Tulips and cottonwool brains

CW: mention of suicidal ideation, Health struggles

I’ve been wanting to do a post holiday update but…! The food poisoning combined with infected piercing combined with a looooooong and delayed journey home really took a lot out of me. Thankfully I had given myself that first day to just do not much. I didnt sleep much and was stressy but at least had some physical rest time. But then back into chasing my tail and a hella lot of stresses. I’m straight back to the endless doom cycle and lack of spoons.

Have started a new migraine preventative medication, which is adding to dizziness etc. It’s also not fucking working so the migraine is back and I’m wiped out. Am going to have to cut something out before I break but I don’t want to, and can’t decide what. But I feel really shit. At least the infection is finally responding to the new treatment. After 6 weeks of this I’m relieved. I have so much on and lots of it I don’t feel like I can’t cancel or postpone. This is how I end up in a mess.

I do finally have a psychiatrist appointment, in two months time. I feel too tired to just keep swimming until then but my other options are both slim and shit. Right now I feel like I’m going to pass out. I need to lay down but thst means cancelling multiple things, which feels like so much to do. So I’ll jest keep going until I get home and drop. That’s not good, I know. Not even going to try justify it, it’s just what’s happening. I just hope this feeling is primarily migraine and fatigue, and not the infection developing into something more. It’s healing well so probably not, but tired paranoid brain gonna paranoia.

My new carer is turning out to be a big moody challenge. Started off quite well but fucking hell they love to push boundaries, and really love to give unsolicited advice on matters then know nothing about, and then sulk when challenged. It’s been adding to my stress. I’ve been verging on falling back into suicidal thoughts and there’s a bunch of warning signs. But until I can get to the psych I have to just keep going. Bought myself some cut flowers and another plant, because covering up the cracks with pretty flowers is gonna fix everything LOL.

Ooph, I might just find some grass to lay down on for a bit before my next meeting. If you find my passed out in a park please carry me home. Thanks

Challenge accepted

CW mild peril, anxiety

Today is brought to you by waking up with unspecified paranoia and anxiety. I hate it here, not the island, I dislike this hotel the food is gross and I’ve been sick for days. The only thing that doesn’t turn my stomach is breakfast. I’ve not made it to a restaurant because I’ve been too tired in the evenings so not eaten much. Thankfully if I feel hungry I can just think about eating from the buffet here and the wave of nausea will deal with that. Am hoping to make it out tonight for a, fingers crossed, nice meal. The staff do not care that I’ve been sick and even tried to imply that it’s somehow my fault, whilst claiming that of course they care and “I’m not saying your lying, but…” Hmmmmm riiiiight.
Went on a tourist trip yesterday so that I could get up the volcano. It was a horrendous tourist trap and I felt gross, and then when we got to the volcano park they told us we’d not be allowed out of the coach when up the volcano proper. I get it, you don’t want 100s or 1000s of tourists bumbling around blocking up a narrow road on a sheer slope, or going wandering off and getting hurt. It’s safer and quicker to keep everyone in the bus and just stop at a few select places. It was deeply disappointing though. You’re not allowed up the volcano road in a private vehicle, only the horrendous crouded viewing area that has the restaurant, shop, demonstrations etc. So it looks like I’m just going to have to try again to walk up a volcano…! To be clear, I have walked around the remnants of exploded volcano caldera, yesterday included. I want to go up an intact one, and near an active one too. I guess technically I have now been up the volcano, I just couldn’t touch it. Or get decent photos.
We came down to a mass of very sad looking camels, I sat and drew one of them that was watching me while others went for a ride. And when I saw another one, loaded with it’s 2 passengers, being repeatedly pulled by the handler to get up and it clearly not wanting to I shed a tear or two. The poor thing stood suddenly when another handler came towards them, it’s difficult to shed the suspicion that the second person is cruel to the animals hence the rapid obedience. I hope though that they just have a better bond. Either way, I couldnt watch any more.
The day was long, involved a lot of walking in blazing sun. Note, I didn’t see anyone else topping up suncream, doesn’t mean they weren’t I just didn’t see it. And I had a vile person sitting being me who was draining my battery. Doing all of it on just an apple and 4 pieces of melon too, I was exhausted. Did not go to the sea after because too tired. Went to chill in the jacuzzi instead. And got pissed off with myself for being goaded into making a wrong decision even though I knew it was wrong. Fuck you mother for teaching me that everything I think is wrong and teaching me to change what I say in the hopes that maybe this time I won’t get shouted at, humiliated or told I’m stupid. I was so angry at myself. And felt like a 5 year old again being laughed at for saying the wrong thing. After showering the day off and collapsing I finally had an appetite, I’d seen some food while out that didn’t turn my stomach but it was poison so I didn’t get any. But absolutely didn’t have the spoons to go out or figure out if I could get something delivered. So I just watched critical role and a bunch of other short stuff until I eventually passed out.

