I broke down at work today. I was feeling off yesterday and just broke down at work today, I left after only being there for 30 minutes. I had to go to my cousins and wait until Craig finished work, I didn't trust myself to come home alone.
Life is just overwhelming. I cannot cope with the fast pace of everything around me, and I feel like I am sitting at the side of the road watching the cars go by, just hoping someone will stop and pick me up.
Will I ever be truly better, or is this all in my head? Because I feel crazy.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Friday, May 23, 2008
Blah Blah Blah
Ever feel like you are just coasting along in blah blah land? That's how I feel. It's like I'm not sad anymore, but I'm nothing. I feel nothing. I feel dead inside. I feel no joy, no pain, no anger, no resentment, no happiness. It's like a part of me has died when I started taking these happy pills. I feel no sense of direction with my life, I cannot for the life of me look to the future and see me in my future. I just don't know.
Maybe it's just my sub conscious attacking myself because secretly I resent having to take anti depressants. I can see this is just a stupid vicious cycle, and unless I change my way of thinking I will never get better. But where the heck do I start? How do I start? I'm such a bloody pessimist, that I've probably been doomed from the start.
Maybe it's just my sub conscious attacking myself because secretly I resent having to take anti depressants. I can see this is just a stupid vicious cycle, and unless I change my way of thinking I will never get better. But where the heck do I start? How do I start? I'm such a bloody pessimist, that I've probably been doomed from the start.
Monday, May 19, 2008
There could be light
So today I feel....ok. Up until todays things have been all go, so I haven't really had a chance to think about anything, I've just been popping my pill and going on my not so merry way.
But today I am home with the kids with nothing planned, except a nice roast lunch, we could all do with a decent feed of veggies.
I feel very flushed in the face, and I have a strange headache in my head that makes me feel vague and not with it. My stomach is upset, and I keep running to the toilet.
The kids are driving me to the drink (well not really it is only 9am!) with their arguing. I think I might take them to visit a friend so they can get out of the house, the weather outside isn't looking promising.
Looks like theres hope for me after all, I'm only on day 6 and I can see a tiny light at the end of the tunnel.
But today I am home with the kids with nothing planned, except a nice roast lunch, we could all do with a decent feed of veggies.
I feel very flushed in the face, and I have a strange headache in my head that makes me feel vague and not with it. My stomach is upset, and I keep running to the toilet.
The kids are driving me to the drink (well not really it is only 9am!) with their arguing. I think I might take them to visit a friend so they can get out of the house, the weather outside isn't looking promising.
Looks like theres hope for me after all, I'm only on day 6 and I can see a tiny light at the end of the tunnel.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Day 3 of the happy pills
Okay, so today is day 3 on the happy pills. I have been less tearful, but truth be told, we've done some major renovations to this house in the last two days so I haven't had any time to feel sad. Next time we get the bright idea to knock out a wall that needs 2 major support beams to keep the roof over our head, please smack me upside the head. Waking up at 6am to powertools all over the floor is not my idea of fun. Oh and to the moron who built my house and thought that insulating it with little foam balls was a good idea, YOU ARE A MORON!
So here's the dirt on the heavy stuff:
I don't feel so heavy and bogged down, I don't have that lingering headache that I've been too afraid to take panadol to cure. Not that I don't trust myself, it's just that the thought of taking pills my body is rejecting with a strong gag reflex. Oh and the physical ill that I felt hours after taking the panadol is still fresh in my mind.
I feel a bit calmer, and a bit less sad.
I am hoping and praying that the anti depressants work, whoever knew that depression could be so debilitating? Although I must admit that I resent the fact that I'm going to rely on pills to make me happy. But I'll deal with that later, first obstacle is regaining some control of my brain and regulating my thoughts. Doing this it should help me put an end to the pain I'm feeling, but in a manner that keeps me alive.
