seriously? SERIOUSLY?

It just gets more and more ridiculous.

The community mental health team send me a letter today. To be precise it was written by the psychiatrist who assessed me. The one who did not know any therapies other than CBT.

So the letter says that ‘the consultant psychiatrist X Y (who has never met me) has decided that the bi-weekly sessions with my counsellor Ellen Ford (not in any way similar to the name of my counsellor) are insufficient, so they want me to refer myself to the local group therapy organisation for people with borderline personality disorder.

The ‘consultant psychiatrist’ (who has also never met me) also wants me to stop taking amitryptyline and to take ‘Nylol, low dose Trazodone or Lofepramine’ instead. Without any indication how or why they came to this conclusion.

So they want me to go to group therapy for a disorder I am NOT currently diagnosed with, but won’t put me on the waiting list for individual therapy for a disorder I do have.

Really?!

con fu sion

Me on phone to psychiatric hospital in country A: “I am suicidal.”

Hospital woman A: “Go home.”

Me on phone to psychiatric hospital in country B: “I am suicidal.”

Hospital woman B: “Come here now and we will admit me.”

Me: “I am in country A…”

if I went to hospital with a blade to my wrist, they’d get out a mop.

Tomorrow it will be two weeks since I last saw my counsellor and I will have precisely nothing new to report.

I don’t know on what planet I thought that if I turned to a professional place like a hospital in a moment of crisis, they would help me.

It ain’t gonna happen.

I have been waiting for that psychiatric clinic to report back to my GP for over three months now. Today I called the depression/borderline ward that I think would fit my needs – the nurse tells me that I come from the wrong district. They are not responsible for patients from my area. Their waiting list is already swamped.

So why the hell have I been referred to that clinic, and why am I waiting around for my GP to decide whether or not to refer me to this ward IF I AM NOT EVEN ELIGIBLE.

I makes me want to scream and cry at the same time. Well I did both.

And in the country were I go to university – well it has been 2 weeks since I saw that psychiatrist and they still haven’t made up their mind whether or not to put me on the waiting list for psychological treatment. But since the wait is 6 months minimum, what difference do 2 weeks make?

I bet they think – she is suicidal today, she was suicidal yesterday, she will be suicidal tomorrow. What difference does it make for her to have to wait.

All I want to is to be taken care of. That is a stupid but persistent need – it just ain’t going to get met.

another meltdown in the streets

What is it with me and crying in public places?

I was feeling blue all day yesterday. I got up to see M who was working on an arts project in college. I stopped by, but he was busy with other people, so I just said hi and left. Then I went to work, actually got some work done, and then M told me that the project was finished and that I should look at it. So I walked over there. I told him I was having a terrible day and he was like, let’s sit down somewhere. So I put my head on his shoulder, but after a minute or so someone else walked by and M got up to show him the project. I waited for the guy to leave us alone, but he just wouldn’t. So I cried behind my glasses and finally left them both.

There goes the rejected child again. So I cried in the streets, called my au pair mum, and we walked for half an hour or so while I sat on a doorstep. She said that she’d call me every night from now on to support me while I try to get my work done.

When we hung up I called M and asked him if he was still around. He said yes and came over. I told him I was crying earlier and he said he did not notice. We talked for a bit and I mainly cried. There is one clear pattern here.

Then I went to have a roof top party with a few of my coursemates. I drank quite a lot. No prozac but lots of alcohol instead. Made me feel relaxed for the evening. I didn’t cut. But I am not turning this into my new coping mechanism.

 

please, please, don’t leave me

What am I taking sleeping pills for if I don’t sleep!?

Ok, amitryptyline aren’t exactly sleeping pills, but still…

It really messes me up if I arrange to meet friends and then that falls through. That happened yesterday. I don’t know what exactly it is. Feeling abandoned? Feeling rejected? Feeling unwanted.

It makes me want to lash out and be like, you let me down so get out of my life.

If I kick people out of my life they cannot leave me.

