So many months

It’s been almost 3 months and nothing’s changed. It did, slightly, a few months ago when I unilaterally decided to reduce my quetiapine dose from 600mg to 400mg. That didn’t end well; it made me ill almost immediately. And feeling ill I began a battle to see a GP. That took a few weeks. She referred me back to my psychiatriast at Secondary Care. That took a month; no, more. And that was last week.

It’s good to talk about my illness – not just with a health professional but with anyone.

He suggested my most urgent issue was anxiety, which I agree with (but not exclusively). I’ve been in a depression for quite some time now. He suggested I increase the quetiapine dose to its recommended maximum: 800mg. I already have huge issues with weight gain and the other side effects of quetiapine so I said no. His second suggestion was to take lorazepam for the anxiety / OCD I have.

Which I started doing a week ago; the side effects of those have been deeply unpleasant; I’ve spent the past week ‘stoned’, walking around like one of the Undead. The most significant side effect has been incontinence. That alone has determined I stop taking that med. Nothing online suggests this side effect though, which is strange, so it’s probably contra-indicated with one of my existing meds.

Work starts again soon; I’ve absolutely no idea how I’m possibly going to manage that.

Today I’ve managed to avoid crying. And all I want, just now, is to to be hugged; to be held. That’s not too much to ask for, is it?

From: The Thorn by William Wordsworth

“There is a Thorn—it looks so old,

In truth, you’d find it hard to say

How it could ever have been young,

It looks so old and grey…”

 

 

Suicide

Historically my ‘suicidal ideation’ has been extremely intrusive. Sudden and severe, but thankfully very brief episodes with enough space in-between them to make them manageable with the decades of experience I have of doing so.

But the past three days I have been constantly suicidal without breaks, without relief from the exhaustion that carrying this huge weight around – physically as well as mentally – burdens me with. It’s so bloody tiring.

 

Suicide.

 

I’ve spent three days, now, under a cloud

blackbirds have flown into existence. It

 

wraps me in a colourless silk stripping me

of every nerve, every piece of me. I could

 

pull death over me; dive into its net and

drown in the wet ocean of dead fishes,

effortlessly.

 

“Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.”

Wow, it’s been 3 months since I last wrote here. I have no excuse, though my mood has been relatively stable and I’ve been calm. I’m still not well, of course – there is no cure, just an endless swallowing of tablets – but things could be a lot worse. If anything has got worse then it’s my OCD. And what irks me more than OCD is that people have no idea what it entails; what it is.

Just this week, again, a Facebook friend asked me how OCD is – if at all – more than just a hankering for neatness. How can anyone define OCD in a few sentences? It’s importance. It’s an evil, chronic, debilitating disease with no cure and – as far as I’m aware – no treatment. Vicious, that’s what is is.

I’m managing to get to work; and to stay there. I’ve had little more than a week off work sick in the past 12 months, which frankly is something of a miracle. My ex-psychiatrist once told me I had ‘too strong a work ethic’. Probably true. But if I gave in to bipolar, anxiety or OCD every time one or more of them hit me, I’d be off work constantly.

After starting writing again (another novel) that ground to a – hopefully temporary – halt a few months ago. I’ve been doing research but no actual creative writing. I’m sure it’ll return however. It has to.

I went away for a few days last week, to Tenby, a seaside town with a small harbour, in southwest Wales. I felt almost perfectly well. What was it that made such an effect on me? I wish I knew; maybe exercise, no stress or pressure, warm sunny weather, fresh air and exercise (walking, swimming). Doing things I like to do: writing poetry, taking photos. Sleep.

So that’s where I am at the moment. I still have intrusive suicidal thoughts and rapid mood swings. I’m still taking my meds. I’m still, I don’t mind admitting, very lonely (no relationship of any kind for four years). I’m still carrying on. ‘Steady’ is good. Long live ‘steady’, eh?

 

 

Crisis? What crisis?

I’ve spent yet another week off work, feeling very unwell. Mood extremely low, I’ve slept very late each day (on and off). What to do about it?

