Today I visited my GP for a review of my General Practice Mental Health Treatment Plan. This is not new to me, having been formally reviewed under this process on a 6 monthly average for the past 6 years. The questions are always the same and in the exact same order; the only thing that changes are my responses. On account of having a very stable but also good few months, I was happy when I was able to answer each question in a very different light to any pervious occasion.
I know how I feel, whereas others don't know unless I tell them. My GP has often been on the receiving end of many of my low moments and bordering on grim correspondence from both psychologist and psychiatrist.
Today, as most days over the past few months, I felt good. Today's answers reflected that. At the end of the exam my GP pushed her chair back from the desk and took a deep breath. She said in a quiet voice, "I think we just need to take a minute to appreciate this moment".
I smiled, quietly proud as she turned to me with a very faint glint of tears in her eyes and said, "We finally did it".
Yes we did. It only took 6 years. I just hope it will last.
Friday, July 24, 2015
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Saturday, March 01, 2014
Polar Opposite
I don't believe that I have ever experienced mania in the true sense of the word. All that I can describe is how it has seemingly presented to me. Aside from the soul crushing/chest explosion/gut wrenching anxiety, it really is quite wonderful. And as far as I'm concerned, Diazepam was invented for a reason.
Whilst being in this hyperactive and buzzy mindset, I managed to achieve more than I would have expected of myself in a month, in just 3 days. No task seemed too big or intimidating, I would take on as many projects that presented themselves, often never completing the previous simply because the desire had faded and my memory let the entire event disappear from existence in my mind.
I constantly felt as though I was on the verge of having 5 brilliant ideas all at the same time. Many never came to fruition, but the excitable energy of inspiration was enough to keep me charged. Some of my brilliant ideas where not actually brilliant at all, but no-one could have possibly convinced me otherwise in that moment - I Facetimed my mum at 11pm to show her how amazing my new shower caddy was. I couldn't understand when she wasn't as excited as me?
Sleep was a burden, in that I couldn't. I tried to maintain good 'sleep hygiene' but would often lay in bed wide awake with a hive of thoughts buzzing in my head. I would have an overwhelming desire to clean the bathroom ceiling at 2am, with the only thing stopping me being the idea of playing right into being crazy. Eating a full meal only slowed me down. I explained to my best friend Yass one day that I didn't need to eat, because I was feeding on pure awesomeness. I honestly believed it at the time.
I rediscovered my love for musical theatre and played Broadway soundtracks back-to-back. I would sing the carefully rehearsed lines at the top of my lungs, anywhere and everywhere - in the car, shower, whilst putting on makeup. I performed the entire Wicked score to my cat wearing only my underwear. 'I'm defying gravity, and you can't pull me down'.
Oh, but didn't they try? It seemed every health professional that I saw was worried about a problem that I couldn't see as existing. In my mind, I have been deeply and darkly depressed for so long, how could a switch in mood such as the one I had experienced be so unwelcome? Sure, some of my social interactions needed some filtering on my behalf, but the person I had become was surely a much better rounded and excitable individual than the melancholy and suicidal version of myself? Apparently I have a 'reputation to maintain', and my safety is imperative. Look, I get it. I just don't understand how safety is more of an issue when I am more elated compared to when I'm legitimately suicidal to start with?
There seems to be a fine line, and wherever it is, I have again crossed it. Getting out of bed requires copious amounts of energy, I find myself listening to any playing music with no desire to sing along despite knowing the words back-to-front. I am in tears all day, sometimes because a house is going to auction on the news and sometimes for no reason at all. I have an eerie awareness of all the weaknesses and voids in my life and a returning little voice in my head that is convincing me that those things will never change. For the first time, I am aware of all the hanging points in my house. What does that mean? It means just that - I am aware.
Charlotte Dawson died a week ago today. In the words of Alex Perry she was 'a beautiful, bright shining girl' who also suffered terrible depression. She took her own life last week, and aside from the devastation of a beautiful life lost, there is the confronting fact that if 'big, tough Charlotte' can lose her battle, then what hope do the rest of us have? RIP darling.
Whilst being in this hyperactive and buzzy mindset, I managed to achieve more than I would have expected of myself in a month, in just 3 days. No task seemed too big or intimidating, I would take on as many projects that presented themselves, often never completing the previous simply because the desire had faded and my memory let the entire event disappear from existence in my mind.
