10 things you don't know about me

I have stolen this idea from http://www.life-collection.com/. Here are ten things that you don't know about me:

One 

I used to be a huge Take That-fan. For those of you who don't know: Take That were the most successful boyband from the UK in the 90s. They became famous in the early 90s and had a huge fan-following. Maybe you know who Robbie Williams is, he left the band in 1996 to persue a solo-career. They are actually still huge, Robbie was back with them some years ago and they have been selling millions of records. Anyway, I was deeply in love with Mark Owen. He was the cutest of them all in my opinion. I had hundreds of Take That-posters on my wall, honestly, my room was like a crazy fangirl shrine. I had a huge collection of articles, photos, CDs, you name it.  I got a mental breakdown when Robbie Williams had left the band. I saw them live once, in 1995. I kind of grew out of that phase when I was about 16. I still went to see Robbie Williams, Gary Barlow and Mark Owen solo in concert though. I'm not too ashamed of my fangirl-period. I was young, I didn't know better. And the music rescued me many many times. I haven't listened to their music in ages though.

Two
I told a huge lie when I was 15 years old. First off, I don't like lies. I'm all about honesty. That's actually one of the most important thing for me in a relationship and in friendships. So, I was 15 years old and I was feeling like crap. I was fat, ugly, I felt stupid, I was bullied all the time at school and I didn't have much self-esteem. I wanted attention. Now that I look back at it, I could have gotten attention by just telling the truth about my situation. I should have just told someone about the abuse at home, about the sexual abuse I had to endure by some guys at school, about the constant bullying and name-calling. It all started with my French teacher telling me off for not paying any attention and never doing my home-work. I looked for an excuse. And I told her that I was pregnant! I told her that because being pregnant would mean that I'd be worried and anxious and really not able to focus on school. I told her that I wanted to get an abortion. She believed me. But somehow it slipped out and everybody at school knew what I had told her. That meant that I had to lie to my friends too. It all turned into a huge mess. Lies will always come out as lies eventually. After a while my friends accused me of lying and I told them the truth. I'm not proud of this. I have no excuse but well, there were many reasons. I wanted attention, I wanted people to realize how bad I was doing and I wanted to be like everyone else, because everyone else was talking about sex and whom they have done it with. I was good at lying back then. I deceived my gym-teacher by wearing a bandage on my arm for three weeks, telling him I was injured and couldn't participate in class. These days I'm really bad at lying and I bascially never lie. I think it was just my teenage-hormones or something.

Three
The thing that most hurts me when it comes to my years in Germany is the bullying I had to go through. It wasn't enough that I was beaten at home, it wasn't enough that guys sexually abused me. No, I had terrible nicknames. And those hurt so bad because they were about my appearance. I got enough bullying at home about how stupid I was. About what a bad person I was because I don't just adapt. The first nickname I had was "truck". My sister was "mini-truck". It was all about that we were a bit chunky. I have always been overweight but when I had that nickname I wasn't that huge. The second name I got was "Gonzo". Do you know the character from the Muppets show? The blue one with the huge nose? I don't think I have a huge nose but yeah, it's a bit on the big side. It's because I'm half-Iranian I guess. Then there was "Alf". I'm sure you know who that is. The nose again. And the last one is "penguin". And no, not because of the cute and awesome animals, no, it was because of the penguin in Batman played by Danny DeVito. I was goth (still am), was overweight, short and had a huge nose. That nickname hurt me so much! Because the character is male and supposed to be ugly. That name followed me until I moved to Sweden. Guys were appalled by me because everyone told them to be! There was a rumour once, that I had slept with one guy. But I hadn't! Anyway, I remember one of the "elite-goths" pulling him to the side and telling him off, about how stupid he is to sleep with me, how that would lower his social status. It hurt me so much!

Four
I've studied three and a half years at university in Kiel to become a teacher. I was to become a teacher in English and Social Studies. I didn't want to become a teacher. I just didn't know what else to study and everybody kept telling me that I need to study something that leads to a job. And I thought teacher will always be needed. I didn't suck at my studies, I passed all exams. I even did two internships at schools and taught pupils (up to grade 10). But I didn't love the idea of becoming a teacher. It felt like I was going to get stuck in dead end. You are a teacher and that's how far you will advance. I didn't have the passion. I got really good grades in English (I really was an A-student and even tutored other people) and I was thinking about just studying English. I was working on two Bachelor papers when I decided to move to Sweden. So I dropped out of university. That was probably for the best. Now I feel like I want to teach on another level, at university, to teach people who actually want to learn something must be so much more rewarding than teaching kids who are forced to listen to you.

Five
I used to be on a swimming team. I learnt how to swim when I was 5 years old. And I just continued going to classes. I loved it! I usually hate sports, even watching others doing sports. I somehow don't feel like I'm a sport's person. That has a lot to do with my body image. When you are overweight you really avoid sports because you probably will suck at it. I'm also quite short so yeah, I have always sucked at sports. I even had to take special classes in elementary school because I sucked at it. But I love swimming. You feel weightless and it's so easy to move in water. I used to swim in competitions (never been the winner though, always second of third), I have all kinds of badges and I even taught small children how to swim. Well, I quit all that when I was 14 years old. We had moved and the pool was too far away from where we lived. These days I never go swimming. Social anxiety and low self esteem prevent me from that. But if I had my own pool, where no one could see me, I would swim every day! I miss swimming.

Six
I don't like sex. There are tons of reasons for that. I have been sexually abused and raped. I hate my body and really feel uncomfortable when someone sees me naked. I can't let go, I can't relax, I need to be in control. I hadn't had consentual sex before the age of 23. I just never said yes to anyone. There were guys trying to get me into bed, despite all the bullying. I have some funny stories to tell. And I had had lots of petting, blow jobs and all of that. But I just never had "real" sex. I have never had an orgasm with another person. Ever. It's the let go-thing. And I'm apalled by sweat and when another person sweats around me I just can' t get turned on. All that doesn't mean that I'm asexual. I can get horny, I like to play with myself, I get attracted to people. But when it comes to me getting involved into something, I'm blocked. My boyfriend and I rarely have sex. It can go months without it. I can't believe he is actually staying with me, most men probably would have left me. I somehow prefer being on my own and getting it over with, than being with someone else where I have to be in control all the time because I don't want to seem disgusting.

Seven
I have had way too many boyfriends and girlfriends. Honestly, from the age of 12 until the age of maybe 19 I wasn't single for longer than a week. I must have dated over 25 different people.  And I dated anyone who was interested in me. Most of those people were really "below" me. I don't mean it in an arrogant way. They actually were. One guy, M, was four years older than me (I was 12), he was high all the time and he eventually stole my bike and left me. Another one was a nazi who didn't even finish elementary school. And another one was an unemployed alcoholic. The list goes on and on. There was one guy, really only one guy, that sticks out as a positive, A. He was my age, we shared many interests, we discussed poetry and philosophy, liked the same music and were both kind of rebellic. We dated for six months which is the longest relationship I had had before my current one (which has lasted for 8 1/2 years so far). But A is gay. I have been his only girlfriend ever. After me he only dated guys. That really was bad for my self-esteem. I think I was kind of drawn to the troubled guys who treated my badly because of how my childhood was. A violent drug-addict seemed like the perfect man for me because my father is that way.

