Thursday, 17 October 2013

Struggling and fuzzy.

I'm still quite fuzzy (mentally, I mean. For once my legs are smoothy-smooth. Honestly, their baldness is a turn out for the books), so I've not been writing. I've been waiting for a day when I feel clear and strong and able to properly and really articulate what's been going on. I'm coming to the conclusion- as almost every day I end up fuzzy from having to take extra meds to manage my worsening symptoms- that I'll end up with a bloody big hole here if I try and wait for the day that never seems to come. I'm not feeling clear and I most definitely don't feel strong, so maybe this won't be well articulated and written. But that, I reck, is how it'll have to be, because that's how, well, life is for me right now and I've got to accept that.

Every day at the moment is a bad day. I know you can relate to that; everybody has them, after all. But with most kinds of mental disorder, every bad day, or even negative thought or feeling, is a million times more intense and entrenched. Not that I mean to undermine the regular type of bad day- feelings aren't comparable and there's nothing for making yourself feel worse than deciding you don't have a right to feel a certain way because other people have it worse. It's all relative. But my days are full of dark and no amount of positive thinking can bring light. It's a bit like trying to turn on a lamp with your mind.

But anyway. Feeling so awful and having such a barrage of memories and voices is strangely invigorating, as well as being so awful. It shows I'm alive and that I have lived, for better or worse. After everything I've put my body through and everything I've been through mentally, I suppose the fact that I can feel anything is beautiful. It's life, and it's beautiful. Horrible, but beautiful. Horribly beautiful.

It's not just internal factors, though. On Tuesday, my consultant told me I was manipulative and abuse my intellect, to 'intellectually swivel' my way out of things. Oh, and apparently that's not just his opinion, but how the staff in general think of me (although the histrionic thing was kind of thrown away). No matter how much people reassure me of this inaccuracy, I feel like I can't trust anybody. It's even worse because I've been so down on myself recently that my intelligence was the only thing I didn't hate about myself, and now it's been made into a negative.

I'm getting upset as I write about this, so I'm going to stop. I just feel like a really, really bad person.


  1. Rebecca, you are wonderful, don't let anyone else ever convince you different... No one but you truly knows what you have been through and what you are going through... You are strong to be dealing with all that you have had dished out to you... Stay strong, I am sending good thoughts out for you...

  2. I have had similar accusations levelled at me, and they made me feel like crap. And wish that I was less intelligent. But I think what they mean is not that you are more manipulative then any other patient, but that your intellect means your attempts at manipulation are more effective and thus you pose more of a challenge to the staff. We are not manipulative for the sheer fun of it - it is usually a defence mechanism we employ to protect ourselves. And they should be helping you understand and address the tendency, rather than belittling you.