I constantly felt as though I was on the verge of having 5 brilliant ideas all at the same time. Many never came to fruition, but the excitable energy of inspiration was enough to keep me charged. Some of my brilliant ideas where not actually brilliant at all, but no-one could have possibly convinced me otherwise in that moment - I Facetimed my mum at 11pm to show her how amazing my new shower caddy was. I couldn't understand when she wasn't as excited as me?
Sleep was a burden, in that I couldn't. I tried to maintain good 'sleep hygiene' but would often lay in bed wide awake with a hive of thoughts buzzing in my head. I would have an overwhelming desire to clean the bathroom ceiling at 2am, with the only thing stopping me being the idea of playing right into being crazy. Eating a full meal only slowed me down. I explained to my best friend Yass one day that I didn't need to eat, because I was feeding on pure awesomeness. I honestly believed it at the time.
I rediscovered my love for musical theatre and played Broadway soundtracks back-to-back. I would sing the carefully rehearsed lines at the top of my lungs, anywhere and everywhere - in the car, shower, whilst putting on makeup. I performed the entire Wicked score to my cat wearing only my underwear. 'I'm defying gravity, and you can't pull me down'.
Oh, but didn't they try? It seemed every health professional that I saw was worried about a problem that I couldn't see as existing. In my mind, I have been deeply and darkly depressed for so long, how could a switch in mood such as the one I had experienced be so unwelcome? Sure, some of my social interactions needed some filtering on my behalf, but the person I had become was surely a much better rounded and excitable individual than the melancholy and suicidal version of myself? Apparently I have a 'reputation to maintain', and my safety is imperative. Look, I get it. I just don't understand how safety is more of an issue when I am more elated compared to when I'm legitimately suicidal to start with?
There seems to be a fine line, and wherever it is, I have again crossed it. Getting out of bed requires copious amounts of energy, I find myself listening to any playing music with no desire to sing along despite knowing the words back-to-front. I am in tears all day, sometimes because a house is going to auction on the news and sometimes for no reason at all. I have an eerie awareness of all the weaknesses and voids in my life and a returning little voice in my head that is convincing me that those things will never change. For the first time, I am aware of all the hanging points in my house. What does that mean? It means just that - I am aware.
Charlotte Dawson died a week ago today. In the words of Alex Perry she was 'a beautiful, bright shining girl' who also suffered terrible depression. She took her own life last week, and aside from the devastation of a beautiful life lost, there is the confronting fact that if 'big, tough Charlotte' can lose her battle, then what hope do the rest of us have? RIP darling.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Relapse
Tonight feels like the perfect night for me to make a post. Unfortunately, I have no idea what to say. I could tell you that I have been crying all afternoon and well into the evening - mainly provoked by various forms of visual entertainment - but when I sat down to do the homework set by the therapist I replaced potential words with tears. My cat is wondering what is wrong with me. I am wondering the same thing.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
I have nothing else.
I chastised a co-worker for spoiling us with such lavish morning teas only to get the response,
"You are all that I have. I have nothing else."
I instantly felt a sorry for her, until I really started to think about myself. If I stopped going to work everyday, what would I have?
"I have nothing else."
"You are all that I have. I have nothing else."
I instantly felt a sorry for her, until I really started to think about myself. If I stopped going to work everyday, what would I have?
"I have nothing else."
The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Bubble Girl
I feel invisible. Invisible to everyone but myself. People keep on talking, walking; whatever it is that they were doing when I arrived. My calls ring out, and my phone lays silent. My house is stagnant with the memories of last week when I made the mess that I must sit amongst.
Yet it is now that I am more aware of myself than ever before. Perhaps because there are no distractions or moments of peace that I can escape from this sinking feeling in. I feel as though I am living in a bubble. I struggle to push it through life whilst trying to co-ordinate my feet in time with its rotations. All the while the passers by side-step this cumbersome object slowing them down, and don't bother to acknowledge the dying soul inside. That's not just how I feel; that's just what I am.
Yet it is now that I am more aware of myself than ever before. Perhaps because there are no distractions or moments of peace that I can escape from this sinking feeling in. I feel as though I am living in a bubble. I struggle to push it through life whilst trying to co-ordinate my feet in time with its rotations. All the while the passers by side-step this cumbersome object slowing them down, and don't bother to acknowledge the dying soul inside. That's not just how I feel; that's just what I am.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Sunday, December 04, 2011
What's Going On...
This YouTube video appeared in my Facebook News Feed this evening. Although I'm not feeling strong within myself right now, I wanted nothing more than to throw my arms around him and take away his pain and sadness, even if it meant sacrificing myself.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Tuesday, November 01, 2011
Starlight, Star Bright.
