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I saw the dietician twice last week - our regular Tuesday appointment, then again on Thursday.

On Tuesday I walked in and she said
"I'm glad to see you. I wasn't sure after last week, and I was a bit worried when your car wasn't already here."
But that was about all she said on the matter.

We sit down and she asks the usual questions. I can't look at her. I can't talk to her.

"Do you want to get on the scales this week?"
"Not really."
Why bother?
"Well, I'll leave it up to you."
"No... no.'

At the end of the appointment she asks if there's anything else I want to talk about.
"I'm all ears."
I just shook my head. I couldn't say anything. In retrospect, it was probably my opening, but I felt like she was saying "if you want to talk about anything except last week", and I didn't want her to get angry if I brought it up again.

So that didn't go so well. I left feeling just as crappy as I did before. I umm-ed and ahh-ed and eventually made another appointment to see her on Thursday (she only works at my clinic two days a week).

The whole appointment was one big uncomfortable mess. I know she feels bad about it, even if she isn't sorry about it, but we're still two bulls at a gate.

It wasn't going too awfully, but I had to ask the only question I had on my mind.
"I still don't understand why you didn't just tell me."
I even added all my clarifications that I wasn't expecting her to encourage me to lose, or to say the opposite of what she'd say if I was losing. I don't even need her apology any more - just the reason.
But of course, we're never going to reach a consensus on that so we shouldn't talk about it.

I just cried and cried.
She cried.
Mum cried.
I told her I didn't feel like I could really talk to her any more, these past couple of weeks.

But in the end, nothing got sorted out, and I left in tears nearly a full hour later. I just wanted to know why. I wanted to come out of the appointment with things resolved, air clear, but instead I'm still left dreading each 'next appointment'.

She did say that from now on, when she next weighs me, she'll tell me if I gain or lose more than 2-3kg (i.e, outside the range of normal fluctuations). I'm pretty sure we agreed on that when I first met her, but whatever. It doesn't matter much now. I still don't even see the point in her weighing me any more.


It's been a hard week, this weekend in particular has been painful. I'm not quite ready to write about it but I'll try again another day. It feels like everything just keeps stacking up.

I'm just not really functioning. I don't feel like I can do much at all. I don't know what I'm doing. I can barely keep track of the time or what day it is, let alone all the shit flying around inside my head.

This week's felt like a bit of a crisis. It's just been passing the time and getting through each day - each hour, each moment.

I've been coping in any way I can think of that won't land me in hospital - both positive and negative.

I'm smoking too much
Staying up all night
Journaling a lot
Taking advantage of my meds
Laxatives
Going for long drives
Self-harming in ridiculous ways to avoid cutting (the safe A&E isn't 24/7, after all)
I'm trying to be mindful
But also fasting this weekend out of some sick obligation I can't quite put into words. It's nearly religious.

I don't see the GP until the 19th, at which point I'll see the dietician once more before she takes six weeks leave (well, four weeks off, one week on, two weeks off). I still haven't heard from the MHN, and it's still a while before the new referral goes in (my GP was actually going to scope out the clinic and even take pictures for me, so it's not a completely new-and-terrifying place to go, so her intentions are truly good).

And thank you guys for the comments on my last post, so, so much. I never forget how caring and understanding you all are, but it still amazes me every time I read what you all write.

xxBella

A Tale of Gain and Loss

I'd been crying about it all week. The scales. Mum wanted me to go in last Thursday to talk to the dietician about it, but I didn't even want to go in on Tuesday. But I did.

She wasn't there when I arrived. My anxiety peaked when I heard her walk in. I tried to force a smile as she walked past and said good morning, but I don't think I managed it. I felt sick. I didn't want to talk to her about it, but I couldn't not talk to her about it either. I wanted to run and leave before she came back out. But I didn't.

She asked the usual questions - how's your week been, intake, have I been cooking, leaving the house, sewing. I could barely say two words.

"Have you been pretty quiet this week?"

"No... I don't know."

She asks what's wrong, and I eventually force out the dreaded words.

"I've gained weight."

"What makes you say that?"

"I've been weighing myself on the Wii (more on this later), my body feels different and I'm not stupid."