Eight
I don't like children. It's not that I hate them. They can be cute and they can be really funny. Some can bring a smile to my face. We have this one Japanese family in our building and they have a little girl and she is super-cute. She always asks me questions and is really bold about things. Great girl. But I don't have any maternal instincts. I don't want to be a mother. I don't want to be responsible for a little being. I also don't connect with children. It's kind of weird but I don't know how to adapt to their level. I always feel condenscending when I talk to a child in child-language. I think it has a lot to do with me having to babysit our neighbour's baby when I was 10 years old. The baby just didn't stop crying and I didn't know what to do. I hate screaming and crying children! I want them to stay away from public transport, restaurants, cafés and supermarkets.

Nine
My biggest hobby is letter-writing. I'm talking about actual letters and not e-mails. I handwrite my letter on beautiful stationary. I have around 50 penpals from all over the world. It's such a great way to learn things about different cultures and to make friends. I really like that it's old school. So I spend most of my evenings sitting in front of the TV or listening to music and writing letters. I write really long letters, not just one page but 20, 30, 40 pages. My penpals are my friends. I have met a few of them in real life and I care about all of them a lot.

Ten
I like putting labels on myself. I know that most people don't like that because they want to be individuals and don't want to be seen as someone just adapting to something. Well, I think my labels make me an individual. I love that I'm goth. I'm an atheist, a socialist, a humanist, a LGBT-supporter. And I especially love calling myself an intellectual. It's something that I have only discovered when I moved to Sweden. I have never been good at school. I didn't have lots of good grades. So I thought I wasn't educated. But I read at home. I read lots and lots of books. I've always had an interest in philosophy, history, politics, culture. I just never saw myself as one of the people who know a lot. But now I know that I'm smart and educated, I voice my (educated) opinions. I get excellent grades at university. I have two degrees and I'm eager to go even further.  It has nothing to do with being arrogant. I would probably be just as happy if I had realized that I was great at gardening. Being educated, smart and intellectual just is me. I'm happy about knowing who and what I am.

My father - the psychopath

It has taken me some days to actually swallow and get over the fact that my father is a stupid asshole. I have always known that but I have had some hope that he would somehow change, that he would grow up. Because that's what he is: an immature, agressive, bullying, self-centered teenager. I haven't written that much about my father in this blog (yet) because I really haven't dealt with the huge influence he has had on my life, in a really negative sense. He destroyed my childhood. He destroyed my sister's childhood. He is the one that created my anxiety. He is the one that has sucked the self-esteem and self-worth out of me. I only began to realize that I'm worth something when I moved to Sweden, away from him and his demands. He is the reason why I tried to commit suicide when I was five years old. He is one of the reasons for my PTSD and the flashbacks I'm having. He is the reason why I don't go back to Germany to visit my friends and family. The anxiety gets too much. I can't stand being in my childhood-home.

Let me give you a short description of my father. He was born in the early 1940s in Iran and moved to Germany in the early 1960s to study at university. He never finished his studies but instead started working as a bodyguard for stars like Jimmi Hendrix and as a bouncer in some really famous clubs. He met my mum, they got together and after 10 years they got married. He is 13 years older than her.

 He is a really mean and self-centered person. He beat the shit out of us when we were children (well, my brother got spared because he was the "boy" and welll, boys are worth more than girls in his Iranian mind). He is kind of stuck in some old school Iranian values. But I must say I'm glad that he never forced his religion onto us. He is a muslim but not a practicing one. I have never seen him pray. It's weird because his brothers who still live in Iran are very open-minded and love their families unconditionally. You are never allowed to say what you really think in his company. That's where he and I always clashed. I say what I think. And I'm educated while he is stuck in his own little world in his head. So I know a lot more things than him.

 He is a really materialistic person. For him it's always about money. He doesn't like to give any of his children money. We were basically always the ones with the cheap clothes and never had any money for anything. Whilst he owns a huge Mercedes Benz and spends his money on drugs. But his still living in the delusion that he paid everything for us, that he supported, that he gave us all the materialistic things that we wanted. That's bullshit, we never got anything! I had to start working an extra-job when I was 14 so I could go to the movies, so that I could go on class-trips, so that I could buy the odd CD every now and then.

I think my father is a psychopath. He is really bad with animals, he beats dogs, kicks cats. He never shows any sympathy and has never been empathetic. The only time I saw him cry was when he had heard that his mother had died. For him a lot is about status and how others see him as a man. I always got to hear how ashamed he is of me because I'm a) overweight b)goth and c) I never shut up and I have my own opinions. The most important thing for him is how others see him, he wants to seems like a respected man. That makes him really shallow. He has never, not even once, told me that he loved me or that he is proud of me.

 My father is a drug addict. He has been smoking opium for almost 30 years now(he started when I was a baby!!). I somewhat always knew that but I first really got to know some years ago when my cousin and I discussed the matter. I think a lot of the agression and inhostility in him comes from the drugs. He has basically lived through my childhood in a daze. Drugs and being high is even less an excuse than being a mean child-abuser. 

He treats and has always treated my mum with disrespect. I have seen him beating her up tons of times. I have seen him smash her on the head with a frying pan. I have seen him throw things at her. While he was in his drug-daze she had to work full-time and raise three kids. But he still says that he worked his ass off for us. Hell no. He was at work in the evenings (my parents owned a restaurant and later a shop), closing the store. That's all. He spent lots of money on his stupid opium instead of doing something nice for the family.

He thinks that a man should be respected. He thinks that my family should be grateful for him paying everything for us. He thinks that he is an angel and we are all just disrespectful liars. He tries to diminish the beatings, the absence of love and the hatred he had towards us. He calls it a slap in the face, motivation and tough love.

So now you know a bit about my father. I have written all this to give you a background to what I'm about to tell you now. My mum and dad are getting a divorce ( I have already written about this). My father announced that he wants a divorce and that my mum is supposed to move out. Although the house is her family's house, her parents got it from the state after WW2. But my mum just didn't want to fight and she is kind of scared of my father. My mother moved out a week ago and it all turned into chaos. He was there the entire time while she and a friend tried to carry out things from the house. Although he had promised to let them be. He denied my mother to take certain things. He called her a whore. He acted really aggressively. And it all culminated when he threw a cup of hot tea at my mum's friend. The police was called and my mother was able to at least get a few things with her. My mum loves her new apartment. But she is afraid to go out, she is afraid that he would be around the corner, she is afraid that he will kill her. I just hope that things will calm down, they don't see each other right now which is good.