So here's the dirt on the heavy stuff:
I don't feel so heavy and bogged down, I don't have that lingering headache that I've been too afraid to take panadol to cure. Not that I don't trust myself, it's just that the thought of taking pills my body is rejecting with a strong gag reflex. Oh and the physical ill that I felt hours after taking the panadol is still fresh in my mind.
I feel a bit calmer, and a bit less sad.
I am hoping and praying that the anti depressants work, whoever knew that depression could be so debilitating? Although I must admit that I resent the fact that I'm going to rely on pills to make me happy. But I'll deal with that later, first obstacle is regaining some control of my brain and regulating my thoughts. Doing this it should help me put an end to the pain I'm feeling, but in a manner that keeps me alive.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Reflections of hard times
For the record. I am writing this so that I can look back and reflect on what I went through. This is not a plea for help, nor am I seeking attention or sympathy, I am writing ths as part of the recovery process. I feel it's important that I write this while I still feel dysfunctional so that in a few weeks time when I am thinking 'Maybe I just made all that up' I can look back and know that I felt WAS real. I am writing this so that if I ever start to feel so low again that I can look back on what I've written and idenfity with myself that things are getting bad, and send Craig the signals he needs, so that he can get me the help I need but cannot ask for. This is a painful thing to write, it's hard to admit when you need help, and so if it appears jumbled that's because my thought process is jumbled.
I haven't updated since last Tuesday after I made that last post. Looking at it now I can see how desperate I was feeling. I was just hanging out until I could see my Dr. I knew that once I had seen her that I would be able to think clearly again. Instead somehow I fucked up my appt time at missed it by 30 minutes. And although I told them it was urgent that I see her, and that I was desperate they still refused me. I sent Craig in, I couldn't handle another rejection, they refused him too despite him saying to the receptionist that I really badly needed to see GP because I was depressed.
From that point on, things when from bad to worst. I felt like no one cared, no one understood and no one wanted to understand. I felt angry at Craig because he should KNOW that I desperately needed help and that he should have fucking done something about i, I felt like he'd let me down. I felt angry because I felt that secretly my GP and the receptionist girls thought I was making it up and that I'd get over it. Of course looking back now, Craig didn't know how bad things had turned, he had no idea I'd gone so far. And of course the receptionists didn't know either.
Circumstances changed and I drove Craigs car home, and he took the van and took a mate home. I came home, went to the toilet and put wood on the fire. My SIL rang to tell me I could go and stay with her if I needed some time out, I think she was secretly trying to make sure I was okay because she knew Craig had taken J home. I hung up, looked online for a friend to talk to as a distraction. No one was online so I wrote Craig a short letter
I love you guys
It's not your fault
It's better this way
Ara- You are my princess who I never gave what you deserved
Frog- You are going to grow up into an awesome young man
Craig- You are a great guy who deserves so much better <3
Theb I took 20 panadol I had planned on taking the whole packet of 100 but I couldn't take anymore because they weren't caplet ones and they were hard to swallow, and all the water I needed to swallow them was making me feel bloated and swishy. I went to lay down, I wanted to rest, I wanted to sleep, I wanted the pain to stop. I had an appointment booked with my GP for the 27th of May and I couldn't bear the thought of having to carry on feeling like this for another 3 weeks to get the help that I knew I so desperately needed.
Then the phone rang. I was cross, because I was just starting to get all warm and dozy in bed. It was my GP, my SIL had been concerned about me, and rang and demanded to talk with my GP who in turn rang me immidiately.
We talked for a while, but I was tired and not feeling like talking. I couldn't bear to tell her that I'd taken panadol, i didn't want her to know, I didn't want her to panic, I just wanted her to leave me be so I could go to sleep before Craig got home. She asked me if I'd taken anything and I said just some panadol. Craig arrived and I gave him the phone, he found out what had happened and what he had to do now. He yelled at me to get out of bed, and dragged me up from the bed telling me to get in the fucking car and why did I fucking do that. I bawled and bawled. I felt terrible but he was making me feel so much worse. In hindsight I can see that he was angry at himself for letting me come home alone, and he was yelling at me because he was scared.
