Christmas should be such a happy time,
Lots of laughter, sweets and wine.
All those lovely things to eat,
Christmas crackers; what a treat.
Sadness at Christmas the world ignores,
Please don't forget I'm not usually a bore.
I love to laugh and joke but right now I'm ill,
Of festive spirit I'd endured my fill.
I asked for help but my cries weren't heard,
Until too late no one uttered a word.
'Off to hospital now to keep you safe',
Did they not realise I'd lost all of my faith?
Christmas in hospital I had not foreseen,
Away from my loved ones never had I been.
Not there for the panto or the nativity play,
All I could think of was my absence from the big festive day.
The pain grew worse, each minute seemed a day,
Christmas 2010 and I'd lost my way.
I wanted a way out, to be left alone,
Staff comforted and listened as I continued to drone.
They knew I'd get well again, to home I'd return,
One day isn't everything I was yet to learn.
The snow was deep and my heart was cold,
The courage and bravery a story untold.
My future was bright although I wasn't aware,
Christmas 2011 no stopping me there.
I've been to the panto and to the school play,
A year further on and I've found my way.
This Christmas will be special of that I feel sure,
The staff were right in their words and in their cure.
Eternally grateful for the years to come,
Christmas 2011; a wife and a mum.
Saturday, 24 December 2011
Monday, 31 October 2011
Public transport...
Considering how many times I have taken my driving test you'd be forgiven for thinking that I maybe like public transport. This however couldn't be further from the truth.
I hate that buses are NEVER on time and that bus drivers with very few exceptions seem to be the most grumpy demotivated people on earth. I hate that people behave in such an anti social way with eating, littering, swearing, putting their feet on the seats I sit on with my clean clothes and even sharing their flatulence.
In general I enjoy 'people watching' I could almost consider it a hobby I enjoy it so much but it is far more pleasant when done from the comfort of a cafe or on a bench in the street or shopping centre, the main advantage being fresh air if I'm honest.
Sometimes it is irritating to hear people discuss their weekend exploits loudly on their mobile as if it were 1970 and the line was bad but then the nosiness in me comes out and I listen intently with a little more than natural curiosity to their inner most thoughts and relish as hearing their Jeremy Kyle show type lives play out for all other travellers. I'm a smug married now with a very suburban life in a middle class area aka boring! I love to be reminded of my mis spent youth and also on occasions to feel slightly socially superior if I am truthful.
Maybe using public transport somehow boosts my social status ego? One wonders if and when I gain the freedom of a driving licence I will miss the people watching I so enjoy?
Oh and happy Halloween everyone.... (best not to even get me started on the hideous invasion from America on this country, I hate the commercialism!)
I hate that buses are NEVER on time and that bus drivers with very few exceptions seem to be the most grumpy demotivated people on earth. I hate that people behave in such an anti social way with eating, littering, swearing, putting their feet on the seats I sit on with my clean clothes and even sharing their flatulence.
In general I enjoy 'people watching' I could almost consider it a hobby I enjoy it so much but it is far more pleasant when done from the comfort of a cafe or on a bench in the street or shopping centre, the main advantage being fresh air if I'm honest.
Sometimes it is irritating to hear people discuss their weekend exploits loudly on their mobile as if it were 1970 and the line was bad but then the nosiness in me comes out and I listen intently with a little more than natural curiosity to their inner most thoughts and relish as hearing their Jeremy Kyle show type lives play out for all other travellers. I'm a smug married now with a very suburban life in a middle class area aka boring! I love to be reminded of my mis spent youth and also on occasions to feel slightly socially superior if I am truthful.
Maybe using public transport somehow boosts my social status ego? One wonders if and when I gain the freedom of a driving licence I will miss the people watching I so enjoy?
Oh and happy Halloween everyone.... (best not to even get me started on the hideous invasion from America on this country, I hate the commercialism!)
Sunday, 23 October 2011
Pre-Christmas clear out
I'm sat here wondering which is more stressful; planning the gifts and dinner etc OR convincing my soon to be five year old that to fit new toys in we have to give away some of her older toys she never plays with.
See that's the trouble, she never plays with these things until I suggest giving them away then she becomes almost obsessional about such items as a shape sorter intended for babies. "but what if you have another baby mammy?" I don't like to shatter her but there couldn't be an event further from my mind at the moment.
Usually my princess is such a kind, compassionate little girl, she hates seeing anyone upset and is first to offer cuddles. She understands that some children are less fortunate than her and would do almost anything to help. She would give her last sweetie away if she thought it would make someone happy. This compassion does not stretch however to parting with her beloved toys.
We have tried saying we will pass her old toys on to children who don't have any toys to no avail. It turns out the magic of santa Claus covers her on that one "don't be silly mammy as long as the children have been good Santa will bring them toys. And if they haven't been good it will teach them a lesson for next year"
What a wise head on young shoulders.
It still doesn't resolve my issue of how to make room for the cupboard full of toys Santa will deliver in a few weeks.
See that's the trouble, she never plays with these things until I suggest giving them away then she becomes almost obsessional about such items as a shape sorter intended for babies. "but what if you have another baby mammy?" I don't like to shatter her but there couldn't be an event further from my mind at the moment.
Usually my princess is such a kind, compassionate little girl, she hates seeing anyone upset and is first to offer cuddles. She understands that some children are less fortunate than her and would do almost anything to help. She would give her last sweetie away if she thought it would make someone happy. This compassion does not stretch however to parting with her beloved toys.
We have tried saying we will pass her old toys on to children who don't have any toys to no avail. It turns out the magic of santa Claus covers her on that one "don't be silly mammy as long as the children have been good Santa will bring them toys. And if they haven't been good it will teach them a lesson for next year"
What a wise head on young shoulders.
It still doesn't resolve my issue of how to make room for the cupboard full of toys Santa will deliver in a few weeks.
Saturday, 22 October 2011
Pro Mia?
Pro Mia is the term which was given to pro bulimia websites, Mia's sister websites being called pro Ana. I have begun to wonder if my thoughts this week make me 'pro mia'?
I had the second half of an assessment with a psychologist this week who thankfully agreed that psychology isn't for me right now. I really don't see the benefit from opening certain cans of worms that are for the most part dealt with, thank goodness she agreed. It seems that whilst I am mentally well I am quite a well balanced individual, it is only when I am unwell and my thoughts take over that I feel I can't be objective about life.
