31 July 08
Well, you all owe me a quid. My psychiatrist thought the nervous breakdown was a bad idea. I can be rich and miserable… Mail donations to the usual address and any suggestions should be written on the back of a used five pound note (or ten dollars, depending on your country of choice).
I had a text or three from my crazy Canadian lady yesterday, which made me feel a little better after a really pretty shitty day (and by the way, I love you too, you crazy Canuk). I have come to the conclusion that I need the internet just so I can talk to the friends that don’t have my address or phone number (and those who do have them but don’t use them… or those that do use them and then have their letters delayed or lost by the absolutely abysmal postal service working across the pond in either direction). I may head into town soon and see what the various offers are on for cheap internet thingies to plug into my computer and plug me back into the world. I may just have to go into the library more often to keep up with my mail at least (35 at last count and I only checked them on Monday) and try to keep up with the blogging without having to do it through a third party (Bear will probably be the poor sucker who has to post this for me).
I’m trying so hard to keep cheerful because I know what will happen if I don’t. I don’t think people are really interested in the shite in my head, and I’m not into people thinking I’m looking for sympathy because of my illness. I’m just planning to ramble on for a bit just in case some poor sap really feels the need to read this stuff…
My mother tried to tell me I’m not ill. Bless her, she’s trying to understand, but those who haven’t been there don’t really know what really goes on with mental illness. It’s a very strange thing, and sadly, the easy cures don’t work. The simple things that my mum thinks will solve everything won’t work because of the way the mind works, or doesn’t when you have mental problems.
It used to be a real stigma to have a mental illness, and so many things were classed as mental illnesses too, including things like promiscuity or getting pregnant before marriage and many other things that are now socially acceptable. Mental illness is now socially acceptable, and depression is now possibly the biggest excuse for days missed from work than anything else with the exception of stress. The thing is, half of these people are possibly just swinging the lead, being a wee bit miserable and the easy diagnosis is depression. They’re treated with a variety of different medications, most of which have no chance of working, because there’s nothing actually wrong with the patient in the fist place. The doctor would probably be as well giving them a sugar cube and a pat on the head, because that’s going to have about the same effect as the tablets. They’re mostly a placebo effect, albeit an expensive one for the local Primary Care Trust to dish out as an NHS medication.
I know I have a real problem. It’s maybe not as severe as some cases (although I have considered handing myself in to the local hospital recently because I couldn’t trust myself not to do something REALLY stupid, but fortunately I was saved that by the parents putting in an appearance and staving off the stupidity), but it still makes life very difficult for me. For some people, depression is just not being able to get up and not seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, glass half full and all that jazz, and for others depression takes a more sinister twist and they end up under trains, in rivers or going to sleep and not waking up again courtesy of large quantities of pharmaceuticals washed down with a good helping of the alcohol of their choice. For the record, co-codamol is NOT a good choice of medication, as lots of it makes you itch. It’s a tested theory, so trust me on this one (not a recent test. This one was a few months ago when things maybe weren’t quite so naff, but still naff enough for me to do something that could nearly have saved you all reading this crap…)
After speaking to a few people about such things, the general consensus is also that while self harm makes you feel better in the short term, there are still scars around many years later (unless of course you are one of the ones being scraped off trains or fished out of rivers) so it’s generally held to be a bad move. The problem is that while the rational mind can process this information, agree and nod sagely, the irrational mind is sat there thinking “What a load of crap. I want to do it and sod the rational side. That side is no fun anyway, and I’d never go partying with it. Rational is for LOSERS!” The irrational brain sees the rational side as a nerd to be mocked and contradicted at every turn while the rational side of the head tries to make itself heard. Think of it as bungee jumping: while the rational side is thinking, “This bit of elastic doesn’t really look that strong. Is this really a good idea?” the irrational side is thinking “WHEEEEEEEEEE!” as it has already thrown itself (including the poor sod that it’s inhabiting) off the ledge, bridge or platform. It is loud, obnoxious and drowns out the rational until it shuts up and slinks back to it’s room in a sulk, refusing to come out again till the irrational side has done the equivalent of a sixteen-pints-and-pass-out-at-the-party move, when it’s safe to re-emerge. By that point I’m usually looking for the box of elastoplast (or band-aids for you weirdos across the pond).
