Archive for October, 2008

Disjointed Days, Disjointed Post

This is where I say I’ve had enough
And no one should ever feel the way that I feel now.
A walking open wound, a trophy display of bruises
And I don’t believe that I’m getting any better.

Saints and Sailors, Dashboard Confessional

This time the quote’s in English. Not quite as poetic a language, or as neat a quote, but at least more people than just me will know what I’m blogging about.

My appointment with the MHP went as well as can be expected, though I spent about half of it sobbing quietly while he waited for me to pull myself together (and then handed me a paper towel to mop up with… seems the chocolate teapot is good for something).

He did mention the Buddhist mediation centre, then treated me to a long lecture, some of which was justified. Subject matter ranged from “naming my depression”, to not being so controlling, to making more use of services, to not being so secretive.

It did connect some things for me. I’ve begun to realise that quite a bit of what I experience is the after-effects of what happened to me when I was a child. I think perhaps I’m beginning to process the fact that it was traumatic, and it was out of my control, and it did go on for far too long – and that these sorts of things do mess a person up quite easily. That it’s not just those memories that still haunt me and make my skin crawl that matter, it’s the learnt reactions of a badly scared child, trying to cope with the uncopable.

He also told me to just accept that I was going to be feeling low at the moment, given the med change, and that it wasn’t my fault – and also to go back to my GP if it got unbearable. Certainly good advice, which was a bit of a surprise.

I actually feel better today that I did the last two days. The world fell on my shoulders on Monday, but is slowly beginning to support itself again. I do feel slightly agitated (things were being launched at the wall earlier, so perhaps “slightly” is a understatement), in comparison to my Mirtazzy daze, but it’s not the sort of level of agitation that has me trying to kill myself, so I think I’m best off sticking it out and waiting for that to ease. Apparently I’ve got “at least another week” before the benefical effects start kicking in.

I’ve got another appointment with him in a fortnight, at my old GP’s. Not ideal, but there we go.

I did follow up on his suggestion to be more open with people and “take more risks”, so explained about my med change to a few close friends, but I’ve gained virtually no sympathy or empathy, so I’m not entirely sure what the point of that was. Mostly I just netted some awkward silences.

The sole exception worth mentioning here was an incidence of humour from one friend who told me that everything was going to be fine, and if it wasn’t then he’d slap me, because he had enough to worry about already…


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L’eau qui dort

Tout est tellement calme autour de moi
tout est tellement calme, méfie-toi
Son apparence est telle
que tu ne la verras pas
elle est pourtant là, fidèle
suivant chacun de mes pas

L’eau qui dort, Autour de Lucie
(who are, incidentally, great. Youtube them.)

What I really want to do, right now, is to yell incoherently at someone, then storm out of the room, slamming the door VERY loudly, and run upstairs to cry on my bed.

However, given that my bed is right behind me in the room, and I’ve nowhere to go that would necessitate passing through a door, that particular method of stress-relief is denied me.

Sometimes, teenagers really are the lucky ones.

It’s been a few days since I’ve written anything: I’m ok, just been busy. Moodwise, I’m not sure how I am. I’m very aware that I mustn’t choose to be depressed, but I’m still not clear on exactly how one does that.

Being off Mirtazapine is making a difference. I hadn’t realised how much of what I was struggling with was caused by the mirtazapine. I’m no longer finding that I can sleep through both hell and high water without being disturbed, nor am I stuffing my face with chocolate or ice cream. I made it to more lectures in this single week than I’d attended in the whole three weeks before that!

Unfortunately, I’ve swung a little back the other way – I’m not sleeping enough, and am hence incredibly tired. I keep having to break off every few words while I fight another yawn. I go to bed shattered, and wake up merely tired. I’ve also resumed the habit of forgetting to eat until I feel so faint that I have to. This does strike me as somewhat bizarre, I must admit… but then, I’ve never claimed to behave logically.