The day before my sister and my mum were at the house to fetch some things and he called my sister a whore, told her that she isn't his daughter anymore. My sister is the one that got beaten up the most of the two of us. She is smoking weed daily to deal with her anxiety. She is too proud to look for help. She has been on a sick leave for depression twice though. She has always tried to keep the relationship with our dad alive. But that day she just cracked. My mum later told me that she had been weeping, crying, screaming. I haven't spoken to my sister. I know her, she will be somewhere, travelling, on the beach, with friends, high, trying to distract herself. And keep it all bottled up. We have only twice in our adult-lives talked about our childhood. We have the same feelings around it all. She also has real difficulties to be in that house and around him. I just can't believe that he is making things her fault, that he is mad at her for helping my mother. I can't believe that my father in no way realizes that he is guilty, that he is at fault, that we all don't respect him, that we are afraid of him instead. I would really love to call my sister (we have had our differences, she has bullied me all my life, even beat me up while we were sharing a flat and I don't really respect her drug-abuse) and just tell her to stand up for herself. To not creep back to him. Just because someone is your biological father doesn't mean you have to be there for him. But I'm sure she is already in touch with him again. I hate to see her crawl for him. 

Another thing: I'm getting married in about two and a half weeks. I'm not having a wedding, I haven't invited anyone. But my father is paranoid and suspicious and thinks that everyone is invited but him. I don't want to call him to convince him otherwise. I don't have the strength for a discussion with him which will only result in him hurting me and calling me names. My grandmother, his mother, has given two very beautiful necklaces (which belonged to her mother) to my mother. My sister and I are supposed to get those necklaces when we are getting married. I have only met my Iranian grandmother once and I felt an instant connection with her. She was a writer, an artist, she loved music. She had led a difficult life as she was forced to marry a 30 years older man when she was 11 years old! But throughout her life she has been strong and just kept going and always found time for the things she loved. Everyone from my Iranian family who knows me tells me that I'm a lot like her. We share the same talents and we have the same ability to express ourselves with words. She died in the middle of the 90s. So she gave those necklaces to my mother and I have the moment in my head, I remember the exact words that were spoken, I remember the warmth in her eyes and her long grey hair. I remember it all. So, my mum wanted to take the necklace with her so she could give it to me next week (she'll come to visit me). But my dad took it from her, accusing her of wanting to steal and sell it. What the fuck? He said that the necklace is from HIS mother and that HE wants to give it to me. But the necklaces were given to my mum? And she will see me in person before my wedding! I have no plans in visiting my hometown any time soon. And I'm not even sure if I want to meet my father ever again. I won't contact him. If he calls, I'll answer. That's my decision. We haven't really spoken in years anyway, only through my mum or involuntarily when he picked up the phone when I wanted to speak to my mum. I'm really upset about this! It's not about the necklace being exclusive of expensive. It is about the necklace coming from my grandmother, the only thing I actually have of her. She has intended it to be mine at my wedding. So what the fuck? How can he be so selfish? I don't care about him giving it to me, I find that gesture to be a lie! I know that my mother was handed those necklaces anyway, I was there! I'm so upset about this!

So during  the last few days I have been trying to avoid thinking about my family, despite the fact that I was skyping with my mother every day and she kept telling me the latest news. But it's not working. All the hatred, all the anxiety and fear, have eaten me up. Honestly, I want my father to die. I know that it won't help me with my PTSD but at least I won't have to have any new bad and anxious memories connected to him. He is over 70 years old, he is a mean drug-addict. He should just drop dead. I know that's a mean thing to say. I don't want him to get killed and I don't want to kill him. I just think that enough is enough. He has used up his reasons to be alive. He should just stop torturing us. I don't care if I sound like a mean and resentful bitch. I used to be indifferent about my childhood, about his involvement. I think that was a defense mechanism. Now all my real feelings come up. And again, I don't want to hear how forgiveness can make me feel better, or to find a meaning in it all. There is no determinism, there is no meaning in anything. I'm not religious or spiritual. I'm atheist and logical. I don't want to forgive him. I just want it all to be over. I want to him to stop exisiting so he doesn't destroy our lives even more. 

Restless

It's another hot day and I'm starting to get annoyed. Well, my skin is annoyed already. It's itching. We haven't had rain for seven weeks! Oh well, at least we are having a proper summer. I'm drinking some ice-coffee. I didn't have vanilla ice-cream or whipped cream so I used chocolate ice-cream and milk. It's tasty anyway.  T, my social worker, was here today. I hadn't seen him since the beginning of June because I once cancelled on him, he once cancelled on me and then he was on his four week long summer-vacation. We sat on the balcony and just talked. He fell  in love with our new kitten. He couldn't take his eyes of the cat, cuddled him, played with him and blantly said he wants to steal the kitten. Haha. I updated him a bit on the events in my life. He told me to talk with my psychiatrist about doing a proper plan about what to do when he has left the center. Because I probably will end up without a psych-contact for a few months again. It was good to see T again. I somehow need to be social. I like talking with people. I love discussions. Today I especially hate my social anxiety!

I'm still on the Seroquel. Yesterday I was dizzy all day long and I felt really weird and uncomfortable. It just felt like there was poison in my veins. It was terrible. But I was somehow more focused. I could read for hours, I wrote a few poems and I even vaccuumed the whole apartment. Today I feel really restless, especially in my legs. I'm close to going insane! Moving the legs doesn't help. I exercised for 30 minutes and still, restless. I hope this is only temporarily. I remember that being on Zyprexa caused me restless legs too. And Abilify even gave me akathisa. That was terrible! I hope this restlessness will not turn into that state. Anyway, so far, although it's quite annoying, I can handle the restlessness. I mean, for weeks I have had the same kind of sensation while I was trying to reduce the Propavan. The dizziness has almost disappeared. I felt a bit dizzy this morning but it wasn't as bad as the last two days. I have kind of lost my appetite and can't eat much. Really, the thing that I'm most concerned about right now is this restlessness.

I have also had some positive effects: Seroquel helps me fall asleep. I am knocked out within 45 minutes by it. It also takes away the nightmares I usually have from the Propavan. I feel alright when I wake up. So I'm not giving up on this yet. I have decided to at least take it until Monday. I'll call my psychiatrist and discuss with him what to do. I hope the restlessness and the uncomfortable feeling has disappeared by then. 

My boyfriend is off from work for three weeks now. It feels good to know that I won't have a lot of lonely moments in the next few weeks. 

