Tuesday, 31 December 2013

Stolen lines on the new year.

A friend of mine has come up with some amazing words on the year and those to come. I don't really do re-posts and stuff like that, so you know what will follow will be good; it's proper got me thinking. He wrote everything I didn't know that I felt, until reading it, and that's the beautifully powerful thing about the written word, I reck. But enough of me, here's to Johno Challis and his wisdom, to end the year. Have a beaut one, everyone-

When I think back to the beginning of this year, I'd barely just covered from an essentially mental breakdown a couple of years earlier, and had very little job prospect. I was sitting there counting the pennies and change given to me whilst performing, hoping it would rack up to enough to pay for decent food and to enjoy my life a bit, it was tight, but i was happy. 

It just goes to show how much difference one year can really make, people are so quick to shun off a year as a "bad year" and "hope next year is different", why? A year is a period of time. A year is not a ticket, or token to a better life. What makes your life better will be what you do in that year, what you accomplish or what you challenge yourself to do.

Sure, sit there and make a new years resolution you may not follow through. Sit there and wish 2014 is a better year, place your reliance on external factors to make your year better, your life better,

or take life by its metaphorical balls and change it. If you don't like something, change it now. Want to quit smoking? Stub out that cigarette now, don't wait until midnight. Wan't to diet? start now. Learn a new language? Start now and see it through. 

And it's for this reason I never make a resolution at new year, and i'm sure as hell not expecting 2014 to be a completely happy and positive experience. Life is like photography; you need the negatives to develop.

I don't know what life will look like this time next year, but what I do know is this:
Life has 2 rules. 
1/ Never quit
2/ Remember rule number 1

Happy new year everybody.

Friday, 27 December 2013

Christmas with the fam.

I don't know if I've ever told you this, but I happen to have the best family ever. No, really, I do. I've learnt not to take them for granted, though, because being in hospital, particularly with it being psychiatric, I've met so many people with varying degrees of shithead making up their families. I'm ridiculously lucky, I really am.

I got to see most of the family (it's quite a big one- we're Catholic. Well, I'm not, but that's just because I'm in recovery from religion) over the few days I was home, and got to spend Christmas day with some of my favourite human beings. I can't even describe how amazing it was, especially after spending last Christmas in hospital and, well, all of this year itself in, too. I'm so grateful for how most (I'll maybe explain why it's most I say and not all another time, I'm too happy right now) never make me feel like a shameful secret. I try to be a good person and I get through the days as best I can, that's all that matters, I think and that's summat I, as much as anybody else, need to remember.

Christmas was brilliant, but it's not as horrific as I thought it would be, coming back to hospital. I'd rather be with my blood, but I've also got a water family here, and that's another thing that makes me lucky. I'm feeling very, very, I don't know, honoured, right now.

Don't ever take brilliant Christmases for granted. My family made last year as special as it could have been, but nowt compares to Christmas at home. So proud to have been well enough this year for it :)!

Thursday, 12 December 2013


My head is a shed right now. And not one of those ones that old men retire to with their Werther's (that's all old men eat, right?), their hip flasks and their old wireless... the shed of my head has no deck chair and leg room; it's one of those crammed full of all that crap you've accumulated over the years, all the rubbish that you really ought to get rid of but just can't seem to throw in the tip. It's jumbled, full of forgotten bits of tack that somehow manage to rise to the surface, and it's all useless mess that needs really to be gotten rid of. Maybe just bulldozed, along with the shed. That doesn't quite fit with the imagery of it being my head though, SO LET'S NOT BULLDOZE MY HEAD.

I'm confused about, well, everything. I'm exhausted. I don't know who I am or what I'm doing. I can't separate myself from the self that I try to project. Am I really such a? Blech. I have seriously cried more over the last few days than I probably have in a year, I genuinely hope I'm PMSing because otherwise I can't blame my hormones for how I'm feeling and really have to face up to things. Sorry, I'm being irritatingly vague. I really hate vagueties (apparently that's not a word, but it really ought to be. I'm going to go all Shakespeare and start inventing words left, right and centre), and I definitely hate that I'm full of them. I want a plan and I want some action, rather than just living in a bubble of beige with nothing more than my demons for company.

Maybe this is progress. The fact that I hope I have PMS definitely is, I've only just started getting periods again and I find them far more exciting than I should. I wish progress wasn't so painful, but I suppose if it was simple it wouldn't be worth anything. Like, right, I tried so hard today to go a day without vomiting, I worked my arse off and felt crap, just for someone to make a fairly innocent comment and for me to spiral out of control. I desperately wanted to be able to tell my best friends and my mum and even my nurse that I'd done it, I really wanted to give people a reason to be proud of me. I know it wouldn't exactly be something that your parents brag to their friends about (I'm always grateful to my brother for giving my parents something to be proud of, when they bump into people they've not seen in a while. I'm not exactly a child to rave about), but it'd mean something to me and, I hope, them.

Life is anything but simple and straightforward and I suppose I wouldn't want it to be, I'd be bored. But a few days respite from my head and a little time, that'd be nice. I'm alright- not everything is as negative as I'm painting. I have real laughs and I have real good times. My mum is incredible, the rest of my family are pretty damn great too, and the friends who continue to stand by me mean more than I can say. A simple, random message from someone can keep me smiling for an hour and a visit keeps me sustained for a week. My friends in here keep me going... I have far more good people in my life than ever before, and far fewer negative ones than ever, too. I need to keep counting my blessings, picking myself up and standing to fight another day. I can do this. I just wish I knew who 'I' am.