Until this morning, when I was rudely awoken by noise from above! And a horrible sense of dread. Luckily I had set today aside for r and r. So after a tentative breakfast, I did the first thing I could think of to comfort me. I made a list of things to do today that will help my brain! Then went for a swim. And yeah I needed that, spent such a long time in the water. I’ve progressed lots from my 1st day anxiety to happy flailing around in the waves on a yellow flag day. The water has been a little rougher each day and I’ve noticed the difference in how much more I need to move against it. But from having a AAAAAGH at the sensation of the waves lifting me while I had my face down, to now closing my eyes and just experiencing the movement. Not bad.

There is something I’ve noticed about myself, I don’t know if it’s a common thing but when I wake up overwhelmed by non localised anxiety I have a tenancy to push myself to do something I normally would not. It doesn’t always happen but it’s common enough that I’ve noticed it as a trait. And it makes sense, I can’t do anything about the feeling I woke up with because I can’t place where it’s coming from. But if I do this other challenging thing, that will bring up anxiety of its own and I can tackle that safely without breaking down and remain calm. Then I can regulate that system, using the self regulation from the tangible anxiety to settle the unspecified stuff. So it took me a minute to figure out when when I got to the beach why I had a stong urge to go in without swim shoes. Why the hell was I desperate to do a thing that makes me DEEPLY uncomfortable at at time when I’m already deeply unsettled and unhappy, then it clicked. So I took them off. It was not easy, I stood in the shallows for a while not liking that I couldn’t see the floor because so much sand was being dragged around in the waves. I remembered that I used to like the feeling of sand under my feet, until the other stuff started. But then I touched a rock, tried going a different way, but couldn’t see so stopped again. Eventually got out headed back up to get my shoes, stopped when I was almost to them. I couldn’t not do this, I had to do this, I could do this. I just had to get in further up the beach where there’s less likely to be rocks, and then just swim back across to them. And I did! And I spent such a long time in the water. The visibility was crap due to the increased water movement but not so bad I couldn’t see anything just had to go a bit deeper. I could feel my body resetting itself, and after a while I had to stop myself from happy flailing while laying on my back in case someone thought I was drowning! But I did do a lot of flailing, burning up those anxiety hormones and releasing a lot of pent up argh. And also danced and flopped around like no-one was watching, apparently the fish did not approve of my beautiful water dancing as I cleared the dance floor. I did lots of bursts of fast swimming against the current, enjoying the sensation and with the current too, closing my eyes and flying forward. Had to keep reminding myself not to exhaust myself, it’s not the safest place to run out of energy. And I did not want to get out but I was getting tired so reluctantly I exited. Had not realised how tired I was until I really struggled to swim against the backwash, had to wait for each forward wave and use the momentum to get toward the beach then just use what I had to keep position against the pull backwards. I laughed at the thought that this will be the point where I drown, so close to the edge. Then had to cough out the water I’d inhaled! Obviously I made it out, because I stayed calm and didn’t panic. I can see how someone might panic in that situation and I now have a data point regarding how much energy I can expend in a yellow flag sea and still be able to get out. Also, I did it all barefoot and fuck does my brain feel good about that.
My discomfort and dislike of this meh hotel are not gone but at least it’s not crushing me and making me want to run home crying. Because, fuck did I spend a lot of money, time, and spoons to get here. I am not going to let shitty hotel ruin it.

