Duality: Weekend at the beach/Paranoia and depression

Weekend at the Beach

This weekend was perhaps the most sociable of my year.

On Friday, I went to see “The Dark Knight” with a group of people.  It’s very good, but due to the hype and mythology surrounding it since Heath Ledger’s untimely death, I was expecting a masterpiece of some sort. Everyone else apart from me left the cinema singing its praises whereas I was rather quiet and critical.  It is true, however, that Heath Ledger’s performance as the Joker is remarkable.  He’s a proper comic villain, made more villainous by the total lack of backstory.  He’s just a liar who likes people to suffer.  I find that kind of character more compelling than those fleshed out by traumatic histories.  The less human somebody is, the more interesting I find them to watch.  But it was a comic book film and not the psychological crime thriller it had been built up to be.

On Saturday, we travelled down to Brighton to stay with our friends for the night (I don’t like to mention my friends’ names here- it is not intensely flattering to be associated with a mental health blogger!).  The weather was stunning, absolutely perfect for a day outside London.  I wistfully imagined living there, in a quiet flat (all I want is a quiet flat) near the sea.

It felt like a mini-holiday, and because it was just us and our two friends, I didn’t feel so overwhelmed.  We ate tasty food, paddled in the sea, played mini golf (I came last), took a trip on the little railway, played a lot of air hockey and stroked their big faced black cat. We went to a club, I had two drinks and dressed up for the first time in agges.

We also visited the alleyway that features in a shagging scene in Quadrophenia.   We weren’t the first: the walls were covered in graffiti from mods and rockers.

As it’s me, here are some photos.  Click to embiggen.

It was a lovely two days and brilliant to see our friends, with the exception of me getting my phone nicked.  I absolutely can’t afford a new one, considering I am behind with loads of my bills. I don’t use my landline as I have BT’s fuck-up to still pay and the adaptor is broken so it often doesn’t take incoming calls anyway, so aside from the internet, I am uncontactable (and have no-one’s phone number anyway).  I don’t know how I am going to pay my massive BT bill and get a new phone.  Rob might help me out in getting a new one.

This lack of phone meant that I wasn’t able to go and bury Brendan’s ashes this morning with his family.  I wasn’t able to reply to their e-mail til last night, couldn’t get hold of his sister on her mobile and there was no way anyone could reach me this morning.  So I feel bad about that.  The loss of my phone means that all Brendan’s texts are now gone, along with Rob’s and my sisters, loads of pictures and the numbers for Hannah and the Crisis Team.

Which leads me to:

Paranoia

I made a mistake for the ten days: I halved my dose of Seroquel for a week and missed it entirely on Saturday.  The sedation during the day is so difficult to cope with that I thought if I halved my dose I might be able to function properly.  I’ve been neglecting stuff badly for three weeks, due to in part sedation, then depression and its lack of energy.  I got my flat cleaned but I’ve not been eating properly, have been sleeping too much, not exercising and neglecting myself so that my teeth are getting worse and I can’t be bothered to have baths, especially in this heat.  So it comes down to me being a smelly, skint wretch.  The worst thing is that my memory is so sluggish and I completely forgot to keep my diary for CBT, so there’s only going to be three days worth of stuff rather than two weeks.  I keep missing appointments, too, mostly dental and GP, so it’s nothing serious.  I have a “I can’t be bothered, I don’t give a shit about myself” thing going on right now.  I haven’t felt much like writing either.

The weekend proved that I am capable of having fun but my little tics still remain and I worry about them.

I’ve been depressed and paranoia has started to return.  I don’t want to go into detail about it but its basically involving thinking that people are referring to me when they probably aren’t, even those I love and trust, and being very bristly and guarded because of it.  When someone says something to me, I keep thinking that they’re implying something about me. I#m aware that I’m being paranoid and try to catch myself doing it, but the knowing doesn’t stop the feeling. It’s been keeping me indoors a lot.

I’ve also seen the return of suicidal thoughts, intrusive violent images, anxiety, irritability and the turning up the volume of my spiky sea urchin’s voice.

The other day I was walking along and while I did I was mentally planning how to kill myself, very matter-of-factly, sorting out all the details in my head.  This is scaring Rob a bit because it’s on my mind an awful lot at the moment. I keep scoping out potential places to hang myself and I’ve counted my pills.  I feel  guilty because there are a lot of people who are losing battles with illnesses who want so desperately to live. I feel terrible that I can be so flippant about something so terrible.  But it’s on repeat and I don’t seem to be able to get rid.  The intent isn’t really there, it’s not “I wish I was dead”, it’s more, “I wouldn’t mind not being alive”.

It’s not serious- I know it’s not very serious, but it’s still difficult for me.

The not-unpredictable return of paranoia, loud sea urchin voice and suicidal thinking is probably down to halving medication in order to try and boot myself into some functioning.  So last night I took the proper dose and will continue to.  I’m also on a much higher dose of Lamictal now.

It annoys me to realise that it is likely that medication affects me like that.  It seems pathetic to me that something so complex can lapse and wane so easily. I know that messing around with antipsychotics when I’m depressed has kicked me into a deeper and psychotic depression in the past, so why do I do it?  I just want to feel awake for once.  Being depressed doesn’t help, but I just wondered if I was depressed because I was sleeping too much.  Annoyingly I don’t have another CPN appointment til the middle of August since she’s on leave, so I don’t have anyone to talk about this too.  I hope it passes or something.

I’ve said before that I almost immediately start to go downhill when I stop medciation but it pisses me off even still.  It’s an enormous trade off in my life- live with the side effects of the medication or possibly die trying to live without the medication at all.

I also realise that I talk about mentalism way, way, way too much.  It’s one thing to write the blog but this “advocacy” bleeds so much into my real life that it’s beginning, well, began a long time ago, to really annoy me.  Because I am always going through the various trials of living with mental illness, I keep feeling the need to educate people on it, correct them, enlighten them, explain to them and etc.   I don’t define myself by having manic depression but it’s a fine line.  Of course it’s a big part of me, if you don’t know I have manic depression, my behaviour might puzzle you somewhat.  I just want to shut up about it.  I’m starting to wonder if tape over the mouth is a good idea.