People are commenting about how they’ve never cried into anything as classy as tiramisu- if it’s any consolation, earlier today I cried into a jumper that I didn’t realise the cats had weed on until I paused for a second. Swings and roundabouts, lovelies.
I was discharged from the crisis team today, at my own request. It’s been blood out of a stone. They asked if they could see me one more time over the weekend but I told them that I honestly found them intrusive and I Just want to be left alone. This is entirely true- something has shifted in me within the past few months, I have kind of shut down to it all, and I want to get on with it. If I die, well, shit one, but it’s on my watch. I don’t feel much better at all, but even in that tiny room, flanked by a nurse (a very lovely one who was extremely friendly) and my social worker, I started to feel frantic and suffocated. People were just talking at me, am I at risk, am I going to hurt myself, what will I do if I want to hurt myself. I couldn’t handle it, and just nodded a lot, then when I got out of there I started crying in the street. Now, isn’t that wonderful. But it was too overwhelming and I just wanted to be alone.
I have citalopram, but the psychiatrist wasn’t there. I had hoped he would be because I wanted to ask him some questions. I still don’t know what my actual diagnosis is and I would like to, because I got the impression that the doctor I saw (who I had seen before, a few years ago) didn’t agree with BPD, either. They can say it’s labels all they want, but it matters, especially to my default category on this blog. When I asked about side effects (the PI sheet wasn’t inside), I was told to google them. Which I would have done anyway. I’m worried about gaining weight, but at this point, I don’t care and also (much shock), I don’t really mind my weight too much anymore. They had Zopiclone too for my “sleep problems” which utterly baffled me and which I refused. For a start, we’re way beyond Zopiclone now, I was on Seroquel for two years, Zoplicone is the pea under the 100 mattresses. And I don’t have a problem getting to sleep when I’m down. My problem was that I was sleeping far too much- I was deliberately depriving myself of sleep to try and lift my mood. When I got past about 30 hours awake I’d be too buzzed to sleep, but I have Seroquel for it, when I need it.
My social worker called Robert and asked if him I was okay. He said yes, as I am, mostly. I am very down but gosh darn it if I didn’t become a non-self destructive adult somewhere along the way. I don’t know when this happened, but I am No Longer Dysfunctional. I am down, but it’s depression, it’s not manifesting itself in any crazy ways and it isn’t squeaking out into my life (mostly because I have barely seen anybody). I am coping, and I am proud of that. It’s manifesting in some other ways, some physical ones that are embarrassing, but hey. I probably sound like I’m cracked out half the time, but I have reached a point of not really caring. So hooray! That’s what I’ll keep telling myself anyway.
Anyway, I have bugger all plans for the weekend other than more hibernation. Yourself?
PS: I am slightly drunk on one bottle of beer. Should have eaten more than a ham sandwich.
Filed under: Bipolar Disorder