I don’t want to be alone.

no words

My friend M saw a kid drown today. I just read his facebook status about it. He was walking along the river when two teenagers jumped off a bridge. One of them began to struggle and went under. People tried to get to him but he went under. My friend jumped in and looked for him with others but he couldn’t be found. Probably drowned.

I have talked about jumping into that very same river to drown myself so many times. I’ve had two suicidal breakdowns lately and M helped me through both of them.

I feel terrible. Selfish. Death is devastating for those left behind. I knew that before, but now I feel it.

Death is real. If I kill myself, I will be dead. There won’t be anything anyone can do about that.

big black dog and little black dress

Re-reading the article I wrote months ago on how sewing helps me cope with depression (the “big black dog”), I got a real boost in motivation to start making clothes again. Next Friday I am going to a formal college dinner with all my friends – an ideal occasion to show off a selfmade dress.

I went to the bookshop to look through fashion books for inspiration – and I found a great book called Little Black Dress by Isabel Sanchez Hernandez. It has instructions on how to draft paper patterns for lots of different variations of the little black dress, and then shows you how to assemble the pieces on a dress form. I think I’m going for a beautifully draped simple halterneck dress with a low back. It looks easy to do – let’s be realistic, I only have a week and lots of other work to do. I am very very excited. In fact, I can’t wait to get home and get my fabrics and sewing machine out. It is so wonderful to feel like that again. It’s been a while.

 

 

getting published

So I am going to be published in a magazine. I wrote a feature about how sewing helps me cope with depression a while ago and they just emailed me to say they would like to use it in their September issue. This is a lovely quirky magazine.

So now I have to think about whether I am happy to go public with my real name. I think I will. The piece is somewhat lighthearted, and while it does reveal that I have depression, it is not a sob story asking for sympathy.

At the same time, of course it crossed my mind that I could publish a link to this blog with it. But I don’t think I will. The anonymity of this blog gives me the freedom to write uncensored. I think I am ok with my friends, family and colleagues to read the article, but I wouldn’t want them to read my blog.

In any case this has given me a great confidence boost about my writing.

why I cut

Because I can’t kill myself. I feel the pulsing of my blood at my wrist, it seems so close to the surface. But I can’t make that cut. I am staying.

Because I feel split. I feel like I have to hide my broken side and it’s eating me up. Cuts make the damage visible..

Because it gives me something to focus on. Something other than my thoughts and feelings.

Because I have done it so many times before it does not seem wrong anymore. It does not seem to matter anymore if I add a few more cuts.

Because I prefer physical pain to emotional pain

Because it is the only relief I know.

Because I am addicted to it.

triggering

My new razor blades are terrifying. It’s like cutting butter.

I wonder if it is ok for me to write about my cutting techniques. In a way I think it is such a big part of my life at the moment that it almost cannot be avoided. But many support forums forbid descriptions or accounts of how many cuts people have made. Because they are triggering. Because people copy people. I did.

While I was an active member of these forums, probably around 17, 18, 19 years, I used a lot of *** in triggering words. S*x**l ab*se. I suppose that to people without any experience of PTSD, this must seem odd. It so obvious what the word means, so how can it possibly make a difference. As an Experimental Psychologist, I would love to systematically investigate this. What happens in people’s minds and brains when they see ab*se rather than abuse?

When it comes to cutting – yes, I copied. At the time I was in a forum that wasn’t international, it was only for my home country. I found great comfort there. But I also assimilated. There was a certain stereotype, an average type of forum member, and I became more and more like that. I listened to Evanescence. I bought a black velvet blazer and black trousers. I wore arm warmers during PE. I put rubber bands around my wrists to snap them and I drew red lines on my arm – common distraction techniques. I adopted the lingo.

I’m still not entirely sure what to make of these forums. They are massive. They provide a safe space. They provide a community that you can feel a part of alone in front of your computer. You make friends. You start to care and worry about people you have never met. People start to care and worry about you. There is comfort. There are lots of virtual hugs.

But it also gives you ideas.

I want to be honest – this is what this blog is all about – but I don’t want to give anyone ideas.