Big Wins

I had a shower. Might not seem like much to most, “oooh you had a shower, so what?” but when you’re a Spoonie, chronic depressive, disabled neurodivergant… it gets tricky. Add on to that struggling to manage without regular care because I can’t afford it (thanks cuts and council greed) it gets real hard. I’ve been struggling with depression, barely made it out of the house last week and haven’t left since Friday. Have not shown up for classes, paid events, running my game, non of it. Have not been able to deal with emails, cleaning, cooking or Persian care. I’ve spent a week in pissy, sweat stank pajamas. Not sleeping much, having nightmares and my jaw trying to lock up from the tension. I’ve been trying to push myself to go swimming or have a shower for about 2 weeks. I nearly made it swimming on Friday but the pool was closed for lessons which I discovered when I got there, so that plan collapsed, along with my motivation. So…. having a shower now is a big win. And now I have clean clothes on and even brushed my hair.

Another big win. I finally booked a holiday. I got help and a lot of guidance from a friend. Narrowed it down to a handful of options. A day or two later finally made a decision, at 3am because I was not sleeping. So why not make an expensive purchase. It cost a lot more than I had hoped, but am going full board which will ease self care pressure if my food is sorted. And it’s still cheaper than getting a PA to come with me. Immediately after booking it I had a panic attack and I’m too tired, too overwhelmed, too depressed to apreaciate it now, or be excited. It’s just another thing I have to deal with. But it counts as a win.

I’m hungry, I don’t have the motivation to change that. The joys of not having appropriate, affordable, care. It’s just going to bug me for hours until I finally get something together. Though I HAVE to spend spoons on dealing some emails. Frustratingly my social worker is impatient, despite knowing I’m struggling and having spent literally months not doing the thing. Is now threatening to go ahead and do something without my consultation. What that is i don’t fucking know, because I’ve not been able to check my emails in a week. So I need to deal with that, and try to get my laptop and disk reader to talk to each other, and try to do 1 coding lesson. And allegedly the doctor is going to call today. All of that is going to cost a lot. So it’ll be a small miracle if I sort out any food, but ya never know. Maybe there’ll another win before end of the day.

Ain’t no sunshine

I’ve been trying to book a holiday and failing. I’ve had to postpone due to poor health, lack of energy, getting overwhelmed by the process itself. all things that scream “I need a holiday” but are holding me back from booking one. 2 years ago I spent some time in Scotland which was lovely, now I need warmth and sunshine. I just want to be able to take a swim in the sea every day, have a float, let the pain ease off for a while.

But every time I try it just doesn’t happen. And I could go to a travel agent and get them to organise everything for me, though that would definitely increase the cost and I’m trying to keep that down.

However, no matter the cost, no matter the lack of spoons and organisational resources. The government and media love to spin a yarn about how people like me are scum, lazy, stupid, good for nothing, sit around all day watching tv smoking fags and day drinking. That we just need to sort ourselves out and stop being a bum, that we must contribute towards capitalism and be productive to be considered human and worthy. And once we’re working ourselves to death for their profit only then will we be allowed to have a holiday. Which most people have to use the tiny amount of holiday they get for everyday things like doctors appointments or household repairs. If you do manage to have an actual holiday you’re likely to crash, get sick, be too exhausted to appreciate it and only just start to relax by the end of it. But thats a tangent. My point being is I have internalised the bs that is touted, and repeated by too many people I know. I don’t deserve a holiday. I haven’t “earned” it. Nevermind that I barely get 1 holiday every few years. Unlike people who get 2 or 3 a year, probably 5 if your a politician, many of us just have to keep grinding and trying not to break any further. For years at a time. Despirately holding stuff together, slowly crumbling, being crushed by the ever present pressure to produce and consume. To be worth something. And you know what would alleviate the stress, make people calmer and more productive? A fucking holiday.