I’ve made an appointment to see my GP. Soonest one available was for 2 weeks time. I rang the Crisis number I’ve been given for the Mental Health assessment team – I have an appointment for 21st JANUARY! That’s >7 weeks away. I will have to go back to work tomorrow even though I feel totally unable to do my job at the moment. I’ll have my obligatory ‘return to work’ meeting with my line manager and will request a referral to the Occupational Health doctor.

I feel very guilty I’ve missed even more time off work; I miss some of every month now, and I only work part time – albeit in a very busy and stressful professional job.

Who knows what scope there is to adjust my meds; there’s no way I’m going to allow a GP or even a locum GP medicate my bipolar. I am still on my Epilim starting dose which is now a low dose probably adjustable upwards. I could really do with some extended time away from work again – I’ll discuss that with the GP in a couple of weeks.

In the meantime, I just slog on, feeling very unwell. Mood changes rapidly and without warning, and I have very intrusive suicidal thoughts.

I have no idea what the answer is to all this. All I know is that I need help more than ever.

I don’t feel well.

Even when my mental health has been relatively stable, there is still physical illness most of the time. ‘I don’t feel well’ is a sentence loaded with meaning and insight. I don’t feel well can encompass a load of symptoms, often little I can put my finger on.

Tiredness – no, utter exhaustion. Myriad aches and pains, especially in my joints. Chest pains (reflux, pain could be anywhere in the torso and feels serious). Confused, total lack of energy, agoraphobia, sleepiness but as usual waking often in the middle of bizarre, hyper-real, repetitive dreams (I go to the same place every night).

I don’t feel well. An ache in the pit of my stomach. Lower back pain – I’ve had medication in the past for a worn disc that wasn’t deemed serious enough for surgery.

Guilt and a sense of futility at how much weight I’ve put on since starting meds a few years ago: 600mg quetiapine; 20mg fluoxetine; 500mg valproate. Probably enough to stun a small horse!

I don’t feel well. I’m tired, I can’t get out of bed. I have to get out of bed to go to my stressful job which I have no idea how I’m managing to hold down.

Just: I don’t feel well.

 

Brief moments of madness

At least my illness is a steady one, most highs and lows (highest and lowest) clipped by the meds. It means that when something does trigger a mood I’m in a good position (hopefully) to work through it.

Unless of course we’re talking about psychosis. However brief and temporary that might be.

One such very brief episode occurred this a couple of evenings ago after a frustrating argument with my son.

Within moments my mood had escalated like a rocket taking off. These moments, if I remember them correctly (or at all), surprise me and I wonder where on earth they come from.

For example, the one I’m talking about now involved two separate obsessions appearing – and disappearing just as quickly. I had an overwhelming urge to saw the coffee table in half. Which let’s face it would have made quite a mess. Sawdust must be hell to get out of a carpet. As long as I keep my sense of humour, eh?

Along with this I had another urge, to stick metal skewers through my throat. Where did that come from, eh? Luckily I don’t own such things. Just those brittle wooden ones for BBQs and they’re locked in the shed.

And just as soon as these obsessions / compulsions arrived, with a breath of air they disappeared again. A welcome characteristic of ultradian cycling.

***

On a different note, my war of attrition against the rat family that set up home beneath my garden – attracted no doubt by the hanging bird feeders – seems to be in its closing stages (for now) thanks to my use of chemical warfare and the employment of mercenary cat infantry. I’d do anything to protect wildlife.. but I draw the line at rats on my property.

 

 

Not a lot

A long period of silence here. Things go on, nothing really changes though the summer break has finished and I’ve now returned to work.

The first few days left me exhausted despite them involving very little work. Maybe it’s the getting up early added to the usual insomnia and other sleep issues?

Mood is relatively stable, though last week I got stuck in a prolonged bout of suicidal ideation. I judge these thoughts by imagining I have a button next to me I could push for instant death; how often I would do this tells me how my low- or mixed mood is.

Aiming at – as usual – trying to keep a 100% work record, no sickness leave. I do well, and Management knows it; my line manager says he doesn’t know how I manage to come into work at all, let alone be there and do my (teaching) job satisfactorily and even do it to a high standard. I surprise myself at how I manage to hold down a professional post, albeit part time (60%) now.

