Posts Tagged ‘support’

When I heard their outcry and these words, I was very angry

Nehemiah 5:6

Last week I had an appointment with my psychiatrist, but it’s only now that I’ve calmed down enough to write about it. I’ve always had issues communicating with my psych – she has the power to clear my mind of everything I had prepared to say – leaving me with just ummms, errrs, and a desire to leave the room as soon as possible. I’m not sure why I find her so intimidating, but I do know that she makes very little attempt to alleviate this, and that responsibility for making conversation falls entirely on my shoulders.

The last time I saw her, this culminated in being discharged, just after I had been accepted by the CMHT. Apparently this “is very unusual” – all I knew at the time was that noone seemed to believe I had really been discharged, and I was even asked for the punchline – it took some effort to persuade other professionals that I really wasn’t joking, and she really had discharged me.

Perhaps some background would help here – during 2009/2010, my psychiatrist was failing to acknowledge letters being sent to her (with my consent) by my YP-place worker, detailing her concerns, and my psych appointments were proving to be slightly less common than hens’ teeth. My worker was concerned enough to discuss my case with her manager, who wrote (another) letter to my psychiatrist threatening to make a formal complaint.

This appeared to have been the magic phrase, as a couple of days later my psychiatrist made a phone call to my YP-worker.  All I know about this call is what I’ve been told by my worker, but I’ve been told that she sounded very “defensive”, and said that as I didn’t have a “severe and enduring mental illness”, there was nothing she could do. Luckily for me, YP-place stuck to their guns, and she eventually agreed to refer me to an occupational therapist, insisting that there was no point as “they won’t see her”.

Needless to say, the OT disagreed, and agreed to see me for 3 months, which stretched into 6 months, after which he had to discharge me as I’d only been referred for “short-term intervention”, but he encouraged us to push for a re-referral to the CMHT in the near future if we felt I needed it, and re-referred me to my psychiatrist to discuss issues of “risk and function” that had come up in the time he’d been working with me. My worker thought this was a positive step forward, and offered to come with me to help me explain how things were.

Suffice to say that, we need not have bothered preparing for this appointment.  My worker and I discussed “risk” in some depth beforehand,  and I was very honest with her, as I believed that this was my only chance to be honest with my psych.

Instead, my words yet again deserted me, so my psych started telling me that she “thought I was better”, and my venlafaxine was going to have to go up – oh and I should take my sleepers at 6pm to avoid the pill hangover in the morning.

My worker tried to bring up the subject of risk, but my psych didn’t really take the bait. Instead, she told me that “we’ve tried our best“, and that I’m “not a child any more“. Apparently, I need to “behave more like an adult“, and “take some responsibility for my choices“.  If I “motivate myself more” then my problems will be solved, and I need to sort myself out because “with the new government” it will be really hard for “physically able people like myself” to prove that they’re incapable of work.

If my worker hadn’t been there, I think I would have taken that advice much more to heart. After all, when I go to see a doctor, they’re in a position of authority, see many patients like me, and (generally) tend to know their stuff – it’s hard not to listen to what they say.  In one fell swoop, she would have set me back about a year with respect to the progress I’ve made on asking for help when I need it, and not trying to take responsibility for everything that happens to me.

You see, what my psychiatrist doesn’t know, is that if I were still a child, I would not be in contact with mental health services, I would not be on antidepressants, I would not be trying to turn my life around. I would be sat on my own, in a bedroom with no working light, trying to end it. There was noone who would sort things out for me and see that I was ok – instead I was routinely ignored and just left to be weird, as if I were the proverbial elephant in the room.  I only managed to tackle my teenager issues once I became old enough to drag myself up by sheer force of will, and encountered some perceptive sixth form teachers who gave me the space I needed to put myself back together, and the approval that I needed to build my self-confidence.

My psychiatrist also doesn’t know (and hasn’t asked) that I’ve spent the last 6 months putting a lot of energy into doing the “adult” thing, and fighting the DWP, that I was preparing myself to represent myself at a tribunal, and thus trying to do the responsible thing and stand up for my rights as a British citizen.

I am painfully reminded of my adulthood every time the council bill me for my council tax.  I pay my bills (mostly) on time, I make sure I have a roof over my head, I give my seat to elderly ladies on the bus (if I’m not feeling too ill myself), I gave half my DLA Christmas bonus to the guy who sells the Big Issue.

So, what gives my psychiatrist the right to remind me that I can’t be childish anymore, that my lost childhood is, well, lost? And to then twist it around and make it my fault?

I am not a child any more, I am an adult, who understands adult things, that the people in authority aren’t necessarily right. An adult, who has room for feelings like “righteous anger”.

She gave me another appointment, for June.  I’m fully expecting to be discharged again at the appointment. I’m staying on the same venlafaxine dose, and I’ve stopped taking anything at night. Ironically, I’m feeling much better in the morning now, and I suspect that I was suffering more from the side effects than I had been benefiting from it.

