It’s taking shape. I’ve never in my life built anything from wood, so despite the somewhat wonky roof, I’m rather proud of this. I’ve been at it all day today. It’s kept me focused on something, and is proving to be a great distraction.
I need all the distractions I can get. I had my psychology assessment this week. They rang me back quickly after, saying that I needed 1 to 1 therapy. Here’s the kicker though… the waiting list is apparently 9 months from now.
I’ve been home a year. All my notes and treatment reccomdations came with me. Yet I wasn’t actually referred until about 4 weeks ago. I’m seriously considering launching an official complaint. No wonder suicide is so devastatingly common here……………………
Just keep building loopy!
What happens when you mix glorious sunshine, with quietiapine and albinism??
Lobster Loopy, that’s what I went for a bike ride today, but stupidly forgot to apply my factor 50. I’m growing redder by the minute.
The worst part is scorching the backs of my hands as any movement at all stretches and pulls at the skin.
34 odd years with albinism and a few years on quietiapine, you think I’d know better.
On a side note, I’m really really really missing C and L today. I had my first phone contact with my new care coordinator this afternoon. They prefer the term key workers over here. I think it’s because the title of care co-ordinator could be taken up with trading standards!!! They coordinate f$%k all.
To quote directly I was told” it’s not like I’ll be ringing you every week, I’ll review you in a month”
Can please please PLEASE have L or C again……
6 weeks on a psych ward and pretty much zero improvement. I’m out on leave until Tuesday and then I’ll be discharged.
Basically we all recognised that the stay was off no benefit, and without being allowed to burn, my use of ligatures just escalated.
So I’m back home, on a ridiculous regimen of meds, and little hope going forward. How do I get help here? How do I get better? How on earth will I cope when little man comes home from granny’s on Sunday.
I am happy to be back in my own bed though, with no restrictions and OH’s arms wrapped tightly around me.
I’d just told N on the phone the other day; “I’m just getting used to you”
N is my current CPN/care co-ordinator and now she’s preggers!!
I had a bit of a meltdown today and she was brilliant. It takes me a while to get used to people, to open up, and I was just finally getting comfortable with N.
In fairness, she’ll be a fabulous mum, but sigh…..I don’t want another change.
Today at my psych review I was offered more pills….more frigging pills!! I shall now have additional quietiapine (25mg) to take as needed during the day. It feels like a futile gesture. The psychiatrist just didn’t know what to do with me. He had to offer something I guess.
So now my daily regimen will be;
Quietiapine 300 mg, venlafaxine 75 mg, mirtazapine 30 mg, quietiapine 25 mg when I feel I need it, zopiclone 22.5 mg and hmmmm, orlistat 120 mg any time I’m feeling fat and guilty over eating (so quite regular).
What an absolute mess!!!
On a slightly different note, I’m considering going to a depression support group. It’s about the only thing I can access outside work hours.
They want to keep people in work, living normal lives, but all the care operates 9-5. Very VERY annoying.
It’s gone and I’m devastated. I rang voicemail this evening in the hope of hearing C. Those of you following will know that C, was my 2nd CPN. I had 2, when I lived away from home; L and C.
They were quite different in approach, but equally excellent. Some days days I miss L and some days I miss C
Today, I would give anything to hear; “hey loopy, it’s C.” She started every voicemail in the same manner, and tone. It was a clearly practiced and unwavering greeting, and when I heard it on my voicemail, I knew the cavalry had arrived. I knew someone had my back.
She was logical and caring, and honest. If C said she was going to do something, then she would do it.
I can’t believe her voicemail has been deleted. I should have saved it. I’m gutted.
It possibly sounds a little creepy, but I’m sure we can all recognise our brains ability to associate emotions with memories, experiences and sounds. C’s voice brings control, calm, support, empathy snd humour. God I wish I’d saved the voicemail!!!!
I’m absolutely falling apart. My whole journey home today was filled with thoughts of jumping in front of a car, hanging myself over the back of my office door, swallowing mounds of zopiclone….. Anything, Anything to make it stop!! I just need a moment, I need it all to just stops!!!..
I’m sick of the broken promises over here. “We’ll get you help for your eating disorder”.. “We’ve referred you to addiction services” ,”I’ll ring you back””
It’s all bullshit!! I’ve been “home” since last July. The disparity in care is shocking. We have probably the highest suicide rates in the UK, and I’m not surprised. There is no help here. There is no route to recovery, and I can’t wait any longer.
I need to talk to C……I need help. Someone, anyone, please help me
I’ve had 3 nights now without my proper meds routine. Had around 4 calls yesterday and 3 more today to try and sort this out. Finally my CPN stepped in and rescued the situation with multiple calls of her own.
Apparently my script was sent to the wrong GP practice, the pharmacist then played a game of lucky dips, and eventually I lost the plot and called N (my CPN)
3 days and I swear I’m having withdrawal symptoms; nausea, peeing alot, vomiting, shakyness and just overly unwell. I’ll know by tomorrow as I now have all my meds , for tonight.
If these symptoms persist, then it could be tbe zopiclone. My use of that has escalated fast in recent weeks.
Everytime I see one, I think of L. L was my first ever CPN, and the arrival of her juke onto my driveway always brought just a little light into those darkest days.
I will never forget the day she offered to watch little man, so I could have a shower. I was a wreck, a mess, and probably stunk. Even though I refused, I felt cared for, I felt that I mattered to someone. She often, made me feel better
I miss her terribly, more than anyone else that was involved with my care. I’ve been thinking about her all day. I have so much to tell my new CPN, but I can’t. I’d give anything to talk to L.
The crisis team stole her from me about a yeat ago, but she’d talked about re-trainong as a counsellor or therapist. I wonder where she’s working now? I wonder how she’s doing? i wonder does she still drive a juke?
I wonder would she consider relocating, to be my CPN again??????
God I miss her……..
In my previous post, I’d feared an email to my previous CPN had been missed, or worse; ignored. I was (as usual) a little quick to judge.
I should have known C wouldn’t let me down. Today I recieved a mail, that has made my week. It was an email full of warmth and encouragement. It was an email that in truth has made me miss her a little bit more, but it’s one that I will treasure.
It’s a mail that I will no doubt read from time to time when I need cheeing up. It means alot to me.
I have no idea where this feeling has come from, but tonight I wish I was back on the female ward in the hospital with the clock.
Tonight I’m thinking off all the support workers and nurses and I’m wishing that for just one night, I could talk with them, have a cuppa with them and get some support from them.
I’ve got this feeling of sadness, and overwhelm that just snook up on me, and I need more help than I’ve been getting since moving home.
I wish I could call C again. I really miss her.
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.