Black Dog Back To Bite Me Again.

I haven’t been able to write for some time now. I wasn’t physically capable for a while. Mostly medication induced. All I care to say in that subject is, Seroquel…. stay away!!! I can’t even say that I turned into a zombie. Zombie’s are still capable of some things at least. I was virtually a vegetable. I became incapable of making a coffee! Me! Not being able to make a caffeinated beverage! I would say that it was on the verge of becoming hazardous to someone’s health, but since I was incapable of making a cup of coffee, how capable was I of hurting someone for coffee, really? Safe to say that it was a very unpleasant experience, and that is just the tip of the iceberg. Of course the psychiatrist is going to be none too pleased that I am no longer taking it, but I also think that the almost constant chest pain, being unable to pee, the constantly snuffling nose to the point where I still have a cut up there from blowing it all of the time, hallucinations, serious lack of balance, confusion, shortness of breath, palpitations, dry mouth, increased numbness in my hands and feet, and the feeling of needing to over eat constantly, (to name a few things) was enough grounds to stop.

Of course, it was also pointed out to me after stopping the seroquel, that I was having a manic episode. Not much fun after a while I can tell you. I was very much convinced that the doctors were trying to kill me. Especially my psychiatrist. He was the ring leader, and that’s why he prescribed me the seroquel… to bump me off, and the chest pain was the start of it killing me, so I had come off it in time. Now, I don’t like the man, sure, but trying to kill me?? Maybe that’s a little far fetched? Maybe?

I was even convinced that my GP was in on it, and that the only reason that my GP and I could get on, and could have an adult conversation when we disagreed on something, was to lull me into a false sense of security on behalf of the psychiatrist. One of only 4 half decent doctors I have crossed paths with in the whole of my area, and this is what I thought of him. The man lets me walk into his office, sit there effing and jeffing until I’ve got everything out of my system, and granted he usually sits there giggling at me while this is going on, which in turn makes me giggle also, but I like that about him. It means he’s human, and he knows he’s human. He knows that he’s one of us. He certainly doesn’t look down on me as though he thinks he’s better than me, or as though he thinks I’m stupid, because, although I hate to admit this, he has got me sussed out there, and knows that I like to pretend I’m a little more dumb than I actually am. My downfall there, is that I do not show my intelligence in the right situations.

As a result of my manic episode, I did come away with lots of goody’s though. Goody’s I cannot afford, nor can I return now I know I need to, but, I will justify it like this, I have no good clothes, so now I have a gorgeous dress. I have no decent shoes, so now I have some boots, and pretty, shiny red shoes, which means I have something different to wearing trainers all of the time. I have new makes up brushes, eye shadows, and a brand new red lipstick, to make me that little bit more me again, and also to push me into putting the war paint on more often. Canvases! I can start painting again. Always good to promote my creativity. I homemade, extra large, leather bound book with blank pages, for which I intend to write my life story in. A tablet PC. B+Very naughty of me. But, it will help me with writing etc. Like I said, it was too late to send any of them back, so I needed to justify it in my head.

Only now, I have gone to visit the other end of the scale. I was coping with that fine. I really was. However, I have been not so gently shoved too far down to the bottom of the mood scale, and it isn’t pretty down here. So much so, that I have actually self harmed for the first time in a long time. I know that I use tattoos to replace the self harming, but I have actually cut tonight, and what’s worse, is that because I’m already in so much pain, I didn’t feel a thing.

This is exactly the sort of thing that I want to one day be able to guide other people through, and quite honestly, I’m not sure if that first means I have to come out at the other end, or if my current experiences keep everything fresh enough in my mind to help more effectively. Only time will tell, but first I have to make it through this, and right now, I’m not so sure that I want to.

H x


August Mayhem

I have a lot of questions regarding some of the events of last month. I have been unable to really write due to being too ill, and too confused. Most, if not all of the questions cannot be answered by me, and I can honestly say that my local mental health team has a lot to answer for!

This is what I know.

I had 2 major psychotic episodes last month. One of them was a very public episode. While I have no idea of the full details of these episodes, I am aware of little snippets.

