I left the house today. Make up and everything.
I’ve also been married for 3 months today, which makes me feel a whole lot worse. I love being married and love my husband. My first time leaving the house in 11 days (beyond my 24 hour newsagents for cigarettes, other newsagents for milk and home triangle) was when he took me to dinner. And got me drunk. Today, he bought me breakfast after seeing the doctor, who took 3 minutes to write a sick note. Until the 17th, and I might have to get it renewed. Condemnatory, “BIPOLAR DISORDER” scrawled over it. Thanks.
Said, “Things will be okay again when you take your medication”. The one he didn’t prescribe for 5 months. He was giving me advice as he was reading the psychiatrist’s letter from June. The advice varied wildly depending on what point he read to.
“I cannot prescribe you this (Lamictal upped to 200mg, I have had precisely 0mg since May) until you finish Quetiapine”. I had gone to the psychiatrist specifically asking for the dose to be titrated down so I could function. He agreed. No point in you being on that long term. It’s been 5 years. You’ll get diabetes. You’re still so young. It was an ace appointment. I was really happy then and had gone there because I was. I got congratulations and smiles as I left the room. ”Enjoy your wedding! You’re doing so well!”
So far, I have not managed that. I am horribly dependent on it for sleep since it’s been such a long time. Tried everything. 5htp, very strong antihistimines, natural sleep, which takes…
I have not had the time to go mad in the interim. Except in July, when I tried to come off it, didn’t sleep for four days, and the police were called because I was hallucinating and thought we’d been broken into. I barricaded myself in then ran to the door when the police shouted through the letterbox. Opened every door in my flat. Nobody there. Real terror.
You can’t do that shit as a student nurse.
He prescribed a higher dose of Lamictal at the same time to avoid…
“Oh- no, I will write you a prescription for Quetiapine, too”. The psychiatrist advised always having a stash in the house for hypomania. He’d read to that point. Well done.
“Have you thought of harming yourself? Suicidal thoughts? Any plans?” On a bit of scrap paper.
I know exactly how to assess for risk. I’ve done it myself. I couldn’t be bothered. I just wanted to leave. He wasn’t even looking at me.
“No… I’m trying to be…proactive in…living. No plans”. Except ordering nitrous oxide. (Cancelled. Investigated. Not medical grade).
Out I go! Into the wild.
My surgery is awful (mentioned it in previous post- DMC, NHS Choices, check the reviews) and I’ve never seen the same GP twice, which is profoundly humiliating for mental health problems. The first GP I saw, who I thought would be my GP, felt like a lottery win. She was ace. Never saw her again, alas. The rest have been interchangeable. It’s such a shame. Not just the long wait (3 weeks) when you’ve resigned yourself. Or the, “Hang on, they were good!” of the relief of the patient with mental health problems, finding someone who doesn’t shift awkwardly in their chair and gives your phone numbers and asks you about your, “red flags” and wants to talk to your partner and generally makes you feel like it’s okay to give them a ring. Of course, I felt fine for two years, I never did, until now.
I do feel better, though, not as awful as I felt. Rest has been helping. No shifts. Emotional labour- how I understand that phrase now. Lack of stress. Panic attacks. I still have uni work. I’m letting everyone down. I still have to move house (on the plus side, new surgery).
My breakfast was nice. But it’s shit being a depressed wife. I know after any wedding there’s an anticlimax. That’s not it, because our anticlimax happened so soon. Our day was great, reception, amazing, the night was awful, the honeymoon not much better, though it improved after my disastrous birthday. But I am so happy to be married to the love of my life. Except I feel like I am failing him, myself, everyone, everything, everywhere. This tiny life I live. Tiny life I give.
Knife like memories. “You’ve been thinking a lot lately. All these little things”. Soft face. Now asleep.
“This is not a rational thought. Repeat after me. Not rational. Okay?”
Anyway. I’m going out tomorrow, too. Two days in a row! Wish me luck. I’m a bit drunk at the moment. Rebel!
I have a lot to think about. Decisions.