This time last year, I genuinely feared that my son hated me. One year on and I have a total anaconda on my hands!
Teeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!; I hear bellowing relentlessly around the house. I hope he always calls me Tee.
He clutches to my leg and wraps himself around me, he demands that only I take him for his pee pees and ony I will do at bedtime. There is no doubt that he loves me, no doubt that he sees me as his protector and play mate, but oh my word; it’s exhausting!!!!
I assume this clingy phase will pass.
We don’t sleep together much, OH and I. It’s a combination of his low libido and my new found depression induced self hatred and lack of confidence.
I bring it up occasionally, and last Thursday night during pillow talk, I suggested that tonight (saturday) we’d have some scheduled sexy time. The only caveat was that he must make the moves. He agreed.
Tonight we’ve gone to bed a little early. He’s climbed in, turned his back to me and is now spark out. It’s an all too familiar story. It’s one that crushes me every time.
Am I so ugly and undesirable? Am I really that repulsive???
I shall just knock myself out instead.
It has been quite a while now since I’ve held hot irons against my arm, but I could hold it off no longer, and tonight the little sounds created by melting flesh, where my reward. The pain, too, brings a sort of comfort that I still don’t fully understand.
My current meds regimen is as follows;
Venlafaxine am 75mg, quietiapine pm 300mg, mirtazapine pm 30mg, zopiclone (self medicating) pm 7.5mg, orlistat (self medicating) with meals 120mg. I should also be taking propranolol 20 mg twice a day, but I’m not. I’m stock piling, I guess it’s a kind of back up plan. Enough off that and my heart will stop!!!
I need to talk to someone, but there’s no one to listen.
I can’t explain it, but an overwhelming feeling off hopelessness and sadness has washed over me today, and released my eye valves. Its been building up for weeks.
I was diagnosed with BPD (EUPD) a few months back and I would have been given support but since moving home I’ve been dropped like a lead balloon. I’m depressed, anxious, stressed, angry, hopeless and scared all rolled into one.
I’m getting no help, no support and no hope. I’m not fit to work but I start soon. I’m not fit to think straight or look after myself without feeling huge pressure. I’m just not fit.
Im about to blow!!!
It’s a horrible feeling, when you crawl into bed after a looooong day, and BAM! your head hits the pillow and you’re wide awake.
My mind starts over analysing the events of the day, it worries incessantly about possible future outcomes, and tick tock, tick tock, I begin counting the minutes until I must get up again….
It’s the reason I’m craving zopiclone as I type this. I’m trying to cut back… just 3.5mg tonight…
I wish I had some help. I wish I had support. I wish I had L or C again but no, I’m alone with this. My new CMHT have pretty much abandoned me.
It’s going to be a late one 😦
A year ago today; I wrote a note and swallowed pills. I wanted to die. Thankfully panic took over and I called 999.
I can’t believe it has been a year. I can’t believe I had a proper mental breakdown and not 1 but 2 psychiatric ward admissions. I can’t believe that 1 year on, we’ve left work, moved home, and I’m just about to take on “my dream job” back on Irish soil.
I think off those women and men that somehow brought me back from the brink regularly. The amazing psych nurses, support workers, psychologists and care co-ordinators that dug me out off hell, and gave me hope.
I really should send them a thank you.
1 year on, and I’m hopeful. 1 year on, I’m a little stronger and as I type this, I have zero suicidal intent. 1 year on and myself and OH are stronger, and my love for little man is beyond anything; I’d ever imagined possible. That boy is my greatest achievement, and oh my word, I’m so proud off him.
Let’s hope the next 12 months are kinder to us all.
We deserve happiness.
I grew up by the sea. My youth was spent searching rock pools, climbing cliffs and swimming. Lots of swimming!
We were fearless; my cousins and I. Unphased by waves, or currents, or jellyfish!!
During our teenage years, we’d sneak off to secluded beaches to party and drink. We’d frequently huh hum; “borrow” the lifeguards kayaks.
Anyone regularly following will know that a terrible scuba diving accident robbed me of my courage and joy. It robbed me off my love for the sea.
This evening however, I squeezed into a wet suit, cast the flashbacks and apprehension aside; and took my son, my niece and my nephew pier jumping!! Neither can swim, but with new wetsuits and life jackets, and myself to protect them, their courage soon flourished. By the time we left for home, my niece; 8, was leaping with the confidence of a seasoned pro. My nephew; 5, ducked his head under and ventured ever further from the steps, with the odd helping hand from myself. My little man; nearly 3 would frigging leap himself but thankfully he was fearful of the seaweed.
I had fun, and I will certainly be making it a regular activity.
I’m a little proud of myself this evening.