I have a new one, just in case anyone was interested. Rational slipped out for a cigarette earlier and left irrational in charge… It’s a bit like asking someone called Torquemada to work in an old people’s home…
It’s odd, being able to make fun of myself and my illness, making light of what could be (and sometimes is) a very serious condition of mine. It’s life threatening sometimes, and definitely not good for my health given that I don’t sleep well, don’t eat properly, and certainly don’t look after myself with any degree of care. I have weird nightmares that wake me at all hours of the night when I don’t take my sleeping tablets, but given that they are highly addictive things, I try not to take them too often. I have to put up with the sleeplessness just so I don’t get hooked on the bloody things, and I have to take all my other meds every day otherwise I go back to square one of them, and let me tell you, that ain’t pretty. The warning on my anti-depressants says that for the fist month, the tablets can INCREASE all the symptoms of depression, including the suicide/self-harm thing. Great medicine, isn’t it? Anyway, I persisted with it, and the doc just doubled my dose, as with the recent events it seems the bloody things aren’t working any more, or are doing so at a lesser efficiency, or have gone back to increasing, rather than decreasing the symptoms. I thought about having an eating disorder just to have the full set, but I can’t be arsed with the whole fingers-down-throat crap. Mind you, recently (for that read “from last Friday till yesterday”) my body decided it didn’t like food anyway and anything put in came out again fairly swiftly, so my food intake for five days was two small slices of chicken and a digestive biscuit. I did manage to keep drinking, so I kept the fluid levels up anyway.
Just for a laugh as well, because of the meds I have to take, I have to take another med to stop my stomach having too much acid in it, because gastric reflux all day, every day, is not fun. I ran out of that a bit ago though, so I couldn’t experiment to see if it would stop me throwing up anything put in my stomach.. I have another one to top up my thyroxin levels too, but I’ll have to take that every day for the rest of my life anyway. I can live with that one though, because it means I don’t get the symptoms of an underactive thyroid (although they’re sending me for more blood tests to check the meds are keeping up, as they’re not sure they are at the mo). I try to be good at taking my meds as well, because if you don’t take them, they don’t work properly. I want to get better. I really don’t want to get stuck like this for the rest of my life. Mind you, if the rational side keeps slipping out for breaks, that might not be too long…
Well, I just deleted a whole paragraph because I started waffling on about things that are best left alone for the time being. Bah humbug… I’d love to witter on about things and get them off my chest, however a) they’re pretty private things, b) they might bother someone reading this because of them being personal and c) they’re probably not all that interesting to those on the outside of the situation anyway. Oh, not forgetting d) (which I have already had from one friend tonight) which is that if I publicly say my thoughts, more people might threaten to come and give me a slap or shout at me, so I’ll pass, if it’s all the same to everyone else… I shall go back to the analysis of mental illness and in particular, depression.
Before I start, I would like to add that one of my neighbours is a complete waste of fresh air. I have been accused of phoning the police on him for whatever (which I categorically can state that I didn’t) and have had a load of abuse about my personal circumstances thrown at me. The last time he did that (last Friday) my rational side decided to have a break, leaving my irrational side in charge. Elastoplast time again… I should get shares in the company… Fortunately tonight my rational side is in full command of the situation and I told him in no uncertain terms that it was not me who called the police, although he didn’t believe a word of it. I don’t really care if he does or not to be honest, as I know that I didn’t, and the other people around here know I didn’t (including the guy who actually did phone them). I’m certainly not happy with the situation, as I came here to get some peace and quiet to perhaps get my head back together again, and instead I get some idiot trying to make things worse.
So… back to the plot (or lack of plot, as it feels like on occasion)…
My shrink has decided that I need to make a decision concerning something I feel I need to do, or not, as the case may be. My problem is that doing that thing could have four possible outcomes, only one of which would be a “good” one in the grand scheme of things (depending on your point of view). Not doing said thing will just leave me in the same place as I am now, but with a regret that I didn’t do the thing that I’m dithering about. The three outcomes of the doing things that aren’t so “good” would still settle some things and perhaps get my head back on track just a bit sooner, but I’m having problems working out whether I can cope with it. Sorry if all that’s a bit vague, but I can’t speak about it, because I have to make my own mind up about what I want to do… It would be nice to get opinions, but it has to be my own decision.