The night sky is only a sort of carbon paper,
Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars
Letting in the light, peephole after peephole.
I have decided that I miss the stars. It is true that the city never sleeps; at any one point there are people loving, laughing, living, so the lights never dim enough to let the stars through.
Back home, I could sit in our backyard with my face craning upward to take in the scattered twinkles, moving satellites and the milky way. If I lay on the beach after dark, the crashing waves provided a contrasting soundtrack that my thoughts could swim in. I suppose the enormity of the night sky reminded me how small I was in contrast to the galaxy overhead.
On a night like tonight, I would love to have the stars company. Apart from distracting my awareness from the parasitic feeling inside my chest, they would allow me to feel connected to others; whether on this planet or another.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Halloween
It wasn't until I was on my late afternoon walk that I remembered it was Halloween. The usually quiet streets of suburbia was crawling with Trick-or-Treaters dressed as witches and ghouls, some wearing the traditional 'Scream' mask and one seemingly out of place Australian yobbo.
Seeing them carrying their plastic Jack-o-lantern pails full of their winnings reminded me of how my brother and I spent Halloween when we were young. We were the only children in our street so in the early years we took our neighbours by surprise. Not having chocolate or lollies in their pantries, they instead gave us gold coins to spent on ourselves at the corner store.
Most years that followed however, they planned our Halloween ritual into their grocery shop. The 90 year old lady across the street once told my mother to be sure we kids stopped by her house so she could give us each a block of chocolate she had waiting by the door.
We were never without a costume either. One year my brother wanted to go as a ghost, and the only sheet we could find not made into a bed was brown. Mum wouldn't let us cut eye holes in it so we stuck some on with sticky tape and I had to lead M by the arm as he couldn't see where he was going. When our cattle dog wanted to come along, I renamed him 'Sirius Black' from Harry Potter in an attempt to win him some candy.
So this evening as I was arriving home from my walk, I found a gaggle of dressed up children in my street. Knowing that my roommate The Bear had bought mini chocolate bars in case, I invited them up the path to our house. They chorused 'Trick-or-Treat' as we came though the gate and the door was opened by a glowing smile and a bowl full of chocolate. LV, the cat, attempted a prison break before I caught him and added another element of excitement to the four kids standing on my door mat. At that moment I realised the picture I had laughed at this morning was in fact, a reality:
Seeing them carrying their plastic Jack-o-lantern pails full of their winnings reminded me of how my brother and I spent Halloween when we were young. We were the only children in our street so in the early years we took our neighbours by surprise. Not having chocolate or lollies in their pantries, they instead gave us gold coins to spent on ourselves at the corner store.
Most years that followed however, they planned our Halloween ritual into their grocery shop. The 90 year old lady across the street once told my mother to be sure we kids stopped by her house so she could give us each a block of chocolate she had waiting by the door.
We were never without a costume either. One year my brother wanted to go as a ghost, and the only sheet we could find not made into a bed was brown. Mum wouldn't let us cut eye holes in it so we stuck some on with sticky tape and I had to lead M by the arm as he couldn't see where he was going. When our cattle dog wanted to come along, I renamed him 'Sirius Black' from Harry Potter in an attempt to win him some candy.
So this evening as I was arriving home from my walk, I found a gaggle of dressed up children in my street. Knowing that my roommate The Bear had bought mini chocolate bars in case, I invited them up the path to our house. They chorused 'Trick-or-Treat' as we came though the gate and the door was opened by a glowing smile and a bowl full of chocolate. LV, the cat, attempted a prison break before I caught him and added another element of excitement to the four kids standing on my door mat. At that moment I realised the picture I had laughed at this morning was in fact, a reality:
Monday, October 24, 2011
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Girl, Interrupted
Whilst 'holidaying' at Hotel Northside, my room mates and I created a lot of mayhem. We broke into the dining room most Friday nights to steal chocolate ice cream; we unknowingly withheld particular medications we were opposed to; we ganged up on other patients and hid their prized objects just for kicks and kept a score of how many times others had cried in group therapy sessions, as if our scores of zero had somehow made us more sane than the rest.
I forged friendships with these girls that will last for life. When we see each other nowadays we reflect on our time spent on the inside with humour and laughter. Hearing fragments of our tales, an outsider once commented that it was very much like the movie Girl, Interrupted. I tried to make sense of this and assumed that the adventures we shared equated with the characters in the film drugging their nurse to break out of the ward to play ten pin bowling, and trading medications with each other depending on what each girl felt she required.
