Wednesday, 23 May 2012

Please don't make me go back.

I have to go back to Essex today, because I've an appointment with my psychiatrist tomorrow, which is verrrry important for me to get evidence for why I can't do exams right now. I'm crying, I really don't want to go. The last few entries would make it appear that I cry a lot, but until a few months ago I hadn't cried in years. Don't go giving me any balls about tears being healing, not when my tears are because I'm so, so scared. Besides which I can't afford to go, all my money is going on tickets between Colchester and Scunthorpe, as I got between therapy appointments and home. For those who don't know England, it ends up as over 5 hours each way, just for an hours appointment, and is ridiculously expensive and I'm ridiculously skint.

This is such a nothing blog, but I needed to do summat, to write or whatever. I'm petrified of being alone, it's when I'm alone that the anxiety and everything becomes too much. And in Colchester, I'm alone. I can't handle my own company.

Saturday, 19 May 2012

Bit of a rough 'un.

It's been a rough week, but I'm hoping that this is it getting better. Last time I wrote was Sunday, and by Monday night I was convinced I was on my way to another psych ward, I was a total mess. Constantly crying and having tidal waves of flashbacks and panic attacks, followed by genuine moments where I thought I was close to stabbing somebody. I'm never, ever, violent, not on anybody but myself and certainly not unless you scare me, because I can fight if I need to. But I've just been so, so angry. And it's taken me a while to identity the feeling, anger is not one I ever let myself experience, because I've seen the damage that it can do. I've witnessed the fall out from people dying due to an angry moment erupting into something far greater and truth be told, I'm petrified of anger, mine or anybody else's- it just seems too absolute a power and too great a force.

I'm more isolated now though, I'm back in Essex (anyone who can ever keep up to date with my moves up and down the country is a greater woman than I am. I genuinely get a few moments every day where I'm not sure where the balls I am) and I'm mostly alone. It's horrible, but in a different sort of way. At least while I'm alone I'm not lashing out at anybody else, I'm saving it all up for the person who deserves it; me.

Everything is too intense still, but it's starting to slow down, because I've given up on exams and that means I can take my medications more as they're supposed to be taken, rather than how they fit in with revision. I was so, so stupid. I got out of hospital quicker than originally planned, because I was released to go back to my mum's and rest. Instead, I got out and threw myself into revision and never got a chance to slow down, nor to take my Clonazepam especially, as I should have. Own worst enemy. But I'm counting on it only getting better from here, so that I can take exams in September.

I tell you what though, I'm still constantly on the verge of tears. Everything is still too heavy and hard and bright and quick and although I feel like I need to be isolated, to protect everyone else, it means I'm taking on a bit too much of the energy myself. Turning any positive energy I can possibly throw together into sounding bright in phone calls and occassional, desperate attempts at acting like a real person, socially. I'm quite the actress. The days are full of anxiety attacks and flashbacks, and the nights are full of nightmares. And I'm alone and I'm sick and I'm too scared to reach out to anybody because I feel like such a bad person, both for being so angry, angry at the whole world and angry at nothing, and for constantly expecting some sort of support that I can't give back.

EDIT-
Fuck this, I'm going home. First thing tomorrow, back to Scunny. I just can't handle this place, at all.

Sunday, 13 May 2012

Patterns.

Every time I get off section, I get a day or two of complete euphoria, where I feel completely and utterly as if I'll never have a problem again. I'm likely to make comments about how it'll be my last ever hospitalisation or about how positive I'm feeling about a new medication, how summat my shrink said really made sense and suddenly everyone seems to be working for me, rather than against. I make sweeping statements and feel on top of the world, even if an hour before I was discharged I was sitting in a corner hitting my head or having to be restrained, or whatever, which has happened more times than you'd think. I don't know anyone who has been in and out as much as I have, but I bet it's a pretty normal feeling for us 'revolving door patients' determined to finally get out of that trap and desperately needing to think that we will.