Implode, explode, shake it all about

CW. Medical. Dental. Anxiety. Mention of self harm, addiction alcohol and drugs. Mental health

It’s been a couple of years of increasing medical bullshit, absolutely exacerbated by government withdrawing funding from… everything meant to support public health, blaming it on covid. Following on from austerity measures and every other excuse they’ve used over the years to systematically destroy the NHS. Let the poor people dye out, kill off the disabled and mentally unwell. After all, we just need to not be poor/disabled/trans etc it’s as simple as that. We’re just not trying hard enough when we don’t all magically fall into line and pull a million pounds out of our arses. Which of course should get invested into their scams guaranteeing that they remain on top but they can at least say we tried. Unlike reality where they get richer by stealing and increasing wealth disparity, manipulating the press to ensure we know it’s our fault that it’s got nothing to do with thier greed, thieving or lying.
All of which has left a healthcare system in tatters as the government line their pockets while they privatise the NHS bit by bit, pushing ever closer to an Americanised system. Something that no doubt gives them massive hardons while they take their 15th holiday of the year in their 7th, absolutely unesscesary, house.

So, when the NHS GP is texting the day after bloods are taken asking you to make an appointment you know they’re worried. Particularly as it’s the second time in 2 weeks they’ve done that.
Thing is, they’ve treated me horrendously up till now, dismissed my pain, essentially told me to just not be [insert derogetory comment here] and sent me away. For months, no, years.

In the meantime I had gone somewhere else (a charity) and discussed a possible new medication for which kidney and liver function test were required. Had I not done that the gp would now not be urgently referring me to gastroenterology because the liver function is degrading. At least the gp didn’t strongly imply that I was lying about not drinking alcohol this time. Which they fucking did a month ago.

The call went along the lines of..

“These are the results of a heavy drinker”
“I don’t drink”
……. [conversion cut for brevity, it was essentially me saying the same thing over again]
“I was a heavy drinker” I said as they clearly were not believing me.
“Mmhmmm” I could almost hear them thinking Ha, I knew it, gotcha…
“but that was 15 years ago”
“oh. long pause it’s probably not from that then”
“yeah, probably not!”

When I went to the service who’d ordered the tests, not the gp who had decided to stick their nose in just so they could talk down to me about allegedly drinking too much. That doctor was good, immediately said there were many other potential causes, including one of my medications. Something that the gp would know but they chose violence that day. They, the good doc, immediately did a bunch of other tests and ordered a repeat of the kidney and liver function, the only one they could not do on site. And took the time to research an alternative medicine, which unsurprisingly the gp had zero interest in implementing. They’re still more concerned with blaming me and relinquishing themselves of any responsibility.

For years I’ve been asking for help with sugar addiction and ED. Everyone has completely ignored or dismissed my concern and requests for help. Even the recovery service dismiss it. If it’s not alcohol or “drugs” they don’t care. My inability to control it is NOT a matter of a lack of willpower. I’ve given up alcohol, crack, tobacco and vaping. Which are all hard to quit and I recognised I could not do it successfully without help. I’ve been battling with sugar for 15 years, and ED nearly my entire life. I can’t just quit food as much as id like to, then they’d lock me up in a psychiatric unit for self harming, though it’d be a way to get help. And sugar is SO FUCKING HARD to give up. Especially when it’s part of your ED which is triggered by poor mental health, which is triggered by lack of appropriate support, which is the result of “austerity measures” /covid /whatever BS the government wants to use as an excuse to cut funding to nessesary services.

