Last night I had the worst sleep. I woke up all the time, interspersed with dreams about my old psychiatrist dying and the feeling that I was dying, something that has become a common experience for me, especially when I try to sleep. I also dreamt about escaping to the countryside, as well as people my age superseding me career-wise and becoming doctors. I dreamt about a girl I used to know in high school. In my dream she had become a psychiatrist and I was helping her run some kind of retreat in the countryside for kids with mental health issues. I was no good with people, and decided I’d be better off caring for the animals on the farm. Continue reading “Excruciatingly sensitive”
“He was a big character, chaotic, charismatic, and fun. With a big heart. He lived a big life, too short. And now he has left us with a big hole.” James Oliver, Revi Nair’s colleague and friend
Today I found out that my old psychiatrist, Revi, has died. First I was in shock, and then I cried. I watched his eulogy online. I don’t know why. But it’s a great eulogy and helped me understand him more and what draw him to psychiatry. He wasn’t just a great psychiatrist but a wonderful human being with a huge personality who cared for all living beings, from stray cats to humans, all his life. He said some things to me I’ve longed to hear all my life: “I want to take care of you”, “something has to be done, things can’t keep going like this” (in reference to how bad my mental health was). Well they can and they will. What a horrible end to yet another shit year. I didn’t actually have that many sessions with him. I was referred back to the public system as he, like most private psychiatrists, felt I was too bad for the private system. But the public system/case management service won’t take me back. I was going to get the GP to refer me back to Revi. I don’t actually feel psychiatry (or even psychology) has a lot to offer me but he was a kind person and I feel there is a place for some aspects of psychiatry, like short term benzo use. I don’t know what I would have done yesterday if I didn’t have any diazepam. I wouldn’t wish panic attacks on my worst enemy. Well the GP gave me twenty more tablets of diazepam today. I was hoping for more, but the drug is highly regulated and he worried the system might knock me into red if he gave me a pack of fifty. Hopefully I don’t keep having more panic attacks. I slept better last night.
I can’t believe Revi is gone. Everyone loved him. His office was always so warm and welcoming. And his laugh… omg his laugh. There are not many psychiatrists like him around.
I seem to lose everyone as the year comes to an end. I remember my very first therapist who I saw for two and a half years and was like a best friend to me terminated our relationship in December. I have never managed to get back on my feet and have remained in a deep depression for a decade now. My current therapist is about to go on holidays, and I don’t know if I will ever see my NDIS worker again. He told me he wanted to cut back our sessions as he felt I was too dependent on him. He then told my parents he couldn’t handle all the distressing messages I was apparently sending him and has now gone off on stress leave.
I will need to rely more on my friends this next month. I don’t like to lean on my friends too much as I don’t want to burden them with all my stuff. I will probably spend a lot of time on my own in nature this next month, which I feel I need to do.
Yesterday my anxiety escalated into a full blown panic attack. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this level of anxiety.
I was scared shitless. I was scared of just about everyone. I was scared of my dad coming home. I was scared of sleeping. It reminded me of the time I was put on a compulsory hospital order and had police hunting me.
I ended up taking off into the bush with what diazepam I had left and a tshirt and shorts to change into. I was wearing nothing but my dressing gown over my underwear. I’m lucky I didn’t have an accident on the way there. I was dissociating, weak and barely able to feel the car pedals. I felt trapped, suffocated and furious when the traffic banked up at one point. Continue reading “Panic attack”
“You build me up, you break me down. My heart it pounds, yeah you got me. With my hands up, you got me now, you got that sound, yeah you got me.” Ke$ha – TiK ToK
It is the first time I’ve been able to blog since my last post a week or so ago. It’s felt like the longest week of my life. I feel like I could write a whole book on this week alone. The disturbing saga continues, without resolution, like a piano with endless keys which just get lower and lower.