I told her the weights I'd scribbled down.

Just before I started seeing her, on my proper scales, I weighed 47.4kg (BMI 13.7).

Last January, on the same proper scales, I weighed 43.7 (BMI 12.6)

The weeks following, I weighed between 45-47kg on the Wii Fit.

As of today, I'm... 50.2 on the Wii.

She looked at her computer

"Do you want to know numbers?"

"It doesn't matter any more."

At that point, she could've told me exactly what I weighed clothed-and-coffee'd each week for the last three years and I wouldn't have cared less. I didn't even get on her scales this week. When I saw my GP two days later, she had my weight screen up and I just stared at it. So much for turning my head whenever the dietician types in my weight.

She said that from last January (43.7), I went up a shocking 8-fucking-kilograms between then and September/October (approx. 51.7kg, BMI 14.9), but have lost about 4kg since (approx. 47.7kg, BMI 13.8).

(...plus another kilo since she last weighed me)

I wanted to die.

"That's like a kilo a month... Why didn't you say anything?"

"I did, like I do each week."

Okay, quick break here to explain how my blind weighing supposedly works. When I first met the dietician, I told her I wanted to stop weighing myself but still have an idea without having to know exact numbers. She asked what I did want to know, and we agreed she'd tell me if I gained or lost each week (no numbers), and if I started to gain or lose outside of a normal maintenance range (say, 2-3kg either side?)

It's not like I gained every week. The occurrence of gain vs loss wasn't that different to any other time, but obviously the amount was.

"But when I was losing, before last January, you'd sit down every week after telling me if I'd gained/lost and say 'there's a pattern forming, you're losing weight, you need to see your GP, you need to drink Ensure, you need to eat more' - not just whether I'd gained or lost that week. It wasn't just a fluctuation, and you made it clear."

"But what would that do to you, if I did say 'you're gaining weight'?"

What would that frikkin' do to me?!

I asked her to. It'd mean I could trust her. It would mean she was actually monitoring my weight and keeping me informed. It would mean I'd be aware of it, not surprised by it when it's already added up. It would mean I don't have to keep weighing myself at home.

It's not like I ever expected her to encourage me to stop gaining or eat less. But it would've been nice if just told me.

She asked what triggered all of this. I said I wasn't an idiot, I knew I'd gained, my body feels different and it's not dysmorphia. I just stupidly hoped the gain would be more like 5kg, not 8. The Wii Fit proved it earlier this year, and I was tired of it being the elephant in the room. I was tired of her saying "down a little bit, nothing to be worried about, but we'll keep an eye on it" when my weight drops. We both knew but no one was talking about it and I had to talk about it

We went back and forth for a while before she just said

"Look, we're never going to reach a consensus on this, I'm not arguing about it any more."

"I'm not trying to argue..."

I tried to talk but I just kept crying and she was getting more and more fed up with me. I was sat there crying like a loon, not understanding why she didn't just say something.

Eventually she just said "I'm not talking to you about this any more."

And so I left.

I didn't even get to say my piece. She thinks I'm angry and argumentative because I've gained weight, when it's not like that at all. I just feel so incredibly sad, I don't understand why she didn't tell me.

And it sucks because I really did try to talk it through. I wanted to bolt when she said "8 kilos", but I didn't. I didn't want to run out upset and carry it for another week. But she didn't even want to talk about it so now I'm carrying it heavier than before.

I's not even really about how much I'd gained, or even that I'd gained. It's not about the fact she did do the right thing medically to try to get my weight back up a little. My problem is that I trusted her to at least tell me when I started to gain outside fluctuations, just like she did when I was losing, and now I feel like she'd only tell me what she chooses to. I didn't expect to hear "eat less, lose weight". But I did expect to hear "your weight is definitely increasing" as an objective fact.

This is going to sound crazy, but if anyone's going to understand, it's you guys.

I put a lot of trust in her when I stopped weighing myself on the reg and started letting her weigh me. This isn't forced. I didn't start seeing her because I had to, and I don't need to be weighed. It was the first time I'd volunteered to be weighed by anyone. Unless I was sectioned or in hospital, I refused to let doctors weigh me (though I'd tell them with honesty what I weighed that morning).