All of which is obviously my fault, this is ALL self inflicted. Ignore the years of me begging for help. Ignore their complicity in this. Ignore the possibility of damages caused by all the medications doctors foist upon me without a single fuck given to resolving the issue instead of patching over the symptoms.
I’ve already lost a significant amount of eye focus due to antidepressants. And possible liver damage due to Proton pump inhibitors which I’ve been saying I want to stop taking for YEARS. The suspected gall stones, which have been dismissed as anxiety, indigestion and simply making it up, I have had to really push for months. And hey presto… Enlarged liver. Combined with the blood tests the doctor is worried enough to step in and ask me to make an appointment literally the day after being tested. But my absolute agony, my words, my testimony was never enough for them. EVERYONE has dismissed and denied my agony, I’ve even been threatened with a mental health section if I didn’t promise to behave. But it took a charity doing a routine check before issuing a new medication to actually get the attention required.

The government has completely destroyed the NHS, made it near impossible to get care. And that is fucking terrible, I will not get off my high horse about that. However that does not excuse Medical negligence, medical misogyny, discrimination and profiling. All of which are baked into the NHS, have always been there. The contempt with which anyone who doesn’t fit the cookie cutter expectation of a “healthy” person is treated. And the way that anyone with a history or even suspected history of mental health issues, substance dependancy, disability, criminal record or simply being poor and therefore unworthy of care. Because we all know poor people are entirely to blame for their circumstances. Throw in the racism, homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, abelism and all the other bullshit things that are so ingrained in the teaching that doctors internalise it all. It’s no wonder I’ve been treated like shit, it’s no wonder that it’s taken months of pushing against the ‘just take Gaviscon 3 times a day’ to get to an actual investigation of the pain.

My medical issues have definitely increased over the last couple of years. Amplified by the lack of help available, being actively refused help over and over. Everything laid at my feet as though I was to blame for the condition of the country. And, no surprise to me the worse things get, the worse they are. Each new issue, each degradation, each problem compounds into an overwhelming cluster of mental fuckery.

For so long I have asked, even begged for help and keep getting turned down, blamed, rejected etc. Doctors now care more about ticking BMI boxes (and using that to refuse treatment or shame you) over all the hard work I’ve been doing. I’ve been desperately working and it’s taken a whole year to get myself back to where I was pre covid2.0, but do any doctors care about that? No. It doesn’t feel like it. It’s still one look at me and declare I’m not fit enough, thin enough, whatever enough. And despite me doing my absolute best to improve, to rectify damages, to survive, things continue to break and degrade. And all they see is me whining about not feeling good, they see a fat person who had clearly self inflicted the thing, imagined it, is attention seeking, fucking deserves it.

The worse things get – >The worse I feel – > The worse things get – > The worse I feel

And round and round we go.

No matter how much I try, how much I ask for help, how much I explain that all the things are impacting everything else and I have nothing left to give. Only to recieve a lecture on how my health is affected by my mental health (something I’ve JUST said to them was happening) with the implication being that I’m imagining or being overly sensitive to my symptoms.
Doesn’t matter that I, who disguises all but the most intense pain is describing how fucking intense the new pain is, where it is, how it feels and moves etc. But get utterly dismissed by everyone. And now, not one person will give even a hint of an apology for treating me like that. Instead they just change their thinly veiled accusations to those of lying about alcohol intake.

If I had received the help I asked for years ago things definitely would not be this bad now. And that is absolutely not my fault. I have done the best I could in a shitty situation, yet still get blamed for things that I’ve been trying to deal with, without help, for years. And I know it’s shit for everyone who doesn’t have the money to go private, but that’s not my fault.
I’ve had a real hard time, and a horrible shock of my body is fucked. Like, why am I doing all this hard work when it’s still just going to keep breaking and it’s feels like I’m never going to get the help needed. The fuck head tories are winning, people are literally dying because of them. And it’s all our fault for being poor.