Intrusive thoughts are back, as the carefully diced pile of cling film beside me attests. They’re not scaring me, just irritating me. I hate horror films, so having my own private one playing in the back of my head gets, well… tedious. Probably not helped by the fact that everything is getting on my nerves at the moment – too long since my last meal, I think. A message to the inside of my head: IF YOU CAN HEAR ME IN THERE, SHUT UP! THANKS!

I’m hoping the Prozac kicks in soon. I keep telling myself that people change meds all the time, and it shouldn’t affect me, but I guess I’m not that great at positive thinking, being someone with depressive tendencies. I’m also revisiting the whole “Lets’s beat myself up for being on an AD in the first place” thing, which isn’t helping. I suppose because for me it spells failure – I tried to manage without, and crashed so hard that I realised I couldn’t keep myself safe without the damn things.

Surprise move from my MHP: I have an appointment with him early next week! Well, ok, I rang him up to ask for an appointment, so not that surprising, it’s more the timescale. Normally I tend to find he’s booked up for the next three weeks. I forsee much awkwardness, considering that I’ve not seen him since August, and bearing in mind his continuing resemblance to a chocolate teapot.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to bed, and to entertain fantasies that when I wake up in the morning I’ll have perfect mental health… or I’ll be in the south of France… or maybe just not wake up at all. Ho-hum. Sorry for the gloomy tone.

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Goodbye Mirtazapine… Hello Prozac

So, go on, hit me with the stereotypes. I’m sitting here with a piece of green paper that tomorrow I shall exchange for a nice new shiny pack of fluoxetine hydrochloride.

I went off Mirtazzy over the weekend, it just wasn’t proving compatible with university studies and early-morning lectures. The snag now is that I’m going off a med that had a really short time of effect, onto one that takes a long time to kick into gear. I do have somewhat slightly mixed feelings about this, especially as Mirtazzy worked quite well for me – I was quite happy, just happy and asleep. However, at least people won’t be recoiling in shock/surprise when I tell them what med I’m on anymore. And I’m in good company.

I had an appointment with my GP this afternoon. Technically she’s not my GP at all, however she did want me to see her again the next time, so I guess practically speaking that makes her “mine”.

She turned out to be very nice, except for the fact that she started hitting me with what felt like half the diagnostic criteria for depression… “Do you have difficulty concentrating? Are you thinking more slowly than usual?”.

Perhaps I should nick Seaneen’s idea and use emoticons for consultations like this. “:(” would indicate I’m depressed, “:'(” would be PMS, “:s” could be anxiety or hallucinations, and “:|” would be “about to kill myself”. As it was she gave me a PHQ-9 “to think about”. The irony is I don’t feel very motivated about filling it out. Looking it over casually, I think I’d get “moderate” depression, but that’s quite a good score for me, so I’m not too concerned.

I was nervous as hell before the appointment, but chatting to a friend I happened to meet in the waiting room helped. It didn’t really go to plan, to be honest – I wanted more just to get the med change and ask her advice about my uni problems, but she seemed more interested in whether or not I was depressed. It started to feel more like seeing a therapist than a GP at one point, as she kept insisting there was someing “blocking me”, and wanted to know what it was. By then so did I, just so that she’d move on, but I had no real idea what she was talking about!

One positive thing that came out of is that she’s going to chase up the PCMHT. She rang up her secretary in the middle of the consultation to query what had been written on my rather cryptic notes and ask her to do that, plus “expediate” the notes from my previous GP, which it appears they still don’t have on the system. She enthusiastically promised me that her secretary would definately ring me back tomorrow to let me know “because she’s good with things like that”.

She wanted to see me next week, but she was away, so I’m seeing her in two weeks time.

Her parting shot was quite amusing, so I thought I’d share it with you…

If you get into crisis before then, don’t crisis alone. Let us all share the enjoyment!

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Devenir une chouette pour de vrai?

