“Normal”

I don’t know what normality is but I suspect it’s not my life.

I’ve had enough, I just want and need it to stop now.

Pissed off

The crisis team were specifically told to take control of my medication which included the migraleve. They were told to allow me 10 a day, 6 in the morning and 4 at night. I have this in writing. I was there when my social worker told them this.

So the stupid woman who just came refused to do so. She said she wasn’t going to give me something to overdose on. I totally understand where she is coming from but I can’t do without them. Stopping me from self harming will not help me. All it has achieved is to make me panic. Luckily I have found 4 in my bag but it is not the fucking point. This is exactly why I said I don’t talk to them.

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Crisis

This day had to come, I couldn’t go in on the way that I have been.

I saw my shrink and social worker this morning and…well it just seemed to all come tumbling out. I admitted that the suicidal feelings are stronger than when I saw her a month ago. I admitted that the self harm has increased and that I haven’t managed to stop abusing the warfarin. I told them that I just want it to stop, for it to be over; that I am just too tired. I explained that I hadn’t told my warfarin nurse why my INR is too high and that my GP surgery don’t seem to have paid any attention to the letter she wrote them after the last appt. My Care Coordinator was late to the meeting as the crisis team had called her as I arrived to report that they had been unable to get hold of me since saturday. She was obviously less than pleased to hear this but more concerned than anything. I explained that I felt unable to be honest with them so didn’t see the point in talking to them.

She gave me 2 choices – admission or home to my parents. Neither of them are options in my head. We have agreed on a compromise. I am back with the crisis team but stepped up a gear. I agreed to hand over all my meds and they will come here twice a day to give them to me. I also agreed to hand over my excess warfarin. In addition, the agreement is that I will reduce the paracetamol to 10 a day. It feels weird, as if it goes against everything they stand for, but she told them to give me 6 in the morning and 4 at night. Shrink is also going to write to my GP again and copy in my warfarin nurse who I have to see next week. The reality of my situation is that if things don’t improve or I can’t get a handle on the self harm soon, an admission is inevitable. It’s the last thing I want for so many reasons, not least because my family would kill me. I have managed 7 1/2 years without one, I don’t want to go there again. A lovely guy I know from the crisis team told both me and my care coordinator on the phone earlier that if they can’t get hold of me, they will call the police. I know I have to comply. I never meant to be difficult, I never wanted to make life hard for anyone.

Crisis team have just been round, the guy seemed sweet. I gave them everything (well except my stash, there’s no way that I’m letting that go). They have left me with my quetiapine, warfarin and pizotifen for tonight along with 2 diazepam. I have just realised they have left me with my paracetamol (I think I have about 30). Ah well, I’m sure they’ll realise their mistake tomorrow. Anyway, as my social worker said, I’ll buy more if I really want to.

I can’t stop crying now. Reality seems to have hit and fuck, it hurts. Not helped by being completely alone. There is no one to call.

Confused

Ok so first of all, I should confess to being a little tipsy.

However, this doesn’t change my feelings.

Last night I watched a TV programme with a funeral and I honestly sat there and thought “my parents and sisters would have nothing good to say about me at my funeral”. Then I go out tonight with a someone who recently has become a very close friend. I have known her since school and thanks to Facebook we “found” each other again in 2007. We have been friends since then but have become (in my mind) a lot closer over the last few months. I love her to pieces and I constantly feel incredibly guilty for the time I spent talking to her about my despression/self harm/suicidal feelings etc. That is my problem, nothing to do with her per se.

Talking to her makes me hesitate in terms of what I am doing (the paracetamol abuse, the warfarin abuse etc.). I don’t want to hurt anyone even though I can accept that my death would do just that. For some reason I worry more about hurting her than anyone else. Today we chatted vaguely about it. She told me she’d be fucking angry if I were to kill myself. God I hate people saying things like that, it makes everything so much harder.

Today has not been a good day. I was due to see my social worker. I saw her number flash up on my phone around 11am. I didn’t pick up, I knew she was calling to cancel. That was exactly what her voicemail said. It’s not her fault, it doesn’t stop me being angry/hurt/sad/frustrated. I realised today that she reminds me of my first therapist. Like her, she is constantly late, frequently cancels appointments and manages to get me to agree to do things by smiling and saying please. I also ignored a call from the Crisis Team last night. I can’t be honest with them so there is no point in talking to them.

Thanks to being unable to say no to my social worker, I have an INR test tomorrow morning. I am panicking about it. My warfarin nurse is lovely and I don’t want to have to explain the situation to her. Knowing my luck, my INR won’t even be elevated.

Fuck, my head is in a mess. I should get some sleep

Still scared

She’s lovely, she’s always lovely. It doesn’t help. I was as honest as I could be. She is going to refer me to Urgent Care/Crisis team again – how much of a failure and a burden does that make me feel? That won’t change no matter what anyone says.

I am supposed to speak to occy health about not increasing my hours anymore. I’m now terrified of what my manager is going to say about that. I also agreed to be honest with my therapist when I see him tomorrow. He may already know as he works for urgent care. It depends on whether she actually made the referral today. She was going to ask them to call me tonight. It’s 21.40 and no call. I suspect the call won’t come. Either that or they’ll call late. It’s too late anyway, I went ahead and self harmed. Once again I am angry at myself for not being able to do more damage. Anger that the cuts aren’t deeper, that there aren’t more of them, that despite me taking too much warfarin, they aren’t bleeding more than usual.

Dad is having problems getting a new mortgage deal for the flat and the current one ends in January. This is my fault as we had fully expected me to be in full time work and for us to be able to apply for a joint mortgage. That obviously didn’t happen and now it’s all a bit fucked up. Just another thing to feel guilty about. How can I not increase my hours when we’re in this situation.

How can I be back with Urgent Care less than just 6 months after being discharged from them?

Scared

So I saw my social worker on Wednesday and left feeling as it had been a complete waste of time. On Thursday I wrote her a note explaining how things really are, whether or not she already knew, I’m not sure. Anyways she rang me on Friday saying she’d like to see me on Monday (tomorrow). So we have an appt at 3pm. If I’m honest, I am terrified. I know that I need help, that knowledge doesn’t take the fear away though.

People keep telling me that I’m not as “bad” as I have been in the past. It doesn’t feel that way to me. It feels worse but in a different way. I want to fall apart, I just don’t feel able to. Maybe falling apart is the only way forwards. Who knows.