A pill to make you numb, a pill to make you dumb

I have been stupid enough to let myself be convinced to give the Quetiapine/Seroquel a try. I have had an appointment with my psychiatrist yesterday. We talked for about thirty minutes. And he was of course disappointed that I hadn't given the med a try. I think he was also confused. Most sick people probably get happy when they get meds that can make them feel better. But I'm the opposite of that. At least nowadays. Some years ago I still thought that there is some medication out there that could actually have a positive effect on me. But after all my horrifying experiences I am just really careful. Anyway, my doctor had some good arguments. For instance, that at the moment he is still responsible for me and I trust him. So I can feel like I'm in good hands. And he also said yet again that he doesn't think that I could get any better without medication. So last night I was sitting in the kitchen, a glass of water and the little orange pill right in front of me. It took me half an hour to get the pill into mouth, drink some water and swallow it. I'm still not sure if I really should give it a go. I'll see for a week and if I get any strong side-effects, I will stop taking it right away. I can't go through side-effects again. I just don't have the strength.

My psychiatrist said that I just shouldn't think about side-effects. I shouldn't feel for them, I shouldn't think too much around them. But I have GAD?!? Of course I'll think about it and interprete every single weird thing in my body as a side-effect! I haven't read up on the side-effects again though. I just don't want to worry more than I already do. Reading about all the terrible things that could happen to me would just freak me out. Well, I remember one side-effect that I heard of some years ago when I tried Seroquel for the first time: sudden inexplainable death. Let's just hope that that won't happen to me. 

So I took the pill and went to bed. I had already taken my Propavan some hours before. I didn't get any more sleepy of the Seroquel. But I'm only on 25 mg so the dosage is probably too low. I didn't feel more hungover this morning either. I woke up many many times during the night but I think that was due to the heat. And a kitten trying to cuddle with me. I felt really weak this morning though. After a cigarette and a cup of coffee I was close to fainting. And of course I panicked, got a panic attack and went straight back to bed. But that passed. Right now I'm still a bit weird and detached from reality. I'm getting weird cramps in my arms and legs. I'm shaking a bit. And my anxiety is really high. It could be that I'm just freaking out because I'm taking a new med. I mean, it is really hot today. I can't deal with heat because I "suffer" from low blood-pressure. So of course I felt a bit fainty this morning. But still, something feels odd and off. I can't really explain it. Uncomfortable is the only word that I can come up with. Yep, I feel uncomfortable. But I haven't given up yet. Fortunately my boyfriend will be off from work for three weeks soon so I'm not alone at home. And my mum will come to visit us for a week. So if something bad is going to happen, someone is there to help me. That makes me feel safe.

I mentioned to my psychiatist that the whole reducing of the Propavan-dosage went to hell. He laughed when I said that the reason why I got manic/hypomanic was the medication and not any underlyring bipolar illness. He explained to me that he thinks that I'm atypical bipolar II. I don't care anymore. I am what I am. He also said that he doesn't officially give me a diagnosis because he is more interested in treating symptoms than actually putting labels on people. I like the guy. I'm supposed to call him either on Friday or on Monday and tell him how it is going with the Seroquel. I have real issues with having to call people but I guess I'll have to do it.

Oh, and he is done writing the book on psychiatry and psychiatric help in Sweden. And my poem is definitely in the book! The book will be published in fall. My big dream is to become a published writer. But I really want (and I am actually doing it) to write books and short-stories. They are just way more thought-through and are more complicated to work with. A poem is something instant for me, I can write a poem in 20 minutes. So far I have written two novels and both of them took me almost a year. Anyway, I'm really glad that something that I have created will be published. I'm proud of myself. 

I'm trying, really trying, I promise

I'm anxious and restless. But that's nothing new, is it? At least it's not the kind of restlessness I had when I tried to get off the Propavan. I have slept 9 hours last night and that's exactly what I needed. So at least I'm not too exhausted today. I still feel really hungover though. As always I had lots of things planned for today but I really haven't done much yet. I just washed the dishes and tidied up the the bedroom. Let's hope there's more that I can do today. I have a lot to write, a letter, reply to an email and finish a short story I have been working on for some time now. 

The anxiety feels a bit increased which could have to do with that I'm supposed to get my period soon. All my mental issues get worse when I'm pms-ing. My period hasn't been exactly regular lately though. So I don't know. The day before yesterday I was really suicidal which also tends to happen before I get my period. So I just hope that's the reason why. I  read up on suicide-statistics and some discussions on why suicide is selfish. But I'm not in that state of mind today. I have actually started planning my mum's visit. We don't have any money, she doesn't have any money. So we have decided to fill the car with petrol with our last savings so we can get out while she is here. I was thinking about doing a picnic somewhere in a park, taking a walk somewhere in nature, on my boyfriend's birthday we'll visit his favourite café. Yesterday I have also been checking up on exhibitions and museums which are free. I have seven days to fill with things. We'll stock up on food before she comes so we don't have to eat out. My mum hangs a lot on chatrooms on the internet so she can use my netbook. I already have fixed a cable through a wall into the guestroom so she'll have internet there. I think we'll somehow make this week work. My boyfriend is also off from work that week so if I'm having a bad day, the two of them can go out together. I'm never happy about my mum visiting. I have to be pretend to be okay. And my routines get disturbed. I have to get up early in the morning for instance. I have to be social. I have to go out. But yeah, she only comes around once a year so it's okay.

I have been outside the appartment yesterday! For the first time in five weeks. I just needed to get some things at the supermarket, beauty things, hairdye. And it felt good to put some make-up on, fix my hair, put some decent clothes on. For the last five weeks I have been running around in long shirts and leggings.My boyfriend told me several times how good I was looking It went alright although I had a panic attack in the parking lot. So my weeks of isolation are over! Next week my social worker is back from his vacation so I'll have to meet him once a week. Well, but I'm still having trouble meeting friends. I still haven't replied to A's message. And yesterday P asked if he could come over but I told him I was busy. I hate myself for that! 

At the moment I'm trying to force myself to call my father. His grandmother has given my mum two very expensive necklaces. She is from Iran and she visited us once when I was maybe 10 years old. That's the only time I have ever seen her. She died in the early 90s. So those necklaces are for my sister and me, for the day when we get married. I'm getting married in August and I really want that necklace. I have nothing else to remind me of my Iranian grandmother. So I told my mum I want her to bring it along when she comes to visit us. But my father refuses  to let her take the necklace. He thinks that she wants to sell it. My father is delusional! She would never do that! So he told her he wants to give it to me. But I haven't been in Germany for three years and I'm not planning to go there any time soon. And he knows that. So he said he'll send it instead. As if that was safe?!? So I need to call him (should have done that days ago) and tell him that I want my mum to give me the necklace when she is here. I just don't have the courage to pick up the phone right now. I know it's going to be a difficult situation. He'll badmouth my mother. But I want that necklace because I want to have something to remember my grandmother by!

