Between Christmas and various other triggers I've yet to really write about, I haven't been coping very well lately, especially with trauma stuff.
This week I found myself in my GP's office, desperate for someone to listen. I put my hands over my ears and blurted, things I haven't said before. The words were difficult, but came with release. In the end, she was going to call both a counselling service and a local psych clinic to see if they had a bed for a short admission.
She also asked mum to monitor my meds, and bring them to me with a glass of water when they're due. Recently, I've either been not taking any of them, or going back and taking all the ones I've skipped.
I took the jump with the private psych clinic, the closest I've gotten to a psychiatrist in years. That probably says how desperate I feel.
I was really nervous about it. I'd had 3 admissions there n the past, all less than 24 hours. Plus, half the clinic is an ED clinic, and I really didn't want to end up in their program. My GP asked me to try for just 24 hours, and see what happened after that. As much as I don't like being in the house and have very valid reasons to, it's still a daunting prospect to go anywhere else.
She called the next day to tell me they had beds free, despite the holiday rush. She'd spoken to the psych on call, who I hadn't met before, and they agreed it would be a short admission for crisis intervention and assessing & stabilizing of my meds. They agreed the dietician handles the ED side of things. They'd just make sure I'm eating and drinking something and keep an eye on my OBs and whatnot.
Things were starting to look up. She did a quick physical, then it was just waiting for the phone call. The next morning, I packed my bags and off we went.
Despite the anxiety, things were going okay at the start. We did the paperwork, they took an ID photo for the med charts, and I sat and waited for a nurse to come collect me.
As the minutes turned into an hour, I started to have second thoughts. It crept up on me, slowly.
"I don't know if I want to be here."
"I don't feel safe here."
The next thing I remember was the rough of the carpet on my cheek, waking up on the floor with a nurse.
Yep, it was another seizure.
Apparently fell forward, and started convulsing. I bit my tongue so hard it bled (again) and still hurts today. The ambos had already been called by the time I woke up.
"Do you know where you are?"
"Do you know what day it is?"
"... ... no.
They scooped me up into a wheelchair and took me to a room with my mum, a few nurses and staff, and one of my worst fears - my old ED psychiatrist.
And as it turned out, my fears were extremely valid. My old ED psych was there - not the one my GP had spoken to - and eventually said I had two options. I could go to A&E with the ambos, or be sectioned.
I lost it. I jumped out of the chair and went for the door, but the psych blocked my way.
Then I just kept crying "I just want to go home."
"You don't even know what day it is."
"I just want to go home. I'll see my GP tomorrow."
By some stroke of luck or divine intervention, she let me go home.
"...but I'm not admitting you here again."
Which kinda fucks up any future treatment prospects, as it's the only psych place I'll go voluntarily, but fuck, I'm not going anywhere near her or that clinic again. That's my second lucky escape with being sectioned, and I'm not taking the risk again. I thought the clinic might be safe, as all their patients are voluntary, but I was wrong.
At home, later in the day, more seizures, another call to 000 (twice in one day!). I'm not too sure how I got out of this one, except for saying I'd get to my GP as soon as possible.
Seizures are a lot more exhausting than you'd think. Apart from where I bit my tongue and banged my knee on the way down, my whole body just aches. It feels like I've run a marathon, and moving my arms and legs just hurts.
I'm seeing my GP this week to get a referral to a neurologist and try to figure out what the hell's going on. After my first seizures at the start of the year (this was my third lot), I had tests done and all was fine.
I'm starting to think it's not just the crap I smoke, though. The first time, I had a seizure within 30 seconds of smoking. This time, it's much more delayed and random. Maybe hitting my head as my main form of self-harm is starting to take a toll.
And Happy New Year to all of you out there in the blogosphere. I hope 2016 brings all your hearts' desires.