What this session with the psychologist did make me realise though is that although I have fought (I refuse to say suffered) depression since I was a pre-teen child it was always manageable until I worked so bloody hard to 'give up' my coping mechanisms.
Some people are addicted to drugs or alcohol or maybe sex, my addiction has always been food. Without belittling any of the addictions I have mentioned above and how difficult the battle must be to break free from the grasp of them, once free the addict is able to physically refrain from the drug for example whereas a food addict still has to face food and eating every single day to survive.
I hate being an emotional eater. My emotional hunger is like the wrinkled skin left over after dieting, it is the last bit left over after 'recovery' from bulimia. Maybe I miss bulimia, its like a friend who has moved away but I guess I could always pick up the 'phone.
I was left wondering this week if I might be able to keep my mood stable in the long term by deciding to resume my friendship (its a love/hate relationship) with bulimia. Maybe it is sheer coincidence that my episodes of depression have worsened since I gave up throwing up but I don't think so. I honestly believe it somehow kept me on an even keel. Is my little girl better off growing up with a mammy with an ongoing eating disorder or a mammy at risk of suicide every few years when depression hits like a shovel in the face?
I can not actually believe that after all the effort I put in to breaking free from bulimia I would seriously consider allowing myself to walk that path again. Didn't I say earlier in this blog post that I am a well balanced individual? Ho hum.... x
I had the second half of an assessment with a psychologist this week who thankfully agreed that psychology isn't for me right now. I really don't see the benefit from opening certain cans of worms that are for the most part dealt with, thank goodness she agreed. It seems that whilst I am mentally well I am quite a well balanced individual, it is only when I am unwell and my thoughts take over that I feel I can't be objective about life.
What this session with the psychologist did make me realise though is that although I have fought (I refuse to say suffered) depression since I was a pre-teen child it was always manageable until I worked so bloody hard to 'give up' my coping mechanisms.
Some people are addicted to drugs or alcohol or maybe sex, my addiction has always been food. Without belittling any of the addictions I have mentioned above and how difficult the battle must be to break free from the grasp of them, once free the addict is able to physically refrain from the drug for example whereas a food addict still has to face food and eating every single day to survive.
I hate being an emotional eater. My emotional hunger is like the wrinkled skin left over after dieting, it is the last bit left over after 'recovery' from bulimia. Maybe I miss bulimia, its like a friend who has moved away but I guess I could always pick up the 'phone.
I was left wondering this week if I might be able to keep my mood stable in the long term by deciding to resume my friendship (its a love/hate relationship) with bulimia. Maybe it is sheer coincidence that my episodes of depression have worsened since I gave up throwing up but I don't think so. I honestly believe it somehow kept me on an even keel. Is my little girl better off growing up with a mammy with an ongoing eating disorder or a mammy at risk of suicide every few years when depression hits like a shovel in the face?
I can not actually believe that after all the effort I put in to breaking free from bulimia I would seriously consider allowing myself to walk that path again. Didn't I say earlier in this blog post that I am a well balanced individual? Ho hum.... x
Sunday, 11 September 2011
Back to school...
Well at the grand old age of 31 I am returning to university for three years to get a degree and professional qualification which will allow me to practice as a mental health nurse. I hope I am able to use my knowledge to the benefit of others.
I plan to absorb every bit of knowledge I can over the next three years, from the lecturers, from the ward staff and from the patients. I want to be the best nurse I am capable of being.
I could not have done this at 18 when I was picking out my path in life, nor to be honest would I have even considered it as a career. My vocation came late, my vocation was a light bulb moment where I realised I wanted to do something with meaning not just make a lot of money which if I'm honest was my aim previously. The starting salary will be around half of what I earned in my last job but that is matter less to me now. I want to make a difference.
I plan to absorb every bit of knowledge I can over the next three years, from the lecturers, from the ward staff and from the patients. I want to be the best nurse I am capable of being.
I could not have done this at 18 when I was picking out my path in life, nor to be honest would I have even considered it as a career. My vocation came late, my vocation was a light bulb moment where I realised I wanted to do something with meaning not just make a lot of money which if I'm honest was my aim previously. The starting salary will be around half of what I earned in my last job but that is matter less to me now. I want to make a difference.
Tuesday, 29 March 2011
4 months later
The mind of the girl was quiet and numb,
The blackest of thoughts were still to come.
She screamed without noise,
She cried without tears.
She hates herself,
Please take away her fears.
Her mind is a prison,
Self sentence to hang.
Although mother and wife,
Of guilt not a pang.
She was dying to spare them,
She truly believed.
Her plan interrupted,
She is now eternally relieved.
They anointed her head with conductant,
But no crown of thorn.
Tears began to run down her face,
Each night in her slumber afraid of the dawn.
She wants to say thank you,
For all of your help.
For showing her how,
To once again be herself.
Her heart still hurts,
But not every day.
She is on a long journey,
But now knows the way.
The team on ‘Newton’
Showed respect and compassion.
They wiped her tears;
Gave advice and support with a passion.
The mind of the girl reverted slowly to Claire,
I have thoughts of the future and a family to share.
The blackest of thoughts were still to come.
She screamed without noise,
She cried without tears.
She hates herself,
Please take away her fears.
Her mind is a prison,
Self sentence to hang.
Although mother and wife,
Of guilt not a pang.
She was dying to spare them,
She truly believed.
Her plan interrupted,
She is now eternally relieved.
They anointed her head with conductant,
But no crown of thorn.
Tears began to run down her face,
Each night in her slumber afraid of the dawn.
She wants to say thank you,
For all of your help.
For showing her how,
To once again be herself.
Her heart still hurts,
But not every day.
She is on a long journey,
But now knows the way.
The team on ‘Newton’
Showed respect and compassion.
They wiped her tears;
Gave advice and support with a passion.
The mind of the girl reverted slowly to Claire,
I have thoughts of the future and a family to share.
