Sunday, September 24, 2006

Day 35

I need to update this dear old Blog of mine as my posting has fallen by the wayside, along with my ability to cope with the daily grind. (Here we go again.) The monotony of the cycles that this illness falls into, drive me to distraction. Thank God I never re-read these posts. One day however, when 'this' is all done and dusted I shall probably sit down with a large dram and read over this sorry state of affairs and see the clear patterns that present themselves and think it all rather obvious, unnecessary and unbearably cringe-worthy.

I am writing this from the 'comfort' of my parents study - yes, I have retreated here again and have unearthed the archaic PC to scribe over the last few days.

Thursday (Day 32) was a write off of gigantic proportions. I started the day full of great intentions but failed quite fabulously at the lowliest of tasks. Wednesday evening I had been out with friends - aided and abetted by my trusty sidekick Mr. Diazepam. Social occasions always leave me flatter than road kill by the end of the evening as my 'public face' requires some stellar amount of energy to keep up. I also feel a little morose when everyone pairs and picks up with their other halves and head for home, while I face the solitary journey southside in the back of a black cab...

So Wednesday night hailed the beginning of taking the Lofepramene which I swallowed very willingly, roughly 3 seconds after entering my flat and dragged myself off to bed. I had a fitful night sleep where I imagined that the pill I had swallowed a few hours earlier, was indeed going to kill me and no-one would be able to get to me in time to revive me from my near death experience. This always happens when I take mediaction for the first time. Around 4.30am I finally fell into a deeper sleep, and awoke feeling like I had been run over by a large truck. The rest of the days' emotions are out lined in the previous two posts, (32 and 32.1) but what I failed to reveal was that I called my mum and begged her to come and save me through a full on panic attack on the afternoon of Day 32. I had again found my own breathing too much to fathom and found myself in yet another spiral of deep despair. I wanted to end it all and was so scared that I would do 'it' unconsciously that I needed someone with me to keep a watchful eye. 'Suicide watch' I believe they call it in prisons.

Mum made me swallow some Diazepam while she was on the phone and she stayed with me until the terror subsided and made way for the unbearable need for sleep. We've been here so many times now. She knows the routine off by heart while I can never remember how to reverse out of the situation. Needless to say, after trying to keep typing the previous post to keep my doom infested mind from going past the point of no return, I hesitantly made my now deathly slow move into the bedroom and to bed. These post panic sleeps that follow a particularly bad attack seem like you are closing your eyes forever - they are quite magical in their own way as they are encased in submission. Submission to the old beast within and all that he can do to you.

Mum arrived around 9pm that night after literally jumping into the car and heading 3 hours down the road towards me after she put down the phone. It was all she could do as my main 'anchor' when she is not around was out of town. I guess that's all you can do as a mother when your child, (albeit a 29 year old child) is hysterical and screaming down the phone that she feels like she is going to die, that she doesn't know what to do to make it all stop and that she is scared out of her mind.

Now that I have a bit of distance from the whole proceedings I can look back at myself that night and realise how unbelievably slow I was when she arrived and often am when the big bastard comes to get me. Slow in mobility, speech and brain function, my tongue always feels too big for my mouth and all my words come out in the wrong order. My eyelids hesitate over my eyeballs with every blink and my eyes roam unfocused over the subject in front of me. Mum just gives me a warm drink and gets me into bed.

Friday (Day 33) I had counselling which was no mean feat to get to in the waves of the aftermath of Thursday. Mum had her car with her so made transportation a little easier. When we finally got to my appointment she had to help me up the front steps and into the building. She waited in the adjacent room while I spoke to The Friday Lady. Hilarious it must have seemed to anyone observing, if they did not see what had preceded this dramatic change to my personage. The Friday Lady offered me a blanket and some pillows if I just wanted to ile on the couch for the duration of the session, but instead I stuttered and stumbled my way - in a painfully slow manner through the events that had led me to this point. We cut the appointment short as I couldn't continue to talk and my mum and I made our way slowly back to her house in the highlands.

And so this is where I am, and have been for the last 2 days, also where I shall probably remain for the remainder of the week, until my next therapy appointment on Friday.

My mood has elevated past the below zero point on the doom scale over the last two-and-a-bit days, notching up by tiny increments. Thank heavens for small mercies. Who knows whether this improvement is to do with the tiny doses of Lofep. that are building up in my system, the psychosomatic element of swallowing a tablet that people promise will make you feel better or being under the wing of my amazing mama? It is bizarre that after the fall, when you are climbing back out of your pit, the more fragile you feel. My insecurities about actually being ill come back with full force and I spend much of my time questioning my mother about whether she thought I was ill enough to have her come fetch me or if I am ill enough to be taking the all powerful meds. It's an incredibly unstable time and one that requires a magnitude of reassurance from all those around me. All I want to do is drown myself in the folds of a magician's cloak and retreat into the bosom of the under world.


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