One by one...

The last few weeks at home have not been the most pleasant. When I last posted, I'd just seen the dietician that morning, and in the afternoon, mum got back from her mini-vacation. After a horror weekend alone, I told her we really needed to change the carer's payment situation, and she told me to move out while I'm at it.

It hit me as a bit of a shock, for her to say that. It hurt. I didn't have the energy to sit there and pointlessly argue. I went out the garage, and smoked and broke down until the tears ran dry. Then I went back to the porch. I accepted it. It is her house, her life, and ultimately her decision.

I have to make this clear. I'm not angry or frustrated at mum for not being able to continue as my carer. I do get it. I'm angry that she won't accept it means losing the payment, and whenever I've tried to discuss it with her, she gets offended and argumentative, and I had to draw the line. (I should note: I do pay my own way covering everything I eat, my share of bills, the housework etc.)

She's a great mum. I think (or hope) most of you guys know that. She's just not fulfilling the role of 'carer'. It's a fact, not a judgement. I honestly think that if we redid the forms, which I'll be asking my GP to do, the outcome would be different now. It's not a sudden change - it's been building all year.

She's burnt out. I get it. Before I was ill, she cared for my brother for some years too. It isn't a 'blame' situation, not by a long shot. It's just the way life works. I just need to know what's going on so I can start looking at my other options.

To me, though, it just confirms everything The Horrible Psychiatrist said all those years ago.

"They will get tired, and they will leave."

Mum looked him straight in the eye, and told him he was wrong. His reaction was basically,

"Just wait."

I always knew he was right on that one. Now, I'm taking his second piece of advice.

"You should free mum from her role as carer."

After that discussion and the aftermath on Tuesday, I made an appointment to see the dietician again on Thursday. That didn't happen.

For the last few months, mum has been pushing me to do more by myself, especially at appointments. It started with going to every appointment alone, and currently, she is pushing me to go to reception, talk to them by myself, go back afterwards and talk to them again to pay. For reference, the most I've been able to interact with the girls at the desk is saying 'hi' and 'thanks'  in the last few months, and even that has been a huge challenge. Before that, it was just a smile, sometimes a wave.

And I couldn't do it. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it was too much. If I were in a better place I might consider the challenge, but at the moment it's just another roadblock in getting to appointments. I asked mum if she could please put a 'pause' on her agenda, because I'm already struggling enough with food and getting to appointments as it is. No.

But I'm not going to push it. In the end, mum is backing away for a reason, and I can't change that. So I cancelled Thursday, and cancelled tomorrow's regular appointment too. Like I said before, I'm just rolling over and accepting it. It is her house, her life, and ultimately her decision.

So I guess you could say, appointments are currently up in the air. I still have my weekly standing appointments with the dietician, and have an appointment with my GP next week, but it could go either way. I feel like my supports are crumbling one by one, and I don't have the self-caring factor to be pushed in to these scary situations, just to get to appointments, and for whose benefit...?


And I want to thank you all for you comments, support, input, feedback and opinions on my last post. I was actually kind of scared to check the comments for a few days. I think I prepare myself for others to judge me just as harshly as I do. I checked a few days later, expecting the worst, but instead they made me cry. I really don't know what I'd do without the support and friendship of all of those in the blogosphere.

At the moment, I'm just trying to find my feet, my routine, and keep up with the human race in general.

As for the whole thing with my friend, I don't have a friggin' clue what's going on there, but I think I'm good with that. Or, more to the point, I'm just over. I don't have the time or energy to waste on social dramas right now. Isolation is the best medication.


xxBella

Home Alone

This past week has been really full-on, hence my lack of writing. I was to be left home alone for 5-6 days, and things did not go as planned.

Last week, I actually worked up the cojones to ask a friend to come over and keep me company for part of the weekend. He asked when my mum and brother were going away, and said he'd come over for most of Friday and Saturday, and only be 10 minutes away if I needed. I thought I had a safety net, and that at least a couple of days wouldn't be so hard.

I don't even know what happened. I really don't even know. I think that's the worst part. My social life is very much a case of "the less said, the better". He came over, we talked and drank and watched Inside Out. It was nice. He had a bag and a new bottle of scotch. I thought he was going to stay. The scotch never got opened.