I have an appointment with my psychiatrist next Tuesday. I'm a bit scared of that meeting to be honest. I mean, I haven't done anything he had told me to do. I still haven't tried a whole Valium one more time. I haven't taken the Seroquel. And I have been isolating myself, been suicidal and didn't call any helpline or asked for help. I just know that he'll give me that disappointed look. I wonder if he will say that it seems like I don't want any help. Or if he'll say that he can't help me anymore. I have even thought about cancelling the appointment. I just hate to admit that I'm complicating things.

I'm having my third cup of coffee for today. It's time for lunch/dinner soon. I think I want to read until then. So far I'm not hating this day yet.

Right back to the beginning

I gave up. I'm back on the full dosage of my sleeping medication. I don't really know if that was the right decision but I just couldn't take the restlessness and increased anxiety anymore. I even tried to take half a Valium the other day but I didn't feel anything from it. So next time I'll try a whole Valium. I guess I really shouldn't play around with my meds like that. Anyway. The restlessness is gone. And although I have anxiety it isn't dissociative anxiety. I think that's what I had while taking less of the Propavan, I was totally gone. But now the side-effects have returned. I have a huge lack of energy, I'm basically constantly hungover. It feels like I've gone from 100 to 0 in levels of energy. I have weird dreams again. I'm so dry in mouth and nose. And I can't say that I'm sleeping better. I think I'm sleeping a bit more, maybe three hours more. But I still wake up a lot and that's what the Propavan is for, to let me sleep through a night without waking up constantly. Anyway, at least the restlessness is gone. And I'll use the advice one of the doctors are the hospital gave me once: exercise so the Propavan leaves the system quicker. So I'll exercise soon. And hopefully I'll get out of this lethargic state. Honestly, I don't think I could have taken one more day with only the half dosage. It just wasn't the right time to get off the Propavan. But one day, one day in the future I'll get rid of it!

So things are back to "normal". My boyfriend is back at work and I'm on my own most of the time. I have two cats to take care of instead of one. And I'm kind of constantly checking what they are doing. Yesterday they actually cuddled and slept together. I was so happy about that! Apart from that I'm really doing nothing. It's always the same: before going to bed I'm thinking of all the things I want to get done the next day but when the next day comes I just can't deal with anything. I don't really know what I'm spending my days with. Tidying up the apartment, cooking, the internet, cats. I've kind of reached a state of lethargy and indifference. I don't care if it's a new day. I don't want to be challenged. Everybody should just leave me alone. I'll just sit here and wait for death, if it comes tomorrow or in 40 years, I don't care. 

I'm really upset with myself. I know that social contact is good for me. It gives me more self-confidence. And I need someone to penetrate my isolated and subjective way of thinking. I just know it's important for me. But because of my "whatever"-attitude right now I just can't be bothered to actually go out and meet other people. My friend A is the only person who still makes an effort. No one I know in real life has contacted me in, mmmm, maybe two months?!? A has written to me on Facebook two days ago. He just wanted to know how I was doing. But I know that if I reply to him he'll ask me if we can meet up. He used to be something like my best friend for a while. I just CAN'T meet him. I want it so bad. I want to have fun, discuss things, laugh, give him advice, get intellectually challenged. But nope. I don't reply to his message. Instead I'm really frustrated with myself, and at the same time I tell myself that this has been my own voluntarily choice, I don't want to meet other people. Lethargy. I'm better off with just my boyfriend and my two cats. I'm not. I'm lonely. So damn lonely. 

But yeah, next week I have things planned, the week after that my mum will come to visit us for a few days, my boyfriend's birthday (which will be a sad one because no one of us has money for anything :/) and then we'll get married (we can't afford rings but whatever). Yeah.

Dismiss your emotions

I think I'm alright at the moment. I'd rather not give myself a minuteto give it a second thought. Whenever I try to feel how I'm doing I suddenly experience all kinds of negative emotions. In DBT they taught us (again, DBT= shite for me) that we have to "surf the emotion". I have never been able to define my emotions, to be able to exactly say what I'm feeling. I often just call it a negative mess. And I'm supposed to just let go and let the negative mess take over and "surf" on that wave of emotions. Eh, what?!? Anyway, I don't really want to know how I'm doing. I'm just trying to ignore my feelings, distract myself. I can say that I'm frustrated because I don't get anything done. I basically lose hours of my day with, eh, doing nothing, surfing on the internet without any apparent reason. Like check twitter every two minutes, stalk people on Facebook, read the news on different websites. Or I play games on my phone. And it's frustrating because I have a lot of things that I want to do. There are also other things that I have to do but those I'm not too worried about. I want to focus on things that make me happy or content. I want to exercise but this week I have only been able to do that twice so far. I want to read. I want to write. I want to cook a great meal. You know, the little things. Still, I'm procrascinating from the things I love doing. What the heck?

I'm really undecisive when it comes to the Propavan. Really, every day when I'm at my worst I think:"To hell with it, I'll take the whole dosage again". I mean, it has been three weeks now and my body and my psyche are still acting up. The worst is the restlessness, it's mostly in my legs. It's some kind of physical agitation I think. It's so annoying and can really drive me nuts. I'm trying to stay away from coffee and black tea so my body won't get any more hyped. Well, having said that, I'm drinking a cup of Earl Grey-tea at the moment. But I have really cut back on all caffeine and tea. I still feel like I'm more awake, the hangovers are gone. I wonder how much energy I'll have when I'm totally off the Propavan? I'm sleeping a bit too little at the moment, maybe five hours a night. Last night I took a Zoplicone with my half Propavan and I didn't wake up once during the night. That's good! But yes, the restlessness will drive me nuts eventually. I will continue with the half dosage until the middle of August I think. If I don't all of the sudden listen to my desperate thoughts and actually go back to the whole dosage. Today I'm positive towards the whole thing. And I had a good morning. Our new kitten woke me up by biting my big toe and then licking it. So that kind of brought a smile to my face. T has broken one of our most beautiful vases yesterday. He just threw it on the floor. Haha. I wasn't even angry, I just laughed. The two cats seem to get along with each other. I think T is a bit too energetic for B though. They chase each other, they have real fights without any biting or claws. They are awesome together. But T really has an attention-span of one second and all he wants is to play play play play. B often just often looks at him in amazement. Well, it's never calm here, something is always happening. And that's good.