The first episode was a major paranoia episode. I know this because I wrote in a notebook exactly what was going through my head, so when I suddenly became aware that I had barricaded myself into my house, I at least knew why. The second, prior to it, I was tired. I hadn’t slept, and so on the Sunday morning I took a sleeping tablet. I woke after this at about lunch time, and I was fine, next thing I know, I woke in hospital and was told that I took a sleeping tablet overdose, but although I was aware of bits and pieces, I kept losing myself and I had NO control of what I was doing. This resulted in being picked up by the police twice, an attempt to walk to the nearest large bridge (which was 35 miles away) with no intention of jumping off, and god knows what else that I cannot remember.

My questions largely revolve around the second episode. The major question is that, if I was taken to see the psychiatrist, why was I allowed to be left on my own while having not snapped completely out of the episode.

I have to face the reality that these questions may never be answered, but my biggest hope is that finally, I will be taken more seriously by the mental health team in future because of this.

On a final note for this post, I know that my mental health is getting worse, and I know that there appears to be less and less time between each episode I have, and that scares me greatly.

Hello Mania, My Old Friend!

Hello to talking at 90 miles an hour. Hello to not being able to sit still, even when I’m sitting still (wtf? Yeah I know!!). Hello to being super-productive. Hello to feeling great. Not just great in fact, absolutely amazing. Hello to the fantastic sex (not that it isn’t fantastic anyway, but those who understand know what I mean). All pretty harmless stuff, right?

Well, this means also hello to pressured speech. Hello to prolonged periods of insomnia (hence writing this post at 3.20am). Hello to chaotic, disorganised and fast changing thoughts. Hello to starting about 50 different things at once, and finishing none of them, so the productivity then becomes chaos. Hello to being on the go non-stop, so much so, that my brain couldn’t care less about the physical pain I am in, no matter how much physical pain I am in, I just keep going beyond my normal capabilities. Hello to struggling to keep my big gob shut, and annoying every single person around me. Hello to the risk of blowing ALL my money and have sweet F.A. to show for it. Hello to the risk of hypersexuality and the risks that come with that (I was almost caught having sex in a public place just last night). Hello to delusions, paranoia and hallucinations (I’m not there yet, well, I’ve found myself coming out with some very paranoid talk, but I have realised after, so touch wood, I can keep check on that with the help of the hubby).

All of this stuff isn’t even a full list of what can and does happen for me, and yet still those in the mental health profession still do not hear me when I say how I suffer. I’m currently sat watching a program on the TV about the NHS and how poor services are for our mental health, and how so many people are failed by these services. It gives me peace of mind. I have no issues when someone makes an attempt to invalidate my opinion. It can be frustrating, but it would be frustrating to anyone to feel that they aren’t being listened too. However, on the many occasions that I have spoken my mind to our local mental health services, and how I feel that, while they have done good for some people, I still feel that they have failed so many people, myself included, and they just shoot me down with their seemingly favourite line, “well that is your opinion”. Yes it is my opinion, but I am aware that it is a widely shared opinion, and that is fact!

The fact that I am still trying to fight misdiagnosis, and my medical notes being so full of confusion throughout all of my life is ridiculous in my mind. I have had something happen yesterday that seemed positive, where I saw my psychiatrist and finally admitted that I didn’t think that I needed my meds, and had actually taken myself off them some time before I had even met him. He saw this as a good thing in the sense that I am not reliant on medication, which somehow the previous psychiatrist has come to the conclusion that I was so pre-occupied with meds that I was refusing therapy treatment and this proves to the new one that I am being honest that they had got me wrong completely, as I hated my medication and didn’t think it was good for me at all. The good thing that came from that, is that the new psychiatrist had asked the community mental health team in my area to give me much needed extra support previously and they denied it, but now he has grounds to fight my corner even more, as he says that essentially I am now not getting any treatment, and I need some form of treatment. We shall see how that goes.

I will sign off now, otherwise I will be sat here rambling away all night, and if I don’t try and get some sleep then the hubby will be telling me off when he asks how much sleep I got in a few hours time.