I'm not a realist, hardly ever, I tend more to expect a lot and make big decisions and sweeping moves that never quite work out, optimistic to reckless, thinking and hoping and expecting more of myself and the world than is ever really real, and I suppose it's another extension of that. I expect so much because, I think, I need to think that if at one point my mind could, and can, cause such destruction, if a past can conjure demons with such ferocity, then when it's not going against the self-preserving grain, my mind ought to be able to create something of beauty; if beauty is finite and a person creates a certain amount of a life, I've saved up years worth to be claimed. I need to know that the demons the past can create are nothing to the power and beauty that the future can. Simply, I don't want another 21 years like the last.

This euphoria lasts as long as it takes for reality to give me a beating. Over the last few admissions, it's been some sort of university thing, either them threatening to chuck me out or asking myself to quietly, like, piss off myself and save them the paperwork (and legal battle, ahahaha). This time, it's been a million things. University, feeling gargantuan, and if I'm totally honest, more than a dash of PMT, etcetcetc. And now I feel horrific, which is also part of the pattern; summat mundane or if not mundane, summat I would usually handle pretty smoothly, comes along and I start to doubt if I even deserve my freedom, whether I'm even stable enough and whether I feel in control of my actions and whether I can really take responsibility even for myself. So with that comes a LOT of obsessing about my admission, about the few days leading up to it and what happened whilst I was in, which is made a lot more complicated, and makes for a more fertile obsessing ground, as I can never really remember much of admissions, once I'm out. I dunno whether that's a psychological thing, or just because I tend to be on some heavy duty pillz whilst I'm in, but either way, I remember hardly owt.

So I'm obsessing. I keep going over the night I went in, and comparing how I feel now. Physically better, but mentally I'm still afraid and paranoid about sleep. I'm having nightmares too, a lot around being in hospital, which is making the idea of rest even less desirable. It's putting me in such a shitty mood, I'm angry and I'm still feeling everything too much, the increase of my medication hasn't caught up with me yet, I don't think. When I'm warm, I'm boiling. When I catch myself on the table, it feels like I've been shot. If a noise is too loud, it feels like daggers are digging into me. And I can't get hold of my thoughts. Everything is too heavy and near and fast, and that includes the obsessing and the shitty mood, I'm angry and alone and I don't know if that's how it all should be, or how I want it to be.

My over-riding thing is I want to be left the fuck alone. But I don't even know if that's what I really want, if my thoughts are even my own and... urgh. In circles. I don't know what I want or need, just that all the bad feeling is making me sick and I HATE the person I am right now, I'm impossible to deal with, an utter shit.

Thursday, 10 May 2012

More than a bit pathetic.

One of the few people I knew was bigger than me has lost a load of weight and is now much slimmer than me. I can't think or type much about this without bawling, partly about how much of an absolute bitch I am and partly about how much of an absolute fatty I am. Of all people, I'm sitting judging someone on their weight- it's a a knobbish and a toxic way to think. I can't stand myself for it and accepting how pathetic I am seems like a failure even at self pitying. I can't even really fix the weight thing,'cause I'm not fucking allowed. Christ, the more I write, the more pathetic I sound. And now I'm bawling at how pathetic I am, pahahahaha.

I'm on facebook and feel like the fattest person in the world, just from the pictures coming up of ANYONE popping up. And I'm jealous. Everyone is prettier or skinnier and on the odd chance they're not skinnier than me now, they get to make that change. I'm jealous that people in general get to lose weight and I don't. I'm getting so petulant and childish, sitting and thinking about it, because if I lose weight, nobody mentions it and/or they try and fatten me up. Whereas everyone else in the world gets to diet and be congratulated. I don't see losing weight as an accomplishment, but everyone else in the bloody world does, and I'm feeling like such a failure in general right now, 'cause of all the uni shit, that I could do with a some sort of accomplishment. I'm craving success. I'm actually genuinely failing uni right now (my average is 22. TWENTY TWO), and even though I know they'll let me do catch up work and my average will be a good 2:1 at least by then, right now I'm failing. If I'm going to be honest anyway, I don't want a 2:1, I want a sodding first and I'm so angry at how this year has gone. If losing weight is seen as an accomplishment... well, I need an accomplishment and that seems like such an easy return that I'm being denied.