Well, it’s now getting a bit late here and the Bear has turned up with his flash drive, so I am going to slouch off back to reality and ask the nice man to post this for me… I so need the internet…
I had a text or three from my crazy Canadian lady yesterday, which made me feel a little better after a really pretty shitty day (and by the way, I love you too, you crazy Canuk). I have come to the conclusion that I need the internet just so I can talk to the friends that don’t have my address or phone number (and those who do have them but don’t use them… or those that do use them and then have their letters delayed or lost by the absolutely abysmal postal service working across the pond in either direction). I may head into town soon and see what the various offers are on for cheap internet thingies to plug into my computer and plug me back into the world. I may just have to go into the library more often to keep up with my mail at least (35 at last count and I only checked them on Monday) and try to keep up with the blogging without having to do it through a third party (Bear will probably be the poor sucker who has to post this for me).
I’m trying so hard to keep cheerful because I know what will happen if I don’t. I don’t think people are really interested in the shite in my head, and I’m not into people thinking I’m looking for sympathy because of my illness. I’m just planning to ramble on for a bit just in case some poor sap really feels the need to read this stuff…
My mother tried to tell me I’m not ill. Bless her, she’s trying to understand, but those who haven’t been there don’t really know what really goes on with mental illness. It’s a very strange thing, and sadly, the easy cures don’t work. The simple things that my mum thinks will solve everything won’t work because of the way the mind works, or doesn’t when you have mental problems.
It used to be a real stigma to have a mental illness, and so many things were classed as mental illnesses too, including things like promiscuity or getting pregnant before marriage and many other things that are now socially acceptable. Mental illness is now socially acceptable, and depression is now possibly the biggest excuse for days missed from work than anything else with the exception of stress. The thing is, half of these people are possibly just swinging the lead, being a wee bit miserable and the easy diagnosis is depression. They’re treated with a variety of different medications, most of which have no chance of working, because there’s nothing actually wrong with the patient in the fist place. The doctor would probably be as well giving them a sugar cube and a pat on the head, because that’s going to have about the same effect as the tablets. They’re mostly a placebo effect, albeit an expensive one for the local Primary Care Trust to dish out as an NHS medication.
I know I have a real problem. It’s maybe not as severe as some cases (although I have considered handing myself in to the local hospital recently because I couldn’t trust myself not to do something REALLY stupid, but fortunately I was saved that by the parents putting in an appearance and staving off the stupidity), but it still makes life very difficult for me. For some people, depression is just not being able to get up and not seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, glass half full and all that jazz, and for others depression takes a more sinister twist and they end up under trains, in rivers or going to sleep and not waking up again courtesy of large quantities of pharmaceuticals washed down with a good helping of the alcohol of their choice. For the record, co-codamol is NOT a good choice of medication, as lots of it makes you itch. It’s a tested theory, so trust me on this one (not a recent test. This one was a few months ago when things maybe weren’t quite so naff, but still naff enough for me to do something that could nearly have saved you all reading this crap…)
After speaking to a few people about such things, the general consensus is also that while self harm makes you feel better in the short term, there are still scars around many years later (unless of course you are one of the ones being scraped off trains or fished out of rivers) so it’s generally held to be a bad move. The problem is that while the rational mind can process this information, agree and nod sagely, the irrational mind is sat there thinking “What a load of crap. I want to do it and sod the rational side. That side is no fun anyway, and I’d never go partying with it. Rational is for LOSERS!” The irrational brain sees the rational side as a nerd to be mocked and contradicted at every turn while the rational side of the head tries to make itself heard. Think of it as bungee jumping: while the rational side is thinking, “This bit of elastic doesn’t really look that strong. Is this really a good idea?” the irrational side is thinking “WHEEEEEEEEEE!” as it has already thrown itself (including the poor sod that it’s inhabiting) off the ledge, bridge or platform. It is loud, obnoxious and drowns out the rational until it shuts up and slinks back to it’s room in a sulk, refusing to come out again till the irrational side has done the equivalent of a sixteen-pints-and-pass-out-at-the-party move, when it’s safe to re-emerge. By that point I’m usually looking for the box of elastoplast (or band-aids for you weirdos across the pond).
