Weak week

Brief update on all the usual things.

  1. Monday I had a psychiatric assessment with a new Doctor. I’m being referred back to my local Mental Health Unit, where I used to go 5 years ago – I’m going to go back into normal therapy and then CBT. I’ve had both before and they helped me. I’m also going to be referred for assessment for Autism, this should take 12 months as that is the waiting time in London. I’m also going to have my dose of Citalopram reduced: I went to the appointment hoping they would put it up, but actually I found out that I’ve been on a dose I should not have been prescribed – 50mg. Indeed the Psychiatrist is writing to my GP to find out who prescribed this dose. I’ve officially been on it for 4 years, but actually stuck to 40mg until my Mum got sick last May. Recently some days I’ve taken an extra 10mg. But Citalopram is not meant to be taken in such a large quanitity. The Psych. suggested I change my medication to Mirtazipine, but I said no: at the moment I’m going through the ESA and I have to help my Dad sort out this damned house, and I can’t be changing pills and going nuts* at the moment. The Psych. has also given me a number to phone to get CBT now, but he doesn’t believe they’ll help me because of my recent self-harming and repeated sucidal ideations.
  2. Volunteering Tuesday: I was so fuzzy and muddled at work I had to sit down do do some duties that should be done standing up. I was exhausted – and made a cock-up. My boss can be a little powerful in his disdain when people don’t do things well/ correctly
  3. Slept the whole of Wednesday.
  4. Thursday: I met up with my MIND advocate to catch up (I’ve not seen her for 15 months) and to discuss what I want help with at the WCA. I was there for 90 minutes. It was stressful, and this was added to by my Dad hijacking me with his plans for my weekend: telling me I had 2 days to clear 2 rooms before people come over to help clear them. He wants it done because the family members are going away and he wants to use their time. I wish he’d told me earlier. I have to say, I got angry. I told him it was my stuff and he could basically f*ck off. I don’t want people going through my stuff. No one in my family is close enough to me to go through my stuff. I pointed out that Dad has lots of things he can get our family to help him with. He should sort his own shit out first. Last week he was nagging me about chosing a curtain pole (which I did) now it’s clearing a space. I’ve not been to a gallery in 8 months nor done a proper drawing or work of art since before my Mum died. I am using all my energy on not killing myself and giving the DWP everything they want. I went to bed as soon as I got in – about 7pm. Woke up at 5am… did not get back to sleep properly.
  5. Friday: What a f*cking nightmare. Before I’ve got my pants on my Dad is asking me about the f*cking curtain rail. Then I get a letter from the DWP asking me for a Fit-Note (that I sent last Monday – I’ve heard nothing since). Helping out some more with volunteering and my Boss is in a bad mood, then a good mood. I began visualising hanging myself at work. I got so angry. I had a headache that would not shift. I threw everything at it. Which means I was in a very altered state at ‘work’. Once I got out (still angry for no reason) I went to exhaust myself – and ended up having a 1/2 pint of terrible tasting lager off Bond St. which helped the anger…. Getting home I managed to eat (I’ve not eaten since Tuesday), and change the dressing on my current arm cuts. The old bandage smelt of cider. Here I am at 5am, with crap on the TV, still awake. Still with a f*cking headache and a house full of dead people’s shit to sort out.

* Nuts is my term, haywire is another term, jumble brained, loopy – non-functioning and terrified.

Oh, and I can’t poo. I want to get rid of my headache, the pain between my shoulderblades, the knot in my lower back, and my poo.


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