Bonus points to anyone who can explain the title of this post.


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You Can Lead A Horse To Water…

…but you cannot make it drink.

So, I told my parents.

Their response?


I know they don’t know what to say, I know that they must hate not knowing what to say.

But, c’mon, say something to acknowledge that I’m going through a shitty time? I’m giving up my dreams, my place on a very good course, my accomodation, and the job I love… because of an severe illness that is as yet remaining out of my control.

Walking off without acknowledging me when I go to say “Goodbye” because you can’t cope is understandable, but dammit, I don’t want to have to understand you, or give you time… I want some support, m’kay?

Is this really too much to ask?

I posted them a copy of this and this (the first of which is my personal antidote to the “noone else feels like this” moments) in the hope that they might read them, and perhaps be able to understand a little.

On the plus side, my mood and energy remain on an upward trend, as evidenced by the fact that today’s session with my worker took place with me perched on the windowsill…

…thus providing me with a very high outlook, I guess 😀

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So, after seeing my second psychiatrist in two days (with, luckily, the same conclusion: don’t need hospital, do need crisis team), Crisis finally came round and assessed me today.

Unsurprisingly, they were reluctant to take me on, and said that they’d be doing me a disservice by doing so (they also complained about “budgetary constraints”). However, we’ve compromised that they’ll have me for a week just to help me get some longer-term support in place, as I’m too deeply mired to be able to do it alone. It’s the exact outcome I wanted, so I don’t know why it’s not making me feel happy, why I feel like I’ve been punched in the face and then kicked some more for good measure.

I mentioned CMHT, but, again, unsurprisingly, it appears I’m still not “severe and enduring”. Instead, they’re going to ring up the PCMHT and ask if I can see someone other than the chocolate teapot, and liase with the young people’s place to see if they can offer me more support as well. And I think they’ll be bringing my psych appointment forward as well.

All well and good, and I’m sure the young people’s place will step up to the plate, though less sure about the PCMHT, who were the first people to ever point me in the direction of CMHT.

My worker (with the young people’s place) is unavoidably away this week, so I can’t see her tomorrow and tell her she was wrong. Wrong to tell me that if I made up my mind to ask for help then it didn’t matter who I asked, that they’d help me and shelter me and give me a hand. Wrong to say that there was support out there through the NHS for people with “severe mental illnesses”, to suggest that the NHS would be able to “support” me, to try and “stabilise” me, to take away some of the burden of my own care, to “make sure I’m in hospital when I need to be”.

Because I asked my GP, and she referred me to A&E. A&E referred me to the Crisis Team. Crisis very nearly discharged me straight back to my GP.

I don’t fit any of their little boxes.

I’m just Chou, and I seem to be falling through the gaps.

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What to do when the PCMHT don’t want you because you’re too severe but not severe enough for the CMHT?

Blue Skies and Green Grass

I think I may have found this out, at long last.

Dropping down to crisis point seems to have mobilised referrals and people in a way that would never have happened otherwise. The crisis team are on the verge of discharging me, but I now hold promises of a referral to both the Primary Care Clinical Psychology service and to a psychiatrist for regular follow-up over my meds – so I suspect I shall be seeing that blue-green waiting room a few more times. Unlike last time, they are insisting on creating a crisis plan with me before discharge.

Both my worker at the young people’s place and the crisis team have independently expressed the idea that they should talk to the other side. Whether that phone call has actually been made, I don’t know, but I know that my worker was very keen on putting her head together with them/my GP before I’m discharged, and working out a way that she and my GP can keep me from “falling through the net”… like I very nearly did this month.

Frankly, if they do talk to each other, I will be A) amazed, but also B) relieved. I’ve gotten fed up of playing the chinese whispers game, and of forever being the one to relay information between services. Yes, I realise that there is an issue of confidentiality here, but there is some automatic liason between NHS services that simply doesn’t happen between my worker and those same services. When I was discharged from the hospital, one of the nurses there gave (after asking my permission) my worker a phonecall to explain what had happened, and followed it up by faxing a letter that she could keep in my records. Sure, it was a simple thing, but it made the world of difference to me at a very vulnerable time – I did not need to explain the details yet again, or even work out how to broach the subject… instead the time of our session together was freed up for deeper conversation. I did not need to say anything, because she knew, and she understood.

So, this seems to be where I stand now: freed of the PCMHT, and with a potential pic n’mix from both primary and secondary care (as, to be fair, I expect most people have).

I hope it doesn’t all go back-end-up again, but I really do fear that it may.

NB: I’m drafting a post to try and explain what was going on in my mind and in my life prior to this post, which might help make more sense of my posts since, but I haven’t really wrapped my head round it yet myself, so it will be a while in the coming.