I have a new one, just in case anyone was interested. Rational slipped out for a cigarette earlier and left irrational in charge… It’s a bit like asking someone called Torquemada to work in an old people’s home…
It’s odd, being able to make fun of myself and my illness, making light of what could be (and sometimes is) a very serious condition of mine. It’s life threatening sometimes, and definitely not good for my health given that I don’t sleep well, don’t eat properly, and certainly don’t look after myself with any degree of care. I have weird nightmares that wake me at all hours of the night when I don’t take my sleeping tablets, but given that they are highly addictive things, I try not to take them too often. I have to put up with the sleeplessness just so I don’t get hooked on the bloody things, and I have to take all my other meds every day otherwise I go back to square one of them, and let me tell you, that ain’t pretty. The warning on my anti-depressants says that for the fist month, the tablets can INCREASE all the symptoms of depression, including the suicide/self-harm thing. Great medicine, isn’t it? Anyway, I persisted with it, and the doc just doubled my dose, as with the recent events it seems the bloody things aren’t working any more, or are doing so at a lesser efficiency, or have gone back to increasing, rather than decreasing the symptoms. I thought about having an eating disorder just to have the full set, but I can’t be arsed with the whole fingers-down-throat crap. Mind you, recently (for that read “from last Friday till yesterday”) my body decided it didn’t like food anyway and anything put in came out again fairly swiftly, so my food intake for five days was two small slices of chicken and a digestive biscuit. I did manage to keep drinking, so I kept the fluid levels up anyway.
Just for a laugh as well, because of the meds I have to take, I have to take another med to stop my stomach having too much acid in it, because gastric reflux all day, every day, is not fun. I ran out of that a bit ago though, so I couldn’t experiment to see if it would stop me throwing up anything put in my stomach.. I have another one to top up my thyroxin levels too, but I’ll have to take that every day for the rest of my life anyway. I can live with that one though, because it means I don’t get the symptoms of an underactive thyroid (although they’re sending me for more blood tests to check the meds are keeping up, as they’re not sure they are at the mo). I try to be good at taking my meds as well, because if you don’t take them, they don’t work properly. I want to get better. I really don’t want to get stuck like this for the rest of my life. Mind you, if the rational side keeps slipping out for breaks, that might not be too long…
Well, I just deleted a whole paragraph because I started waffling on about things that are best left alone for the time being. Bah humbug… I’d love to witter on about things and get them off my chest, however a) they’re pretty private things, b) they might bother someone reading this because of them being personal and c) they’re probably not all that interesting to those on the outside of the situation anyway. Oh, not forgetting d) (which I have already had from one friend tonight) which is that if I publicly say my thoughts, more people might threaten to come and give me a slap or shout at me, so I’ll pass, if it’s all the same to everyone else… I shall go back to the analysis of mental illness and in particular, depression.
Before I start, I would like to add that one of my neighbours is a complete waste of fresh air. I have been accused of phoning the police on him for whatever (which I categorically can state that I didn’t) and have had a load of abuse about my personal circumstances thrown at me. The last time he did that (last Friday) my rational side decided to have a break, leaving my irrational side in charge. Elastoplast time again… I should get shares in the company… Fortunately tonight my rational side is in full command of the situation and I told him in no uncertain terms that it was not me who called the police, although he didn’t believe a word of it. I don’t really care if he does or not to be honest, as I know that I didn’t, and the other people around here know I didn’t (including the guy who actually did phone them). I’m certainly not happy with the situation, as I came here to get some peace and quiet to perhaps get my head back together again, and instead I get some idiot trying to make things worse.
So… back to the plot (or lack of plot, as it feels like on occasion)…
My shrink has decided that I need to make a decision concerning something I feel I need to do, or not, as the case may be. My problem is that doing that thing could have four possible outcomes, only one of which would be a “good” one in the grand scheme of things (depending on your point of view). Not doing said thing will just leave me in the same place as I am now, but with a regret that I didn’t do the thing that I’m dithering about. The three outcomes of the doing things that aren’t so “good” would still settle some things and perhaps get my head back on track just a bit sooner, but I’m having problems working out whether I can cope with it. Sorry if all that’s a bit vague, but I can’t speak about it, because I have to make my own mind up about what I want to do… It would be nice to get opinions, but it has to be my own decision.
Well, it’s now getting a bit late here and the Bear has turned up with his flash drive, so I am going to slouch off back to reality and ask the nice man to post this for me… I so need the internet…
posted by Me at 3:03 am
1 Comments:
I love your grasp on technology.
"cheap internet thingies to plug into my computer"
What I don't love is you being tortured. By yourself OR by others.
When do you go on your sea voyage?
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