One of the first things he said was that he'd been dating a girl for four months, and she wasn't too happy about him visiting. Obviously, this is where the shit hit the fan, with constant texts flying, but I don't know what or why.

He left sometime around 1am, I'm not entirely sure. I wasn't expecting it, and it was a shock to the system like having ice water poured all over me. Everything in me sunk and all I felt was fear. I can't even explain how or why it makes such a difference just having someone around. I just needed someone there and I had no one else to call on.

We haven't talked since, which isn't unusual for me, but I don't know when or why plans changed or if I've stepped on toes or what. If it had been a known, I would have tried to sort something else out so I wouldn't be left alone, even if it meant a respite carer.

As a bonus, toward the end of the night, my stomach decided to pull it's magic trick where it randomly ejects its contents. I don't think it was even alcohol-induced, as I didn't drink that much, and I kept being sick until about 4pm the next day.


Saturday was one of the hardest days I've had in a long time. The morning was hell. Between the stress and being physically sick, I wasn't coping. I called mum 10, 20, 30 times, only to hear she'd be turning off her phone in 15 minutes for the wedding. I didn't even know what to say. I then called my brother, who very calmly asked the routine questions and asked if I needed him to come home.

My brother flew back on Saturday. I feel terrible because he'd only left the night before, but I didn't know what else to do. I felt so alone and scared, and it's not like I exactly have lots of local friends to call.

I waited in curiousity to see if I'd hear from him on Saturday. Nothing. I think I've managed to unintentionally fuck up my last local friendship.


A strange phenomenon happens when mum leaves, and I lose all sense of time, all structure, and arguably the majority of my mind. When I started smoking weed, I referred to it as the Eternal Twilight. The same happens when I'm alone. Life is just one, big, long fucking day.

I've missed most of my meds and skipped most of my meals. Saturday, I didn't eat until 6pm when I made an egg with bacon on toast. Just under 200 cals for the day. The next day, I had an Ensure at the end of the day, but that was it. I've had another supplement this morning, and I'm going to try to go and cook a proper dinner after I finish this post.

I should mention, this whole week had been a result of bad timing, with both my mum and brother booking trips some time ago for the same weekend. Unfortunately, no one realised the clash until a few weeks ago, and by then it was too late to change anything.


I had a talk with the dietician this morning, which helped a lot. I might try to see her again on Thursday, just because the last couple of weeks have been so hard with intake and weight. I've lost 2.5kg since she weighed me two weeks ago, and there's four more weeks until I next have to be weighed. She asked if I wanted to do it this morning to get it out of the way, and I thought about it, but ended up chickening out.


Mum got home a couple of hours ago. I told her that
  "After this weekend, I don't think I want you on carer's allowance any more."
This has been a highly debated topic in our household of late, as it's been building for a while. And she got really pissed off and said
  "Fine, cancel it, and move out while you're at it."

...



xxBella

Scales and Sickness

This week was my 6-weekly weigh in with the dietician.

I've started being more open with her lately, as our relationship recover's from last year's scale screw-over.

At home, on the Wii, I weighed 46.1kg. At the dietician's office, clothed and full of coffee, I weighed 48.3kg. I figure I'm somewhere in between, so let's say 47.2-ish. The bathroom scales still seem so daunting, so I'm still weighing in on the Wii, but I know I'll have to get on the real scales soon. This time between weighs, I lost 2.0kg.

She asked how I felt about it, and I told her straight up that it was a relief to be further away from the 50kg mark. When she asked if I wanted to lose more, I told her the truth (in my head, I'm planning to start maintaining again in January). She said she'd really freak out if I lost any more with my current BMI. I at least agreed to have two Ensures/Forticremes this week.

However, I've been feeling pretty sick since then, and I've dropped another 1.5kg in two days, putting me around 45.7kg (BMI 13.2). I'm actually going to ask if we can redo this week's weight. It was just horrendous timing that I got sick and dropped further, and I don't want her to freak out.


I've been feeling pretty crappy since Tuesday night, when I woke up vomiting. Since then it's been coughs, puke, aches, chills, fevers, night sweats, and complete exhaustion. It's making a lot harder to eat, even when I want to, even the smell of food makes me want to puke.