Friday, 11 March 2011
Reflection
When I began this hideous journey again last spring I began by taking each day at a time. This soon became too much and I began trying to manage each hour at a time. If I was to break my day down into units now I can not even face the next minute. This is how I know it is time to admit defeat. Time to give in, time to let this force in my brain take the power it is fighting with me for each waking and many sleeping moments. Time to die.
I was naïve enough to believe those around me after my daughter was born four years ago that recovery was indeed possible. That I could be fixed. I now recognise that I need to accept I am broken beyond repair. If I were a domestic pet I would have been put down; well please someone HELP ME as I can not and will not carry on like this.
02.30am and I wish to be neither awake nor asleep. Awake and my head isracing with thoughts of the perfect plan to end my torture and asleep I have grown to expect dreams of horror, horror and fear.
My husband has just informed me that he has called the ward tonight to check up on me. Apparently my dear dear friend S had called him concerned after I had shared with her how utterly desperate I feel.
Mistake. Big fucking mistake as I can feel already that I have shut down ranks. Now I will talk to no one. I will keep my counsel and sort things out myself. I always have done the sorting of things myself so at least I'm well practiced.
Also been in touch with a previous patient tonight who told me about another patient taking her underwear and actually admitting to it. I am not entirely stupid and know to take everything I am told here with a pinch of salt but this has still concerned me.
When I was a young child I knew no better and allowed 'him' to act out his sexual perversions on me, once I realised how wrong this was I vowed to be in control - even if this meant handing myself on a plate to men I was in control. The thought of someone taking my undergarments for their own pleasure and without my permission litterally leaves me terrified.
Whether or not it was based on their own perceptions or on my husbands phone call I guess I will never know but what I do know is that the staff have been especially wonderful today. Tonight they even managed to encourage me to leave the relative sanctuary of my bedroom.
Nurse L even managed to convince me that she needed my help with scrabble (hmmmmmmmm I think not) and this evening nurse N brought in dvd's of the sex and the city films. I was able to escape briefly into my pre-marriage/child for a short while and remember some of my single youthful adventures and dating!
I am struggling to write now as I am so tired but fingers crossed for a peaceful night. If only I could look forward to reprieve from my horrific thoughts when I was asleep. Night folks. X
I was naïve enough to believe those around me after my daughter was born four years ago that recovery was indeed possible. That I could be fixed. I now recognise that I need to accept I am broken beyond repair. If I were a domestic pet I would have been put down; well please someone HELP ME as I can not and will not carry on like this.
02.30am and I wish to be neither awake nor asleep. Awake and my head isracing with thoughts of the perfect plan to end my torture and asleep I have grown to expect dreams of horror, horror and fear.
My husband has just informed me that he has called the ward tonight to check up on me. Apparently my dear dear friend S had called him concerned after I had shared with her how utterly desperate I feel.
Mistake. Big fucking mistake as I can feel already that I have shut down ranks. Now I will talk to no one. I will keep my counsel and sort things out myself. I always have done the sorting of things myself so at least I'm well practiced.
Also been in touch with a previous patient tonight who told me about another patient taking her underwear and actually admitting to it. I am not entirely stupid and know to take everything I am told here with a pinch of salt but this has still concerned me.
When I was a young child I knew no better and allowed 'him' to act out his sexual perversions on me, once I realised how wrong this was I vowed to be in control - even if this meant handing myself on a plate to men I was in control. The thought of someone taking my undergarments for their own pleasure and without my permission litterally leaves me terrified.
Whether or not it was based on their own perceptions or on my husbands phone call I guess I will never know but what I do know is that the staff have been especially wonderful today. Tonight they even managed to encourage me to leave the relative sanctuary of my bedroom.
Nurse L even managed to convince me that she needed my help with scrabble (hmmmmmmmm I think not) and this evening nurse N brought in dvd's of the sex and the city films. I was able to escape briefly into my pre-marriage/child for a short while and remember some of my single youthful adventures and dating!
I am struggling to write now as I am so tired but fingers crossed for a peaceful night. If only I could look forward to reprieve from my horrific thoughts when I was asleep. Night folks. X
Time to say goodbye?
My life is like a sitcom at times and often if I'm truthful leaves me confused and thinking WTF. Tonight was a perfect example of my less than perfect life.
I woke up this morning with a horrendous sore throat, and given that last time shortly after my admission I had a quincy on my tonsils I was so afraid this had happened again. Thank God no quincy 'just' tonsillitis - oh joy. So to cut short a long story I have felt poorly all day, I even struggled to smoke which means I'm proper poorly. All I wanted was. Cuddle and bless my wonderful husband who after a gig after his full time job drove all the way over here just to provide said hug.
My blackberry has gone a bit odd, don't know if my dropping it so many times has finally done some damage but it has started to re-send me emails from 2009.... Now this in itself is odd BUT today it played its trump card by changing its ring tone and blasting out 'time to say goodbye' by Sarah Brightman and Andrea Bocelli.... Well I am on a psychiatric ward with suicidal depression so you can imagine the alarm bells which accompanied it.... Like I say my life could well be a sitcom!
So with penicillin and hugs I should be on the mend. Speak soon peeps (when my voice doesn't sound like a pre-pubescent boy on helium)
X
I woke up this morning with a horrendous sore throat, and given that last time shortly after my admission I had a quincy on my tonsils I was so afraid this had happened again. Thank God no quincy 'just' tonsillitis - oh joy. So to cut short a long story I have felt poorly all day, I even struggled to smoke which means I'm proper poorly. All I wanted was. Cuddle and bless my wonderful husband who after a gig after his full time job drove all the way over here just to provide said hug.
My blackberry has gone a bit odd, don't know if my dropping it so many times has finally done some damage but it has started to re-send me emails from 2009.... Now this in itself is odd BUT today it played its trump card by changing its ring tone and blasting out 'time to say goodbye' by Sarah Brightman and Andrea Bocelli.... Well I am on a psychiatric ward with suicidal depression so you can imagine the alarm bells which accompanied it.... Like I say my life could well be a sitcom!
So with penicillin and hugs I should be on the mend. Speak soon peeps (when my voice doesn't sound like a pre-pubescent boy on helium)
X
Wednesday, 9 March 2011
overnight leave...