The psych ward only gave me two nights, even though I asked for longer. They wanted to dump me in a facility called PARC, a non-clinical mental health facility, which people stay in for a week as a “step down” from hospital, or a “step up” from home to prevent a hospital admission. But there were questions about my medical stability. I was barely eating and the hospital wanted to do a blood sugar level test which involves pricking your finger but I was scared of the test so refused it. The nurses said they’d come back in half an hour. I then got in the shower when they came to the door to avoid getting the test done. I was so traumatised in general- by life, by the way they just wanted me out when I was acutely unwell- that I became mute. I am still speculating on what is causing my muteness, which I will discuss later, but whatever it was, I just couldn’t will myself to speak. The day of my discharge one of the doctors came in and told me PARC wouldn’t take me if I wouldn’t speak. I felt like she thought I was being manipulative and could blackmail me into talking. I brought up The Shutdown Dissociation Scale research paper on my phone and showed it to her. One of the symptoms is muteness. There is some more great information about the different responses to trauma on this page.
“We don’t follow that here,” the doctor said.
She said if I didn’t go to PARC they’d just be sending me home. I couldn’t believe it.
“So you’re just going to send me home in this state?” I wrote to her, with gestures of disbelief. “This is discrimination against people with disabilities.”
Becoming non-verbal is common in autism when we become overwhelmed, as is shown in the series Heartbreak High, with one of the autistic characters, Quinni, becoming mute for a while after her horrible girlfriend put her through hell.
“I’ll get your discharge papers ready,” the doctor told me. “Have a good day!” Continue reading “Negligent hospitals, mute, trauma, autistic burn out and the fight for freedom”
This isn’t going to be a long post as it’s 1:10 AM and I need to try and sleep. The past few nights I’ve been sitting up all night shopping online. My shopping addiction has reached an all time low. Only people who have suffered addiction would understand how crazy and out of control you feel. It’s reached a point where what was initially something that made me happy is now destroying my health, destroying my bank account and destroying my life. My eyes were blood shot. I fell asleep around 10 AM today and when I woke up at 3 PM there are no words for how dreadful I felt physically and mentally. On top of all my other issues such as my tremor I was breathless, nauseous, in pain, my eyes were burning and my nerves were buzzing. I knew I had to do everything in my power to turn this around. I just feel so hopeless about all the damage the mental health system and psychiatric drugs have done to me that I just let myself go. It’s now been half a year since my overdose and I’m still suffering. I can’t lie on my right side as my pulse pounds like a ticking clock in my ear. I feel a great deal of sadness about what I did to my body that night. If I could take it all back I would. I really beat myself up over it. But I try to tell myself that it wasn’t my fault. That I can’t help this. That I’m unwell, and the mental health system let me down. The overdose may have been prevented if I had of been admitted to hospital when I presented to the emergency department earlier that week. But unfortunately I have a diagnosis in my file that I wish I’d never received. Once you are diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), you are discriminated against by hospitals and mental health professionals. People don’t want to work with you or give you an admission, even when we have many other co-morbid physical and mental health issues. If you do get an admission they won’t let you stay more than 48 hours. You receive substandard care. This is something that’s been documented in research literature. One study by Gemillion (2003) looked at those with eating disorders. After being marginally, physically stabilized, patients who also had a diagnosis of BPD were removed from the ward in favor of caring for other patients who were seen to be truly sick rather than manipulative. These patients with BPD met all of the same markers for anorexia as other patients, but their anorexia was labeled as a form of acting out for attention, rather than a form of sickness, as it was for other patients. Despite identical physical markers, patients labeled with BPD were then denied care because they weren’t actually sick, even though the diagnosis of anorexia was otherwise made based on physical markers. Patients with BPD must meet standards of illness above other patients. Continue reading “Shopping addiction: rock bottom”