Those of you who did a little French at school (or looked it up…) will have noticed that one of the meanings of “chouette” is “owl”. Hence the origin of the little picture that accompanies each of my WordPress comments.

I wish I could fly free like the owl.

Not for me the flying that ends in a crash and a muffled crunch of bones; no, I wish for true unfettered flight. To lift my wings and soar into the sky, leaving no thought for the remnants of my ground-bound problems.

Yet my wings are clipped, by no hand but my own.

To mix my metaphors somewhat, I feel caged, but there are no bars to rattle, no gaoler to plead with. The cage remains in my mind, the bars are ephemeral, and evade my grasp, but let me not a jot further out.

I guess we’re all caged birds waiting to be freed. Yet in my case it all seems so futile sometimes. I’ve been lurching from low to low for longer than I remember easilly. Sometimes I’ve flown free for a while, then slipped and fallen again.

These last few times have hit me harder than I realised at the time. When I sit back and think about what I was doing this time two years ago, in my second year, the difference seems so stark. And yet I’m expected to come back and do my final year, and just pretend I’m the old Chouette?

I’m trying my best. At least, I think I’m trying my best.

But my best doesn’t cut it any more, and I’m not sure why.

This is like the day I played a game of Laser Quest with my friends and sat down in a heap at the far end of the arena because my legs had, to my utter surprise, decided to revolt and not do a thing I wanted them to until they’d gotten their breath back. The day that I realised my depressions had taken a physical toll on me that I needed to regain – that I wasn’t as fit as I still thought I was in my head.

I guess the same is true academically.

And this is rather late in the day to realise this.

And now that I have I’m not even sure if I should acknowledge this and ask for advice from the uni, or if I should be trying to “move on” and put this sort of musing aside as the sort of thing that got me ill in the first place.

Ach, I don’t know. There’s two ways to interpret every single move I make – one that shows it as a normal, mood-enhancing thing to do, and one that says it’s giving weight to the depression and keeping me in its shadow longer than necessary.

At some point I have to make the choice, and continue choosing it, or I’ll ruin my life a third way – through indecision and overthinking.

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Unsolicited Text

Hi Chouette, hope things r going OK 4 u, when things go wrong and people r difficult just remember it’s character building time, still miss you loads

If things going wrong and people being difficult means my character is being built up, then it’ll be looking like it’s taking steroids soon…

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Living in Your Own Imagination

I’d like to pretend that I’m OK.

That I’m cured.

But my mood has been slipping over the past few weeks, and I’m not sure why.

Going on the Mirtazapine was supposed to stop me relapsing.

So where do I go from here?

I’d been trying to ignore the signs, but an innocent question from my worker at the young-people place – “How’s your mood now?” – made me feel so incredibly guilty that I realised I had to face up to the fact I’d failed, again.

Oh look, Chouette, “putting unreasonable pressure on yourself” again. Case in point or what?

It’s times like this that I wonder why I bother trying at all.

Confession: I haven’t done any university work because I don’t identify with the idea that I have a deadline and that that deadline is coming up. It doesn’t feel real; I know academically (ho-ho) that some student will have to write an essay and prepare a presentation, but I don’t feel like it will be me.

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Personality Disorder “Test”

…well, it made me laugh!

Got the idea to take it from a post on Seratonin Sister‘s blog. Have to admit I don’t want to dignify the website by linking to it myself.

Disorder Rating
Paranoid Personality Disorder: Very High
Schizoid Personality Disorder: High
Schizotypal Personality Disorder: Very High
Antisocial Personality Disorder: Moderate
Borderline Personality Disorder: Very High
Histrionic Personality Disorder: Low
Narcissistic Personality Disorder: Moderate
Avoidant Personality Disorder: Very High
Dependent Personality Disorder: Moderate
Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder: Low

So, I’m paranoid, schizotypal, borderline AND avoidant huh? What do I win?

*scuttles away to hide in her tin-foil shelter*


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