I'm in a God-awful mood, in case that wasn't apparent. I got balls all sleep last night, and what I got was full of nightmares. I had a meeting with my university, first thing this morning, about whether I can do exams/are going to fail at life or whatever (oh aye, they're still trying to get me to intermit, NOW? After all I put myself through the stay. I probably can't type much more about it before I start bawling even more), then a really heavy therapy session, then a 6 hour train journey. I'm drained. In fact, I'm mardy as absolute fuck. And if I lost weight... urgh.

Monday, 7 May 2012

A guide to insults.

Quite a few of my mates are shocked by the things I get offended over, or expect that I'm going to get aggy over things that I'm really not going to. I am most definitely used to being the only one who appears to live in a world of funhouse mirrors, where one day the sky might be green and where eating a box of icing sugar is the only way to prevent the apocalypse, where you have to be thankful if you wake up without a giant black dog pinning you to your pit of misery. Maybe then it's completely expected the things that offend me follow what seem to be a unique pattern too, but I'm constantly as surprised by other people's reactions to me as I suppose they must be to me, too.

I once sat in a stand-up comedy show and cried my eyes out whilst the person on stage, oblivious and no doubt mentally high-fiving his own hilarity, told jokes about molestation, to an adoring crowd. A lot of comedians will tell you that people are overly sensitive, that making jokes is the only way to bring up a topic in society or to make it acceptable to be spoken about. Nah, sorry. So you'll be sitting around making a rape joke and that'll make it easier for your child to tell you they were sexually assaulted? Fuck off. You're so damn lucky if you think that rape jokes are funny because rape is so unfunny (terrible logic, but a logic apologists all seem to follow. Is that like meeting someone with a dying child and laughing in their face about how your child is a year older and alive?), because you clearly have no idea about how the issues of rape do not end when the event is over. But I've written about that before, and that's not where I'm heading with this.

Anorexic or Bulimic as an insult, based on a person'a figure? Bizarre. Would you attempt to insult someone a bit bigger than healthy, by calling them a Compulsive Over Eater? I've read things where people have claimed they were 'accused' of being Anorexic, because they're naturally slim. Christ on a chuffing bike, where to begin. The person who thinks it's ok to comment on another's weight? The people who thinks being ill is an accusation? Or more general societal implications... What about having the baddies in your horror film as Cancer survivors, rather than as having mental health issues? As committing their overly graphic murders because of their Cancer cells, making them act in that way? Having a disfigured person as the antagonist is slowly (too slowly, but that's not my issue here) going out of fashion, but when a writer is too damn boring or not creative enough to come up with a motive for a crime, they'll rely on a mental illness.

In Britain, approximately 60 people with a severe mental illness, of a population of 60 million- so literally one in a million- commit a murder, each year. That's of 60 million, roughly 10 million of whom have a significant mental illness. As many people are hit by lightning each year as killed by a person with a mental illness in Britain, which when you consider there are mentally ill people around you whererever you go (I see mental people; they're everywhere), and how rare thunder and lightning is here, due to our moderate climate... mental illness and those who have them become a ridiculous enemy and anything that features people as baddies based on them having diagnoses is incredibly insulting.

