation. I sent him a text recently to ask if he wants to meet up again and have had no reply in 3 days. This makes my paranoid thinking rise to unacceptable levels. This now happens when I don’t hear back from people immediately. After 24 hours of my initial contact and I haven’t heard anything I have convinced myself that they hate me and that is why they haven’t been in touch. This is true for everyone I know males and females alike, including people I have known for years and family members. I have convinced myself over the past year that everyone I know hates me and that they are only humouring me by spending time with me. Thoughts like this are heightened on bad days. I don’t believe people when they tell me that they love me or enjoy spending time with me. I think they just feel sorry for me and I am one of those ‘friends’ that people have that they spend time with and then bitch about to all and sundry afterwards, saying what an annoying, moaning, complaining person I am.

I am adamant that I don’t want another relationship where I become dependant on that person to give me a life. But I don’t know how to do that. Yet. This painstaking unraveling has made things a bit clearer. Perhaps my original focus on failed relationships isn’t actually the cause of the problems I have now, but my fear of being alone is.

Monday, August 28, 2006

Day 8

Today was not a good day. I slept until 10am, was up for about 20 minutes and then went back to bed. I just couldn’t face the day. I’ve been up for about 5 hours now and it’s been a struggle to say the least. On days like today being alone becomes very apparent. Who is here beside me holding my hand through all of this? Oh, nobody.

Daily phone calls from my mama, four/five times a day, fill in the gaps, but today she was busy and I didn’t have the energy to pick up the phone to her to ask for help. I’ve never been too good at admitting defeat, or asking for help for that matter. Needless to say she phoned me about 5.30pm wondering how things were going - following my silence - and talked me into a minor state of normality.

Smelling like a polecat after two days imbedded in the house, I head for the bath and a clean set of clothes. Clutching a Diazepam.

Sunday, August 27, 2006

Day 7

My biggest challenge today was taking out the rubbish. Oh and releasing ‘Boris’ back into the wild. Boris was a huge, and I mean huge, house spider than I found in my bathroom late Friday night. He was annoyingly sitting halfway between floorboards and wall in my bathroom - taunting me with his big black hairy legs and giant body. His positioning made it rather difficult to catch him in the prerequisite spider catching jar that I have for such emergencies. Gone are the men in my life that are useful at such times, mind you the last one was agoraphobic – oops Freudian slip, the last one had arachnophobia so I had to do all the manly bug catching myself. To cut a long story shorter, I finally got the slippery little fucker into a jar and got the lid on before he ran all over the ship. He was super fast, which was rather alarming considering his terrifying size. I kept him in the jar overnight with the promise that I would set him free outside the next day (I was very late after all). The next day however, when I was trying to set him free, the dopey creature had webbed himself a cocoon inside the jar and after 30 minutes of trying to shake him free out of my second storey window he remained in the jar.

Today we ventured down to the garden together and with the aid of a long stick – he eventually took the hint and hit the dirt. My job was done. This saintly act did however leave me feeling that I had bugs crawling all over me and kept seeing bugs out the corner of my eyes all afternoon. Shudder. The closest sighting being on my sleeve, until I realised that it was indeed a giant bug, and I actually had a huge beetle on the arm of my jumper. Christ. (Sorry God, I know it’s Sunday). Out came the newly vacated spider catching jar and I began round two of saintly acts for the day - setting free a giant beetle. I need a medal – and a Diazepam.

This morning after hauling myself out of my pit to answer my daily morning wake up call from my mama, I hauled myself back under the covers with a giant bowl of cornflakes and my latest novel and after a few chapters slept 'till well after noon. Reading is new development in trying to get my brain to function normally. When I was first unwell I couldn’t concentrate on anything with any substance, rather frustrating for someone who used to read textbooks voraciously. My daily adventures with "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" began, followed by films such as “Mean Girls”. Gone was my penchant for subtitled films – there was simply no room left in my head. Goldfish status reigned supreme until very recently when I began reading again. Danielle Steele was about as deep as I could go for a long time, but now I have ventured onto Josephine Cox. Sometimes I wonder if this is a little more traumatic reading than a Valerie Walkerdine analysis of the use of adolescents in advertising or Naomi Wolf on “Promiscuities”, as all it does is remind me that I’m lonely and that good loving’ only happens to people in the 1950’s that work in corner shops with their mother. I have however, ventured into broadening my reading ‘repertoire’ during recent trip to my local library where I took out a copy of “Depression For Dummies”.