So I've just arrived back on the ward after overnight leave at home. I feel like a great big fat failure. I think my mood has slipped again the past couple of weeks if I'm honest but I dare not mention this to anyone as for a brief moment when I was cuddled on the sofa with my hubby and my daughter I felt safe. For the briefest of moments I believed everyone who has told me it will all be ok and that recovery is possible then reality hit. Reality hit me in the face like a brick. My reality is that like a virus that lays dormant then gives you a coldsore when you are run down depression will always be there lurking in my life. I hate that this is something I have no control over, I crave control.
I used every scrap of energy I had saved up yesterday to ensure my daughters excitement at having me home was justified, the mistake I made was going overdrawn and using todays energy too. We made pancakes and argued over the best toppings, when our daughter was out of earshot my husband and I cracked jokes about tossing (well it was Shrove tuesday/pancake day!) it almost felt 'normal'. It wasn't 'normal' however as we both knew I had to come back today, that our trying to lead a 'normal' family life was a game. We were just practising.
I read a bedtime story to my beautifully thoughtful four year old and she said 'you used to rea me this one when you used to live here mammy' my heart broke into a million pieces whilst I wondered what she actually understood and what she just smiled and nodded at but remained confused? At 4 the world is simplistic, mammy had gone. Full stop.
What I then did was stupidity on my part. I ought to have known my reaction but still I set myself up for a fall. I wanted to prove to myself that I was in control, I wanted to prove that the flashbacks were a thing of the past. Why? Why would I put myself through that? I initiated intimacy with my husband who at first tried to say it was too soon, he was kind and understanding as he always is, he said that there was no rush and that we should take our time. I knew he wouldn't resist for long - he has been home alone for nearly four months - I thought if we could make love I was 'well'. How could I be so stupid, as gentle and considerate as he is the sheer act itself left me shaking. I closed my eyes and I was a child again being violated. I know I initiated the act and I tried to remain in control but my memories took over once again. I hate my brain.
I was up pacing until after 2.30am, sleep seemed impossible, my thoughts were racing as fast as my feet were wearing the carpet, possibly even faster. I then decided I HAD to go to bed and at least try to get some sleep. I lay in my husbands arms feeling a vast array of emotions, I felt safe in his arms but equally I felt constrained by his arms, in my state of alertness too great for 3am. I wanted to walk. I wanted to walk and walk and feel the wind on my face, to be alone with my thoughts however dangerous they may have been. I had made a promise though, I had promised my key nurse that I would stay indoors, that I wouldn't leave the flat alone.
If I'm honest the only reason I didn't walk was that my daughter has a chesty cough and had quite a disturbed night, I didn't want her to be unwell and mammy not to be there. Once again my 4 year old guardian angel or as the hospital like to put it in my care plans my 'protective factor'
When my daughter walked into our marital bedroom this morning the look on her face when she realised mammy had slept at home was amazing, I thought she was going to burst with excitement. She was thrilled that mammy had stayed at home overnight. I wanted to share her happiness but my heart had gained weight overnight again, with my heart heavy and my soul tortured I wonder will I ever be free?
I used every scrap of energy I had saved up yesterday to ensure my daughters excitement at having me home was justified, the mistake I made was going overdrawn and using todays energy too. We made pancakes and argued over the best toppings, when our daughter was out of earshot my husband and I cracked jokes about tossing (well it was Shrove tuesday/pancake day!) it almost felt 'normal'. It wasn't 'normal' however as we both knew I had to come back today, that our trying to lead a 'normal' family life was a game. We were just practising.
I read a bedtime story to my beautifully thoughtful four year old and she said 'you used to rea me this one when you used to live here mammy' my heart broke into a million pieces whilst I wondered what she actually understood and what she just smiled and nodded at but remained confused? At 4 the world is simplistic, mammy had gone. Full stop.
What I then did was stupidity on my part. I ought to have known my reaction but still I set myself up for a fall. I wanted to prove to myself that I was in control, I wanted to prove that the flashbacks were a thing of the past. Why? Why would I put myself through that? I initiated intimacy with my husband who at first tried to say it was too soon, he was kind and understanding as he always is, he said that there was no rush and that we should take our time. I knew he wouldn't resist for long - he has been home alone for nearly four months - I thought if we could make love I was 'well'. How could I be so stupid, as gentle and considerate as he is the sheer act itself left me shaking. I closed my eyes and I was a child again being violated. I know I initiated the act and I tried to remain in control but my memories took over once again. I hate my brain.
I was up pacing until after 2.30am, sleep seemed impossible, my thoughts were racing as fast as my feet were wearing the carpet, possibly even faster. I then decided I HAD to go to bed and at least try to get some sleep. I lay in my husbands arms feeling a vast array of emotions, I felt safe in his arms but equally I felt constrained by his arms, in my state of alertness too great for 3am. I wanted to walk. I wanted to walk and walk and feel the wind on my face, to be alone with my thoughts however dangerous they may have been. I had made a promise though, I had promised my key nurse that I would stay indoors, that I wouldn't leave the flat alone.
If I'm honest the only reason I didn't walk was that my daughter has a chesty cough and had quite a disturbed night, I didn't want her to be unwell and mammy not to be there. Once again my 4 year old guardian angel or as the hospital like to put it in my care plans my 'protective factor'
When my daughter walked into our marital bedroom this morning the look on her face when she realised mammy had slept at home was amazing, I thought she was going to burst with excitement. She was thrilled that mammy had stayed at home overnight. I wanted to share her happiness but my heart had gained weight overnight again, with my heart heavy and my soul tortured I wonder will I ever be free?
Sunday, 13 February 2011
Why me?
What have I done to deserve this? Is it a test? I try to live a good life, I try to be kind, to show compassion to others but I must be bad to the core.
The anti-biotics I was prescribed for my throat have had the unpleasant side effect of giving me thrush. As a consequence of the pain and discomfort of the thrush I have spent a great deal of time fighting off the flash backs of my childhood. I thought I was rid of these flash backs but no, I deserve no better.
My brain is once again playing tricks on me, kicking me whilst I'm down. I know that personification of my brain may seem ridiculous; it is simply an organ I know that but I do feel as though I am being punished.
I hate that something as simple as thrush can throw me mentally back twenty odd years to being a frightened little girl. At least I am trusted with my own thrush treatment... it mustn't be poisonous then!!!