Saturday, 7 December 2013

Garble garble.

Oh, what a week! My CPA (big scary meeting, remember last post?) went almost scarily well. Completely swimmingly (I can't swim... don't let that take owt from the sentiment). I was so scared beforehand that I'd got up at 6. Rebecca Condron does not get up at 6. I get up at 8.32 of a weekday and at whatever time they drag me out for meds of a weekend, after which I go back to bed. It's a combination of powerful meds and general slobbishness, but mornings are not my favourite. I can't even tell the time before 11. Anyway, that was a tangent. I'm in a weird hyper mood today, I've had too little human contact and too much time watching Come Dine With Me, I think.

Back to my week. My CPA was beaut, I think helped by the fact that my consultant actually forgot about it and so was quite easily guilted into giving me, dumdumdum, three nights over Christmas, at home. That's an early bloody Christmas miracle; remember I've only had one night at home ALTOGETHER over the last year. Amazing. Oh, and NYE at home, too. Another Christmas miracle. Otherwise, apparently I'm making progress generally, although I'm still, yanno, crazy and detained in hospital and all that. Getting out would be a miracle that every god I don't believe in couldn't produce, even together.

So that was Tuesday. Wednesday was a bloody nightmare. I ended up doped up to try and fight flashbacks, then the person in the room above me flooded their bathroom and so, by extension, my whole bloody room. Water pouring through the light and all that. And I ended the night in A&E. My body, right, is really bloody good at doing all it has to to keep me alive, despite all I do to it. I know when there's summat seriously wrong, and I know when my body is just having a bit of a whinge, that it'll get over. Wednesday, it was having a bit of a whinge and my blood sugars dropped right down and I couldn't eat anything, so I ended up in A&E. It was the most pointless trip ever- even by the time we got there my body had got over it and was borderline alrighty, but even so I had to wait for... I don't actually know how long, I laid out over a load of waiting room chairs (NHS chairs are painful. Had I not been so totally drugged up, I'd have been buggered) and slept, then had a stupid 3 minute chat to the doctor, who said I was fine. Giant shocker.

Thursday- oh God, I don't think I can even write this without laughing- health and safety came to assess my room after the flood and the charge nurse got into a load of shit, because my room was apparently such a hazard that if the fire brigade came the whole place could be shut down, HAHAHAHAHA. I was told to get out of bed- not even my bed, another room I'd been dumped in because mine was such a violation- and half my possessions. That was traumatic as, and took 5 hours. Less said the better.

Friday was pretty uneventful after all that, just a bit crap because my bezzer here went home until Sunday... probably why I'm a bit barmy- more barmy than usual- today. COME BACK BECKY. Today, I'm having a really great boob day and haven't got out of my new Peppa Pig PJs. Why would I?

I'm dead sorry for this post, it's so garbled. Believe it or not, I've actually cut a load of garble out of it. Normal service will resume soon.

Monday, 2 December 2013


Imagine that you got a school report that was based not only on your school life, but also on your home life, including how you eat, sleep and even have a laugh. Imagine then that you had to sit in a room where people who control every aspect of your life sit and dissect the reports, in front of you. Imagine that the decisions based on these reports will decide exactly how you live you life- including, even, where you'll be for Christmas and what you'll do, as well as how often you can even nip to the bloody shop- and that there isn't a great deal of influence you can even try to exert. Imagine that, and you have my day tomorrow. Every 6 months, you have what is called a CPA meeting, where your treatment team both in hospital and from home sit and, well, discuss, dissect and exsanguinate you. They're almost always horrific, because all your not-so-fine times get discussed out of context and your brighter moments are kind of only mentioned in passing. None of the niceties involved in school reports- 'Rebecca is a natural leader'- are involved, but instead they seem to do the opposite- 'Rebecca gets on well in group situations, but tends to dominate'. Just a lot of inference and negative connotations, all 'round.

It's safe to say, I'm bricking it. I've got a lot riding on this, not least Christmas and NYE leave. I cannot face another hospital Christmas and NYE, they're just too grim to contemplate. I need my family and my bed and what used to be my life. I think I also find them worse than most people because I pick up on every inflection and suggested slight. I'm way too much of an over-thinker. I also can't take things like this with a pinch of salt because with mental illness every negative seems to be a personal attack, and I'm very defensive. I generally, truth be told, abhor authority, especially when I don't feel it's legitimate. Being sectioned- that is, being forcibly detained in hospital- means that you're meant to immediately curtail to certain forms of authority, which doesn't sit well with me.

It's going to be a painful hour or so.

You get given your reports beforehand and mine aren't great. To try and counter the negative feeling I have about the meeting, I've got my outfit lined up. This sounds insanely obvious, but how you present yourself and how you feel going into these things can have a big affect on the eventual outcomes. When I'm well enough, I dress up for them. I dress waaaay up for them. For tomorrow I have a black and white prom dress that I'm wearing with a purple velvet top and tartan tights. I keep going over this, and how I'm going to do my hair and make-up, to reassure myself that it could be ok. My outfit is good, the meeting might also be. Breeeeeathe. I'll appear confident and well and breeeeeeeathe. CPA? Oh, I CBA.