Today it has been exactly one month since I've last been outside our apartment. This is starting to frustrate me. I have nothing to go out for. At least nothing that is worth the panic attacks and the anxiety I'll get when I'm out. I have now for two weeks tried to get myself to go to that one store that sells the hairdye I need. But I just can't. So my boyfriend will go and buy my hairdye tomorrow. Pathetic, eh? I also need new shaving cream, shaving my legs without it is just not working. Blah. So next week, yes, next week, I'll go to the supermarket together with M. And the week after that I have an appointment with my psychiatrist and my social worker is back from his vacation. And my mum will come to visit us for a week (I soooo don't want her to come, but what I can do?!?). Then it will be M's birthday on the 5th. Tenacious D will play on the 12th and we might go if we can afford it (doubtful). On the 15th we will get married. So in the near future I will have things to go out for. Maybe some routines will be good for me. I kind of lost all of my routines, everything seems so meaningless. Why clean thouroughly if no one comes and visit anyway? Why shower, I won't meet anyone anyway? Yeah, I could do it out of self-respect. But that's something I have never had. But I have showered today, even washed my hair. One step into the right direction.

There will be some changes in our life soon. I've been accepted for the two university-courses I had applied for. They are internet-based courses, so I don't have to physically attend classes. That's perfect for me. The reason why I was put on a sick-leave last autumn was that my anxiety was too much when I was out, amongst people. I was in panic during lecture courses. So I'm not there yet, I can't continue with my Master's studies, not at the moment. So I'll study Russian and philosophy instead ("the history of ideas", it's kind of like philosophy, you could call it philosophic history). Anyway. The courses will start in the beginning of September. I don't know how I will be able to cope with my studies on a daily basis but I think I'll manage. It will be good to have a "must", to just have something meaningful to do to distract myself from the anxiety. I'll be a full-time university-student. And that sounds so much better than "being at home ill". And my boyfriend has decided to do something about his life. He is so fed up with his work. So he wants to study to become a psychiatric nurse. Now, how perfect is that? I'll have my own nurse at home. Haha. No, honestly, I think it's the perfect profession for him. So he has applied for the program. He is almost 50 years old. And he has somehow realized that life is short and that he doesn't want to get stuck in some shitty job, being unhappy and stressed out all the time. So he will now work on his dream. He has always wanted to work with people. He has mental issues himself. He had been an amphetamine-addict for over 20 years. He has been clean for almost 10 years, he has built up a life with me. He has so much to offer, he won't judge and he can relate. Really, he is perfect for the job. So I hope he'll get accepted to the program. That would mean that we would be living off student-benefits. But we have counted it out and we would actually be better off than right now. I have no income at the moment, we only live off his salary and he has to pay off some debt. So there is not much money. But you don't have to pay off your debt if you get student benefits (+loans) so we would actually have around 200 Euros more a month, and that's the least. If we are lucky we can get up to 800 Euros more! How crazy is that? Anyway, first I need to get all the papers right so I can get my benefits, then he has to get into the program and also get the benefits. But the future looks bright. And I'm proud of my man, he is actually doing something about his unhappiness!

Okay, time for dinner. Tuna-salad. My boyfriend is already in the kitchen, cutting vegetables. He has been at home all week because the people at his work are idiots and stress the hell out of him. And he wanted to be with me because I have been doing so much worse with the Propavan. He has sick papers so it's legal and fine. Right, dinner. Then maybe an episode of "Sons of Anarchy".

Mad cats

For once I can start an entry with something positive. We have a new kitten!! So now we have two cats. B, our "old" cat (she's only 2 1/2 years old), is a lovely calm cat. She's all black and has yellow eyes. I really love her. She loves to cuddle and always demands lots of attention. For the last three months or so we have been discussing to get a second cat. First off because we love cats. Honestly, if I had a castle with lots of land I'd probably have dozens of cats. I'd be the crazy cat lady! And secondly, B maybe needs a playmate. I'm at home all the time so it's not that she would be lonely otherwise. It's more like she seems bored a lot, even when we play with her. Sooooo. On Saturday we saw an ad on the internet for a 12-weeks-old kitten and the owners lived close to where we live. So Anders gave them a call and an hour late he entered our front door with our new family member, T. We don't know if the cat is a he or a she though. The owners said that it's a female but me and my boyfriend are really convinced about that the kitten has some balls and a penis down there. Haha. We'll see. The kitten is so cute and so playful and curious! T doesn't like to be touched too much yet so we'll give it time. The kitten loves to play though and isn't scared of anything. And he/she sleeps in our bed with us. We were a bit afraid that B and T wouldn't get along and in the beginning they were not really nice to each other. I think B got really scared (she's always a bit shy in the beginning) and they were mostly shushing each other. But T got really comfortable right away, played with everything he/she could find and B was stalking the kitten. Now they have played with each other a few times, like chasing each other, they smell at each other, their little noses have touched a few times and they eat next to each other. They are not scared of each other at all. They are basically around each other all the time. So it looks really good after just two days! My boyfriend is a bit allergic to T but he was like that with B in the beginning too so hopefully that will pass. Having a small kitten around is like the best thing for depression! T is so cute! And I'm checking on them all the time, seeing if they have made any progress in their friendship. I'm a happy cat-mama!

Oooops, that was a lot of talk about the cats. I'm just so happy and excited about it all! Anyway, I'm still on the half dosage of Propavan. On Sunday I was basically a mess. I had slept like 30 minutes during the night. And I was close to just take a taxi to the hospital. I took sedatives but they didn't help. My boyfriend was so worried about me. Then yesterday I was doing a tad better because I decided to take a Zoplicone and the half Propavan in the evening. I woke up way too early so I took an Atarax (I hate antihistamines, they never help for my anxiety, they just give me terrible hangovers) and it knocked me out. I felt bad during the day. But then I had a long talk with my boyfriend, B and T bouncing around us. That helped. I had then decided to just take the whole dosage of the Propavan again. I just couldn't take the anxiety, the low mood and the restlessness anymore. I was convinced that one more day of this and I'd try to kill myself.

But then it all turned all of the sudden. An hour later my anxiety had vanished, I was calm and content. I could focus on writing a letter and reading a book. I don't know what happened!?! Maybe the worst is over?!? So I only took the reduced dosage again last night, and a Zoplicone. And I woke up without anxiety! Say what?!? Right now I'm doing a bit worse, I'm quite restless and I have a bit of anxiety. But it's on a level I can handle. 

I won't stop taking the Propavan altogether any time soon. My boyfriend suggested another month with the dosage I'm on right now. Maybe that's reasonable. But I'm glad I didn't go back to my old dosage again. I can always do that if I feel like I'm out of it. Tonight I'm going to try to sleep without a Zoplicone. That might make things worse again. I feel like I'm experimenting but how else am I going to get through this? I don't feel like my psychiatrist can help me with this. He doesn't know how I react to meds anyway.