The anti-biotics I was prescribed for my throat have had the unpleasant side effect of giving me thrush. As a consequence of the pain and discomfort of the thrush I have spent a great deal of time fighting off the flash backs of my childhood. I thought I was rid of these flash backs but no, I deserve no better.
My brain is once again playing tricks on me, kicking me whilst I'm down. I know that personification of my brain may seem ridiculous; it is simply an organ I know that but I do feel as though I am being punished.
I hate that something as simple as thrush can throw me mentally back twenty odd years to being a frightened little girl. At least I am trusted with my own thrush treatment... it mustn't be poisonous then!!!
Friday, 11 February 2011
Information sharing is good for the soul
OMG what on earth have I done? I have agreed as I am so emotionally stunted to let my primary nurse read my notes on how I feel. I am 50/50 part of me thinks she will gain a better understanding of me and part of me is terrified of any consequences.
I have learned (the hard way) that being honest has consequences, which is partly why I keep most of my thoughts to myself. Well its done now so nothing I can do about it and given that I appear to be as open as a guest on the Jeremy Kyle show when I am coming around from anaesthesia after ECT so it is all probably nothing they don't already know.
My four year old daughter has just been in with my two sisters-in-law, lovely to see them all but heartbreaking to watch their backs as they leave. Bittersweet irony that last time I was a patient at this hospital with postnatal depression after the birth of my daughter I was convinced that we should get her adopted and yet now my heart aches with love for her.
Maybe she would still be better off without me? My husband and my daughter seem to be coping without me. They both deserve so much more. I MUST die.
I have learned (the hard way) that being honest has consequences, which is partly why I keep most of my thoughts to myself. Well its done now so nothing I can do about it and given that I appear to be as open as a guest on the Jeremy Kyle show when I am coming around from anaesthesia after ECT so it is all probably nothing they don't already know.
My four year old daughter has just been in with my two sisters-in-law, lovely to see them all but heartbreaking to watch their backs as they leave. Bittersweet irony that last time I was a patient at this hospital with postnatal depression after the birth of my daughter I was convinced that we should get her adopted and yet now my heart aches with love for her.
Maybe she would still be better off without me? My husband and my daughter seem to be coping without me. They both deserve so much more. I MUST die.
Some songs seem to reach out to me...
Gary Jules - Mad World
'Hold my head I wanna drown my sorrow.
No tomorrow. No tomorrow.
I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad,
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had.......'
'Hold my head I wanna drown my sorrow.
No tomorrow. No tomorrow.
I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad,
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had.......'
Thursday, 10 February 2011
A letter to God
Dear God
Why do you mock me so? Why do you insist I wake each morning? I put off getting dressed each morning, partly as the energy consumption for this task is too great and partly as I live in hope that I haven't really woken; that I have passed over in the night.
Just spoken to hubby who is on his way so I guess I need to dress; I must be alive. Why God? Why?
Take me. Let some poorly child who is desperate to live remain in my place. I can not carry on like this I need to end my torment. For what reason do you make me suffer? Am I that evil?
I thought hubby and daughter would fall apart without me but they seem to be coping well. I am surplus.
On a positive note I must seem ok as I don't think my observations are 15 mins any more - If only I had the energy and motivation to use that time constructively.
Maybe better to hold on anyway, I couldn't expect any pall bearers to carry me this heavy. I was reminded yesterday why I always shower rather than bathe. 'Have a bath, it'll be relaxing' I lay there looking down at the repulsive monstrosity that is my body. It was not relaxing.
Why do you mock me so? Why do you insist I wake each morning? I put off getting dressed each morning, partly as the energy consumption for this task is too great and partly as I live in hope that I haven't really woken; that I have passed over in the night.
Just spoken to hubby who is on his way so I guess I need to dress; I must be alive. Why God? Why?
Take me. Let some poorly child who is desperate to live remain in my place. I can not carry on like this I need to end my torment. For what reason do you make me suffer? Am I that evil?
I thought hubby and daughter would fall apart without me but they seem to be coping well. I am surplus.
On a positive note I must seem ok as I don't think my observations are 15 mins any more - If only I had the energy and motivation to use that time constructively.
Maybe better to hold on anyway, I couldn't expect any pall bearers to carry me this heavy. I was reminded yesterday why I always shower rather than bathe. 'Have a bath, it'll be relaxing' I lay there looking down at the repulsive monstrosity that is my body. It was not relaxing.
Tuesday, 8 February 2011
A shadow of myself...
A shadow of myself... I look at the girl who I am on the ward with and I see a version of myself. The 'me' I could have been, the 'me' I nearly was.
At 16 and effectively homeless I remember making the conscious decision between baby and council house and education. I'm not judging those who took that route, sometimes I wonder if it was the easier path? In hindsight I probably made the right decision for me. Education was my key to escape. And physically escape I did, mentally I will always be that frightened little girl.
This fellow inmate has so much going for her, I wish she was able to see her qualities. For all our differences on a social level we get on well and I hope we can remain friends following our 'release'. I think we have much to learn from each other.
At 16 and effectively homeless I remember making the conscious decision between baby and council house and education. I'm not judging those who took that route, sometimes I wonder if it was the easier path? In hindsight I probably made the right decision for me. Education was my key to escape. And physically escape I did, mentally I will always be that frightened little girl.
This fellow inmate has so much going for her, I wish she was able to see her qualities. For all our differences on a social level we get on well and I hope we can remain friends following our 'release'. I think we have much to learn from each other.
Sunday, 6 February 2011
RIP me
RIP me; the old me will never return now and to be honest I'm not even sure I'd want her to. I feel like Geri Halliwell when she did her first solo single video and showed a coffin with the Union Jack draped over and the word 'Ginger' spelled out along the side in flowers.
I remember the old me fondly for the most part; strong, ambitious, focused. All attributes which have drowned in this vast ocean of depression.
Today I have questioned whether the advance statement is worth as much as the paper it is written on let alone the hours I spent agonising over its contents? It seems not. I spent countless hours and infinite energy on that document which was written as a well person to give folks an insight into my personality with a precis of both my life and my experiences of illness.
Maybe I am not ill though? Maybe this IS just my personality? A flawed personality, shaped by my weaknesses and faults?