My intake has been lower than it's been in a while. The last two days, I've finished the day under 300 cals, despite actually trying to eat more. I tried to have an Ensure last night, but the first sip made me retch. Today I'm going to try to get to 600. I've had an egg and bacon on toast (149), and I made it through a whole Ensure (226). The Ensure took half an hour, but it got down and stayed down. I think dinner's going to be toast/bread, so I should get there today, nausea permitting.


On Thursday I saw my GP. I told her I think I've go a chest infection or something brewing. She asked if I could please try to take the antibiotics that I've practically refused over the last few months. Amazingly enough, I actually had one this morning. Yay.

When she did my OBs, my heart rate was in the 140s just resting. It's rarely below 120 at home. She checked it three times before asking how long it's been since my thyroid was checked. Looking through my records, it's been five years, and she wrote up for my next blood test to include thyroid.

As for the old mental health nurse, who said she'd call but still hasn't? I'm pretty over it all. Again, she said she'd call, and again, I was naive enough to believe her. My GP is not impressed, and is now advancing from phone calls to writing her a letter.

  "Honestly, I don't know if I even want to talk to her any more. The only thing I have to say to her is 'Why didn't you call?', both at the start of the year and again now."
She just nodded sadly. My singular good experience with the MH system has been marred by her saying she'd call, but never did (twice!). I mean, why even bother saying it if you don't mean it?

Plans are in the works for getting me back to the new MHN, but the fear is still so strong. I'm talking to the dietician about it on Tuesday, and hopefully it won't be too much longer before everyone's schedules line up so she and my GP can accompany me as they kindly offered.

I think that's about it for today. For now, I think I'm going to spend he weekend on the couch resting and recuperating,


xxBella

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

Bella Goes Out!

This week I ended up having an unexpected trip out. My brother needed a lift to the airport on short notice, and mum, who loves to drive, offered to take him. I haven't been feeling overly safe home alone lately, so I decided to tag along.

Initially I was just going to stay in the car, but then I decided I'd try to get in to the shops. I've been really wanting to go out for a simple cup of coffee lately, but it just hasn't been possible. And while I wouldn't go out in Melbourne itself, the airport seemed like a safe enough place.

I finally got out of my trackies and threw on some fleece tights, a high waisted skirt, camisole, knitted cardigan and velvet scarf. I put on my favourite shoes and, after I did my make-up and put on a little jewellery, I wasn't feeling too bad about myself.

The airport's about an hour away, and we got there in fairly good time. We parked and left my brother to run for his flight, and went to find a café. I had to keep asking mum to slow down because she was walking ahead of me and I just couldn't keep up with her. I haven't been exercising much at all lately, and I'm lucky if I was 1,000 steps around the house each day. I would panic if we got separated by more than 5 feet, like a child.

I was kinda tempted to jump on the baggage scales, just for the lulz. They were tared to zero and everything.

We ordered our coffee, and mum got a toasted egg and bacon sandwich for lunch, so I ordered the same. I'm terrible at making decisions when it comes to food, so I tend to 'go along'. I had a little under half of the sandwich with a long black. There was cheese in it, but it had hardly even melted, so I picked it out bit by bit. I've been eating an egg with shortcut bacon on toast (150-ish cal total) every few days for lunch recently, so this wasn't too much of a stretch.

Before we left, I took the dive and bought a bag of choc chip cookies, because I thought they looked so frikkin' good and I haven't had homemade cookies in the longest time. When I had one in the car on the way home, I was disappointed to find it too sweet and too fatty with simply not enough flavour or choc chips. But at least their coffee was okay.

Thankfully it wasn't too crowded, but it was loud as hell at some parts. At the end, I was glad to get back to the car, and even gladder to get home.

I've been trying to write a post for the last couple of days, but with no luck. I saw my GP this week and was honest about misusing my meds, for better or for worse, and we're coming up with a plan. I have another busy week coming up with the GP on Wednesday for follow-up, plus my 6-weekly weigh-in with the dietician on Tuesday, so I'll update after that.

I experimented with my jewlery a bit. I felt like wearing something around my ankle to break up the plain black, but I've never been the type to wear anklets. So I found this little chain to fit perfectly around my ankle, complete with padlock. Take whatever symbolism you will, but I'll definitely be doing it again.

The offending cookies

Hazel

xxBella

A little bit of hanky panky

Today is just going to be a quick post to show you all one of my new sewing projects. 

It's heating up here in Australia, and it seemed like the perfect time to make some more loose, cool, but still stylish, skirts. I've been joking with mum that it's "the first item of my SS15/16 collection".