One thing makes me really sad right now. It's summer. Here in the Stockholm area we have 25-30°C and the sun is shining. And it has been like this for two weeks now. But I don't go out. People go and swim in the lakes, meet up in parks for a beer in the shadow, go on walks in nature, have barbecues. I hate Facebook right now, seeing tons of pictures of happy people enjoying summer. But I don't go out. I would want to want to go out. It's so difficult to explain. I want to be like everyone else. No, wrong, I want to be like I used to be. I went out sometimes, never spontanous, but still, I went out. I went to the beach in the evenings. I was invited to barbecues. Now? I haven't left the apartment once in a A WHOLE MONTH! It's summer damn it. Gosh, I hate myself. I really would want to want to go out. I want to have the confidence, the strength, the stability to be around other people. This makes me so sad. I'm pathetic. My life is pathetic. I'm missing out on my own life. 

Holding on

I haven't felt this bad in months. This constant anxiety is turning me into a real mess. I'm always on the edge to panic and I'm bascially petrified. The last two days I've been sitting on the sofa, playing brainkilling games on my smartphone, just so I don't need to feel or think. That's all I can do right now, distract myself with simple things. Reading or writing are out of the question at the moment. I can't focus. I have lost all my apetite and hunger. I even forgot to shower. The only thing on my mind is: make it stop. I can't take it anymore. I'm getting really desperate.

I'm still convinced that this was triggered by the reduction of the dosage of Propavan. First I've been on a high for four or five days and then I crashed, badly. I feel like I'm in a cage and I can't get out. I feel so trapped. I want to just scream out my pain. This is so terrible!

But I'm holding on to one thought: This state is only temporary. I won't be this bad forever. It will pass and I'll get back to my usual depressed and anxious state that I can handle. It's just a matter of time. I'm repeating this in my head over and over again. This is only temporary, it will get better.

But still, I'm in a desperate state. I'm so restless. I'm so anxious. I'm so sad. I can't remember when I last cried so much. But I'm also proud of myself. I have stayed out of the hospital so far. I have not been in bed all day long. I've been able to stick to some simple routines. I've not hurt myself. I've ignored the suicidal thoughts that pop into my head. And I'm still determined to stop taking the Propavan. Tonight I'll take the last one and then I'm off. But I'm a bit afraid of what will happen to me. I'm afraid of getting even worse. Because if I get any worse I'll most likely lose it.

I even took a sedative the other day. That's also something that I'm proud of. I'm so much against medication because it doesn't solve my problems in the long run. But I assessed my situation and I decided it was for the best. I think that this is just a temporary solution for my temporary state. I haven't tried the Diazepam again but I'll do it the next time I need a sedative.

I've had a terrible dream last night. I dreamt that my brother was in some kind of boxing game and they were fighting to the death. And I couldn't see who was winning. And then one of the boxers died and everybody was screaming. And I was in panic looking for my brother. They hung up the dead person in a tree but I still couldn't see who it was. I was screaming, crying, looking for my brother. Then I found him, in a bathroom, shaking, crying. So when I woke up this morning I was in panic. Not a great start for a day. And then I stepped into cat poo, with my bare feet. My cat sometimes gets really excited when she's in her litter box so she forgets that she's actually taking a dump and runs out of the bathroom, still poo coming out. Yup. She's weird like that.

I'll try to watch a movie later. That's my plan for today. I'm trying to avoid to think about how I actually never will get much better because there's no help out there for me. I'll hold on to the thought that the state I'm in right now is only temporary. Any more thinking than that and I'll sink into the depths of darkness.

I'm confusing myself

I'm actually quite alright right now. And I didn't crash yesterday. Maybe the worst is over. My anxiety is still strong and I wouldn't be able to do anything demanding right now. But I'm not sad. I have been looking at cat-memes all morning. Ah, by the way, that's something that annoys me. That these pictures are called memes. Meme is a term that Richard Dawkins brought up in a sociological meaning. A meme is a unit in our society that is generally accepted as a truth and therefore is inherited by the next generation. It works in society at the time and keeps up certain laws. Religion is a meme, capitalism is a meme, patriarchy is a meme. But I'll not be all intellectual now, most people aren't interested in those kinds of things anyway.

I have had some confusing and weird thoughts. I think they are some kind of defense-mechanism. It's like this: there is a lot of confusion around what diagnosis I have. I have met many (many!) different psychiatrists during the almost three years I'm contact with psych-help. And they all come up with different ideas about what to exactly call my condition(s). They all kind of agree on Avoidant Personality Disorder/Social Anxiety, PTSD and GAD. But they don't think that's all and I agree with that. So first they were convinced that I have  Borderline Personality Disorder. But I don't have that, I don't fit the category, I'm not impulsive, I have no problems with relationships. So they thought that I might have Depressive Personality Disorder/Dysthimia. But nope, now I'm bipolar instead. 

I'm so tired of it! Why must my case be so complicated?!? Why can't I just have one diagnosis? Why can't they see what I'm suffering from? I have done two kinds of therapy so far. CBT and DBT. Both didn't help me one bit. I'm one of the "unlucky" ones who doesn't get better by just going against her feelings. Like, one of my social anxieties ( I have many, I avoid all kinds of human contact if possible. I haven't met a single friend since February. I haven't been outside our apartment for almost a month now) is to take the subway. I saw that as my main obsticle to get to university, the one place I want to get to! So I did all the exercises, I took the subway every day to university for almost a month. And it didn't get better, it got worse. I eventually ended up at some subway-station in central Stockholm where the police picked me up because I had a major breakdown. I wanted it soooo bad! And it didn't work out. I theoretically understood and still understand how CBT works. But it doesn't work for me. DBT. Well, it wasn't for me. I felt like an outsider during the year I did that therapy. I was the odd one out. I didn't have their problems, my problems were totally different. I didn't get better, I even got worse because I saw everyone else doing progress and I was still stuck with my anxiety and suicidal ideation. One time I was sent to hospital right after grouptherapy because I was sucidal. That was so embarrassing! Anyway, I didn't like DBT, I found it condescending. Mindfulness is a joke to me. It doesn't work for me for several reasons. I might write another entry about that one day. 

Meds don't work for me. I'm too sensitive to medication. I get so strong side-effects that I end up in hospital every time I try out a new med. I get even paradoxal side-effects! I can get euphoric of benzodiazipines. I got really tired of Wellburtin. The few medications that have helped me (Abilify and Lamictal) I had to stop taking because they caused Caged Tiger Syndrome and an allergic shock. 

So what is left for me? What more can they do? Psychodynamic therapy? Try out even more meds? I have lost all hope. So now to my weird thoughts. There are several:

1. I'm too fucked up. No one can help me. They only see me as an annoyance. It's my own fault because I can't really describe my feelings. I am intellectualizing everything. I'm a lost cause to them. 

2. Maybe I'm not ill! Maybe I'm healthy and all the meds I have tried out actually made me ill. And to continue to have contact with the psychiatric center will only make things worse. So I better quit everything. Stop taking all the meds. And hope for the best.