We met his Mum halfway and swapped cars and went straight to the GP's office. She came out to meet me and sent us up to the hospital to get some charcol and some maxalon.
Then we drove the hour trip to the city hospital to get my panadol levels checked. We spent 7 hours in the emergency ward waiting on blood test results with me falling in and out of sleep and feeling veyr nauseas. I vomited a couple of times. I was hooked up to machines to check my heart rate. Thankfully the blood tests came back okay, I hadn't fucked my liver. (Who knew that panadol could fuck your liver, then shut it down and then you die?)
Then I had to see the mental health team before I was released. They were two lovely ladies who didn't make me feel worse than I already did. I felt terrible for putting Craig through that, he was genuinely scared. I felt physically ill from the effects of the panadol. I was mentally exhausted from 3 days worth of depression build up and hours of crying. The mental health team assessed me as okay to come home. Our rural GP on call was unhappy with this diagnosis but this meant nothing I was still able to come home. I knew that my GP had wanted to admit me to the local hospital for some R&R but I didn't know what I was supposed to do about it. So we arrived home at midnight. My MIL was here, and Ky woke at 5:30.
I was lost for the next two days. I didn't feel so low but I still felt out of sorts. It felt wrong to be at home with my kids. I didn't feel that I was up to looking after them. I took 2 days off work, and then had a few days rostered off. I had expected that my doctor would call me, but she didn't, I still feel disappointed about that.
Wednesday afternoon, a psych rang me I have an appt with her Wednesday. We had a good chat, but everything felt so surreal, was it really just 12 hours ago that I was in the hospital attached to a million different machines? Thursday I got Craig to make an appointment with my GP for Friday. I went to see her, and Craig came with me, thank god for him being so supportive. He offered to come with me so that he can know what's going on inside my head that I can't even talk to him about, it's not that I don't want to, it's because I literally can't. He's offered to come to the next few appointments too so that he can be up to speed with what's going on, it will also give him a good insight as to what signs to look for when I need help. I know now that he will stick up for me when I need help but can't ask for it. My GP thinks that a combinatoin of how I was treated(by the same receptionists) with my early miscarriage coupled with the miscarriage itself has sent my hormones out of whack, amongst other things of course. I can't really remember what we talked about for that hour. I remember her apoligising for the receptionists behaviour and promising me that it wouldn't happen again. I remember her saying that had she known I was in trouble and needed her to bad she would have been there to help me in an instant. I remember the 3 of us talking about devising a plan to send Craig the signals to get me help without me having to come out and say "Hey I'm feeling suicidal again" I remember her telling me that she was really worried about me and on the fax she sent through to the ER has had recomended that I be commited to ward 1E. She told me that when she came out to the car park to see me she was really worried because when she'd told me that she had to send me through to town I hadn't argued, and she could see in me that I just didn't care and didn't have any energy left in me to fight.
That's all I can write for now, I still feel mentally exhausted, not to mention confused, anti social, and pretty much lacking in the life department. I don't feel like cleaning, and I don't have much energy to look after the kids right now. I guess I can only hope that this doesn't last too long.
I haven't updated since last Tuesday after I made that last post. Looking at it now I can see how desperate I was feeling. I was just hanging out until I could see my Dr. I knew that once I had seen her that I would be able to think clearly again. Instead somehow I fucked up my appt time at missed it by 30 minutes. And although I told them it was urgent that I see her, and that I was desperate they still refused me. I sent Craig in, I couldn't handle another rejection, they refused him too despite him saying to the receptionist that I really badly needed to see GP because I was depressed.