Unfortunately I haven't been sewing much this year, aside from the baby clothes and a pile of camisoles I'm still working on. I'm hoping next year will be much more productive once I finally have my sewing room set up again. 

We've had this fabric sitting in the linen press for as long as I can remember. Mum can't even remember why she bought it, but when I came across it a few weeks ago, I thought it'd be perfect for a hankerchief hem skirt - which is basically like a circle skirt, but instead of being circular, it's basically a big square with a hole in the center. There are a few photos at the end I've set up just to show that it is literally just a square with a hole.

I'm really happy with this skirt overall. It's just such a flattering, comfortable style, with a bit more attitude than it's circle skirt cousin. It's easy to make and such a versatile project once you've got the basic pattern. 

Unfortunately I haven't had the chance to wear it outside except for the clinic. Mum asked the other day if I'd be interested in a trip out, but I don't think I even let her finish her sentence before I snapped an immediate 'no'. 

The very thought makes my stomach turn. The only place I could go would be hours away, like Warrnambool with the cheese factory, where I have no chance of running into Him again. The further away the better. Anywhere within a few hour's drive of home is simply not safe. And even then, that poses more issues, just being so far away from home. 

I did try to get some photos of my new skirt yesterday, in my very empty and half-painted sewing room, although they're not the best. 

I really need to invest in a new dress form that goes down that one-or-two extra size so I don't have to keep relying on awkward selfies. 

I don't really have much else to say this week, but I hope you enjoy these pics. 

xxBella

Spring has Sprung

When my appointment with the dietician came around this week, I could barely convince myself to get there.

I was teary before, but pulling in to the car park, mum announced she'd be staying outside. I lost it, and had a bit of a mini breakdown. I've been going to the same clinic for my entire life, but I couldn't do it, I can't go in alone.

My head started screaming that we should just go home, that I didn't deserve to go to appointments unless I can get through the waiting room solo. I got out of the car, then dived back in. When I did start heading inside, I kept stopping and starting, just wanting to hide away. I made it halfway to the door before I slid down the wall and cried, banging my wrist against the ground.

Then, as timing would have it, I heard a kind voice ask if I was okay and felt a hand on my back. It was the dietician. She helped me up, put her arm around me and walked me in, straight through the waiting room to her office.

I started blubbering about how mum wanted to send me in by myself but I just couldn't do it. I know it's pathetic, but I can barely manage eye contact and a quiet 'hi', let alone actually talking to the girls at the desk. To make matters worse, I didn't get a blink of sleep that night, so I may have been a tad extra emotional.

After I saw her, she walked me over to the nurse's office to get the wound on my wrist dressed, which she wanted my GP to check out. I sat waiting alone for 10 minutes, feeling irrationally alone and scared. I wanted to sit on the floor in the gap between chair and cupboard and hide.

The nurse did the dressings, and my GP asked me to please start on antibiotics again. She gets that it's part of the self-destructive part of things. Some days, I don't care enough to take them. Other days, I actively want to worsen my health. I was also supposed to have bloods drawn so she'd have the result for when I saw her on Thursday, but I just couldn't do it.

By the time I got back to the car, it was 9:05. I'd been in there for a whole hour.

Then on Thursday I saw my GP. She mentioned wanting to put me back on one of the antidepressants I tried earlier in the year, Gabapentin. She thought it'd help with anxiety, but I explained I still don't think they helped, and things are getting harder for very tangible reasons. Plus, I want to let the new antidepressants 'settle' before adding anything else (back) to the cocktail.

We spoke a lot about the fact I need to get back to seeing the Mental Health Nurse, but I still can't get my head around it. Our last appointment was horrific, and I'm scared I'll go back and she'll try to clear up what she said, but end up just rubbing in how tired my mum must be of me.

She suggested an appointment with both her and the dietician there as well, so I'll have the whole team of support there. It doesn't stop the MHN saying something hurtful, but it's really the only option that's been raised.


Spring has definitely sprung here, and things are heating up so I've been spending most of my time on the couch, watching horror movies and Dr Phil and those bizarre habit/weight/addiction shows on YouTube. On the plus side, I have actually finished sewing a new skirt, well timed with the warmer weather, so hopefully I'll have photos to share with you all soon.


xxBella