Overall, my time at Northside was not a positive experience. I can see how it may appear so to others, as I have done my best to paint a picture of contentment and only share the good stuff; mainly because it makes others feel less awkward to talk about psychiatry with a normal spin, but also because it is denying myself the fact to indulge in the myriad of bad memories that I have.
I have realised that this is my defence mechanism. By creating this picture of light heartedness and laughter I am hopeful that I may be able to lose the pain I still carry from within those walls, and replace it with a deviation from the truth to last me for years to come. I'm willing to give it a go.
I forged friendships with these girls that will last for life. When we see each other nowadays we reflect on our time spent on the inside with humour and laughter. Hearing fragments of our tales, an outsider once commented that it was very much like the movie Girl, Interrupted. I tried to make sense of this and assumed that the adventures we shared equated with the characters in the film drugging their nurse to break out of the ward to play ten pin bowling, and trading medications with each other depending on what each girl felt she required.
Overall, my time at Northside was not a positive experience. I can see how it may appear so to others, as I have done my best to paint a picture of contentment and only share the good stuff; mainly because it makes others feel less awkward to talk about psychiatry with a normal spin, but also because it is denying myself the fact to indulge in the myriad of bad memories that I have.
I have realised that this is my defence mechanism. By creating this picture of light heartedness and laughter I am hopeful that I may be able to lose the pain I still carry from within those walls, and replace it with a deviation from the truth to last me for years to come. I'm willing to give it a go.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Breakdown
Yesterday feeling stressed, Mrs Boss exasperated how she wanted "to go and have a nervous breakdown". I told her that I didn't recommend it, and was reminded of a Postsecret I saw a few years ago. I think it sums up most people's perception of a mental health crisis, as if indulging in this act is like going on a holiday. The only way to truly cure this idea is something I wouldn't wish on anyone.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
A Million Little Hates
Despite my exhaustion in every way possible, I was unable to sleep last night. I picked up A Million Little Pieces, the book I am reading (when able) by James Frey and felt these words jump out at me:
I don't want to be alone. I have never wanted to be alone. I fucking hate it. I hate that I have no one to talk to, I hate that I have no one to call, I hate that I have no one to hold my hand, hug me, tell me everything is going to be all right. I hate that I have no one to share my hopes and my dreams with, I hate that I longer have any hopes or dreams, I hate that I have no one to tell me to hold on, that I can find them again. I hate that when I scream, and I scream bloody murder, that I am screaming into emptiness. I hate that there is no one to hear my scream and that there is no one to help me learn to stop screaming... I hate that what I have turned to in my loneliness is killing me, has already killed me, or will kill me soon. I hate that I will die alone. I will die alone in my horror.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Dr A. asked me yesterday if I received messages from inanimate objects; like as if the newspaper could speak specifically to me as an individual beyond the news content.
No.
I think perhaps I have changed my mind after reading today's Sunday Secrets. It's as if my subconscious has mailed in this secret warning me of what's to come:
No.
I think perhaps I have changed my mind after reading today's Sunday Secrets. It's as if my subconscious has mailed in this secret warning me of what's to come:
Saturday, September 10, 2011
A Bug in my Dinner.
Tonight over dinner V. made a shock reference to my holiday at Hotel Northside.
"At least when you went funny last year you did something about it."
I couldn't bring myself to tell her I had no choice. That as I stared down the barrel of the gun depression was holding to my head, it was not me who intercepted the blow, but the law; and in this there was not so much as a smirk, let alone anything funny about it.
She then adopted a technique that my mother tries on me; in telling me what she wants to hear in the hopes that my subconscious will replace my previous views with the one that she is presenting.
"Your life is going well at the moment."
It was a statement, and not a question; making it harder and more dramatic to correct her.
Instead of answering, I finished my drink.
"At least when you went funny last year you did something about it."
I couldn't bring myself to tell her I had no choice. That as I stared down the barrel of the gun depression was holding to my head, it was not me who intercepted the blow, but the law; and in this there was not so much as a smirk, let alone anything funny about it.
She then adopted a technique that my mother tries on me; in telling me what she wants to hear in the hopes that my subconscious will replace my previous views with the one that she is presenting.
"Your life is going well at the moment."
It was a statement, and not a question; making it harder and more dramatic to correct her.
Instead of answering, I finished my drink.
Friday, September 09, 2011
Saturday, July 23, 2011
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