Memory is also something that went the way of all flesh when all this started – and now I have forgotten to have my dinner. Must remember to eat. And not catch bugs for the next few days…

Today was almost positively green.

Saturday, August 26, 2006

Day 6.2

Today the black sticker of doom has been circling my head like a vulture.

Day 6.1

This whole sorting out your head business is like modifying an antique, hand embroidered tapestry that took years to make; one possibly started by your mother or grandmother for your hope chest. You don’t want to unravel too much, too fast incase it all comes apart too quickly, but you also want to be able to take out the parts that you don’t like without destroying the beauty of what is already there. It involves painstaking control, trying not to get ahead of yourself and taking away too much – remembering to leave the parts that although you might not like too much now, you might find you miss later if you remove them.

About two weeks ago I realized that none of the external people involved in my case were going to give me the answers I needed to get well again. The people I am involved with, my GP’s, my Psychiatrist, my CPN – they are all there to hold me in place, to stop me from going backwards, trying to adjust my medication levels, add in new ones and take away ones we don’t need anymore - all to keep me from self harming and the obvious one, killing myself. I am considered ‘at risk’ and more than a little untrustworthy when it comes to looking after my life.

In my mind, I can’t understand why, if I am taking all these drugs, am I still self-harming, still deep in this depression and still wanting not to be here? The side effect of the massive weight gain that started last year when I initially began taking the drugs, (it piled on faster than rugby players in a scrum – on average about 7lbs a week) combined with the previously mentioned daily 'adversaries' lead me to the conclusion that maybe all these drugs weren’t working for me and maybe they were holding me back - and as some cynics might say, making all of this a little bit worse. Ultimately, the medication and the routine visits keep me stuck in the same place, permanently. No moving forward. No passing go and no collecting £200. My concoction of drugs, for someone who has never taken any long-term medication other the than the oral contraceptive pill, freaks me out and I have begun to resent taking them. A lot.

Up until a few weeks ago I was taking the following: 60mg Citalopram, 20mg Olanzapine, 10mg Diazepam and 7.5mg Zopiclone – daily. The Citalopram is the anti depressant - an elective serotonin re-uptake inhibitor (SSRI); Citalopram is used to treat depression and is also useful in treating people suffering from panic attacks. Olanzapine is the antipsychotic and is used to treat schitzophrenics; Olanzapine is effective in helping symptoms such as hearing voices, loss of energy, thought disturbances, difficulties communicating with others, worry, depression and overcoming feelings of wanting to be alone as well as other symptoms of schizophrenia. Diazepam is part of a group of medicines called benzodiazepines. Diazepam works by affecting activity in the part of the brain that controls emotion and also by relaxing muscles. Zopiclone belongs to a group of medicines called hypnotics. Zopiclone decreases the time taken to fall asleep and increases the length of time spent sleeping (www.patient.co.uk). Previously to this final combination - I was on Seroxat and Prozac.

With guarded consent, my psychiatrist agreed that I could start to wean myself off my medication. He would however like to move me onto a tricyclic anti depressant called Lofepramine as he feels I should be taking some form of medication. We have agreed that we will hold the Lofepramine as a back up - if all this taking things into my own hands goes tits up.

Two weeks ago I came off the antipsychotic, last week I halved my intake of my anti depressant, and this week I should be halving the dosage of Citalopram again. In a weeks time I should be free of antidepressants and antipsychotics. I still have my sleeping tablets daily because sleeping is now a huge problem for me - a surreal blow for someone who could previously have slept on the head of a pin; and good old Diazepam when things get a little bendy. The latter are the two bad boys that are hardest to come off from. I can understand why. Prescriptions of Zopiclone are only supposed to be administered for 28 days in any 6 months one GP has told me. I have had them most nights for the past year. I am dreading coming off them as without sleep I feel like I am dying. Without them I get a couple of hours sleep at best. With them I get about 5 hours – on a good night.

Bring it on I say. Oh, I changed my mind...

Day 6

It’s funny how you see yourself through someone else’s eyes, without them saying a word. Ultimately un-loveable, unbalanced, covered with self inflicted scars and monthly prescription charges an addict would be proud of. I wouldn’t touch me with a barge pole.