But then there's one thing though that the inhabitants of the funhouse get offended about, which I don't. I was going to say, never waste your time telling a person with an eating disorder that they're looking well, not only because they're likely to starve for a week purely based on that, but also because you'll be faced with an online Anorexic army, ready to track you down and look at you hungrily ;). I was going to say that, but NO. It's a compliment and often a deserved one. Let me explain my reasoning for saying not to, though... there's a really terrible phase you have to go through with Anorexia in particular, but also in recovery from any ED and the dream of wasting away, where you have to gain or accept a weight. You gain/accept weight, but you also have to gain all the feelings that the disease was protecting you from, and during that period of gaining, the disorder will prevent you accepting any compliment or good feeling. So even if your aim is health and you want so badly to, yanno, look like a person, the disease will twist it all. Eating disorders are ugly as fuck, that we all know. So congratulating a person for looking good, whilst recovering, means they know longer look like shit, which means they're no longer looking disordered, which means they look 'fat.'

Get it? That's ok, I don't even always get it anymore, thank (every) God (that I don't believe in).

It pisses me off though, when people with eating disorders get precious about it, when they make it an insult and attack people who don't know about this particular problem with eating disorders. I'm sorry, but it does annoy me. Eating disorders are so damn selfish, I completely admit that I've done and said some awful things, and put people in positions that I am so, so ashamed of, for the sake of the disorder. It hurts, when you think you're being called fat, then you have to get it the balls together and grow the fuck up. When people are attempting to congratulate you, to give you the present of the acknowledgment of beauty and acceptance, those who, completely naturally, think health is a massive accomplishment, throwing that back in their face is horrific. It's taking somebody who thinks health is such an gift that they'd comment on what an impressive job finding it is, and throwing that up in their face and making them feel like they're causing a new wave, one which could be the tsunami that kills you... that's selfish. That's a million times more selfish than a person not knowing much about eating disorders, trying to give you a compliment. Eating disorders terrify people around more than they do the people who have the parasite, because the parasite first of all claims any love from the being, love which is still felt by the people around the victim.

I'm not saying it doesn't hurt. I went years not letting anyone anywhere near me physically, in case they accidentally nudged me and felt my fat, but GOD. More people don't have eating disorders than do, more people are going to want to compliment you, than say nothing because people mostly aren't knobs. I suppose this makes me sound hypocritical- don't laugh at rape, but mention eating disorders? Not at all. Don't laugh at either. But if you're recovering from an eating disorder, embrace that health and the love of the people around you who aren't celebrating your weight gain, necessarily, but are actually celebrating the return of the person and the personality that you lost along with that weight. And God, go easy on people.

Friday, 4 May 2012

Opportunity.

Things are not too bad today. That is to say, by my standards- and I proper reck that you can only ever compare your feelings and reactions to those of your own- things are not too bad. The best way to ever set yourself back and to make yourself feel worse, is to sit and lament on how x amount of people in the world are sitting and wishing they were in your situation. I've read so many 'inspirational' quotes around the whole idea of that sort of a thing, and while I am eternally grateful that although I've not had the loveliest of lives, I have opportunity and that means I'm going to save myself, I will never have to wait to be rescued by some hero or other, struggling oneself is in no way related to another's struggle, in that way. It's true that shit could always be worse, but let's be real; who knows how anyone else would cope with your life, my life...? Having been born into this society doesn't necessarily make a person comparably weak when compared with those in developing countries, there are good and bad and weak and strong people everywhere, it's just opportunity that changes.

Christ on a bike, read Boris Johnson's CV. Moronic, bigoted, and always and forever in trouble for summat, then getting another powerful job; oh, sweet opportunity. I once read that allergies are all but non- existent in the developing world, because the human body is too busy surviving to bother fannying about rejecting peanuts and creating its own problems where there are no epipens about, even shit like that know to take opportunity where it comes.

For once, my university is not making me feel like I should be terminally grateful to them. You know how some people have a way of doing you a favour, whilst all the time belittling you, the type of person who you ask for help only at the absolute last moment before the cliff edge? There are times when I can't afford to eat anything but the bags of frozen chips that are 75p for a kilo, but don't ask people I know who could help easily for financial help because of the shame I'd be made to feel. I know Ginge would help if she could, and gives me unconditional love and support in every other way, because her finances aren't any good either, and that's different. I'm having to do a 10 hour round trip now a week for therapy, and God knows how I'll pay it each time. But I'll find a way, one which doesn't involve begging. The university, this year especially, have held me in such a position where I've felt belittled and degraded, like a former lover, reduced to begging, after such an intimate relationship.

