My new CMHT seemed great initially, but it was a facade. I feel abandoned in the wilderness. I saw my nurse last Monday, an appointment that seemed rushed and we’ve not organised the next. I really miss C, and L for that matter. Both of them took the time to listen, offer guidance and just soothe me somehow, but this new team don’t appear to care.
I’m back on sleeping pills, which I can already see is a problem and today I purchased laxatives.
I spent hours talking about and advising a friend of mine on the negatives of laxatives and the harm they do. Today in the chemist however, flashing images of my fat gut and ugly shape, convinced to me purchase.
They’re currently sat next to the hidden zopiclone in my drawer. I’ve not taken any yet, but I really want to.
Come on Loopy, you know better. Don’t do it.
I can’t stop crying…
Today we emptied our house and shipped all our stuff home before we follow on Thursday.
Right now I can’t stop crying. I’m crying because I’m still depressed. I’m crying because I’m having really strong suicidal urges and I’m crying because it doesn’t matter where we move to… my head will follow us.
I feel absolutely hopeless.
Or I just can’t live full stop…….
We’ve been home now for a couple of days. When I say home, I actually mean with OH’s parents in their house. This is where we’re moving to, in a matter of weeks, in an attempt to get more support, ease the pressure on us, and ultimately to create a better life for us all.
Here’s the problem though, I HATE IT… I don’t know how I’m going to live here. I don’t know how to feel at home, or just feel at ease.
I HATE IT. I’m desparate to get back to our own little house, where I can hide away and not have to interact with people. I’m desperate to be alone.
I’m struggling with little man, and I’m angry that OH appears to be exhausted and tired all the time. I thought his role as a prison officer was to blame, but nope it’s Little man.
Neither of us are any good at this. I’m unable to sleep again. I’m craving pills and I’m fat as all hell.
I’m home, and by all accounts it has been a successful endeavour. It’s now 12 am however, and OH is snoring beside me. It’s dark outside and I should be sleeping.
Someone forgot to tell my head to shut up. I knew I’d struggle in the darkness, I knew racing thoughts and crippling self doubts would take hold again. The false security of the psych ward slowed my mind, just a little, but now I’m back in the real world again. A world I’ve tried to escape now, twice.
I can’t believe they sent me home without a sleep aid.
I’ll be officially discharged in the morning. Am I ready? Yes! Will I be ok? I’m not so sure…
These were the words that I heard today, when talking to a doc on the ward.
She was spot on. Why do I keep seeking support and approval from people who are incapable off it.
I must look elsewhere, and accept that some people simply lack the capacity to fulfill my emotional needs.
Today I was able to face time little man. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in about 3 weeks. He seems to be doing ok which is good, but mum guilt has certainly kicked in. I’ve abandoned him again.
Family have once more raised concerns about his social skills. I really wish they wouldn’t. Now is not the time.
I do worry about him. I do still think he shows ASD traits and it’s a fact that he is speech delayed, but I can’t face that right now.
There are some huge changes ahead. Changes that will hopefully make little man’s upbringing better. The problem is, I’m not good with change. I’m flipping constantly between hope and suicidal despair. It’s exhausting.
Back on the ward now, and I’ve burned.
The doc in here is too black and white. “You need a plan loopy” “you need to quit something”
He’s not seeing “me”. I’m so much more than just an over tired working mum. I’m a self loathing mess, crippled with self hatred and self doubts. I have a complex past that has shaped who I am today. I am not black and white I am different shades of grey.. only grey.
They’re all dying to discharge me. They can’t see what I and my CPN can see, I need more help. I need to be moved to the ward with the clock. They had more empathy, more compassion and gave more of themselves to understanding “me”
Having said that, I’m being unfair. The staff do try but I’m not comfortable enough yet to open up.
I need to ligature. If I’m lucky, I’ll pass out.