Since all this happened a year ago I have been on my own. Well, near enough a year now – the alone bit happened a year past in October when my partner extracted himself from our home, although our relationship had been over long before that ever happened, apparently. So, this is the first time in my adult life that I have been alone for any great length of time, but not the first time I have been lonely. In relationships, out of relationships, I have always felt lonely. It’s a horrible feeling and one that I now think comes from not having a clue about who I am, and ultimately being scared of life. My life and all its possibilities.

Mentally my head is filled with daily rhythms of manic-ness, that I dip in and out of at the flick of an uncontrollable switch; thoughts come from nowhere and collide with thoughts that are permanently there, yelling in my ears. I constantly see things moving out of the corners of my eyes and even dull noises become a repetitive roar in my head. I am so bloated with the side effects of my medication, I no longer recognize myself in the mirror, and hate what I see. How did I get so far away from the person I once knew?

All I remember is waking up one morning and thinking, “I can’t.” And that was it, my insides were outside and I was terrified. I spend a lot of my time being terrified. Everything is a build up to some kind of semblance of a daily routine. Talking myself through the motions as I go, convincing myself to keep moving forward, almost never daring to stop. I think if I stop it will all fall in on me and there will be nothing left, so I just hold on tight, all day every day. Holding tightly to my life, my head, my mind and my body. These things make me want to vanish, just to disappear like vapour, without being missed. I am so tired of it all at times; it makes me want to go to sleep and never wake up. It makes me want to give up trying so damn hard to get better because I don’t know what I am getting better for. I don’t even know who this is.

Friday, August 25, 2006

Day 5.2

I just ate the tomato. If I am dead by the time of next posting, that is why. It was quite nice actually, although it did make my tongue nip a bit.

Day 5.1

Note to self: Day 4 was a yellow/green sticker day and i think today (Day 5) shall be the same.

Day 5

Do you know how difficult it is to carry a strawberry flavoured, perfectly frosted, cupcake through town in a wee brown paper bag? Well, I shall tell you. It is very difficult, very difficult indeed. I nearly had to yell out, “watch my cupcake” at several people who obviously missed the ‘personal space’ class when they were at school. Instead I resorted to the ‘don’t mess with my cupcake’ glare. Needless to say my cupcake and I are now both safely home. And cakey is only slightly rumpled.

I had my second dose of counseling this morning, and I rocked. Yes I did. Since writing this old bloggo I have been thinking maybe I should give it a bit of background. Maybe I should put the whole thing in context, as to date I don’t believe I have. But after my chat with lovely counselor lady today I don’t think I’ll bother. Unless of course I change my mind and then I will. Which I think I might just be about to…no I’m not. Dear God, make up your mind. I can’t tell which voice I should be listening to today.

Anyway, so said appointment went very well, and to quote the ultimate lady of daytime television – Oprah, I totally had an “a-ha! moment”. For years I have talked through my previous life with counselors. By previous life, I mean the life I had pre “breakdown” last year – not previous life as in reincarnation - although if pushed to question the latter, I think I might have been a servant in an old manor house somewhere in the bleak countryside in the late 1800’s. I perhaps think I would have been one of those really innocent looking characters who’s harsh, swarthy but actually a bit handsome employer takes advantage of in the scullery when one was washing through some smalls…Back to the topic in hand - for years and years, same old same old, over and over again. Never getting any further with it all, never moving on and never understanding why past stuff could make my head fall apart because I personally couldn’t see the connection. But not anymore. There is a new development and a whole new slant on the whole proceedings. We might actually mean I’m getting somewhere at last. Hurrah.

Today I have also reversed my opinions of reading star signs. As today mine reads “You might get temporarily depressed”. I think that is quite accurate.

I have also decided to attach a “Currently Listening To…” section into my blog. Probably for today only. Primarily because I think it is the wankiest thing anyone can attach to their MSN icon, email or anything else for that matter and I would like to take the piss out of it. I think people (must be the same people that annoyed me yesterday – they’re obviously everywhere) only do it to prove they listen to cool music. In fact I think they just lie about what they’re listening to so other people feel intimidated by their oblivious superiority.

I am Currently listening to: heat radio, non-stop, mellow heat tracks – apparently they’re playing my tunes at my rhythm. I love that. I have just enjoyed listening to Whole Again by Atomic Kitten rather immensely. Now KT Tunstall is bopping around wondering why “it means so much to me” and she thinks she could be a “tower”, “a big strong tower”, so I think that’s quite nice. For her. Is she a lesbian?

