Haven't posted for a while due to the usual busyness around Christmas. All pleasant enough and not once did family notice or query the fact I wore long sleeves for a week, so pulled that one off with aplomb! Scars slowly healing, but still erring on the side of caution and keeping them covered up. I've got the knack of taking it out on myself without lasting evidence. Not ideal, I know. But needs must.
So, what's been going on? I still haven't posted what I've done over the last twenty years to fix this wicked problem. And I'm not sure I can be bothered. So quick summary in some sort of potholed chronological order, from the age of 16 onwards: GP, meds, psychologist, acupuncture (one off, I'll try anything), hypnotherapy, self-help books, break from meds (now 22), GP, shrink, more meds, exercise, foreign travel, break from meds, councillor, neurotherapy (don't ask!) GP, back on meds (now c. 28), lots of exercise, hypnotherapy again, reiki, yet more self help books, two more shrinks, psychotherapist, me time - lots more me time, present day (now 35) where meds clearly aren't working any more.
Ta-dah! There you have it. All punctuated by more ups and downs than a whore's drawers and various instances of self harm, reckless behaviour and suicide attempts. Whilst getting married, buying a house, climbing a career ladder and pretending everything is just fucking wonderful.
Soooooooo. Given that I've never tried a cigarette, I don't do drugs, have a generally healthy diet and drink in moderation (unless it's getting really bad), I think it's fair to say I've chucked most things (including money) at this brain of mine over the last couple of decades. If anyone suggests I find God, it'll go down like a lead balloon. Faith works for many and I respect that entirely. I'm just not one of them. Having been through this shit for most of my life, I've come to believe in self-determination only: if anyone/thing is gonna get me out of this mess, it's me. I can tap into as many resources as necessary, but someone's got to take the initiative and lead the troops 'cause it sure as hell 'aint gonna fix itself.
So, back to the GP. Again. And again. And again, desperately trying to manage this and then ultimately giving up and acknowledging that I'm still as mad as a sack of ferrets! I need to draft in the artillery.
Hence New Year Resolution: Get better. Again (At least I'm being realistic - even if I do get well, this nonsense will come around and bite me on the arse in a few more years). If I can't get rid of it, I've resigned myself to the fact that we simply have to live together. Albeit I'm working on a time-share arrangement, so we don't have to see each other that often!
Yet another shrink (albeit a very lovely one) for yet another assessment. And I now have a Care Co-ordinator (UK, health based community support), so I feel extra special. Alas, having met the poor chap, I think he needs more help than me. I thought I'd be getting a mental health professional, not someone that reminds me of an AA sponsor. And the little sod threw "USPD traits" into the multitude of labels I've had applied to me, so that's not a great way to strike up a rapport. I'd be angry were it not for the fact that when push comes to shove, he's probably right. We're all a bit personality disordered: just depends upon which one and the extent!
Anyway: Grand Plan, shift from Mirtazapine to Venlafaxine (tried Seroxat and even Risperidone in the past). I've been on it for something like eight years now. It saved my life once upon a time (also helped me sleep more than two hours a night) and put on weight I worked damn hard to shift, lol. But I've been terrified of coming off of it, despite the fact that I wish medication weren't necessary and I know it's no longer doing the job.
It's Day 4 on Venlafaxine, double running with a reduced dose of Mirtazapine. Headache, nausea, upset stomach and a brain racing like it's on acid (I imagine - wouldn't actually know!) So I'm sedated by one drug but can't bloody sleep because of the other. Consequently feel rough as hell and look like crud. Thank god I can occasionally work from home. I make Droopy Dog look bright eyed and bushy tailed.
I know perseverance is the key. And I felt worse when I had a lousy cold in December. But I'm still allowed to feel a bit sorry for myself. And unlike Manflu, when you are morally obliged to tell the whole world you're poorly, I can't really discuss this with anyone. My husband. And a close friend.
And you lot... I commend your stamina if you've read this far. You clearly have waaay to much time on your hands, lol. But thanks. It's safe to say these posts don't get read nearly as much as my Tripadvisor reviews (over 45,000 and counting) but I find it cathartic. It's like keeping a diary. And sometimes it's easier to talk to people you can't see and don't know. But even then, when someone likes/replies to a post, it's just that little reminder that you're not alone.