I have to pick my brain apart to remember the last few weeks. All I know is that they have been absolute hell. My sleep, as usual, is messed up. I remember one night sitting up all night bombing my poor GP’s inbox with angry emails. I must have sent her at least twenty emails that night. It was as though a lid had been lifted in me and it was all coming out. I was still going at 8am. The buzzing sensation on my head, which I first noticed when I was given Effexor many years ago, was tormenting me. I told her that if I was still awake at 9am I would be going to the hairdressers to shave my head. I had a few pictures of partially shaved hair cuts saved on my phone to show the hairdressers. I was thinking they could just shave the part where the buzzing is and make it look edgy and trendy. Unfortunately, though, I’m not sure I’d look that great without a fringe because my forehead is big. I told my GP that this makes sense as I’m really an alien. I’m not sure what she made of it all. Continue reading “Sleep issues, nervous system issues, tremor, sick”
I’m not having a great time. I am feeling really off both physically and mentally. Everything gets worse around my period. Last night there was not a single thing that could make me feel better, so I decided to just go to bed early. But I could not sleep and fixated on how fucked up my body is from the overdose. I got up and checked my emails and started a horrible exchange with a UK shop called “void clothing”. I had ordered a black emo dress from them, but changed my mind and asked to cancel my order. I then changed my mind again and sent them another email asking them to ignore my previous email. They still cancelled the order. They said they didn’t get my other email. There was no apology; I was always the one apologising. I said sorry for the confusion but I still wanted the order. The manner of the person I spoke with, who didn’t even provide their name, was extremely rude and unhelpful the entire conversation. They then accused me of wasting their time and Paypal fees and refused to send me the dress or talk to me anymore. Life was already so shit and I was in tears after dealing with them. My suicidal urges returned with a vengeance after being a bit better the last month. I managed to call Lifeline. The first person I got wasn’t very good. He asked me about my dating life and assumed I wanted a boyfriend. Usually I would keep my mouth shut and ignore people’s heteronormativity. He sounded like an older bloke who was yet to catch up to the times. But I was in a foul mood. “Why do you assume that I’m straight?” I asked him. Lifeline should train their counsellors better, especially as the LGBTQIA+ population have a high suicide rate. I think I accidently ended the call early, but I wasn’t too disappointed. I called them back and got someone much better, a younger bloke who was a lot more empathetic and gave me a generous amount of time. He tried to help with my sleep, suggesting I change my bed sheets. When our call ended I managed to change my sheets, which probably hadn’t been changed for half a year, the white no longer white where I lay. I still didn’t sleep well, but I did feel fresher at least. Continue reading “My weekend: suicidal again”
I thought I might be better without therapy, but it’s as though therapy has opened a wound in me which will not stop bleeding. I continue to struggle physically and mentally. I was awake all night for months. I think the lack of sleep started to make me paranoid. I also started getting some crazy mood swings, where I’d be up at night dancing and wanting to go to nightclubs, then the next day I felt dreadful, like I was hung over. In 24 hours I’d be manic, depressed, wanting to die, and then having moments where I felt like I really was dying. My brain started doing some trippy things. One morning I fell into a very deep “sleep”. I found myself in a strange realm where everything was set in the future. The landscape looked different, though I still recognised it as my town. There was a tower like in the city. I visited my mum’s house and her room was empty. It’s like the world had moved on and I felt lonely and out of place. I had the sense that if I didn’t come back to my body on the other side I would die. I desperately tried to claw myself back to my present day life but every time I thought I was back I wasn’t. I could see my room but was still stuck behind a veil, still out of my body, and couldn’t interact with it. “Help me, help me” I called out but I knew no body could hear me or reach me. It was like Stranger Things come to life where I was Will stuck in the Upside Down world, an alternate dimension just behind the wall. He could only communicate through the electronics. Finally I managed to claw my way back to the world. It was, hands down, one of the scariest things I have experienced. It was like tripping on drugs. I felt like I was losing all contact with the world. I was for the most part glad to be back but it also sucked having a body again and having to feel my physical discomfort. I went to the emergency department and the staff seemed really concerned about me at first. I was put in a quiet, dark, private area and given Olanzapine. I had to wait all night as the psych people had knocked off for the day. When I was given a bed I had to listen to a noisy air vent above me on the roof, beeping machines and all the problems of the patients next to me as there was only a curtain diving each bed, only to be seen for 10 mins the next day and sent home with no support. The psych person who saw me went to consult his boss, who no doubt read over all the bullshit written about me over the years and decided I was just a difficult, dependent, attention-seeking Borderline Bitch so he’d send me home with nothing. Continue reading “Update: tinnitus and back in hospital”
hsphaven 