Saturday, 4 November 2017
Help!!!
I don't even know why I'm writing this, no one is listening (reading it). I can't keep going like this. I've battled for so long, someone please help. Why is it so hard to ask for help? I just need someone to hug me and reassure me that this shit won't last. I don't have that person, or at least, I don't feel able to ask my friends/family to do that for me. They have enough of their own shit to deal with.
Friday, 3 November 2017
Welcome one and all, not that anyone will ever read this...
So, here we go, an online diary/blog to let all my feelings out and try to handle this depression/bi-polar/whatever the fuck is wring with me.
I doubt anyone will ever read this, and that's fine. I'm not writing it for attention or for people to be all 'oh it's ok hun, message me, I'm here for you' blah blah. If I was I'd use Facebook :) Essentially this is me trying to work through my many issues and process the shit that is going on at the moment.
So a bit about my background (just in case you have stumbled here and wonder what the fuck!)
I was born to a middle class family, dad was a doctor, mum was a chiropodist. I went to private school, lived in a very nice house in a small village on the outskirts of a bit city. Mum got diagnosed with a brain tumour when I was about 7. As things turned out, dad had been having an affair with my mum's best friend (now my step-mum) since I was approx 5, I didn't know this at the time though. Mum was really ill, off and on, until she eventually died when I was 13, on November 6th. I fucking hate fireworks night :)
I first self harmed when I was about 12 I think. The first time was me cutting my mattress/bed sheet cause I had all this pent up rage and sadness and didn't know what to do with it. It soon escalated to cutting my arms. I never cut too deeply (well not till much later), it was just relatively superficial scratches but oh my goodness it made me feel so much better. NOT THAT I RECOMMEND THIS AS A WAY TO COPE!!! What can I say, I was a fucked up kid.
Throughout my life, I have been sent to counsellors, psychiatrists, psychologists, therapists, the whole shebang. Maybe they helped, maybe without them I'd be dead now, I don't know. At the time though it just felt like something I was being forced to do and I hated every minute of it.
So then mum died, things got worse. I felt like I couldn't mention her to dad without him shutting me down. Whether that actually happened or not, who knows. I rebelled majorly against my dad and step mum. I hated every minute of living with them and made sure they knew it. I wanted to die, I just wanted the pain of life to end. I couldn't deal with the feelings I had so I cut, got drunk, got high, and generally acted like a twat.
Fast forward a few years. At uni I still carried on cutting much to the detriment of all who cared. I just couldn't work out how to cope without the sweet release of blood. To explain it to someone who hasn't been there, I felt like a pressure cooker, like I was going to explode and cutting relieved that pressure.
I managed to give it up in my late 20s, had the occasional relapse, but generally didn't touch a scalpel or razor for years.
Last year things started to go wrong. Maybe it's been building for a while, who knows. I kept trying to push down the feelings, telling myself that I'd dealt with worse and this too would pass. It built and built until January this year when I eventually broke. I walked into work and was crying the whole way. When I got in, one of my friends said something innocuous like 'had a good weekend' and I just started crying again. My manager came in and phoned the GP straight away to get me a crisis appointment. As a consequence I was put on fluoxetine and signed off work for a month.
A month later, things seemed great. My mood was stable, I felt like me again. Not that crazy depressive me, but the one who could deal with life.
Fast forward again for 6 months. My mood started slipping again, the Fluoxetine had lost it's edge. I went back to the GP, not wanting it to escalate to the point it was in January, and had my dosage increased.
So now, we are in November. Two weeks ago I went back to the GP as the increased Fluoxetine wasn't working. I feel tearful all the time, raw, like all my emotions are on the surface ready to be activated. I want to cry but have no tears left. I just want this to end. I'm not going to kill myself, but I wish I could flick a switch and not exist. This is all so hard - how did I deal with this when I was a kid? I can't do it, I feel like I'll never be happy again. I want the old me back. I know it won't last forever but how long WILL it last. When will I feel better?
I can't go on like this, I hate this feeling. I want to be 'normal' and enjoy life again. I don't even have the motivation to go for a walk, do my Zombies, Run app (the best tool for losing weight ever), or enter competitions which has always been my guilt pleasure. I just sleep. All day every day. Until the evening then I watch TV and have a drink.