I am so full of anger, at the world, at our government, at society in general, even at friends. And very much at myself.
Am trying not to fall into the trap of internalised self blame for all the health stuff, the way certain people have been laying it on me. Blaming me for being lazy scrounging benefit scum that sits around and does nothing all day. It’s like nobody sees all the hard work I have been doing, and fairly, a lot of people don’t. Even when it’s right in front of them. And it’s hard not to blame myself for everything, it’s often easier than being angry at others. That way brings fear, actually terror, of violence, humiation, rejection and a fear that they will prove my anxieties right. That I am just a dickhead who deserves to be in pain and misery all the time because I’ve never done a thing to deserve peace or happiness and a life without crippling anxiety.
In case you hadn’t guessed, I haven’t slept much the last few days because my anxiety is through the roof.
I yearn for the days when I can deal with day to day life and not have it overwhelm me, when I can handle surprises and unwanted news without it disabling me and triggering a fibro flare up.

In the last few months alone I’ve been diagnosed with, experiencing or suspect
Hiatus hernia
Enlarged and fatty liver possibly from medication
Gallstones, some of the worst pain I’ve ever experienced
Chronic migraine, like 3 months of non stop migraine
Trigger finger (more a real nuisance than anything serious but almost the preverbial straw)
Rotator cuffs injuries, most likely caused by the Tourette’s
Ankle is still recovering from that fall 2 years ago
Root canal, and of course it didn’t go simply because… why not. may still need referring on to specialist, but hopefully not.
Post covid asthma, which is under control now though I had hoped it would bugger off.
Eyesight damaged by medication, no recovery there.
Incontinence not responding to physio
Ever degrading mental health

All on top of the ever present
Body dysphoria
Depression, cPTSD etc
Disordered eating which will definitely be aggravating whatever is happening with the gallbladder and liver, bringing on the guilt and self blame
The other ankle, and other joint injuries, thankfully my broken butt seems pretty much healed now
Fibromyalgia
Menopause
IBS
Sugar addiction and Hoarding.

And it feels like I might have forgotten something. It feels like so so much. And seeing it written down, bloody hell no wonder its overwhelming. I had a meltdown with the newest things of the kidneys, liver and gallbladder. Not new issues just new labels or potential labels. My body is so broken. I treated it soooooooo badly for years and it barely blinked. After I start looking after it things just break, over and over. Am I not trying hard enough? Is me asking for help with the things I can’t figure out on my own not enough? It’s not like I’ve gotten the help needed in some areas. Nobody gives a fuck about the sugar addiction. Though I am willing to bet a lot of money that doctors will turn around and blame me when I rock up with diabetes, completely ignoring the decade of me asking for help.

It’s deeply worrying that the doctors are so concerned about the liver that I’ve been given an urgent hospital referral. I got given an appointment the day I got referred. It’s next week, that’s quick. It’s difficult to know whether to be pleased that something is finally happening and it’s possible for things to actually move efficiently still within the NHS. Or be angry that my pain was dismissed for so long and had they taken me seriously 6+ months ago maybe things wouldn’t be so bad now. It’s hard to hold space for both feelings, but both are valid.

All of these things have been preventing me from updating here, I keep wanting to and just don’t have the capacity to do so.
My spoons have been going into me trying to do good things for me and my health. Self care is exhausting! Therapy triply so.

Right now I’m having some illicit food which may cause problems, because I will never be able to fully control that until I have developed more coping mechanisms that do not involve food. As sweet as they are, sometimes a apple just doesn’t cut it. Expecially when the brain is in self harm/destruct mode. And I need to decide if I go sing publicly tonight, the amount of people and noise may be too much, overstimulating. I don’t want to go home but am being booted out of the coffee shop…!