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Day 4

1 - People should still hide their money in between the straw in their mattresses instead of using stupid banks that apply £38.00 monthly service charges to their accounts for doing bugger all.

2 - Everyone should join a library.

3 - People should remind mentally ill and very forgetful people when their sick lines are about to run out - instead of just expecting people who cannot remember their own name half the time, to remember themselves. The afore mentioned people should not just stop their Incapacity Benefit in the meantime.

4 - People on Incapacity Benefit should get free prescriptions for all the medication that they need to take to get better so they can get back to work.

5 – People should still live in crofts and live off the land.

One day I am going to have a croft in the highlands with a big ‘ole porch. I shall stand on the doorstep and wave a rife menacingly at nosey people who may stumble across my remote smallholding and shout, “Get off my land” at them. I might even set the dogs on them.

Day 3.1

Everything shifted tonight after about 7pm and my heart began to sink. By this point it’s midnight and I have been moving in a slow motion, car crash kind of fashion toward a black sticker all evening. I resisted taking Diazepam as I am trying to ‘feel the burn’ at the moment. Well, when I am brave enough that is. This may sound backward, but after a year of medicated numbness, sometimes it does your soul good to feel the pain - the panic rising in your chest and fear gripping your bones from every angle. The trick is not to let it go too far; the point at which you start gripping your head as the silence in your ears becomes deafening and you begin bobbing up and down in some kind of weird melodic dance that is somehow trying to help you make sense of the waves of terror that begin to engulf you. This ironically is the point at which I should call one of the emergency numbers I have taped to my wall, but talking to someone let alone asking for help is as close to reality as me eating that newly red tomato.

Unsurprisingly my fingers are itching to scratch at my hands and my face and I am as twitchy as a junkie needing a hit. The latest 'self-harm distraction concept' is wearing glued on acrylic nails that place a small physical barrier between my skin and my own fidgeting nails beneath. The need to pull them off and scratch is huge. The 'elastic band round the wrist' trick that I have been advised to try has yet to work. Snapping rubber against your skin when all you want to do is scratch your skin off is the last thing on your mind as you have to remember a) that you are wearing an elastic band and b) that you are supposed to snap it against your skin - hard.

At the moment the disjointed tappety-tap of the keyboard is keeping me distracted until my sleeping tablets kick in. Which should hopefully be in about five minutes as I have the cloying chemical taste at the back of my throat and my coordination is going all off kilter suggesting the big boys are in my system. I hate nighttime. I hate knowing that I’m going to have about 4-5 hours of interrupted sleep and spend most of my time in bed wishing it was time to get up through heavily medicated, brain stem severing, incoordination.

NowI canmake no sense ofwhat i am wrinting so i will stop. Velvety black hole of darkness here i come, move aside creepy black dot of doom.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Day 3

Proper pooped I am today. Crawled out of bed this morning and slithered across the bedroom floor to the kitchen before I could stand up - without opening my eyes. Prepared as ever for another day of fighting the system. Today’s battle was getting the bank to give me back the money it stole from me. Yes it did (steal it) and it still hasn’t given it back. Plus visiting the Housing Benefit office in town to remind them that yes, I was still alive and yes, I would still like the housing benefit that I am due, backdated to six months earlier.

One plus side is that I got a bus pass. It has a lovely, flapping in the wind saltire on it and you can only get one if you are ancient or a bit wonky in the head department. As I am of course the latter, I get one. Yippee, free bus for me. Plus you get a free companion pass for someone traveling with you. Which is good although I might have to clamp down and give them companionly duties to do as those so far have just been bumming along for the free ride. I might have to get them to hold my arm in a reassuring fashion or something. As long as they don’t touch me, because I don’t like people touching me. Joking aside it is pretty damn good as I have been housebound for the last age due to lack of funds, not to mention the addition of deciding that I didn’t like anyone outside my flat. So free travel is pretty liberating. I just have to get used to the other people side of things.

I also saw a woman on the bus today with the same haircut as me. My dodgy ‘Hoxton fin’ is back, although I like to think it has a Scottish slant due to my recent relocation north of the border. She must have bought the same cheapo hair clippers (money saving device for avoiding expensive haircuts) from Argos too. Big up yer bad self I though as she was about 100.

