Christmas is never an easy time of year. On top of the regular MH issues, this year a lot of stuff relating to abuse and trauma has been surfacing in a very painful way. There have been lots of tears and intense discussions, actually talking about the childhood abuse for the first time ever and facing it head-on. It hasn't helped having so few appointments - I saw the dietician last week, but now won't see her for a month, and don't really have any other appointments planned. I might try to get in to see the GP this week though. I just really need to talk and get it out.
We kept Christmas quiet and simple this year. Still, I had a bit of a meltdown on Christmas Eve as I stuffed and trussed my chicken. Not my finest moment. I had another mini-OD, mostly on seroquel and lorazepam. Recently I've been either not taking my meds, or taking far too many. Mum now tells me the only reason she didn't call an ambulance was because it was Christmas Eve.
Long story short, by the time I'd calmed down, the chicken had been out of the fridge for too long for mum to be comfortable cooking it. We ended up having a stir-fry for dinner, and croissants were made earlier I'm in the day.
I didn't even drink. I bought myself a bottle of red the day before, and was given another on the day, but they're still sitting unopened on my bar.
I kept baking to an absolute minimum this year, which was unusual for me. I just wanted to keep food simple and minimal. I skipped the cakes, the sponges, the shortbread, nearly everything except for one batch of my grandma's caramel slice and my mum's chocolate truffle recipe. We started a couple of days before Christmas, and by yesterday all of the baking and leftovers was gone. I just couldn't deal with the stress of having so many different foods around for so long.
All in all, it was a lot more like 'normal' people eating rather than Christmas gluttony.
When my brother got home, we opened presents. I got a bottle of shiraz, a new journal, a new Parker pen with a heap of black gel ink cartridges, a pack of bath bombs, a little power pack for charging phones, and some coffee beans.
Unfortunately I have trouble gripping the pen without my hand cramping (I never figured out how to hold a pen 'properly') because it's so straight and thin, so I'm just using the ink cartridges in the pen my brother gifted me some years ago.
My brother bought me a heap of coffee beans, as I've stopped drinking instant and started brewing my own these past few months. They haven't gotten here yet, but I've got like 1kg of Italian espresso beans plus lots of different 250g bags to try, so hopefully they'll be here soon.
Thank you all for your comments and support on my last post. I know it's a hard time for a lot of us, but I hope you all had the best day possible.
I know it's been just over two weeks now since I last posted... In case you couldn't guess, things have been pretty full-on in my little world. There have been seizures, ambulance rides, sneaking out, breakdowns, confessions, appointments and infections.
I've been trying to write a post for weeks with no luck. The two most significant events were probably the big group appointment with the new Mental Health Nurse, my dietician and GP, and the fact I landed in A&E last weekend after suffering from a couple of seizures.
(The sneaking out story is also pretty epic, in a 'who are you and what've you done with Bella?' kind of way, complete with jumping fences, so I'll save that for a post of it's own.)
The first seizure happened early in the morning. I have no memory of it, and wouldn't have known it happened if I'd not woken up being asked if I was okay. I assumed it was a one off, and didn't think much of it.
Then, around midday, I had another seizure. Knowing my luck, I was sat on the toilet at the time. This one lasted much longer, around 10 minutes compared to 30 seconds earlier.
I'm covered in cuts and bruises, still. I smashed a ceramic toilet roll holder on the way down, though thankfully avoided going head-first through the asbestos wall.
Mum called an ambulance and I spent ~5 hours in A&E, panicking about being in the same building as the Horrible Psychiatrist, not being able to go to the private hospital because they 'don't do seizures'. Billy whimpered and howled so loudly when mum was on the phone, the operator could hear him on the other end of the line.
Apparently one of the ambos had attended me when I had seizures in a similar situation earlier in the year. Including the time I randomly passed out and hit my head while weighing myself, that's the third ambulance call-out I've had this year. (I got the bill this morning - $1,690. Pay your Ambulance Membership/cherish your pension, folks.)
I don't really want to go into it that much, but my GP thinks it was a combination of smoking and not having slept the night before. I wrote a little about it here, but mostly don't really talk about my smoking. In fact, I think this is only the second time I've mentioned synthetics on here - the first time being when I last had seizures.
The doctor in A&E gave me a lecture about the dangers of synthetics and the risk of permanent damage. After some years on-and-off synthetics, and the natural stuff, I probably know this better than anyone. It scares the shit out of me. But what scares me more, is that it isn't enough to stop it.
Then, on Wednesday, I had my big appointment with the new mental health nurse, with both my dietician and GP there. It was the first time I've seen her in months. My GP was in the waiting room when I got there, and the dietician came in a few minutes later.
The MHN started saying she'd thought about writing a letter for the past few months, but wasn't sure if it'd be overstepping boundaries since we'd only had the one appointment. She said she wasn't sure if something she'd said came across the wrong way, and that humans aren't infallible. I couldn't bring it up. It seemed so obvious to me - how can she not know?
My GP spoke for a bit about her role and the structure of the team, how my appointments work and a bit about what's been going on for me lately. She bought up the topic of a 'potential relationship' (and that's a whole 'nother post, jesus christ, it's been a crazy few weeks). The dietician looked excited and grabbed my knee. "Name?" "Not worth talking about."
The dietician spoke for a bit about her role, and explained how weigh-ins are working - every 6 weeks, with a need for open honesty with the numbers and no room for miscommunication. That said, I was supposed to be weighed last week, but didn't (...I think).
I was supposed to see the MHN again this week, but didn't get there. I knew I'd had another rough weekend, particularly with meds and self-harm. There's been a lot of trauma-related stuff bubbling to the surface, but again, that's another post. I was stoked to see the dietician on Thursday, because apart from the team appointment, I hadn't seen her in a month.
I went in, and we were chatting for a while, and then she commented that I was looking a lot better than Tuesday. Apparently I was a total wreck and completely beside myself. Mum had deemed it an emergency, and so I went to see the dietician, and made an appointment for the GP later that morning. I had no memory of seeing the dietician, or the GP, or the nurse, or the days surrounding.
For the past week I've been holed up in my bedroom. Anyone who's been reading for a while will know this room is a huge trigger for me, and usually I spend as little time in there as possible.
I don't really know why. I just don't want to deal with the world, with people. I don't want to go outside, not even to my back porch. And so I've been stuck in here, leaving for maybe an hour or two max each day.
A few days ago the dams broke and I just started crying, tears that have barely stopped since.
I'm losing days and losing track and I don't know which way's up.
Seeing the GP next Friday. Dietician next week. I cancelled on her again yesterday, because really, what's the point?
I'm making her an apron for Christmas. There's only two appointments left until she goes away.
In other news, I've been talking to someone on Facebook for the last few weeks and, well, got asked out.
I don't even know where to start explaining why this is such a complicated issue.
I kind of want to tell him he's wasting his time because I don't go out much and am not in the place to cope with a relationship or any of that.
For those playing along at home, I've had a total of maybe six social encounters since I started blogging.
It's all such a confusing mess and I really don't know if I'm in the right place to be able to deal with any of it. I'm going to try to get my thoughts straight and will check in with how it went later in the week, but I just wanted to quickly check in as I know a few of you were worried.