The show can fuck off

CW: suicidal ideation, mental health issues, fatphobia, transphobia, medical problems

Walked out of dance today. Not because of post covid exhaustion, not because of joint pain or Fibromyalgia but because I just cannot mask anymore. And Bollywood is so much about high energy and big smiles and I JUST CAN’T.

If it was a full day of rehearsals where I could dance endlessly until there’s nothing left, process stuff that way, I could do it. But not this way.

It just felt like another stab to my tattered soul, being told to smile and be upbeat, again. Nobody will help me NOW when I need it, my GP either doesn’t understand or doesn’t care. I told her I won’t make it to her goal, I will die first. She offered me diet pills. Seriously. And she WILL NOT HELP ME BECAUSE I AM “TOO FAT” her version of help is diet pills. After I’ve said I will end my life. I should change doctor, again, but I just don’t have the spoons or will anymore. And the likelihood of finding a trans friendly one are slim to none. I can’t spent the next 2-3 years doctor hopping I can’t even face my mirror most days.

I am not going to make it to my first GIC appointment unless something changes NOW. I can’t do this, I can’t fucking pretend anymore, fuck pleasantries, it’s a massive achievement if I leave the house, and then I’m asleep by 6pm afterwards thanks to covid. I’m beyond exhausted, depressed and so out of spoons. And the NHS is failing me.

Wishes

CW explicit. Suicidal ideation. Child abuse. Paedophilia

I keep thinking about, well many things, but that child in the worst of the photos I saw was close in age to me at the time of that assault I mentioned yesterday. And how it could have be me in that photo. Thankfully that never happened that I’m aware of, my ‘shame’ is not recorded and shared online for nonces around the world to see. I think that my abuse was not as extreme as some, and I’ve always used that as an excuse to deminish it, because that’s what others have always done to me. It goes along the with the misogynistic view that sex is penis in vagina and its the satisfaction of that penis that’s important, anything else either “isn’t sex” or “doesn’t exist” such as that elusive female orgasm…! If he doesn’t cum then it’s not proper sex. If he doesn’t force his penis inside you then it’s not a “real” sexual assault. No matter what else he does, that’s not a real rape. Didn’t hold a knife to your throat? Then you weren’t raped, even though he got his dick wet. Touched you inappropriately, without consent, to A CHILD? Still doesn’t matter, nothing really happened, stop saying lies about him. You’re being a dramatic, attention seeking, a whore. Because yes, a nine year old who’s being abused is a lying little whore and probably deserved it anyway. Not, that’s a disgusting pretator grooming a child, someone who CANNOT give consent. Someone who should not at this age know what this man wants much less have been left in a situation where it was allowed to happen. And I never told anyone, and I feel guilty because he got away with it too and will definitely have targeted other children. What if I could have stopped him, even if only temporarily. But I was 9, I had no power, only fear. I saw that photo that I will not describe and part of me sees my face in it. And I want to hurt a lot of people because of that.

I know I’m repeating myself but this shit is fucking me up. I am sooooo withdrawn and soooooo sensitive that anything can upset me. I have NO energy for self care or housework, unless it gets me out of the house. Which has its own issues. I have an insane amount of stuff going on and I have been literally going in circles. I can barely sleep, I’m not functional for most of the day, when I have to interact most with others, my natural defense of masking and not showing the wounds is causing problems because it’s feeding back into the “but you Look fine” narrative.

I was in a group call yesterday, watching some bizzare series, and I had to keep muting because I kept crying. But when it comes to having a conversation I can’t for long, only sporadic talking and zero tolerance for being talked over. My mind is overwhelmed with images rotating between ‘that’ photo, memories of rape or my grabbing a knife and going for my neck. That’s it, that’s my head for the last week, or two. I’m not sure how long it’s been.

I could do it. Leave my sister with 2 deaths to tidy up. At least the only thing here that’s really dirty is the kitchen.

I just can’t do any more. Especially here in the never ending. I’ve practically begged for help even though I wanted to accomplish it myself. Can hardly keep my eyes open, until night time. So drained. So in need of a break. I can’t keep hanging on. My fingers are breaking.

