I’m still in hospital, I’m still quite low, I’m still a bit of a mess.
They asked me this week, “do you write things down?”. I guess I’ve stopped lately and I’m not sure why. I think I was maybe scared of being boring.
I feel sad, I feel alone, blah blah blah. I think I’m getting sick of even listening to myself. I’m very pathetic.
At this time, I want to run away. I don’t want to see, or talk to, or be around anyone, and I mean ANYONE.
I’m ignoring family calls, cutting conversations with little man short, ending text conversations abruptly and delaying booking visits for OH.
I’m ignoring bump. Trying to pretend it’s not happening,. Trying to block it out.
I want to be alone. I don’t want to have reasons to fight anymore, but I do. Its really hard because I want to die alone……
I’ve put the shutters up, I don’t ever want to take them down.
I met with the crisis team today. I’ll be honest I favoured the possibility of a hospital admission. It was an option, but instead we opted for home treatment.
I now have a 24hr number that I can call, I’ll get a phone call in the morning and an appointment tomorrow.
All I have to do is keep myself safe until that call tomorrow, or ring them if I’m struggling.
Just get through the night loopy…
I bailed half way through a counselling appointment last week. I told her I wanted to end the session. I have psychology coming up, being fast tracked due to the whole pregnancy thing, but I’m dreading it. At the moment I don’t want to talk. The counselling is a self referral stop gap. You get 6 sessions and then you have to re refer. I really friggin liked her, but even with her, I started to clam up.
At the moment I’m doing a lot of crying, a lot of self appraisal and a lot of failing.
I’m so ashamed of how I’m feeling. I thought I’d pop on here and spill with ease but nope, I can’t even write down how I’m feeling.
I’m a horrible horrible person.
I wish the counsellor would contact me, but it’s not her job to do that. She left the door open, but I can’t quite walk through it. I need her to pull me through it.
My boys love me, but they don’t need me. The heartiest of laughs is usually heard when I’m not in the room, but listening from afar. OH does the dressing, feeding, bathing etc 90% of the time anyway. I don’t contribute fairly. I’m useless.
It’s funny how a few fleeting thoughts can become an obsession. What drugs do I have? How much do I need? When should I take them? It plays over and over and over relentlessly.
My head is a frigging wreck.
My site was down and I had no idea. I was wondering why I’d been having no views. Was just about to quit writing, but it’s now sorted.
I don’t really blog for others, it’s a personal mental space for me to express my thoughts safely and anonymously. But not having readers, felt disappointing. I don’t know why. I guess you lot are my sounding board and it only works if I feel I’m being heard. It doesn’t matter who, just someone.
So now fixed, I shall continue.
Biggest thought today, is that I need to increase my Saxenda dose. I’ve started walking, but it’s not enough. I’m fat and need to fix it.
I’m also in a constant state of really wanting to end my life. But I don’t want to hurt anybody. When I’m out walking, I think go on Loopy, jump in front off a car. At least that might look like an accident. When I get home again, I think off the driver, the potential impact that could have, but if my family thought I died from an accident, would it be any easier on them?
Jumping in front off cars is no easy feat, I bottle it every time. Drug overdoses are easier, but not guaranteed. Hanging is really affective, but again I bottle it. Does that mean I don’t want to die? What the hell does all this mean?
I’m tired now, i’m always tired.
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!!!
Would it be rude to say this to my new CPN? Would it be nasty to say it to OH?
I’m self distructing again. I know I’m losing control. I know I’m developing bad habits and dangerous behaviours. I know my mind is broken.
I can’t talk to anyone. I can’t even call any helplines as there are always people within earshot. I don’t know what to do?
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.
Something psychologically very strange has happened. My world has run out off new faces and it’s freaking me out.
I noticed something very odd whilst on the critical care ward following my latest overdose. The ward was staffed with old friends and colleagues. The voices and faces were identical to ones I’d met before.
The truth off course is that this was not the case, but my mind played some odd trick on me and it has not yet resolved itself.