So, what's been going on? I still haven't posted what I've done over the last twenty years to fix this wicked problem. And I'm not sure I can be bothered. So quick summary in some sort of potholed chronological order, from the age of 16 onwards: GP, meds, psychologist, acupuncture (one off, I'll try anything), hypnotherapy, self-help books, break from meds (now 22), GP, shrink, more meds, exercise, foreign travel, break from meds, councillor, neurotherapy (don't ask!) GP, back on meds (now c. 28), lots of exercise, hypnotherapy again, reiki, yet more self help books, two more shrinks, psychotherapist, me time - lots more me time, present day (now 35) where meds clearly aren't working any more.
Ta-dah! There you have it. All punctuated by more ups and downs than a whore's drawers and various instances of self harm, reckless behaviour and suicide attempts. Whilst getting married, buying a house, climbing a career ladder and pretending everything is just fucking wonderful.
Soooooooo. Given that I've never tried a cigarette, I don't do drugs, have a generally healthy diet and drink in moderation (unless it's getting really bad), I think it's fair to say I've chucked most things (including money) at this brain of mine over the last couple of decades. If anyone suggests I find God, it'll go down like a lead balloon. Faith works for many and I respect that entirely. I'm just not one of them. Having been through this shit for most of my life, I've come to believe in self-determination only: if anyone/thing is gonna get me out of this mess, it's me. I can tap into as many resources as necessary, but someone's got to take the initiative and lead the troops 'cause it sure as hell 'aint gonna fix itself.
So, back to the GP. Again. And again. And again, desperately trying to manage this and then ultimately giving up and acknowledging that I'm still as mad as a sack of ferrets! I need to draft in the artillery.
Hence New Year Resolution: Get better. Again (At least I'm being realistic - even if I do get well, this nonsense will come around and bite me on the arse in a few more years). If I can't get rid of it, I've resigned myself to the fact that we simply have to live together. Albeit I'm working on a time-share arrangement, so we don't have to see each other that often!
Yet another shrink (albeit a very lovely one) for yet another assessment. And I now have a Care Co-ordinator (UK, health based community support), so I feel extra special. Alas, having met the poor chap, I think he needs more help than me. I thought I'd be getting a mental health professional, not someone that reminds me of an AA sponsor. And the little sod threw "USPD traits" into the multitude of labels I've had applied to me, so that's not a great way to strike up a rapport. I'd be angry were it not for the fact that when push comes to shove, he's probably right. We're all a bit personality disordered: just depends upon which one and the extent!
Anyway: Grand Plan, shift from Mirtazapine to Venlafaxine (tried Seroxat and even Risperidone in the past). I've been on it for something like eight years now. It saved my life once upon a time (also helped me sleep more than two hours a night) and put on weight I worked damn hard to shift, lol. But I've been terrified of coming off of it, despite the fact that I wish medication weren't necessary and I know it's no longer doing the job.
It's Day 4 on Venlafaxine, double running with a reduced dose of Mirtazapine. Headache, nausea, upset stomach and a brain racing like it's on acid (I imagine - wouldn't actually know!) So I'm sedated by one drug but can't bloody sleep because of the other. Consequently feel rough as hell and look like crud. Thank god I can occasionally work from home. I make Droopy Dog look bright eyed and bushy tailed.
I know perseverance is the key. And I felt worse when I had a lousy cold in December. But I'm still allowed to feel a bit sorry for myself. And unlike Manflu, when you are morally obliged to tell the whole world you're poorly, I can't really discuss this with anyone. My husband. And a close friend.
And you lot... I commend your stamina if you've read this far. You clearly have waaay to much time on your hands, lol. But thanks. It's safe to say these posts don't get read nearly as much as my Tripadvisor reviews (over 45,000 and counting) but I find it cathartic. It's like keeping a diary. And sometimes it's easier to talk to people you can't see and don't know. But even then, when someone likes/replies to a post, it's just that little reminder that you're not alone.