They're going easy on me right now, maybe because they know I'm 200 miles away and they don't have to face my conditions and how to accommodate my bipolar and alcohol problems especially, directly. I'm not their problem. I keep catastrophising and wanting to cry at how it's not all gone to plan, how I should be preparing for my exams with so much high quality work and knowledge behind me, when actually this whole academic year has been a disaster and I've missed so much. I know nothing. But shit isn't too bad, I have to keep making a conscious decision to remember. I get to take one exam in a few weeks, and the rest in September, to allow for my mind to become my own again and to cleanse myself of all that went wrong. I know that I can do this and be ok, but like I said- everything is about opportunity, and I hope I'm granted that opportunity. I want to opportunity to fight and work with the same chances as the Normos...

Really, I just desperately want a first, I suppose.

Wednesday, 2 May 2012

Because the last post had no end.

It's been a crazy, no pun intended, few weeks. I actually feel a bit guilty for leaving this blog with my last entry, as if I stood up a friend after promising something grand and grotesque, but I'm sure you can guess where it all ended, and it wasn't with me alone, tucked up in my own bed. I can't remember what I wrote and I'm not sure that I can bring myself to go read it right now, but I can remember the feeling- thoughts so intense and alien from my being that I was afraid they might drill out of my head of their own accord, or else my head might implode from the pressure. I can remember the whispers, the voices, and what felt like The Knowledge; a 'truth' that I believed so passionately that I all but convinced myself I'd never sleep again, because sleep could bring only dangers that I needed to be alert for. The irony of making myself so completely mentally ill that I was sectioned onto a mental health ward, to prevent a non-existent physical danger that I couldn't even articulate, makes me yearn for something, but I'm not sure what. There are some annoyances that are pretty unavoidable and part of life, but unnecessary suffering pulls at me, even if it's just compassion for a previous version of myself. It's a strange feeling, it's not a self-pitying or negative one, just strange.

I'm quite proud of myself for one thing. I wasn't the perfect patient, I was actually awful; I'm so demanding in crisis and I resisted medication and had to be restrained and sedated quite heavily for a few days. That's a thing I'm neither proud nor ashamed of- that's the disease that I had to allow somebody else to fight for me, just for a few days. Psych admissions don't ever make me feel shameful, because battles, much less wars of the level of carnage that this one has been, are not won by a lone warrior. What I am proud of though, is how I at least fought what I could, and this ended as not only my shortest ever admission, but also the only one where I've managed to eat and drink, instead of having tubes. It's also the first time that I've been given discharge papers that not only list my main condition as Bipolar, instead of Anorexic or Bulimic, but actually have no mention of any eating disorder on at all. THAT, I am proud of. I'm not Anorexic, I'm not Bulimic. I do not have an eating disorder, not anymore.

Wait, what was that?

I DON'T HAVE AN EATING DISORDER ANYMORE.

It's glorious and I love to say it. I'm not stupid or naive about it all, I still fight but that's the thing, it's rare that I have to consciously fight now. I've gone from being submerged entirely; to occasionally managing to open my eyes underwater; to that first breath of air; to treading water and to now, where I'm slowly, but surely, walking out. Strides forward and slips back, the slips just as essential as the strides. I don't know how all this shit will play, I don't know how I'll feel tomorrow or the week after or the month after, but who does? All I know is, I will not be beaten. My psychiatrist thinks the anti-depressant was making me manic, hence the crazy-head, and so I'm off it and have had my anti-psychotic increased, and her logic all makes sense. But I need help and I need rest, so I've come back to Scunthorpe. I've pretty much given up on uni for the year, but I don't want to think or write about that right now, I just need to be pleased with myself before... Aye. That's summat to write about in a day or two, right now I just need this victory.