I remember the old me fondly for the most part; strong, ambitious, focused. All attributes which have drowned in this vast ocean of depression.
Today I have questioned whether the advance statement is worth as much as the paper it is written on let alone the hours I spent agonising over its contents? It seems not. I spent countless hours and infinite energy on that document which was written as a well person to give folks an insight into my personality with a precis of both my life and my experiences of illness.
Maybe I am not ill though? Maybe this IS just my personality? A flawed personality, shaped by my weaknesses and faults?
Settling in?
It has been a week since I have last written, a week in my own self inflicted hell. Please save me from myself. The ward is so busy that I feel like a bother. No ward staff have made me feel like that and I understand the nature of an acute admission ward is exactly this reality but my own insecurities are real in my own mind.
I try not to ask for anything as I know most people are more unwell than me. The one time I did ask for help, for my throat I was mocked and sent back to bed. That will teach me to keep my counsel in future. He was bank staff but that is no excuse in the grand scheme of things. I should have just left my airway to close and died peacefully of natural causes. Nurse P is a prize twat anyway but even he excelled himself on this occasion.
Nurse P has already admitted that he wants to be a school drama teacher not a psych nurse anymore; he would do well to remember however that we are ADULTS who are unwell not 12 year old actors!
I try not to ask for anything as I know most people are more unwell than me. The one time I did ask for help, for my throat I was mocked and sent back to bed. That will teach me to keep my counsel in future. He was bank staff but that is no excuse in the grand scheme of things. I should have just left my airway to close and died peacefully of natural causes. Nurse P is a prize twat anyway but even he excelled himself on this occasion.
Nurse P has already admitted that he wants to be a school drama teacher not a psych nurse anymore; he would do well to remember however that we are ADULTS who are unwell not 12 year old actors!
Catholic Guilt?
Do I believe in eternal damnation? Yes I do I believe that I will be heading straight to hell for ending my own life and that is what I fully intend on doing. I haven't quite decided the logistics of when (although the date will obviously be an even number) or how but I guess I'm stuck with where given my current incarceration in a psychiatric hospital.
I have a number of methods in mind and I feel quite calm about my decision. I know it is the right one. Steve has had the past 8 weeks to 'trial' single dad life and other than the occasional odd combination of clothing on Eve he seems to be coping pretty bloody well.
So I'm off to hell and I have accepted that, now I appreciate that this may seem odd to you but you don't have to live in my head every waking and many sleeping moments. Tortured; that's me. I used to question what I had done to deserve this but now its the other way round and I wonder what made me ever think that I deserved more than this?
I doubt there will be many more posts from me now though although who knows as given my experiences in the past I really ought to accept how poor I am at suicide.
I have a number of methods in mind and I feel quite calm about my decision. I know it is the right one. Steve has had the past 8 weeks to 'trial' single dad life and other than the occasional odd combination of clothing on Eve he seems to be coping pretty bloody well.
So I'm off to hell and I have accepted that, now I appreciate that this may seem odd to you but you don't have to live in my head every waking and many sleeping moments. Tortured; that's me. I used to question what I had done to deserve this but now its the other way round and I wonder what made me ever think that I deserved more than this?
I doubt there will be many more posts from me now though although who knows as given my experiences in the past I really ought to accept how poor I am at suicide.
Monday, 17 January 2011
Vocal eyes and silent mouth...
I can not motivate myself dress today, it not like I am going anywhere. I would love to leave the ward today, I am craving silence, the ward is always so busy on Mondays.
Talking to other patients is messing with my head. I rarely tell them anything about my life or my reasons for being here but I am regularly surprised by the openness of others. One patient tells me her husband is a paedophile whilst another tells me she was sold into paedophilia at age 14, I am so very afraid for my daughter. I can not and will not allow her to have her innocence stolen. If I am not able to protect her from the vile monsters which are everywhere then my role as a mother should have ended with the birth.
I think it is time to bring forward my plans by a few days. I am struggling with the energy even to execute my plans. I must now work on the assumption that my energy levels will only deplete further.
My husband and daughter have just been in, bless my husband he was so tired that he fell asleep. Spent ages trying to explain to my daughter the difference between shadows and reflection. Bless her she didn't grasp it at all.
Just realised my arm/hand (just had operation) is hurting less as I write - good thing I guess.
Went down to chapel for some quiet reflective time but I had obviously fucked up as nurse V was sent down after me. I shouldn't have opened my big mouth but she knew I was avoiding eye contact. I wish sometimes I was capable of a greater level of deceit. Even if my mouth remains silent my eyes tell all apparently, so I have often been told anyway.
Agreed to join in with a game of scrabble but neither my head nor my heart were in it, two of the four players got up and left me and one other patient. I kept suggesting that we just leave it but I felt I would appear too rude if I just got up and left. I do try to be nice but I guess as the old saying goes 'you can't polish a turd' and I am indeed a turd.
Please Lord let it be over, I am tired.
Talking to other patients is messing with my head. I rarely tell them anything about my life or my reasons for being here but I am regularly surprised by the openness of others. One patient tells me her husband is a paedophile whilst another tells me she was sold into paedophilia at age 14, I am so very afraid for my daughter. I can not and will not allow her to have her innocence stolen. If I am not able to protect her from the vile monsters which are everywhere then my role as a mother should have ended with the birth.
I think it is time to bring forward my plans by a few days. I am struggling with the energy even to execute my plans. I must now work on the assumption that my energy levels will only deplete further.
My husband and daughter have just been in, bless my husband he was so tired that he fell asleep. Spent ages trying to explain to my daughter the difference between shadows and reflection. Bless her she didn't grasp it at all.
Just realised my arm/hand (just had operation) is hurting less as I write - good thing I guess.
Went down to chapel for some quiet reflective time but I had obviously fucked up as nurse V was sent down after me. I shouldn't have opened my big mouth but she knew I was avoiding eye contact. I wish sometimes I was capable of a greater level of deceit. Even if my mouth remains silent my eyes tell all apparently, so I have often been told anyway.
Agreed to join in with a game of scrabble but neither my head nor my heart were in it, two of the four players got up and left me and one other patient. I kept suggesting that we just leave it but I felt I would appear too rude if I just got up and left. I do try to be nice but I guess as the old saying goes 'you can't polish a turd' and I am indeed a turd.