And I let her weigh me because I couldn't handle the stress any more. I couldn't cope with weighing myself and being so knocked down by every little gain, and every not-big-enough loss. I thought, she said, she'd actually monitor my weight and be honest with me so I could have an idea of what I weighed without having to know a number, not sugar-coat it and only tell me what she chooses to. It was the one reason I didn't have to weigh myself at home.

It was such a deep, personal thing to let her weigh me, and in a way I feel she's damaged that trust. Then I feel like an idiot for entrusting such a personal responsibility to someone else. I'm so upset, and it's not just about the weight, but it feels like I'm being completely ridiculous, but it really hurts, you guys.

How could I trust her to tell me before I gained another 8kg? I don't even want to think about it. It feels like a disease, spreading through my body, but I caught it just in time.

Now I have to keep weighing myself at home. I mentioned before, I've been weighing myself on the Wii Fit. It's been an on-and-off thing for the last few months, plus a month after last January's weigh-in. I don't do it everyday, just three or four days a week. I'm still too scared to see my real, accurate, naked-and-void weight on the bathroom scales. The Wii makes it less real, since I don't know my actual weight.

I'm not 100% sure when I'm going to allow myself the real bathroom scale. The temptation is huge, but at the same time, there's a comfort in not knowing my exact weight. The Wii has never matched my scales, but I still know I've lost 3kg since the start of the year. From the dietician, I know I'm around 4kg higher than I was last January. That's enough. For now, at least.

I've just been a wreck about it. I'd been crying all week, since the Tuesday before when everything hit me, and I've been crying all week since. Everything just keeps on stacking up. I can't take it and I can't articulate how I feel. So overwhelmed, so scared, so very low.

Now I have my appointment with her tomorrow and I still don't want to go but I know I should but I'm just dreading it. I can't just go in and pretend that everything's fine, it's not.

I don't even know if I should keep seeing her. I haven't been actively upping my intake for some time, we don’t talk much about actual nutrition and food choices (beyond deficiencies/supplements), there's no benefit of her weighing me any more. She gives me support, but I don't know how much support I even want any more. I'm just so tired of everything.

Please excuse me while I die of shame. I don't know what'd be worse - telling you all I've gained such a horrific amount, or just saying I've gained and letting you assume even worse. I feel utterly disgusted with myself.

Off-topic, and I know this is long enough, but I got a new pair of shoes a few weeks ago. I haven't had the chance to wear them out yet, but I finally took some photos.

They immediately reminded me of a pair of shoes I had when I was 15/16 years
old. I found them at an op shop and wore them 'til they fell apart.

I hadn't bought new shoes in years, but I had my eyes set on three pairs from the Wittner end-of-season clearance. This is the final pair.

I don't like talking money, but these were worth the wait. The first two pairs were bought on clearance, but then they added an extra 20% offer. These ended up costing just $31 AUD, down from $169.

10.5cm heel, oh baby

xxBella

Escape & Avoid

I know I haven't said much since the mental health nurse left. I don't want to even think about it, let alone write about it.
(Avoidance, much?)
So I'm going to try to do a bit of an overdue update

I saw my GP this week, which was mostly trying to figure out 'where to from here'. She panicked me a bit, because she said she was going to do this mental health assessment about both my history and current situation. She thought she'd be able to fill out most of it without asking too many questions. Panic. I said I didn't want her answering them without asking me, it makes me so uncomfortable it isn't even funny. In the big picture she hasn't been my GP long enough to really know my history.

That was going to be unpleasant, but then she offhandedly mentioned that the subsidy from doing the assessment would be around $85 per session, when I know the new MHN's fee is less than that. It turns out she was under the impression I was going to see a psych. Defences up, I start rambling that I wasn't going to see a psych, that it wasn't the plan and it's not okay. But it was just a mix-up in communication somewhere - she thought the new mental health nurse was a psychologist (she's a Registered Nurse) - so I didn't need the assessment at all.

She still wants to leave it a month until she puts in the referral. At the moment I've lost enough motivation to not want to rush into it anyway, so I'm over that. Part of me was even hoping it'd be optional.
"But you need to do it soon. We can't put it off until next year, or even later this year."
"I'm not trying to."