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Good Riddance to 2008

Christmas is over (almost), family arguments have broken out at the other end of the house, and I’m trying to revise.

Christmas was good in the end, though the turkey was undercooked, and I only had a couple of presents to unwrap. The biggie was a new graphics card for my computer, which will indeed be much appreciated, but, given that my computer is back at uni, it’s been deposited un-loved in the corner of my bedroom until I return…

…which will be in only two days! I’m really looking forward to escaping the clutches of my familly. Tally has made the whole thing a lot more bearable than it would have been in a different mood, but I think I’ve been snapping too much at people, and it will be nice to be able to be alone again (without my mother coming to find me just to tell me she’s feeling lonely).

I’m also glad to see the back of 2008, though to be honest I don’t have coherent memories of most of it. Not sure I could expect coherent memories, given that I spent it going subtlely bonkers in different ways. On the upside (?) I do have this blog to remind me what occured, should i fancy some self-flagelation.

However, I do get to enter 2009 with a brand spanking new outlook on life, more support than I’ve ever had before (albeit some of the chocolate teapot variety), and a dashing red coat that I alternately hate and love, depending on what pills I’m taking at the time.

Happy New Year… or whatever is most appropriate.

*hands out champagne and slabs of christmas cake*

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How Risky Am I?

Well, I dunno, but my worker wants to find out! She managed to talk me into agreeing to do a “more accurate” risk assessment next week, on the basis that we would then be able to track how my risk changes over time. She did somewhat mitigate the scariness of that by giving me a copy of the form, so I do know more or less what I’m in for in a week’s time. I really appreciate that actually, it’s nice to have!

I must say, it’s a bit more in depth than previous “risk assessments”. It comes in three parts.

We have…

Risk Assessment for Previous Suicide Attempt
This page basically boils down to “If you’ve previously tried to top yourself, were you off your face on booze or drugs, and did you really intend to die, or were you making a cry for help?”. This will be the difficult bit, I think. Especially since at that time I did intend death (it was just so badly planned that it had no effect whatsoever, other than denting my pride somewhat)

Current Suicide Ideation Risk
Does this need an explanation? It’s certainly negligible at this particular point in time, though subject to change as the Tally continues to mess with my neurotransmitters.

Crisis Management Plan
Er… don’t know if she’s actually going to include this bit. I guess she must intend to, because she checked she’d photocopied all the pages and in the right order before she gave it to me, and didn’t flag this bit up as being irrelevant or accidentally copied. Not a clue what I could put in a crisis plan, which of course is more or less the point of them, but it’s always seemed to be more something that’s aimed at the severely ill, rather than people like me.

So, erm… interesting (and rather morbid) food for thought over this next week. Hmmmm…

How does this compare to what other people have experienced? Would really welcome your thoughts!

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(I hope you can see what I did there. Do not adjust your monitor. Anyone who tries to should go and sit in the corner…)

I had a rather heavy conversation with my worker at the young people’s place today. I clued her in on some of my history, and showed her my copy of the feedback from the PCMHT team’s initial assessment, back in May, which she asked very nicely if I would let her photocopy for her own future reference if necessary (translation: for extra ammo if she was ever concerned enough about my safety to be considering tattling on me to my GP).

It also solved some confusion on her part over who I’m seeing in the NHS, though she then seemed confused about the fact that I was refered to the chocolate teapot and not to a psychologist for that mythical CBT I was promised and never got. When looking through a leaflet about the PCMHT that I’d been given at the assessment (and was now also showing her), she paused at the page which details who they do and don’t provide a service to, and queried why I’d been refered to them – “Ermm… which of these do you think you fall under?”. I refrained from saying something along the lines of “Uh, durrr… ‘Depression and anxiety’?”, and gave the more honest answer of “To be honest, I’m still not entirely sure…”.

It’s not easy to put a finger on the point where I stopped feeling ambivalent about working with her, but I guess it was at the point where I pitched up unannounced in an utter (Prozac-induced) state, and she dropped what she was doing to see me virtually there-and-then, and provide me with some practical support and advice on how to cope until I managed to get some help from my GP. Since then I’ve been increasingly confiding in her, about things that I’ve never mentioned to anyone else. I think she may be the person who gets to see the most of me, the bits I’d prefer to hide as well as the more socially acceptable bits. It helps that I’ve known her since July, rather than just in this context – and she’s seen the changes in me as I’ve moved through the various moods and med side effects that have plagued me over that period.

I suppose what I’m trying (very badly) to get across is that I feel she sees me as a person, not a “case” or a collection of psychiatric symptoms. She’s not there to “fix” or to “counsel” me, nor for one particular purpose, she’s more able to be whatever I need her to be at that particular time.

Now that ambivalence has been transferred to the chocolate teapot, and I’m still thinking about discharging myself from him…

Er… hang on… on second thoughts, was I ever unambivalent about him???

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