My anxiety levels are through the roof. I’ve been offered my dream job, but I fear it shall be snatched away from me.
The medical questionnaire was very in depth. If I lied too much, I could be easily caught out. I fear I’ve spilled too much. I fear the prejudices and stigma around mental health will come to the fore and rob me off my future.
I can’t bear it. Best case scenario I’m pulled into Occi Health for an assessment. Worse case……..well…………….
If I lose it now, I’ll be more than crushed.
I should have lied!!!
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.
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!!!
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’d forgotten, but months ago I’d set a reminder on my phone. It was a message that said; “contact L for coffee”. It would possibly have been inappropriate, but I’d have tried anyway, had I still lived in England.
Regular followers will know that L was my CPN during my first hospital admission and subsequent discharge. She was someone who excelled at her job, and someone who I truely relied on. She was awesome! Her move to a new job, hit me a little hard and took some time to adjust to. In all honesty she pops into my head from time to time, and I catch myself asking; “what would L say?”
I’d set this reminder in the hope that by the time it popped up, I’d be aceing life, I’d have found the right balance between work and family and be happily able to regail her with tails of how I’d turned my life around (whether she was actually interested or not).
Indeed I’ve made huge life changes, though their fruitfullness is yet to be realised. I’m not aceing life, and once again I’m hiding things from OH.
It’s day 3 of orlistat usage, and yesterday I discussed addiction help with my latest CPN, due to my current reliance on zopiclone. I’m also not happy with my new CMHT. Discussions are rushed, the nurse doesn’t take any notes and I keep having to repeat myself. They don’t ring when they say they will, and I’m left chasing support, with no sign of it ever coming. They honestly don’t seem to care.
I’d give anything to have L back right now. I want to message her on Facebook, but I’ll resist.
Don’t be creepy loopy…..
I’m exhausted, physically exhausted. It’s inexplicable really, or maybe it’s just a come down now that we are officially home.
In truth it doesn’t feel much like home to me. It feels claustrophobic, feels like I’m being scrutinised and just overall feels a little uncomfortable. OH’s family are lovely but I need my own space. I’ve not yet secured employment so for now we’re stuck.
I’m getting frustrated at my lack off alone time. I need to burn but I can’t get any space to do it. There’s always someone around, and it’s causing me to feel more tense.
I’m also sporting a marvellous blubbery rubbery mess around my midsection that Michelin or Bridgestone would be proud off. I wonder if I dug out some grooves for grip, would it be more efficient now to tip me on my side and just roll me to my destinations!
We’re in the throws of the terrible two’s. Little man has my temper, coupled with OH’s stubberness. This makes for an explosive cocktail!
We’ve been good so far on the united parenting front. When we say no, we mean no!!! Little man is certainly testing the boundaries; throwing himself on the floor, squealing and shrieking like something possessed and ultimately testing my patience to it’s limits.
We’ve been good though, no raised voices or shouting. We just calmly stand our grand, which is a huge departure from how I was raised. A quick slap was the tool of choice during my upbringing. Not excessively by any means but used nonetheless.
Psychology has helped myself and OH to map out our own path on the family front, not conforming to our own parents ideals. Its not as easy as it sounds.