Bad Dreams

My life is full of uncertainty. And that hurts my head causing stress & meltdown

One of the few certain things I can expect is pain, fatigue and a constant need to be flexible with my plans, dreams and wishes.

Open Season

I very recently had a realisation that seems obvious to me now but was a non entity beforehand.

Part, a large part, of my intention here is to share MY story. And where possible I have, in terms of now and future. The past has been oddly overlooked beyond points of reference and/or details required for context.

There has not been any sharing of historical stories, the bits of my life that have made me what I am today. MY story or Mystory as I shall refer to it (no idea if this has be used elsewhere or is a ‘real’ word already) from now.

It feels highly self indulgent and narcissistic which is why I’ve not delved into this area before. However, I am narcissistic! I gain in a positive way when I do share and, strangely, other people seem interested

Probably some form of voyeuristic enjoyment and curiosity, hell knows I generally enjoy listening to other peoples stories. Because they’re different.
I certainly gain a kind of enjoyment when I have a willing audience for my own stories, I mean beyond professionals doing their jobs, rather acquaintances and friends ASKING me questions and giving me a platform upon which I can release the seemingly endless flow of Mystory.

I shall endeavour to embrace the guilty pleasure of self indulgence and share some, all (or none) of the remembered events that made this particular flavour of crazy….!

Fuck the HTT

I think I am going to discharge myself from their care.

Up until now I have high regard for the Home Treatment Team. They may not have been the best organised or well communicated group of people and at times they could be curt and brisk. But I was contented to put that as down to being overloaded as much to unsuitable personalities for the job.

Up until now.
Now I am massively unimpressed, to the point of considering a second verbal complaint.

I’ve been under their care two or three times before and generally been contented with the service. Especially when it’s meant being able to stay at home over being forced into ward admission. Which in many ways would have exacerbated many of the terrors currently plaguing me at the time of crisis. Although technically a ward may have been a safer place, restricted access to sharp things etc, it was not the “safety” of my nest. So I would have a strong preference to being under the HTT rather than an admission, even if it took the persuasion of my friends and a promise that I would not be left unattended to convince them it was okay to do so. I remember, as clearly as someone in the grips of a suicidal mental breakdown can, all this happening around me the first time I went onto their books. I didn’t participate unless directed to, all I knew was that I was scared. Terrified. And wanted to die. I think the main reason my friends managed to convince the duty doctors to let me go was because there were no beds available on the psych unit, the faffing around gave my friends the time to make alternative arrangements. Which in the long run I am thankful for.

This particular admission, of sorts, to the HTT has been a chaotic one. Full of confusion, let downs and now disappointment. I knew going in that I was borderline qualifiable so was okay with the initial agreement between them and me that they don’t officially open a case for me but still phone me the next morning to check up on how I’m doing. That didn’t happen, at around 4.30PM I recieved a call from a withheld number, obviously not going to answer that! Later that night I pick up the answerphone message and it was someone else from the team asking me to call them. It being late and me being engulfed in abandonment rage I didn’t call them. The next day I carried on hermitting and hiding under the duvet when the door bell went. I stuck my head round my door and down the hall saw the sillouettes of 2 people through the main door. It being a Saturday (I think) I assumed it was yet more Christians trying to save my soul. So I went back inside, only to have the bell ring again. To my surprise it was a couple from the HTT. At the end of their unannounced visit we agreed between us that they would visit again in 2 days but phone inbetween, partly to make sure I went to skool (which I didn’t) That call never happened.
And when I realised I had a pain clinic appointment the following morning I called them to let them know, they were out of the office so couldn’t check the scheduled time of visit but said she would call back later. No call, again.
And no visit the next day.
Though there was a missed call/message from one of the doctors looking to arrange a meds review. I called back in time to arrange something but not in time to talk to the caller as they had already left. But I did make “an appointment” to see the lady and arranged to go to their office after skool as that would encourage me to actually go to class.
The next day, on my way in to skool (the first time in a while, Horah) I got a call from a different doctor wanting me to change the time to earlier to go and see him. Which of course I couldn’t do. Instead rescheduled for the next morning, again very deliberate with time and going to visit them as their office is a 2 min walk from a place I can get free yoga class, which I had never made it too yet but really needed.
I made it to yoga class (another Horah) it was more dynamic than I’m used to but still calming. In fact I left there feeling better than I have in weeks, sadly what happened next not only undid all the good I’d just achieved but then proceeded to push me even further back into depression and misery.

The guy that I saw (same one who had phoned the day before) was unfriendly, cold and came across as very un confident.
During our time together he dismissively claimed ignorance of X diagnoses then moved on to dismiss its validity, at length. Without once asking me about it, who made the diagnoses, what treatment I’d had etc. Simply denying it’s relevance based purely on the fact that he hadn’t checked my medical history and has some personal objection to the existence of a widely known and accepted MH condition (Bipolar)

He also looked at his watch at least 3 times that I saw during our 25min appointment. Charming.

I left feeling conflicted, annoyed and offended with the distinct impression that they really don’t know what they’re doing/want to do with me. So are just juggling, keeping me in the air until they decide.

Ironically like I’ve already said, I went in there feeling better than I have in weeks, having come straight from yoga 2 mins walk away, and left there feeling shit, abandoned and like a spare wheel for the wrong car. What a waste of my time and effort.

During that time we agreed upon a home visit this morning, sometime up till noon. Well surprise surprise they didn’t show. I was hungry and fixated on a cafe meal, so I went out. An hour later I get a missed call/message saying they’d tried to visit and I had to phone them urgently. Stressing the importance of me acquiring the meds they have for me.
Hmmmmm, vital for me to collect meds but not vital for them to turn up or even call when promised/agreed. Anyone else see the double standards and inconsistencies here?

DANCER & MOTORCYCLE RACER PATTI WAGGIN | SHE STRIPPED AND SHE ROARED!

What a woman!

The Selvedge Yard

bill brownell Patti Waggin harley davidson motorcycle

A young Patti Waggin presenting 1950 AMA Grand National Champion, Larry Headrick, with a trophy. His career prematurely ended in 1950 when he was hit by a car while riding his motorcycle on the street. The accident shattered Headrick’s left leg, making it impossible for him to race again on the dirt ovals. The rider from San Jose, California, was tragically forced into retirement just has his career was taking off. via

“If there’s one word to describe shapely Patti Brownell, it’s excitement. The young lass lives by it–and for it. Into her existence, Patti packs a triple life: During the day, she’s a student at California’s Chico State College: at night she draws tremendous crowds into the cafe where she presents her whiz bang strip act: and on her off moments, Patti is a death-defying motorcyclist. As far as our luscious blue-eyed blonde is concerned, there’s nothing unusual about…

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Here is UKIP’s Freepost Address to Send Back Leaflets & Various Other Shit

AC / DIY

UKIP FREEPOST
RLSU-HZBG-UBBG
Lexdrum House
TQ12 6UT

Fed up of those arse-rag UKIP leaflets coming through your letterbox? Well, the geniuses at UKIP have only gone and set up a free-post address so you can send them back… along with any other shit you may have around the house.

What’s great about this is they pay for it all — even the weight of a brick. So don’t be shy, send as much crap as you want.

The police have already said it’s “not a crime to send items to a free-post address”. And even if it were, who gives a shit.

Five envelopes of used cat litter on the way to UKIP as I speak:

ukip

Cheers, Farage.

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Crisis

I have a backlog of posts but in no state to actually finish writing or putting them up.

It’s not a good time, and I am currently very unwell. Waiting to see what psychiatric help I get offered. Could be a long wait 😦

Hopefully I’ll be able to write again soon