Please Lord let it be over, I am tired.
Sunday, 16 January 2011
100% or nothing
I want to die. I want to fall asleep and never wake up. Twice each week on treatment days I actually look forward to the white general anaesthetic being syringed into my venflon. It has a distinctive smell, sweet but chemical like. I wonder each time if that will be the last smell I ever experience. Alas no, I awake each time.
I have considered every method of suicide possible, but not seem guaranteed. I need to guarantee that I will fall asleep, into an eternally peaceful sleep. If I don't have that 100% guarantee then I won't do it.
I have considered covering myself in antibacterial alcohol gel and setting myself alight but not worth the risk of living but even more disfigured than I already am.
I have considered lying on my back and using my pen to stab into my already broken heart but have concluded that it would take more than one wound and that I may not feel able to do it after the first.
My favoured option at the moment is an 'accidental' blow to the head. A risk for anyone but more so for anyone with a bleeding disorder like me. I don't know if I would be able to hit my head hard enough on purpose though so in all likelihood I would simply end up with a headache and maybe concussion.
This doesn't interest me. Deliberate self harm I mean, it holds no appeal to me, even if physical pain is easier to deal with than my mental pain. I know I scratch my arms but that is unconscious, self harm has never been my 'thing'.
I want to die, to put an end to my daily torment. I am therefore being honest when I answer 'no' in response to the question 'Do you have any plans to harm yourself' I guess what I should say is 'no but I have plans to end my life fairly soon'
The only reason my answer is no is because I haven't thought of a method with a good chance of it working. Although to be fair it is probably equally because I don't even have the energy. I am a waste of fucking oxygen.
I have considered every method of suicide possible, but not seem guaranteed. I need to guarantee that I will fall asleep, into an eternally peaceful sleep. If I don't have that 100% guarantee then I won't do it.
I have considered covering myself in antibacterial alcohol gel and setting myself alight but not worth the risk of living but even more disfigured than I already am.
I have considered lying on my back and using my pen to stab into my already broken heart but have concluded that it would take more than one wound and that I may not feel able to do it after the first.
My favoured option at the moment is an 'accidental' blow to the head. A risk for anyone but more so for anyone with a bleeding disorder like me. I don't know if I would be able to hit my head hard enough on purpose though so in all likelihood I would simply end up with a headache and maybe concussion.
This doesn't interest me. Deliberate self harm I mean, it holds no appeal to me, even if physical pain is easier to deal with than my mental pain. I know I scratch my arms but that is unconscious, self harm has never been my 'thing'.
I want to die, to put an end to my daily torment. I am therefore being honest when I answer 'no' in response to the question 'Do you have any plans to harm yourself' I guess what I should say is 'no but I have plans to end my life fairly soon'
The only reason my answer is no is because I haven't thought of a method with a good chance of it working. Although to be fair it is probably equally because I don't even have the energy. I am a waste of fucking oxygen.
Nature v nurture
Thank God today is nearly over, I am exhausted. My mam, nanna and Aunt J all visited together this afternoon. When I have been stuck in here for nearly five weeks my conversation is fairly limited. Waiting in reception for them to arrive I so very nearly bolted. Nurse P from another ward past me and said hello then their car pulled up so in that moment my opportunity had gone. Probably for the best although my misery could be over by now.
Day by day I am finding it increasingly difficult to keep myself safe, which seems to be why everyone keeps saying I need to be here. What no one seems willing to accept is that whether it is morally acceptable or not is immaterial to me I have no desire to continue living. What kind of mother thinks like that? Me. The sort who doesn't deserve the privilege of motherhood.
My daughter deserves, in fact needs better than me. Although if I have unintentionally given her a genetic predisposition to depression I know that it is right and proper that I stick around to deal with the fall out of what I have caused. I am terrified that I don't have the strength of character to cope with that.
Nature versus nurture; if I die now she is able to spend the rest of her childhood without my destructive influence, maybe this would be enough to free her from my grasp?
I want nothing more than for my daughter to be happy, I want her to enjoy not endure her childhood.
I failed at pregnancy, failed at birth, failed at breastfeeding and failed at the early months, I then managed to fool myself that I had been able to correct that. I am failing her again now. I don't want to let her down but I seem incapable of doing anything else.
My husband and my daughter have been having their photographs taken for my friends exhibition, the pictures are lovely. It has been like viewing what the future would be like without me. That is emotionally painful but I recognise that the right decision is not always the easiest one.
My time on this earth is nearly over and I have caused more heartache than love, I will endeavour to correct this over the coming days but maybe I need to accept that some things I am unable to change. Staff persuaded me to leave my room and play scrabble with them, I am pleased I did join them as my thoughts were getting too fast and out of control alone in my bedroom. I needed that distraction.
I think I have managed to convince staff and my family that I am doing well so if things go to plan my observation levels will be reduced to reflect this. Opportunity is all I require now.
Plans have had to be changed however as I asked my mother to bring me a lightweight robe and had no intention of handing in the belt to the staff but nurse V came in to my room for a chat and when I woke up to chat to her it was in my hand so I had no choice but to offer it to her as though I had intended to all along. Good job I am able to return to plan A. I am suddenly aware however that I must keep up the pretence of wellness, off to put my PJ's on.
MUST make this work. Dear God please let me rest in peace.
I am so afraid to go to sleep, first and foremost there is the devastation when I wake up then there is the prospect of re-living some of the worst times in my life during sleep.
Night night folks.
Day by day I am finding it increasingly difficult to keep myself safe, which seems to be why everyone keeps saying I need to be here. What no one seems willing to accept is that whether it is morally acceptable or not is immaterial to me I have no desire to continue living. What kind of mother thinks like that? Me. The sort who doesn't deserve the privilege of motherhood.
My daughter deserves, in fact needs better than me. Although if I have unintentionally given her a genetic predisposition to depression I know that it is right and proper that I stick around to deal with the fall out of what I have caused. I am terrified that I don't have the strength of character to cope with that.
Nature versus nurture; if I die now she is able to spend the rest of her childhood without my destructive influence, maybe this would be enough to free her from my grasp?
I want nothing more than for my daughter to be happy, I want her to enjoy not endure her childhood.