Night night world (or morning, it is 4.10am after all).

H x

Exhausting trip to see the new psychiatrist.

I can’t help but feel like today’s appointment with the new psychiatrist was some sort of test. A test to see how I react, and to see if I react like a typical person with borderline personality disorder.

I was told that I am preoccupied with the diagnosis factor of my illness, and in some ways, that is true… well, no too ways about it, it is true.

But why is it so important for me to get the right diagnosis? Well, to be honest, I’d have thought that would have been an obvious one. To me, getting the right diagnosis means getting the right treatment. Although a lot of psychiatrists argue that the treatments for BPD and Bipolar are the same, and don’t get me wrong, maybe they are, a lot of the symptoms they will be trying to treat will be different to the symptoms they think they will be treating.

The symptoms they believe they will be treating according my current diagnosis:

The symptoms that they will actually be treating according to my illness actually cycles:

Now, I know there are similarities between the two but there are some very clear differences and there is a great article on about these differences.

The link is here:

I am actually getting very tired now, so I’m struggling to write now. The slight progress that was made is that as well as the BPD is that on my notes the psychiatrist added, well the way I understood it was that he added as a duel diagnosis, Cyclothymia. At first I was actually insulted. I am depressed, severely depressed at the moment, and have been for some time now, so this understandably upset me a little, but not enough for it to affect my day. I have a hard enough time trying to concentrate on my studies and just get through the day in general when I’m suffering a depressed phase. It did strike me though, that my apparent struggle to clearly get my point across today, as I sometimes do, may have put the psychiatrist under the impression that I do not know as much as I do on the subject, (I’m losing my train of thought) ah, yes, the reason I was at first insulted by this, is that it occurred to me that regardless of the diagnosis, I do not feel that my illness is taken as seriously as it should be.

That is about as much as I can handle for one night, despite the fact that it’s almost midnight, and even though I can’t really sleep, I really have to call it a night.

H x

I’ve filled in the “About” section… now what?

Haha, of course, I do know what I’m doing really, but after I filled in the said “About” section, I kinda felt obligated to write my very first post due to my poor blog looking very bare. I do know that in time there will be plenty of my waffling on to read back to myself, but no, I just couldn’t leave it looking so empty. Maybe it was the obsessive-compulsive side of me that couldn’t handle it, but who can tell!

Now… where to start? Well, as it says on the “about” section, I have a very colourful mental health history, and a very confusing one at that. Now whether I have found the worlds dumbest in the history of mental health professionals, I do not know, and that includes the psychiatrist as well as the infamous crisis team. Oh the joys that they are to deal with. I am of course being EXTREMELY sarcastic!

You see, I am actually a mental health student, but due to the length of time I’ve been battling these issues, and that has been for over half of my life, I have done so much research regarding the various different illnesses. More specifically, borderline personality disorder, depression, anxiety and bipolar!

Now, while I believe myself to be a rapid cycling bipolar, I also believe that this is where the psychiatrist has become confused. He is not from the UK and his understanding of the English language is not brilliant! I think I spend nearly half of the session asking him to repeat himself, while the other half is spent with him asking me to repeat myself. It’s not very productive at all. However, I’m getting off topic here. Where I think he has got confused, is that he seems to think that I cycle faster than I actually do, and that my cycles are all over the place, when in actual fact my cycles are very clear phases of depression, mania, and “normality” and I use that term loosely, and each phase can last for weeks, even months, whereas a borderline or BPD cycle can be several times a day, and can last seconds or minutes.

I don’t believe that is the only thing that has lead him to this confusion. While there are some similarities between borderline and bipolar, there are also some very distinct differences, and it’s because of these differences that I do not agree with the psychiatrist.

Now I will keep this short and sweet, because I actually have an appointment with the crisis team in the morning that I have to prepare for, which could take some time given the fact that I am up against supposedly trained professionals who are so ignorant that they believe people with bipolar don’t self harm. I think I have my work cut out for me!

Bye for now!!

H x