Until then, I'm still hopefully meeting the MHN off-the-books in a few weeks, but beyond that I think that's it. My GP did make an amazing offer though, that she'll try to work a spare room at the clinic for us so it stays within my comfort zone, even though they shouldn't because she doesn't work there any more. I can't even put into words the stress that takes off my shoulders. I wasn't sure if I could do it at all if she had to come into the house or I had to go elsewhere.


Outside appointments, I don't really know how to write about how I'm doing or what I'm feeling right now. I don't want to think about it. I'm journalling a lot, but it's... fragments. Rambles. Rants. Lists of one-word feelings. I can't piece it together.

I'm just not functioning. Everything seems so overwhelming. It's like I'm swimming against the tide. Too many days pass and I've done nothing but stare at the wall and smoke and pick at my skin and breakdown and cry and hurt myself. I'm brimming, overflowing, with anxiety. I try to keep distracted when I can, reading blogs or immersing myself in gaming or binge-watching the same old TV and movie series, but sometimes it's all too much and I'm just... trying to get through the day in the least distress possible.

I just feel so alone. So lost. Scared. I want to shrink away and hide from the world where nothing can reach me.

My sleep is still messing with me, but I think it might be because I haven't been remembering my meds 100% of the time. I have those little weekly pill cases to keep them all organized, and at the end of the week I looked at it and saw I'd only taken my meds 9 times out of 21. Sometimes I forget to take them, but honestly, sometimes I just don't care enough. I've been pretty good these past few days though, so hopefully that'll help

It's kinda nice though, the nights I stay up (though I prefer them when I do get some sleep). It's my time where I don't have to think or do. It's the only time of day I get some respite from the constant anxiety and thoughts and pressure.


When I went to see the dietician, mum's little blue car was being repaired, so we took my brother's big red car. Now, you must understand that I have the earliest appointment of the day, and there's only ever our car in the parking lot. The dietician usually gets there a few minutes after us - it's actually become a bit of a running joke to see who gets there first - and it always throws her for a loop when mum's little blue car isn't there.

"I thought maybe you'd done something and ended up in A&E, what with the MHN and all..."


And thank you guys for your amazing feedback on my aprons. It means a lot, really. I get extremely self-judgemental about my sewing (...in case you hadn't noticed...) Honestly, when I first complete a project, I usually end up either frustrated, hating myself, or crying.

When I last saw the MHN she asked if I could make her one. Red gingham. She loves aprons. I might talk to her about it next time, and I can always post it to her office to take some of the deadline pressure off. Sewing's yet another one of those things that's just too much right now (though I am slowly working on a couple of itty bitty dresses I promised one of the Blogger mommies)


xxBella

Five Special Aprons for Five Special Ladies

Just a short post today, mostly pictures of a few special sewing projects.

The past few weeks have been a mess. I don't know what I'm doing with myself. I feel so empty and lost and alone, I just want to retreat and isolate.

I'm just... ugh. Trying to get my thoughts together, struggling to find words. There's nothing to say.  My sleeping patterns are also a wreck. I'm either not sleeping at all or can't keep my eyes open. Currently it's the former - I've been up since 5am Saturday and it's 8pm Sunday now. It's a mess. But I just wanted to check in with you guys. I'll try to write something more later this week.

Anyway, so a little about these aprons themselves before I bombard you with pictures.

I was horribly late with my Christmas mail, and only sent it out a few weeks ago. Among the bounty included five handmade aprons.

I started planning them in October, and finished them in December. Not being able to just walk into a fabric shop and browse, I was limited, and had to settle for what fabrics I could find online. It also meant I had to know exactly what I wanted to make before I even saw the fabric. I picked up a few little things like buttons and trims when I went to Warrnambool in November, which was my first time going into a fabric store for years, and mum helped track down the rest.

I wanted to make more, but I overwhelmed myself and ended up crashing and not even doing the matching oven mitts. I was planning on having them finished and in the post to arrive by Christmas, which shouldn't have been too hard, but obviously didn't happen. It took me two months to do what should've taken two weeks, at most.