How low can you go?

I don’t know. But every time I think I’m near rock bottom the ground opens up and I fall further

CW: mention of suicidal ideation, substance abuse, mention of medical/hospital

Paranoia is threatening to take over, has been for a couple of days. Its a bad sign and one that says there’s something rattling around my head bothering me, soemthing that needs resolving or talking out or something. But, I don’t yet know what it is specifically that’s bothering me. It’s quite likely that I am ‘simply’ overwhelmed by the huge amount of things that have been assailing me recently. Stuff that I want and need to write about but haven’t had the capacity to do so. It really has been so difficult lately and honestly keeps on getting worse. Every time something shit happens and I get knocked back down, another thing will happen, then another and another.

Two A&E trips in two weeks, relapse, withdrawal, so SO close to suicide, leak on top of leak on top of leak on top of floor needing ripping up etc, falling out with people, sick to death of others projecting their issues onto me, being housebound and alone with injuries, unable to cope with the clearing efforts, made more difficult by having half the contents of the front room cluttering up the rest of the flat for months now and still weeks until I can’t put it back. Damaged art and items from the first leak, neighbour deliberately flooding my bathroom daily because they don’t give a shit about their effect on others, being left behind or unable to partake in activities, despirately needing a holiday and seeing near everyone around me doing just that, the gym fucking me around, ongoing anxiety around family cutting me out or just not giving a shit, massive costs of hotel which the landlord should have paid for plus private psychiatry therapy plus release bs plus all the hugely expensive take aways because I’ve been simply unable to stand much less cook. Or clean for that matter so the house is making my skin crawl. Concern that my new mattress which should have been a good thing not only has delivery issues but might avtually be a bad fit and may even have aggravated the coccyx injury causing my second hospital trip, though this one wasn’t in an ambulance at least. The new anti depressants are working but not working, either they are only effective up to a point and no further orr I’ve continued to decline, now at max dosage and the psych was taking about combining medications, yikes. Also, I read hisady report to the gp and not only did he continuously misgender me GRRRRR but also did what the other psych did and wrote a report that does not accurately reflect what actually got discussed. Once again making it sound like the meds increase was something I begged for (it was his suggestion I was reluctant) but implied that I was hesitant to seek out therapeutic treatment which is fucking bullshit, like I the person that has spent half my life I therapy somehow wanted to rely on just medication and not bother with working through things. It’s like these people just aren’t LISTENING to me and re making up reports according to their own prejudices and assumptions. And that makes me fucking mad. Plus STOP MIGENDERING ME ITS FUCKING TRAUMATISING. The nightmares have been endless and draining, I’m just not getting a break, often triggered by my therapy and the things I’m discussing that I’ve never before gives a voice to (FFS do I really come across as someone who doesn’t believe and engage with therapy??) and my subconscious slowly working through family stuff. I think my father is effectively dead to me now, which is a new revelation revealed in dream form. And that’s just some of the things that’s been bothering me at a time when I am so chronically overloaded and stressed that I literally cannot cope with simple things, and each new issue has the potential to break me and send me into a depressive spin. Rendering me incapable of doing anything more than staring at the ceiling while the TV blasts noise to drown out the noise in my head.

It’s no surprise then that I’m reaching paranoia levels of stress and anxiety. I just wish I could figure out which thing in NEED to focus my dwindling spoons on in order to prevent a full on psychotic break

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.

No spoons

Want to write a bit post updating on the good and bad of the last few weeks. But I’m just too exhausted.

Had a complete meltdown the other day because its all too fucking much. This disability benefits form has been hell, and that’s with help. But it’s nearly done. It has to be because I’m out of time.

Them I can catch up with super urgent things

Then take lots of medication and try to sleep for 2 days. Hoping this fibro flare settles

Then try to drag myself back into my shitty life

Wooooo *sarcasm*