Its David Tennant time

Cw: Self harm, suicidal ideation

I don’t want to go. And if you don’t get it you havent watched enough doctor who. (Enough = possibly too much podcasts talking about Who)

Feeling anxious. And nervous, and in a lot of pain. Not been sleeping much, and pushed myself hard so now experiencing a big fibro flare up. Its been such a hard time. I reached my limit with the local mental health care and their incompetence. They have cost me so much and done so little. Dropping me without discussion, warning, medication or aftercare. Didn’t even tell the gp. Who of course refused to issue medication without a discharge notice. Im getting ahead of myself.

I’ve not updated much for some time, I’ve just not been able to despite wanting and needing to. When it’s a mission to sit up in the morning and stare at the wall for hours, wishing I could do something, anything, then writing is pretty low down on my spoons allocation. No matter how much I may Want to, wishing it would happen just doesn’t work sadly. If wishes worked like that my life would have been very different! Wishing is what happens when I’m weak and feeble, when I’m too tired or too depressed. I got to the point where the depression was sapping all motivation from me. I’d spend all day watching TV (if i managed to get out of bed) or staring at the ceiling. Suicidal and thinking about how to die but just not having the energy or push to literally get up and do anything about it. I wanted to cut, to be able to feel something other than misery and self hate but again that required moving. I could see the sharps bag barely 3 feet from me and yet still too far away. The cold weather didn’t help, wrapped up in multiple layers hiding under several blankets. Getting so low that I couldn’t reach out to friends, occasionally meme bombing then withdrawing again. I would manage my weekly lunch with R, the only irl human contact after stopping going to my class because of apathy and anxiety. Even that was a struggle and at least once I didn’t go, would not answer the phone to ANYONE stopped messaging people. Proper withdrawal. I got bribed into tentatively reconnecting by R, concerned, turning at mine with a puppy! The pupper was not for me to keep, sad face, but it was a good way to get me to engage.

I can’t untangle the memories and timeline, don’t know if I was already in touch with the home treatment team at that point. I don’t even remember how I got referred to them. It might have been because I wasn’t going to class. Or could have been a random call from the network coordinator at Mind or maybe even the doctor. Anything else would have required me reaching out and asking for help and that was unlikely. But then I wasn’t answering phone calls either so *shrug* who knows?! I do remember that I knew I needed some medical help, some pharmaceutical assistance to kick my brain out of apathy and towards maybe doing something proactive. I was trying, have been trying so hard for so long to keep going, to motivate myself and drive through towards making it through 2020 and whatever madness this year will bring alongside the fallout from the hell of last year. So maybe I had had a moment of clarity and spoons and had contacted someone for help? I don’t know. I do remember speaking to a psychiatrist and explaining that yes I do need antidepressants. No trauma and ptsd don’t respond to medication but depression often does. And the depression was getting so bad that I would just lay in bed all day and not because of fibromyalgia.

Basically things were bad, real bad. I did start new antidepressants, the side effects were awful and I kept wanting to stop but the HTT would talk me into keeping going. The were around to keep an eye on me, make sure I coped okay with new meds and mainly to ensure I didn’t just get well enough to be able to act on the suicidal urges and that be the end of it. I do remember that much. They were as disorganised and incompetent as always. Made lots of mistakes. Tried to blame me for all of them. One day instead of coming to visit me as arranged they phoned to tell me I was being discharged, without discussing it with me, without any care or provisions. Literally leaving me to cope without support or my new medication and without linking me on to other services. Such as the drink and drug addition service. Instead 2 different members of staff had actively encouraged me to get drunk when they should have been referring me on to the addiction place, given I was/am drinking more and going out trying to buy crack. Fighting to not start smoking tobacco again. Getting crack is harder down here when you’re street crawling and are not known to the local dealers and I’m being wary of super dodgy looking peeps, but I never stop looking out for potential sellers. After being dumped by HTT, having to reduce the meds myself so I did have a sudden stop, not being able to move much for days, when I did make it out and wasn’t able to get cash from the machine and feeling so very lost. I walked home, it took a long time, I sat by the river crying, was going to get upmand walk into it but then realised I’d likely not be able to get over the fence at the bit I was by. Eventually I got back, not because I wanted to be home but because I wanted my blades. Bought alcohol and ice cream. Ate it all and got drunk and cut myself. And it helped, kinda. But I was so angry at how shit the so called mental health care is. I should really have been admitted into the unit but I certainly wasn’t going to turn up at casualty after the last 2 times. I did even try calling the crisis line, it was of course, fucking shiiiiiiiiit. No help at all.