I hope you guys haven't suddenly realized that I'm not that great a sewer, now you've seen them up close in person.

So, pictures! I've given them brief names in the time I was working on them, so here I have for you (in order of appearance): Daisies, Cherries, Cupcakes, Floral, and Oranges & Lemons aprons.

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The bow is detachable. It took me over an hour to tie it just so. (and yes, it was originally going to be purple)

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P.S, I tried to make them as one-size as possible, so I really, really hope I didn't offend anyone with bits being too long/short/big/small.


xxBella

The Breakup

My last appointment with the mental health nurse was this week, and it didn't go as well as it could've.

Long story short, about 15 minutes in, we'd been chit-chatting about small stuff, and she asks about osteoporosis, and if my GP and dietician had agreed on what supplements I need to take yet (which they haven't).
"I wonder what foods are the highest in calcium... it's probably bloody impossible to eat all you need anyway."
"No, most people can get enough through food, I just can't."
"...ohh, because of the Anorexia? I thought you were managing that."

And that's when it all came crashing down. Granted, I don't talk to her about ED stuff. The dietician's the only one I trust enough. But I didn't take it well. I could feel a meltdown coming on, and I left crying

"I might as well just die now, I'm just a worthless, fat piece of shit."

I haven't walked out of an appointment like that in months. And I had to do it at my last appointment. We were barely a quarter through.

Out to the car, full-scale breakdown in the car park. I was so upset, I wanted to tear my skin off.
Mum went back in and talked to her, and they both came out to the car.

I felt awful. She kept apologizing, saying she stuffed up and didn't mean it that way at all. But I felt so low, I was spiralling.
"I'm not managing it, I'm not managing it at all, I don't talk to you about it but that doesn't mean I'm managing it, but obviously I am because I'm such a fucking fatass."

It was the first time any of my team have seen me in full breakdown mode. With the MHN, crying has usually involved sitting bolt upright with my jaw clenched, trying my hardest now to crack. Now I was curled up in a ball, crying harder than any of them have seen me, repeating that I can't do this, I can't do this, oh god, I fucked up.
I heard her ask mum something about if this sort of breakdown was out of the ordinary, but unfortunately it's not.

"It was my last appointment and I fucked up and now I can't see you any more and I fucked it up."

She'd called the home phone that morning, and offered to drop by, but having people over panics me, so mum just put it on speaker so I could listen. Although she can't keep me on long term, she offered to see me once more to catch up when she gets back from her holidays in a month, and to come to the first few appointments with the new MHN.

Since she'll have finished her current job, she'd said we could either meet at her office in town or my house or meet at a park or for coffee, but all of them terrified me. I told her I can't go out to town, or anywhere public in my city, and having people over to the house scares me even more. So she said she could even come for a drive and we can talk in the car, which is sadly probably the safest bet.

I'm just hating myself for it. I needed that appointment so badly and I wasn't even in there half an hour. I needed it so badly that I'd tried to get a second appointment the day before. But I fucked it up. I can't even feel sad about it, because I fucked it up. I want to tear my skin apart.

I fucked it up.
And I deserve to feel as bad as I do.

credit :: Pon and Zi (Jeff Thomas)

xxBella

What a week

So I saw the mental health nurse for the second-last time on Wednesday. It sucked. Every second of the appointment felt like time going down the drain. Every second felt urgent. I was acutely aware of the short time left with her - two hours, now one.

Apparently she'd spoken to this other MHN from my past, who immediately remembered me (I'm always doubtful when healthcare professionals say that). She didn't have any of her cards, so she tore out the one taped to her folder and gave it to me.

When I saw the GP the next day, she said she wants to wait a while before putting in the referral to the new MHN, so I can 'adjust and recover' first. I'm not too sure how I'm supposed to feel any better without anyone to help, but whatever. Who knows, maybe it's a good thing, maybe not. I was hoping she'd write the referral then so I didn't have a gap. I just didn't feel like I could speak up. I know it sounds pathetic and takes away any right to complain, but my head just screams 'why bother'.