This blog thing will be a mix of my rantings and musings, as well as random writing by me about depression and feeling like this. If you have somehow found this and are still reading, then howdy and welcome to the pleasure zone (or not!!) Hopefully the shit feelings will start to end and I can regale you with hilarious tales of my job and my life. For now though, bear with me, we've got some dark times ahead. I will try to lighten things with some humour (admittedly dark humour) so we don't all end up slitting our wrists in a misguided suicide pact ;)
For now, love, peace, and jellybabies. Oh and a glass of rum to you all!
I doubt anyone will ever read this, and that's fine. I'm not writing it for attention or for people to be all 'oh it's ok hun, message me, I'm here for you' blah blah. If I was I'd use Facebook :) Essentially this is me trying to work through my many issues and process the shit that is going on at the moment.
So a bit about my background (just in case you have stumbled here and wonder what the fuck!)
I was born to a middle class family, dad was a doctor, mum was a chiropodist. I went to private school, lived in a very nice house in a small village on the outskirts of a bit city. Mum got diagnosed with a brain tumour when I was about 7. As things turned out, dad had been having an affair with my mum's best friend (now my step-mum) since I was approx 5, I didn't know this at the time though. Mum was really ill, off and on, until she eventually died when I was 13, on November 6th. I fucking hate fireworks night :)
I first self harmed when I was about 12 I think. The first time was me cutting my mattress/bed sheet cause I had all this pent up rage and sadness and didn't know what to do with it. It soon escalated to cutting my arms. I never cut too deeply (well not till much later), it was just relatively superficial scratches but oh my goodness it made me feel so much better. NOT THAT I RECOMMEND THIS AS A WAY TO COPE!!! What can I say, I was a fucked up kid.
Throughout my life, I have been sent to counsellors, psychiatrists, psychologists, therapists, the whole shebang. Maybe they helped, maybe without them I'd be dead now, I don't know. At the time though it just felt like something I was being forced to do and I hated every minute of it.
So then mum died, things got worse. I felt like I couldn't mention her to dad without him shutting me down. Whether that actually happened or not, who knows. I rebelled majorly against my dad and step mum. I hated every minute of living with them and made sure they knew it. I wanted to die, I just wanted the pain of life to end. I couldn't deal with the feelings I had so I cut, got drunk, got high, and generally acted like a twat.
Fast forward a few years. At uni I still carried on cutting much to the detriment of all who cared. I just couldn't work out how to cope without the sweet release of blood. To explain it to someone who hasn't been there, I felt like a pressure cooker, like I was going to explode and cutting relieved that pressure.
I managed to give it up in my late 20s, had the occasional relapse, but generally didn't touch a scalpel or razor for years.
Last year things started to go wrong. Maybe it's been building for a while, who knows. I kept trying to push down the feelings, telling myself that I'd dealt with worse and this too would pass. It built and built until January this year when I eventually broke. I walked into work and was crying the whole way. When I got in, one of my friends said something innocuous like 'had a good weekend' and I just started crying again. My manager came in and phoned the GP straight away to get me a crisis appointment. As a consequence I was put on fluoxetine and signed off work for a month.
A month later, things seemed great. My mood was stable, I felt like me again. Not that crazy depressive me, but the one who could deal with life.
Fast forward again for 6 months. My mood started slipping again, the Fluoxetine had lost it's edge. I went back to the GP, not wanting it to escalate to the point it was in January, and had my dosage increased.
So now, we are in November. Two weeks ago I went back to the GP as the increased Fluoxetine wasn't working. I feel tearful all the time, raw, like all my emotions are on the surface ready to be activated. I want to cry but have no tears left. I just want this to end. I'm not going to kill myself, but I wish I could flick a switch and not exist. This is all so hard - how did I deal with this when I was a kid? I can't do it, I feel like I'll never be happy again. I want the old me back. I know it won't last forever but how long WILL it last. When will I feel better?
I can't go on like this, I hate this feeling. I want to be 'normal' and enjoy life again. I don't even have the motivation to go for a walk, do my Zombies, Run app (the best tool for losing weight ever), or enter competitions which has always been my guilt pleasure. I just sleep. All day every day. Until the evening then I watch TV and have a drink.
This blog thing will be a mix of my rantings and musings, as well as random writing by me about depression and feeling like this. If you have somehow found this and are still reading, then howdy and welcome to the pleasure zone (or not!!) Hopefully the shit feelings will start to end and I can regale you with hilarious tales of my job and my life. For now though, bear with me, we've got some dark times ahead. I will try to lighten things with some humour (admittedly dark humour) so we don't all end up slitting our wrists in a misguided suicide pact ;)
For now, love, peace, and jellybabies. Oh and a glass of rum to you all!
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