From that point on, things when from bad to worst. I felt like no one cared, no one understood and no one wanted to understand. I felt angry at Craig because he should KNOW that I desperately needed help and that he should have fucking done something about i, I felt like he'd let me down. I felt angry because I felt that secretly my GP and the receptionist girls thought I was making it up and that I'd get over it. Of course looking back now, Craig didn't know how bad things had turned, he had no idea I'd gone so far. And of course the receptionists didn't know either.
Circumstances changed and I drove Craigs car home, and he took the van and took a mate home. I came home, went to the toilet and put wood on the fire. My SIL rang to tell me I could go and stay with her if I needed some time out, I think she was secretly trying to make sure I was okay because she knew Craig had taken J home. I hung up, looked online for a friend to talk to as a distraction. No one was online so I wrote Craig a short letter
I love you guys
It's not your fault
It's better this way
Ara- You are my princess who I never gave what you deserved
Frog- You are going to grow up into an awesome young man
Craig- You are a great guy who deserves so much better <3
Theb I took 20 panadol I had planned on taking the whole packet of 100 but I couldn't take anymore because they weren't caplet ones and they were hard to swallow, and all the water I needed to swallow them was making me feel bloated and swishy. I went to lay down, I wanted to rest, I wanted to sleep, I wanted the pain to stop. I had an appointment booked with my GP for the 27th of May and I couldn't bear the thought of having to carry on feeling like this for another 3 weeks to get the help that I knew I so desperately needed.
Then the phone rang. I was cross, because I was just starting to get all warm and dozy in bed. It was my GP, my SIL had been concerned about me, and rang and demanded to talk with my GP who in turn rang me immidiately.
We talked for a while, but I was tired and not feeling like talking. I couldn't bear to tell her that I'd taken panadol, i didn't want her to know, I didn't want her to panic, I just wanted her to leave me be so I could go to sleep before Craig got home. She asked me if I'd taken anything and I said just some panadol. Craig arrived and I gave him the phone, he found out what had happened and what he had to do now. He yelled at me to get out of bed, and dragged me up from the bed telling me to get in the fucking car and why did I fucking do that. I bawled and bawled. I felt terrible but he was making me feel so much worse. In hindsight I can see that he was angry at himself for letting me come home alone, and he was yelling at me because he was scared.
We met his Mum halfway and swapped cars and went straight to the GP's office. She came out to meet me and sent us up to the hospital to get some charcol and some maxalon.
Then we drove the hour trip to the city hospital to get my panadol levels checked. We spent 7 hours in the emergency ward waiting on blood test results with me falling in and out of sleep and feeling veyr nauseas. I vomited a couple of times. I was hooked up to machines to check my heart rate. Thankfully the blood tests came back okay, I hadn't fucked my liver. (Who knew that panadol could fuck your liver, then shut it down and then you die?)
Then I had to see the mental health team before I was released. They were two lovely ladies who didn't make me feel worse than I already did. I felt terrible for putting Craig through that, he was genuinely scared. I felt physically ill from the effects of the panadol. I was mentally exhausted from 3 days worth of depression build up and hours of crying. The mental health team assessed me as okay to come home. Our rural GP on call was unhappy with this diagnosis but this meant nothing I was still able to come home. I knew that my GP had wanted to admit me to the local hospital for some R&R but I didn't know what I was supposed to do about it. So we arrived home at midnight. My MIL was here, and Ky woke at 5:30.
I was lost for the next two days. I didn't feel so low but I still felt out of sorts. It felt wrong to be at home with my kids. I didn't feel that I was up to looking after them. I took 2 days off work, and then had a few days rostered off. I had expected that my doctor would call me, but she didn't, I still feel disappointed about that.
