Monday, 19 June 2017


Last week I finally got to see my dietician for the first time in three months.

My GP has been working on taking me out for short walks when she does home visits. The idea is that I'll eventually be able to walk to appointments by myself, and although it's not even a kilometer away, I'm still a long way off walking solo.

Even walking alone to the corner of the block is terrifying. My GP found a way I can get to the clinic winding through the laneways instead of the busy streets, but she thinks I need a psych to help me overcome the fears before I'll be able to walk alone.

She was coming to pick me up and hour before she started work, so there'd be enough time to walk me to and from my appointment with the dietician. She was running late though, so she drove to pick me up, and then walked me home.

It was so good to see the dietician after so long. In the five years I've been seeing her, I've never had this long between appointments. She gave me a hug straight away. Thankfully, she didn't push weighing me as she saw me get distressed when she asked, so she focused more on what/how much I've been eating and drinking, and how life is going in general.

My GP made another set of appointments in five weeks, walks included, before she walked me home. The walk itself was difficult - not physically, but mentally - as it's the farthest from home I've walked in many years, but it definitely helps not having to do it alone. Rational or not, I feel so unsafe, even just a short distance away.

Unfortunately, neither of them are sure why I've been feeling so sick the past few weeks. I've been doing liquid days every other day to reduce how often I'm sick, because on days I eat solids, I'm up all night nauseous and usually vomiting. And it's not the alcohol - if I eat early in the day, before I drink, I get sick. If I eat but don't drink, I get sick. If I do liquids only, even with alcohol, I don't get sick.

I asked them both about it, and they said they'll discuss it with each other and get back to me. We went over what I can handle without getting sick, and it's really only yoghurt, iced coffee, supplement milk drinks (Ensure or Milo), hot chocolate, ice blocks, jelly, and thin pureed veggie soup (my current obsession is cauliflower and leek, for only 44 calories per cup - simply a cauliflower, a leek, and a stock cube, boiled and pureed). The current advice is to just stick with liquids and puree as much as possible.

June also marks the end of my traumaversary dates, and is always a very difficult and triggering time. The end date doesn't stop the feeling. I've spent most of this week knocked out on meds during the day and drinking until I pass out at night, which is why it's taken me nearly a week to write about the appointments.

Every day is just trying to get through in one piece, but then I wake up the next morning and have to go through it all again.

I feel so low and hopeless. The overdose urges have been so strong, but I've whittled down my stash by knocking myself out. I'm torn between using my extra meds to avoid the days, or keep stashing them for an overdose, although the latter would get me in trouble if they realise I haven't been returning any leftover meds as I'm supposed to.

I just don't want to be here, stuck in my head 24/7. It's taking all of my willpower (and a shit tonne of vodka) to avoid ending up in A&E.

I can't even enjoy things like TV or movies unless they're incredibly sad. Comedy makes me feel even worse. I can't even laugh if I wanted to.

To be honest, I would actually consider another inpatient admission. Even though the last one was somewhat disastrous, it did keep me safe while I was there. But considering the lack of support at home, chances are I won't even be able to see my GP until the next appointment in five weeks (unless I manage some awful accidental injury like the oil burns), and god knows what could happen in that time.

For today, it's a soup day, with no extra meds up my sleeve until this afternoon's delivery, and counting down the hours until it's somewhat acceptable to crack a bottle of wine.


Monday, 5 June 2017

I've Lost my Fear of Falling

Next week, I'll be seeing the dietician for the first time in... about three months, I think. It's been hard. Before that, I'd been seeing her every Tuesday at 8:10am for five years. I've only seen her once since I lost transport, and that was because I had to see my GP to dress my pressure wounds from a hospital admission, and I managed to sneak in an appointment with the dietician at the same time (evidently, only physically injuries are worthy of helping me get there).

My GP's such a dear. She's going to pick me up and walk me to and from the appointment, all in her own time. We've done two walks on home visits so far – once just to the corner of the block, once just under halfway to the clinic. I've got to admit I'm nervous. Partly because walking around in public is one of the biggest challenges with my agoraphobia, and I haven't walked that far in years (excluding the occasional quiet bushwalk).

The other factor is that I also really don't want to get on the scales, but I'm worried she'll want to weigh me having been so long. I just don't want to be weighed and monitored any more. It's just stressful and pointless at this stage.

For the past week or two, I've been feeling awfully sick whenever I consume solids. It's like a cross between nausea, cramps, and heartburn. I've only been eating a small dinner so I can have the first part of the day without feeling sick, but I'll wake up two or three times a night with my stomach screaming at me.

I had a strange incident on Friday. Mum woke me up at 11am, thinking I'd overdosed as I never sleep that late.

I have to stress – I hadn't taken any extra pills or smoked or anything like that. But I was completely out of it. And I have no idea why. I was confused, panicked, crying hysterically, unsteady on my feet... I ended up having one smoke and a few sips of coffee before going back to sleep.

When I woke up again three hours later, I felt fine. It's a complete mystery as to what happened that morning, but mum later told me that she was about to call an ambulance, as it took her 10 or 12 tries to wake me before I even opened an eye.

Then, on Saturday, I had one of the worst breakdowns I've had in a while. Just the usual crap – crying about being worthless, useless, a failure and a fuck-up. After beating myself up, both mentally and physically, I went into the kitchen in a fury. I destroyed a heap of food, throwing the packets on the floor and stomping on them, throwing tubs of yoghurt in the sink. It was... not my finest moment.

A couple of hours later, I lay on the couch and took the stash of meds that I technically was not supposed to have. Judging from what I took compared to previous overdoses, I was expecting to probably wake up in hospital again. Before I passed out, I locked and hid everything self-harm or overdose related, and this time hid the keys where no one could find them, just in case. I've only just finished replacing everything after my last overdose, when the police found the keys in a drawer and confiscated all of my tools and meds. Since a lot of the time I'm still actively self-harming and being generally non-compliant by the time the ambulance gets here, they always seem to be accompanied by police these days.

Amazingly enough, I still woke up early the next morning, at home, with no emergency services. I was just a little wobbly on my feet and uncoordinated, and all I could think was regretting wasting my stash on a failed overdose.

To end on a positive: 
Over the two weeks between May 15th and 28th, I had six nights off drinking, which is better than I've done in a while. Given, I did smoke for a couple of those days, but hey, a win's a win. If I can stick to roughly every second night instead of every night, I think that's my goal for the moment.

With any luck, I should be able to get a new laptop in the next month or so, which will make it easier to keep up with blogging (mine died just before Christmas, so I've had to rely on when I can borrow Mother Dearest's computer).

The Aftermath...