Again not sure exactly of timeliness, I know my gp had randomly called me about something but then referred me back to the HTT. I had a go at the HTT, they again blamed me for their failures. After days of them saying they would sort out medication the following day, and me lying to their doctor by speaking the truth and separately having a crisis about how I’m not a good or nice person, I just do good things in the hope that it will make people like me. I got the medication re-prescribed and let them fuck off. They didn’t visit me again or check to see if I was okay or still alive for several days. Such good care.

After weeks of dealing with their shit, asking over and over to speak to a psychiatrist about the medication and its side effects,of them not doing their jobs, of them encouraging me to sink back into addiction, of them not showing up, messing up medication, blaming me for their shit etc and then dumping me. S came to the rescue and offered me a respite at hers for a while, it took quite a lot of organising, making sure everyone was going to be as covid safe as possible, and I wasn’t entirely sure I would mentally be able to cope. But… I definitely needed to get away and needed someone around and needed proper meals regularly. And just to know, by demonstration, that some people do give a shit. I hate that the burden of care has fallen squarely on my friends. I pay national insurance like everyone else, and I’m not getting what I’m paying for. To the extent that I have now done what I hate and exactly what the government wants and booked a private psychiatrist. Depending on how many appointments I need and how much I’ll have to pay to get prescriptions filled etc, its going to eat up my holiday fund. Though its not like I’m going anywhere for a while. So *shrug* .

I’ve spent the last couple of weeks staying with a friend, trying to recuperate some spoons, and actually getting some things sorted. Getting a couple of things in place for when I get back. Like a psychiatrist. Also have applied to move gp surgery, got new internet sorted, answered a few emails I’d been avoiding, asked if I could have counselling twice a week (I cant), referred myself to the addiction service, tried (but failed) to sort out buying parts for a new computer, tried (failed) to sleep and rest, did a bunch of crochet, restarted the new medication, and had proper food 3 times a day almost every day (except when it was down to me to manage) With the help and support of S and her family I’ve gotten so much done, more than I could ever have dreamed of had I been at home. Which is of course great. And maybe it’ll be enough to kick-start my motivation. In theory I have a new support worker, correction, I DO have a new support worker, but she’s not done anything supportive yet. And its down to me to chase her, and anyone who’s experiencing depression thats almost impossible without someone poking me and supporting me. And not just via text or phone, don’t get me wrong thats great and I massively appreciate it, I’d be lost without that stuff. But, I function better with in person help and support. Call it a result of my upbringing, call it codependent, call it whatever you fucking want. It works for me. And yeah its ‘ironic’ for a fiercely independent person who’s lived alone for 20 years. Except it isn’t ironic at all. Basic psychology will explain that one.

Whatever. Im getting distracted. This is one of those posts thats taken days to write. Its been hard, and draining and I’ve just not wanted to accept the reality of whats happening in a couple of hours. I go home. And I don’t want to. Its been good here. And I know when I go back ill start drinking alcohol again, and will probably so depressed that I’m back to doing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, that the food that I’ve ordered will likely sit in the fridge until I throw it away, rotten and sad. That ill most likely sink back into the darkness. I’m already heading that way, depression is cranking up the vice on my chest, my eye’s twitching, my jaw is clenched…all the usual suspects. I think I did well not to get depressed a couple days ago although the anxiety had already started. Avoiding thinking about it made me able to appreciate the time up until last night, when I packed my bag (one of my bags, because I can’t travel light) and had a rushed feeling to get the doctor application done while I still had help.

Trying to think of upsides to going home. I’ll have my proper vape again and not the emergency replacement I had to buy when I got here and realised I’d left mine behind. I won’t feel like I’m in anyones way anymore. Or feel like I’m being judged for being lazy or a failure (I don’t think they were judging me but experience and paranoia are a bitch, the only one being judgy was me) And I won’t feel awkward moving around the house at night trying to wake others when I cant sleep. And the stairs, I won’t miss the stairs. But aside from the stairs, and actual disability all the other things are more, ummmm ethereal isn’t really the right word but words are hard and its the closest I can recall right now. I love S for everything they’ve done to help and support me and am so very grateful to them and their family for sharing their home with me and cooking me meals and well everything. I thank you for the period of peace you gave me. I feel bad and ungrateful by being depressed and knowing that what I’m going back into has the potential to break me and possibly making it seem like I’m throwing away all the help they have given. I’m not going to try justifying what comes next. If you get angry at that then you don’t understand depression or trauma and well, for once I’m not feeling defensive about my shitty behaviour.

It is what it is. Im an arsehole who learned a long time ago that acting nice get better results. I certainly don’t deserve good things. But maybe I could stop trying to punish myself for the things I never did.