Anyway, back to the MHN. She talked a lot about Immersion Therapy. She thinks it'd be good for me if I had the right support. Basically it's doing what scares you but doing it in a safe way. My agoraphobia challenge/resolution would be a similar concept, I guess. But to be honest, I think I really need something safer fist.

She told me this story of a girl, and basically she could've been me. Abuse, anxiety, unable to go into town because of the intense fear of seeing this one person in a city of 215,000. She did Immersion Therapy, and slowly worked towards going into town, first in very safe and supported situations, and gradually taking away those safe elements. She pointed out how unlikely it'd be that this girl would ever see their abuser, and that she had not seen him, like it was never a rational fear.

"Because, really, what's the worst that could happen? A panic attack?"
I wanted to yell "No, you bitch, maybe my worst nightmares will come true the next time I see Him? I used to see Him at least once a year up until the point I stopped going in."

But I didn't. I just shook my head, frustrated beyond belief.
"What, then?"
"I have similar reasons for not going into town, and a lot worse could happen."
There's a reason why all of my outings are a fair drive away.
I was obviously upset, and she started probing. Trauma was the last thing I wanted to talk about when I already felt so low.
"Why?
What scares you?
Who scares you?"

I just wanted to scream. I just wanted her to stop talking about it. It's too painful and too hard and I can't talk about it. Besides, she'll be gone next week, so why should I put myself through it?

"I just don't know what to do any more."
She said that doctors, therapists etc. shouldn't always just tell people what to do. It's better to provide them with the information and resources and let them come to their own conclusions. Not to mention that a lot of people go out there and do the exact opposite

"How would you feel if I said - Bella, you have to...?"
"Like someone wants to help."
"So what if I suggested Equine therapy?" (which we'd been talking about earlier)
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Agoraphobia... anxiety... groups of people... unsafe places... unsafe people..."

I just feel stuck. They keep suggesting people I should see and things I should do, and I just can't.

"Besides, I don't mean like what type of therapy I should try. I mean I don't know what to do today, this week, next week. I'm just so lost. So stuck. Getting through each day is so hard right now. I just don't know what to do with myself. I can't do anything."

"There's gotta be something out there that can help you... obviously it's not medication."
Obviously! At least I laughed. But you can't blame me for being desperate and still hoping and trying.

She also gave me a couple of relaxation CDs, which are along the same lines as mindfulness and hypnosis, but potentially more appropriate for me than the actual mindfulness CD. I'm just trying to grab as many CDs and pieces of paper as I can. I think I've been hesitating on the mindfulness one because the track we kept listening to asked you to focus on an uncomfortable emotion and identify how it feels in different body parts. And I just can't do that right now. I need things that are more like the 'do one thing at a time, list all the sounds you can hear' kind of mindfulness.


The last few weeks haven't been so great. I feel like I'm on autopilot, just getting through each day.

When I'm not a total wreck or staring blankly into space, I've been spending a lot of time gaming (Heroes of Might & Magic II, currently). A lot. It seems to be my default at the moment. I'm watching too many movies and TV shows. I've watched more Dr Phil episodes in the last week than I probably have in my entire life. Last night I stayed up until 4:30am, just watching Dr Phil episodes on YouTube for 8+ hours.

Anything I can try to immerse myself in. It zones me out so I don't have to think, so I don't have to be in the world. At that moment my existence consists of lying on the couch, chain smoking in the dark, cracking a new can of Coke Zero every two hours.


In other news, the dietician is thankfully back this Tuesday. I've missed her a lot. I'm really not ready to start seeing her less often. I can't even remember the last time we've had three weeks between appointments. She's really so good to me with not missing appointments - most of the time, she'll come in just for my early-bird appointment even if she has to dash off somewhere else. So I'm certainly not complaining that she's had some much-deserved time off.

Then on Wednesday I have my last ever appointment with the mental health nurse. So... yeah.

I feel like I'm so behind on things I should be doing. Including emails and comments, sorry guys, I'm trying to catch up. I'm just not doing things. The days keep disappearing and I've done nothing.


And just as a quick note, this Tuesday 20th marked two years since our beautiful girl Silky passed away. I'll never forget that day, how quickly she was gone, or seeing the moment the light left her eyes. But I'll also never forget her.