I failed at pregnancy, failed at birth, failed at breastfeeding and failed at the early months, I then managed to fool myself that I had been able to correct that. I am failing her again now. I don't want to let her down but I seem incapable of doing anything else.
My husband and my daughter have been having their photographs taken for my friends exhibition, the pictures are lovely. It has been like viewing what the future would be like without me. That is emotionally painful but I recognise that the right decision is not always the easiest one.
My time on this earth is nearly over and I have caused more heartache than love, I will endeavour to correct this over the coming days but maybe I need to accept that some things I am unable to change. Staff persuaded me to leave my room and play scrabble with them, I am pleased I did join them as my thoughts were getting too fast and out of control alone in my bedroom. I needed that distraction.
I think I have managed to convince staff and my family that I am doing well so if things go to plan my observation levels will be reduced to reflect this. Opportunity is all I require now.
Plans have had to be changed however as I asked my mother to bring me a lightweight robe and had no intention of handing in the belt to the staff but nurse V came in to my room for a chat and when I woke up to chat to her it was in my hand so I had no choice but to offer it to her as though I had intended to all along. Good job I am able to return to plan A. I am suddenly aware however that I must keep up the pretence of wellness, off to put my PJ's on.
MUST make this work. Dear God please let me rest in peace.
I am so afraid to go to sleep, first and foremost there is the devastation when I wake up then there is the prospect of re-living some of the worst times in my life during sleep.
Night night folks.
Saturday, 15 January 2011
Reflection
When I began this hideous journey again last spring I began by taking each day at a time. This soon became too much and I began trying to manage each hour at a time. If I was to break my day down into units now I can not even face the next minute. This is how I know it is time to admit defeat. Time to give in, time to let this force in my brain take the power it is fighting with me for each waking and many sleeping moments. Time to die.
I was naïve enough to believe those around me after my daughter was born four years ago that recovery was indeed possible. That I could be fixed. I now recognise that I need to accept I am broken beyond repair. If I were a domestic pet I would have been put down; well please someone HELP ME as I can not and will not carry on like this.
02.30am and I wish to be neither awake nor asleep. Awake and my head isracing with thoughts of the perfect plan to end my torture and asleep I have grown to expect dreams of horror, horror and fear.
My husband has just informed me that he has called the ward tonight to check up on me. Apparently my dear dear friend S had called him concerned after I had shared with her how utterly desperate I feel.
Mistake. Big fucking mistake as I can feel already that I have shut down ranks. Now I will talk to no one. I will keep my counsel and sort things out myself. I always have done the sorting of things myself so at least I'm well practiced.
Also been in touch with a previous patient tonight who told me about another patient taking her underwear and actually admitting to it. I am not entirely stupid and know to take everything I am told here with a pinch of salt but this has still concerned me.
When I was a young child I knew no better and allowed 'him' to act out his sexual perversions on me, once I realised how wrong this was I vowed to be in control - even if this meant handing myself on a plate to men I was in control. The thought of someone taking my undergarments for their own pleasure and without my permission litterally leaves me terrified.
Whether or not it was based on their own perceptions or on my husbands phone call I guess I will never know but what I do know is that the staff have been especially wonderful today. Tonight they even managed to encourage me to leave the relative sanctuary of my bedroom.
Nurse L even managed to convince me that she needed my help with scrabble (hmmmmmmmm I think not) and this evening nurse N brought in dvd's of the sex and the city films. I was able to escape briefly into my pre-marriage/child for a short while and remember some of my single youthful adventures and dating!
I am struggling to write now as I am so tired but fingers crossed for a peaceful night. If only I could look forward to reprieve from my horrific thoughts when I was asleep. Night folks. X
I was naïve enough to believe those around me after my daughter was born four years ago that recovery was indeed possible. That I could be fixed. I now recognise that I need to accept I am broken beyond repair. If I were a domestic pet I would have been put down; well please someone HELP ME as I can not and will not carry on like this.
02.30am and I wish to be neither awake nor asleep. Awake and my head isracing with thoughts of the perfect plan to end my torture and asleep I have grown to expect dreams of horror, horror and fear.
My husband has just informed me that he has called the ward tonight to check up on me. Apparently my dear dear friend S had called him concerned after I had shared with her how utterly desperate I feel.
Mistake. Big fucking mistake as I can feel already that I have shut down ranks. Now I will talk to no one. I will keep my counsel and sort things out myself. I always have done the sorting of things myself so at least I'm well practiced.
Also been in touch with a previous patient tonight who told me about another patient taking her underwear and actually admitting to it. I am not entirely stupid and know to take everything I am told here with a pinch of salt but this has still concerned me.
When I was a young child I knew no better and allowed 'him' to act out his sexual perversions on me, once I realised how wrong this was I vowed to be in control - even if this meant handing myself on a plate to men I was in control. The thought of someone taking my undergarments for their own pleasure and without my permission litterally leaves me terrified.
Whether or not it was based on their own perceptions or on my husbands phone call I guess I will never know but what I do know is that the staff have been especially wonderful today. Tonight they even managed to encourage me to leave the relative sanctuary of my bedroom.
Nurse L even managed to convince me that she needed my help with scrabble (hmmmmmmmm I think not) and this evening nurse N brought in dvd's of the sex and the city films. I was able to escape briefly into my pre-marriage/child for a short while and remember some of my single youthful adventures and dating!
I am struggling to write now as I am so tired but fingers crossed for a peaceful night. If only I could look forward to reprieve from my horrific thoughts when I was asleep. Night folks. X
Thursday, 6 January 2011
Road to recovery?
ECT treatment number six; I was well on the road to recovery last time. I seem to have set myself up for a fall by almost expecting to return to the ward with a spring in my step. I feel worse than ever, far far from having a spring in my step I feel like my boots are lined with lead. The weight of my thoughts as heavy as my heart.
If the risk from general anaesthesia is 1:80k my risk surely must increase with the number of treatments? Good job I am not a mathematician or I feel sure that would secure me a nurse shaped shadow.
Being a smoking fatty again must put me at a greater risk. I even ate a bag of chocolate coins (how very festive) before treatment five in the hope that by ignoring the nil by mouth would be enough to put me out of my misery.
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