3. Why do I continue to fight? I can continue living this meaningless life some more years. Until the pain gets too much and I commit sucide. That has been on  my mind since I was a child. I have always been convinced that I'll die by my own hand. So why fight it? Maybe that's my fate (although I don't believe in the concept of fate or determination)

But I know what I'm actually feeling. It's fear. It's the fear that they actually have nothing more to offer me. And the fear that they think that I don't want help. I haven't tried out the Seroquel. I always seem okay when meeting the professionals because I can hold the mask up. At least most of the time. I haven't even cried once in therapy! So maybe they think I'm just a lazy attentionwhore. I have real difficulties to ask for help or to be honest about how I'm feeling, or to even describe my feelings. So yeah. I've lost hope. And I'm afraid that they have lost hope too. I'm afraid that they will say they I have to blame myself to not take the help they offer me. But what is it they offer me anyway? Hence the defensive thoughts. Better to believe that I'm not ill,  better to believe that I'll kill myself eventually than to face the truth that there might not be any help out there for me. 

Maybe I don't want help? I often feel like I just want to be left alone. Maybe in the end it's the fear for change. I don't fucking know. I want to be myself. I want to be able to try out to live. I want to reach my full potential. I want to be the best I can be. But the years I have fought for getting the right kind of help have made tired. I don't want to fight anymore. It doesn't seem worth all the pain. It's just not worth it.

I don't even know if this entry makes any sense! I better go and get another cup of coffee. And smoke a cigarette. And get some logic into my head.

I'm in hell

Yesterday has most definetely been the worst day for me this year so far. I was in a state of total despair. The anxiety-level wasn't bearable and I was between losing my mind and being convinced that I was going to die. Honestly, the anxiety was so physical and at the same time it totally blackened my mind. At 3 a.m. I decided to take a Zoplicone just to fall asleep and not feel anymore. I was convinced that I was going to die and I've always wanted to die in my sleep so I just wanted to sleep. My life was flashing before my eyes and I thought, well, at least I have had sex, I have experienced love, I have reached a few goals in my life, I have touched a few people, I have had some fun. I was kind of ready to die. I know, that sounds crazy. But the state I was in was terrible.

I had a bad restlessness in my whole body. I had been crying all day long. I was shaking. I couldn't think straight. It was so bad that I would have done anything to just escape my body and my mind. If I could have I would have crawled out of my skin. I couldn't focus at all. I was totally detached from reality. I found talking really difficult. I just couldn't connect with reality. For a moment I thought I was going to end up in psychosis. I was pacing up and down the hallway. I pulled my hair. I cried and cried and cried. I just wanted it to stop. I have no clue why I didn't think of taking a sedative. It could have helped. I was just not thinking straight. I hate meds and they just never seem like the solution to me.

I blame this all on the withdrawal from the Propavan. I know I know, Propavan is said to give no withdrawal-symptoms. Well, that's utter bull-shit! I have taken that medication since December 2010. Every night. 25 mg. I am really uber-sensitive to medication. So I guess my brain and body got used to the med and now that I only take 12,5 mg I get really bad reactions.

The first few days were really great though. I was happy, content, sometimes even euphoric. I had a lot more energy. It made me think that the reduction of the dosage might have triggered some kind of hyppmania. But then I crashed! For days now I have been really low, more anxious and yesterday was basically the worst day. I actually thought of calling a helpline but they would have probably sent an ambulance. I was in such a bad state I wasn't even coherent in my speech. 

I'm still determined to stop taking the Propavan. It can't get much worse than yesterday. I have also written a big fat note to myself: Take sedatives! I haven't taken one in weeks actually. Again, I hate meds. But maybe I need to take sedatives for a few weeks until my body and mind have calmed down from the Propavan-withdrawal. I know this state is only temporary. So I'll be okay eventually. But really, fuck all the so-called professionals who told me that it won't be such a big deal to get off the Propavan. I'm losing my mind, that is a BIG DEAL!

So on Saturday I'll take my last Propavan and then I'll stop taking it altogether. I'm sure I have some bad weeks ahead of me. At least two or three bad weeks. But I'm determined. I already feel the positive effects of not taking the full dosage: no more nightmares, no more dry mouth, lots of energy. During my hypomanic days (I think that period lasted for five days) I had the "smart" idea to get off all my meds. But I abandonded that idea last night. I will continue to take Zoplicone at need. I will continue to take sedatives at need. But I think I'll be much more myself when I'm not taking any meds regularly. I feel like I haven't been able to actually feel, to realize how I'm actually doing with the meds in my body. Maybe I'll do better without them? With my uber-sensitivity to meds it could well be that they make me worse. Who knows. But I'm also aware of the fact that many people who suffer from mental illness basically do the same thing. Stop taking all their meds and then they eventually end up in hospital. But I think I'm doing it the smart way with the Propavan. For me it's only about not taking meds regularly anymore. I'm sure my dear psychiatrist will not be too happy about this. I haven't even tried out the Seroquel he wanted me to take. It's just that I have given up on meds. Or any kind of psych-help. This morning I thought that I probably will never get any better because: 1. my doc said that therapy won't make me better, it will only, after many years, make me understand my issues better and 2. Meds don't work for me. They always only have made me worse and have given me some extra-issues to deal with. Blantly: I'll just fight on until I can't deal with it all anymore and kill myself. That probably won't be tomorrow. Or next month. At least I hope so. But it will happen eventually. That's the blant truth.

I think there are two more things that have triggered my crash. T, my social worker, was going to come and see me on Friday. But he cancelled because he had to help another one of his clients who got sectioned and needed to be in court. I had cancelled on him the week before. So I haven't seen him for two weeks. Which wouldn't be too bad but he's on holiday now and won't be back before the 22nd. That's my luck. And it makes me feel once again that I'm not worthy of any help. There are people out there that need more help than me. It's me that's the problem, my problems don't seem to worry others. I know that sounds stupid. But that's how my irrational thoughts go.

P moved out two days ago (our flatmate). And although we hadn't hung out much and he often just spent time in his room, the flat feels really empty right now. I feel lonely. I feel unsafe with only myself as company. It just doesn't feel good. My boyfriend is working so he's never at home before 4, often not before 5 p.m.. And now that P is gone my routines have kind of gone to hell. I'm still in my pyjamas and it's 3 p.m.. I haven't showered in two days. I haven't exercised in two days. I don't have to hold up the mask I tend to wear when others are around. And that's propably one of the reasons why my feelings have taken over and why my anxiety is that much out of hand. I haven't been outside the flat for three weeks now. I just can't deal with my social anxiety now as well. At the same time I know that being isolated from the rest of the world probably is bad. I just have nothing to go out for. No appointments. I haven't had a "date" with a friend since, mmm, February I think. That's how fucked up my life is!

I'm really really restless in my body right now, the legs are the worst. I can feel how my mind is slowly shutting down. I guess I'll fall into anxious apathy soon again. So I better stop writing. Soon I'll probably not make much sense anymore. Damn it.