This is Billy and Silky, back in 2004.
I found these photos just this week.

2002

xxBella

Not a Hope in Hell

I saw the mental health nurse on Wednesday. I went in a total wreck. The breakdown had started at 7:30am, and continued through until the appointment at 3:30.

I was wearing pyjamas - a nightie with a cardigan and trackies thrown on. My hair was soaked and my clothes stuck to me, drenched with sweat and tears. I looked like I'd been beaten up. I was just a mess. So embarrassed. I was freaking out sitting in the waiting room, even though it wasn't overly busy, but thankfully the girls at the desk always find an empty office for me to hide in.

One of the first things she said to me was that there's "not a hope in hell" of her staying. But hey, at least she's honest.

All she can really do is try to transition people to new therapists, unless they're ready to be discharged, but it's hard when I won't see a psych.
"I can't. That was the whole point of seeing you instead in the first place."

"What did your GP suggest?"
"Nothing, really; except writing a letter."
She laughed "Yeah, it's a bit cute, a bit naïve."

I'm still going to try writing the letter though. I don't want her to leave, and I have to be able to say I tried, and my GP's still putting it together anyway. But at the end of the day it's a business decision. She said her colleague already tried talking to The Powers That Be, and nothing.

***
By the way, have I told you guys how amazing you are recently? Thank you, thank you, thank you all for your advice on my last post! I think I understand what sorta things I should write now. I need to set aside some time to write it, but thinking about it just makes my heart sink. I'll post what I'm writing, after my head can put it all together. I'd be so lost, in every way, without you wonderful people. This community never ceases to amaze me. So much love.
***

I slipped off my shoes and curled my knees up in front of me when she asked if there was anything I wanted to talk about.
"I just don't have anything to say any more."

She told me a lot of the back-story on why she was getting transferred to a different team. Admittedly I zoned out for a lot of it, but when she was talking about the system at large, she in passing mentioned the name of a different mental health nurse I used to see, and the conversation side-tracked.
"She was my case manager when I was like 15 or 16, after my first psych inpatient admission... She left..."
It was my first experience with the public system, and she left. My MHN is the only person on my team in the public system, and look where that got me...

Anyway, it turns out she went back to university, is now a Nurse Practitioner, and works privately at this other clinic one day a week. She can even write scripts, so maybe that'd take some of the pressure off seeing an actual psych. My GP wanted to refer me to the Psychiatrist on the Side (who my team gets advice from, knows my case well, and has ruling say on my meds) this month so I could start seeing her mid-year. But that was before we knew my MHN was leaving, so now I really don't expect it to happen that soon.

Why was it so hard to find another Mental Health nurse in the first place?! They just kept suggesting psychiatrists and psychologists. She said she could've sworn she'd mentioned this other MHN's name to me before.

Unfortunately the other MHN is at a different clinic. I mean, it's not impossible for me to get there, but the thought of having to do it on a regular basis?!

The other downside is that now I feel there's a lot of pressure to succeed. That I'm expected to get along with her and be able to talk with her, even though this was 6+ years ago that I last saw her. I don't remember if I opened up to her or if she helped me or not. My memory is very fuzzy, but I don't really remember ever talking to anyone before my current team.

And it doesn't help how I'm feeling now. I still don't want my MHN to go, I still feel like I'm being dropped off a cliff face, I still can't stop breaking down and crying. I don't feel any better at all.

Honestly? I think I've cried more over this therapist-breakup than I did when I broke up with my ex (the breakup that made me start blogging). At least then I didn't feel so void of hope.

My GP said no one was going to leave...

How can I believe that any more?

The past week or so has been a mess. Tears, self-harm, losing days to 12-hour breakdowns. Trying to keep myself distracted the rest of the time, when I really don't want to do anything at all. It took me three days to even write about the appointment in my journal. I played through Terranigma in a week, straight after finishing it the previous time, because I know it inside-out and it's a nostalgic favourite. Simple, braindead, couch potato things to suck the hours away. I just don't know what to do with myself.


And I mean it, you guys are amazing and I'd be utterly lost without you all. You get me through.


xxBella