Wednesday afternoon, a psych rang me I have an appt with her Wednesday. We had a good chat, but everything felt so surreal, was it really just 12 hours ago that I was in the hospital attached to a million different machines? Thursday I got Craig to make an appointment with my GP for Friday. I went to see her, and Craig came with me, thank god for him being so supportive. He offered to come with me so that he can know what's going on inside my head that I can't even talk to him about, it's not that I don't want to, it's because I literally can't. He's offered to come to the next few appointments too so that he can be up to speed with what's going on, it will also give him a good insight as to what signs to look for when I need help. I know now that he will stick up for me when I need help but can't ask for it. My GP thinks that a combinatoin of how I was treated(by the same receptionists) with my early miscarriage coupled with the miscarriage itself has sent my hormones out of whack, amongst other things of course. I can't really remember what we talked about for that hour. I remember her apoligising for the receptionists behaviour and promising me that it wouldn't happen again. I remember her saying that had she known I was in trouble and needed her to bad she would have been there to help me in an instant. I remember the 3 of us talking about devising a plan to send Craig the signals to get me help without me having to come out and say "Hey I'm feeling suicidal again" I remember her telling me that she was really worried about me and on the fax she sent through to the ER has had recomended that I be commited to ward 1E. She told me that when she came out to the car park to see me she was really worried because when she'd told me that she had to send me through to town I hadn't argued, and she could see in me that I just didn't care and didn't have any energy left in me to fight.
That's all I can write for now, I still feel mentally exhausted, not to mention confused, anti social, and pretty much lacking in the life department. I don't feel like cleaning, and I don't have much energy to look after the kids right now. I guess I can only hope that this doesn't last too long.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Welcome Back
And what a happy welcome back to me this will be.
I hate myself, and everything I do. I hate the parent I am, I hate the pessimistic whinger that I am. I hate my physical self, I hate the friend that I am, and I hate the girlfriend that I am. So to sum it all up I hate myself entirely.
I hate my indecisiveness, and inability to make a decision and stick to it. I hate my lack of patience, I hate my inability to keep the house clean, I hate the fact that I am a yelling smacking type of Mother, yes I said it, I yell and on occasion smack. I hate that, FUCKING hate that.
I hate that Craig doesn't understand WHY I don't feel like looking after my kids at the moment. He doesn't understand that they are better off without me, he would do a much better job raising them on his own, than with me as their mother.
I hate the fact that I have flunked out of study again. I hate the fact that I work a dead end brain numbing job. I hate the fact that my house desperately needs work inside and out I don't have the motivation to do it. I hate the fact that I still FEEL like a size 12, but have the agility of an elephant, and it's not until I try to move (RE sport) or walk past a mirror or reflective window that I actually see what my body really looks like, and it repulses and sickens me.
I hate the fact that cutting makes me feels good, and I fucking resent Craig telling me he will leave me next time I do it. Not only will it not stop me doing it, but at least if he left with the kids they'd all have a better life.
I hate myself, and everything I do. I hate the parent I am, I hate the pessimistic whinger that I am. I hate my physical self, I hate the friend that I am, and I hate the girlfriend that I am. So to sum it all up I hate myself entirely.
I hate my indecisiveness, and inability to make a decision and stick to it. I hate my lack of patience, I hate my inability to keep the house clean, I hate the fact that I am a yelling smacking type of Mother, yes I said it, I yell and on occasion smack. I hate that, FUCKING hate that.
I hate that Craig doesn't understand WHY I don't feel like looking after my kids at the moment. He doesn't understand that they are better off without me, he would do a much better job raising them on his own, than with me as their mother.
I hate the fact that I have flunked out of study again. I hate the fact that I work a dead end brain numbing job. I hate the fact that my house desperately needs work inside and out I don't have the motivation to do it. I hate the fact that I still FEEL like a size 12, but have the agility of an elephant, and it's not until I try to move (RE sport) or walk past a mirror or reflective window that I actually see what my body really looks like, and it repulses and sickens me.
I hate the fact that cutting makes me feels good, and I fucking resent Craig telling me he will leave me next time I do it. Not only will it not stop me doing it, but at least if he left with the kids they'd all have a better life.
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