I also seem to have (touch wood) levelled out with how much weight I’ve gained since starting meds 3 years ago – Fluoxetine, Valproate, Quetiapine. I’m not losing weight, just gaining it more slowly.

Life isn’t easy. It isn’t easy if one doesn’t have a mental illness. As Samuel Beckett put it:

“I can’t go on. I’ll go on.”

 

 

 

 

Delusion or Truth.

Delusion 1: UFOs.

 

They are smudges against the grey sky, almost hidden; almost unseen. But I see them, on the greyest of days. Just above me, from the corner of my eye driving to work, 8am. And maybe later, if the weather’s unchanged, driving home again when the sky is flat and leaden, devoid of markings and boundaries.

Of course they don’t care if we see them – if we think we see them – there’s reasonable doubt. It takes someone with my illness to catch sight of the things as we drive- or walk along. They have no shape as such. From what I comprehend; as I said, they’re just smudges against the uniform flat grey sky. They come and go, just for seconds.

They’re not from out there; we’ve made a mistake in believing this fairytale. They’re from here. Sometimes in our world but not of our world. They could be from under the sea though that’s unlikely. They’ve never spoken to me.

They’re from here – another universe? They dip into our time and space, who knows what for. Do they even see us – do they even know we’re here? Or are we blips, smudges, against a flat grey or cloudless sky?

It takes someone with an illness like mine to see them, for fleeting seconds and for fleeting spaces. But to date there’s been only one. Come and go, say hello.

 

Too long

Too long without an update or a hello here!

I’ve spent much of each day, for a year or more, sedated. This comes from taking my meds as directed: 20mg fluoxetine, 400mg quetiapine each morning. (Then 200mg quetiapine and 500mg of valproate each evening.)

I’m holding down a stressful job, 3 days a week. And it was tough, doing this with a muddled brain that wants to lie down and take a nap every half hour.

It only occurred to me on Monday that I could take all of these meds in the evening, a couple of hours before sleep-time (except the fluoxetine, which is better taken in the morning it seems). So I did this and there was a huge difference immediately! Doing my job whilst awake was a revelation and it also seems to have helped my  anxiety a little too. I have more energy in the daytime too.

Of course, these evening meds should be knocking me out for 10 hours (there are people on Twitter who say 25mg of quetiapine will do this for them). But no, I still haven’t slept right through the night even once in decades.

* * *

I finally got to have my annual blood tests to monitor my meds. A year late. The results were in this week: all ‘normal’ except for my cholesterol, which has always been high, genetically. They were almost 7 before starting the meds and I was quite pleased that they’re ‘only’ 8 now. I was expecting double figures. My GP looked a bit concerned though. My blood pressure is a little high, nothing to write home about. My weight is too much; I’ve put on 2st in the past 2 years+ since starting bipolar meds.

So I agreed to start taking Simvastatin 20mg in an effort to lower the cholesterol level and took the first one last evening. Watch this space..

 

 

 

Those manic moments

A few things I’ve done whilst manic:

 

1. As a young child, had a ‘vision’ that Jesus had leprosy. Also, at nursery school, had another ‘vision’ with depersonalisation.

 

2. As a teenager, had other religious ‘visions’ including psychosis.

 

3. As a teenager, the planet Venus told me (in compressed time) the philosophy of Plato’s ‘Symposium’.

 

4. Got married. (It didn’t last.)

 

5. Bought a one-way flight ticket to India. (And used it.)

 

6. Been a total slut.

 

7. Marched up and down the living room wielding a large kitchen knife, frequently stabbing the dining table.

 

8. Had various delusions, most of which I still have (to some extent) despite meds.

 

9. Bulk bought: cheap wristwatches; USB pen drives; clothing; etc.

 

10. Written what I estimate to be more than a million words since my teenage years: fiction (several novels), poetry (thousands – many published), reviews, plays, etc.

 

11. Wrote a 70k word autobiography in two weeks at the age of 20-ish despite nothing actually having happened in my life at that point.

 

12. Made 20+ ensō paintings in 10 mins or so (total). The lawn was covered with them.

 

13. Driven up to the Black Mountains obsessively, 3x a week for a couple of months.

 

14. Danced on a table in the staff room at lunchtime. No-one seemed to notice.