One after another

The last few weeks of appointments have been pretty rough. For the last two appointments I've been late and in tears. I was supposed to have my 6-weekly weigh-in with the dietician this week, but I had so much trouble getting to the appointment, let alone on the scales, we postponed until next week.


Last week I was a wreck, and the dietician was worried about me, so ended up walking me over to the treatment room to see the GP and get some self-harm dressed. I sat in the treatment room waiting for my GP to squish me in between appointments. Sometimes I'm there early enough to catch her before. After 15, maybe 20 minutes, one of the girls from the desk came in to tell me my GP was going to be busy all morning, but she'd offered to see me at 12 on her lunch break. As well as the self-harm, I really needed to talk to her about the medication situation, so I took the opportunity.

I told her about how Ativan (lorazepam) was now in a bottle, not a blister pack, and that that was posing issues in itself. Unfortunately, there's no alternative brands that might have less-stupid packaging. I also wanted to know if there was anything similar to (but not) olanzapine that I could have for a PRN when I feel the need to sedate myself, but she seemed to think seroquel should be sufficient.

In the end, we decided that each weekend when my pill cases are refilled, mum will put 7 lorazepam and 7 seroquel in a pill case/bottle for PRNs, and hide the rest. She's also upped my regular seroquel dose, and stressed "no temazepam during the day". I admit, I've already back-pedalled on the 'hiding it' part though. I'm stubborn, and don't want to have my meds hidden from me after so long.

She explained that if we couldn't get this under control, I'll have to have a break from the lorazepam. She won't prescribe more if I run out early, or the chemist will hold it. It's not a pleasant prospect, but I do understand. I know it's only supposed to be a short-term thing, and I've been on it for over two years now.


This week was a struggle to get to the dietician again. I was asking myself that dangerous question -- what's the point? -- and it didn't seem fair to go see her in such a state. She's a dietician, she's not mental health trained. I just wanted to lie on the floor and do nothing and be nothing.

Once I convinced myself to go, I was already 20 minutes late. I kept stop-starting, getting from the backporch to the car and from car to clinic. I'd talk myself into going, the my head would throw up brick walls and I'd stop in my tracks and sit against the wall.

She asked what we were going to do with the scales, and I said I knew it was supposed to be this week, but could we please put it off one more week? I know it doesn't make much difference to the number, but I really didn't feel like my head could cope with the scales that day.

She understood, and asked if I had any ideas of what my weight was doing. I was honest, and said t was down between 1-2kg depending on the day.
  "1-2kg is a fair bit for you though."

I told her I was really struggling with being in the house, to the point it can hurt to look at each room, and all I want to do is close my eyes and scream.

This house is haunted. Not by ghosts, but memories.

She asked if I've ever talked to anyone about the abuse, but really, I haven't. I had an appointment with a counselling service that I chickened out of, and couldn't say the words to give a statement to the police. That's the closest I've ever gotten.

  "When was the last time you went for a walk around the block?"

  "Oh, god... maybe five, six years ago."

At the end of the appointment, she walked me over to the treatment room again to have a fresh batch of self-harm dressed. The nurse wanted a doctor to check them, but my GP was busy. She wanted me to see one of the male GPs I don't know, which isn't about to happen, or to come back to see my GP later in the day. She got his opinion on a temporary dressing, and I went back in the afternoon.

After she finished the dressing, the nurse asked if she could check my pulse quickly. I don't know if she saw the vein pulsating in my neck/hands/feet or what, but my pulse is never much of an issue. I told her it generally sits pretty high, around 100-120. She got a reading of 120. The pulse oximeter said 150.

My GP is still trying to organize a time for her and the dietician to escort me to an appointment with the new mental health nurse, but it is happening. The old MHN still hasn't called, but what did I expect?

Outside of appointments, I've been trying to take it easy, sleeping, watching movies, being generally unproductive. This weekend mum's going away to stay with friends, which is always challenging despite enjoying the time alone.

And thank you guys for your comments and support on my last couple of posts. I don't think I can say it enough - this community is really my rock.

xxBella