Today has so far been a yellow/green sticker day as my sister is visiting and I love her.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Day 2

Today, today, today. I nearly didn’t write anything today because today all this (blogging) seems incredibly self-indulgent. I just saw a really old man - he must have been at least 80, shuffling down the street holding his privates. Hiding them from the gawping eyes of all on the number 5 bus that I was on as we sped past. He was absolutely stark naked apart from a tattered old button-less coat, flapping at his sides and shoes that didn’t lace up. One old lady on the bus said “Oh he shouldn’t be out on his own”. No kidding. He was heading somewhat speedily towards the local hospital with what looked like a companion in tow. At least I remembered to get dressed this morning and my pants weren’t over the top of my trousers.

I doubt very much that the man I saw today has a computer and even less that it would enter his head to write down how come he managed to find himself walking down the street buck naked in a crumbly coat and shoes. It makes me feel like a fraud. Then I look down at my own hands and arms and see the recent scars that I have created all over them and try to remember that there is actually something wrong with my head. For now anyway. Ever since my diagnosis – “severe depression and adjustment anxiety” - I have been begging people to give me permission to be ill. Begging anyone to convince me that I do have an illness. I still try to get my psychiatrist to write me a letter saying “Dear so and so, you are ill – you need time to get better. I give you the permission to say you have mental health problems” but he won’t. I just have to accept what he tells me he says. Slightly difficult when you think everyone around you is lying to you constantly. My Psychiatric Nurse reminds me on a weekly basis “If you could choose to be like this would you?”. Big fat no is the answer to that. It would be easier if I was covered with spots and when the spots fade you are all better – however long that takes. A bit like having measles I suppose. Right now what I go on is how long I can go without self-harming. And how many days I can keep my hands from picking at the scabs and scars that are slowly healing.

Today is yet another yellow sticker day, although after my meeting with my Welfare Rights Officer it was nearly a black sticker day. I shall briefly explain the sticker system. Every day gets a sticker; it’s a bit like being back at wee school and getting stickers for your daily efforts. A black sticker = very bad, yellow = passable/ok and green = good/very good, all relatively speaking. I think it’s a genius concept that I made up all by myself. It helps me to ‘grade’ how I have been for the week, because usually I can’t remember and think it was all crap. Anyway, so I went to visit a local Welfare Officer in Castlemilk. It’s hilarious really. It all started when I was signed off sick way back in March and I made a phone call to the local job centre to ask if I would be entitled to any help financially. For the next two months I filled out form after form after form and was made to feel like a fraudster at every step. Months later I am getting some financial help but not all I am entitled to “apparently”. Makes you wonder why one works all those years and gives god-knows-who all those National Insurance contributions. So we (the Welfare Officer and I) filled out some more forms and now I have to wait a month or so to find out the result of yet another application. Makes you think you should just keep your mouth shut about having any sort of illness and just blunder along trying to keep working. Listing how difficult it is to get out of bed, never mind get dressed is most days and how terrified I get on leaving my flat, how many times I self harm in a week, when I think about topping myself and how I avoid contact with all but a few select people made me feel ever so slightly traumatised. Remember the old naked man I say. At least I have my clothes on.

Monday, August 21, 2006

Day 1

This is me, yes it is. There was supposed to be an interestingly smiley picture of me in here, from a rare smiley day yesterday - but this stupid blog thing wouldn't upload the stupid image.

I have "mental health problems" and take so many tablets I rattle, which is quite interesting. As this (illness) is never going to happen to me ever again (it better not) I have decided to share, share, share - and here is the start of my blog all about it, and my hopefully, imminent recovery. It might all be a bit hysterical, but something to show the children at least - beg the thought. Unless I press the wrong thing on day 98 and delete the whole bloody thing.

Today is a yellow sticker day so I am at functioning level. Which is always nice. Plus my lonesome tomato is starting to turn red on my stalky stem of a plant - therefore all is well with the world. Although it has taken about three months for the green thing to go red, so now I am too scared to eat it. My strawberries (on a different plant) went red almost overnight and that seems a little more normal so I ate them quick sharp. Who knows what fate shall befall the tomato…

I buried a bird yesterday. It was tiny, a little chick I suspect. It was probably one of the stupid cats in the close that ate it half dead and left it at the bottom of the stairwell. Anyway I have such a morbid fascination with dead things, I really had to restrain myself from taking its photo. Instead I buried it under a stone. Stupid cat will probably dig it up anyway and leave it on my doormat to get his revenge anyway.

Now if I’d done that taxidermy course I could have had it mounted beside Byron. He’s my pet stuffed rook that sits on my mantelpiece.