I've lost control again

Yeah, it has taken me yet another month to update my blog. I think it's a good thing because I would have only caused confusion if I had tried to describe my state of my mind. I actually have trouble grasping my state of mind right now. I don't know where I am in my life, where I am in my head, whether I'm dead or alive.

The last few weeks have been a path into total darkness. I don't know why it hit me, I don't know what exactly has dragged me down. Is there always a reason? People tend to ask what has happened if you tell them that you are feeling bad. But there isn't always a cause- and effect-relationship that is obvious. There have been things that have immensly influenced me during the last few months and I guess they contributed to me slowly giving up on life. I always know that I'm close to the abyss when I don't want to fight anymore, when there is no will. I have difficulties when it comes to changes anyway. But when I'm really down, I don't want to change anything, the only change I want is to make it stop. I have lost my will to fight and my will to live. The last few months I have been fighting like crazy but how do you keep on fighting against a shadow that is slowly dragging you into hell? How do you see the light? I don't know.

The restless legs and spasms hadn't been getting any better so I eventually called the emergency number of the psych-center I'm going to because my mental health was in a really bad state because of that stupid Propavan-withdrawal. I had to wait for a week for an appointment with an emergency-psychiatrist who works at the center. I wish he was my regular psychiatrist because he was the kind of professionel who had definitely chosen the right job. He took his time for me, we discussed everything for an hour. He asked tons of questions. He took me seriously (!) and prescribed some meds for the akathasia (he thinks that's what I have). He also told me to stop taking the Propavan altogether because it was obviously no good for me and that my brain wouldn't be able to recover if I was giving it more of the med. So I stopped taking the Propavan and I haven't taken it for more than two weeks now.

Then I got a bad cold. I was too scared to try out the med I had been prescribed because I had asthma and it is known to give asthma. I actually still haven't tried it out although my legs often drive me insane and I can't walk for a long time because my legs are really weak. Not taking the Propavan led to no sleep. The Zoplicone (other sleeping med I'm taking) stopped working on me. So I've had many many sleepless nights. Most nights I don't get more than three hours of sleep. Weirdly enough I'm not too tired in my body, but it is really making my head spin.

In all that I suddenly got really sad and desperate. It could be the restless legs and the lack of sleep. I also don't eat properly because the thyroid-hormone I'm taking is making me feel sick so my appetite is gone. I have lost quite a lot of weight actually. It's a lot of things contributing to this. I'm also stressed out by my studies, my boyfriend is in a bad depression right now, our car broke down. Just a lot of things happening. So I have given up the fight. I have constant anxiety. I'm crying a lot. I barely get out of bed. I have lost interest in everything. Like, my sister and mum are coming to visit us for a week on Christmas and I should be planning things. But I don't care.

So, as you might have guessed, this all led to me being really suicidal. Now, I haven't done a lot of suicide attempts in my life. I have always somehow gotten help before it got that far. So I personally hope that the risk for me doing something drastic is small. I have been talking about this with my therapist for the last two weeks. He has called me a lot, to check up on me. And he has been trying to get me in touch with a psychiatrist. He has been mentioning getting put into hospital which I'm totally against. I hate being at the hospital!!! But he really felt like that he needed some back up by a doctor.

The last week has been crazy for me. I self-harmed! That's not like me. But last week, three times. My arms look terrible and they sting! I had written goodbye-letters, planning my suicide, all the things one really shouldn't do. I triggered myself with a lot of things, reading up on stuff on the net. On Friday night I had to call the ER because I was totally out of my mind. It was 4 a.m., I hadn't been sleeping and I had spent two hours cleaning and brushing my shoes. If you take Zoplicone and you don't fall asleep on it, you can get really weird in your head. I got the worst help ever: "Take a sedative. Good luck. Bye!" Huh? 

Today I had an appointment with my therapist and a psychiatrist, the same one I have seen just three weeks ago. Before the meeting I had been really scared that they would admit me to the hospital. I was convinced that that was going to happen. I even had a bag packed. But nope. This doc is just amazing. He first told me that he would never section me which made me feel so safe. We discussed what has been going on and well, he said that the most important thing right now is that I get sleep. So I'll have to take Atarax for a week or so before going to bed, together with the Zoplicone. I hate Atarax, it really makes me sleepy, never helped for my anxiety and I get a terrible hangover from it. But what to do? And then he told me that I'm the one in control, I'm the one to take decisions. I liked that. When it comes to psychiatric help, I often feel like I'm out of control, I am being played around with. I basically said I know that I'm in a really really bad state right now but that I don't think that the hospital is the right place for me. But I have also been honest and told him that I can't promise anything, that I can't say what I will and won't do. I also didn't want to promise to call or contact anyone. I hate to lie so I'm rather honest. But he was fine with it. He somehow trusts me. I don't know why. Why does he trust me when I don't even trust myself? Maybe he can see something I can't see?!? Really, I wish he was my regular psychiatrist.

I don't know how I'm doing. I'm scared. Scared of myself. I can't trust myself. The self-harming totally threw me off. This is not me. I've promised myself to take the Atarax and Zoplicone during the nights. Maybe that will make my head clearer. Because right now I really can't think straight. My mood and my thoughts are all over the place. But somehow I got a tiny bit of will back, a tiny bit of strength. I think it has a lot to do with Dr.E saying that I'm in control. I need to be in control. 

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. 

Desperation

I have been feeling really desperate for the last few days. I can't find a better word to describe my state. I have been detached from reality and I have been close to giving up. I am trying hard to not let my dark thoughts and anxiety drag me down even more. But I'm slowly falling back into old patterns. 

I am trying to remind myself to think of the future, to plan for the long run and to not be too short-sighted. The emotions I'm having right now will pass, they won't stay with me forever. I know that. But my brain somehow doesn't want to work with me. I get desperate, I want it all to end, I see no future, I see only darkness. I can't motivate myself to do the things that I love. For weeks I have been thinking about the DIY-project, my jacket. I love altering my clothes. But I just can't get started. What's the point? I won't go out much anyway. So why do I need an awesome jacket?

My changed patterns scare me. Because I know what they have always lead to: suicide-attempt and hospital. I'm fighting. But my emotions are strong, especially this anxiety that is driving me mad. I am pacing up and down the hallway, wanting to scream out the pain. I have even been crying. I hate crying. I lay down in the middle of the day. Just being in bed, starring at the wall. Feeling gloomy and alone.

I have been detached from reality. I have been detached from my positive feelings. I have been in a bubble of anxiety and sadness. No one can reach me. My boyfriend is worried. I am trying. I promise, I am trying. But I am desperate. I don't want to feel like this ever again. And it probably won't ever get any better. 

The negative thoughts are racing through my head. I'll never be able to earn money, I'll always live off my boyfriend. I'll never be part of society. I'll never contribute to anything. I'm nothing and no one cares if I'm dead or alive. I'll never have real friends again, all the people I know have probably already forgotten about me. I'm just an annoying burden to the few people I talk to. I am nothing and I'll never be something. I've been fooling myself all these years, I'm not smart. If I was smart, I would be something. I would be able to fight this off. I'm weak. Just a burden.

And then I get weird flashbacks and foreshadowings. My head is filled with images from my time at the hospital. Psychotic people, screaming people, lies, pills, side-effects. The feelings I had back then come back, I feel just as desperate, just as sad, just as suicidal, just as anxious. Then I'm thinking about my dad killing my mum. I am so worried about her moving out and how he will react. He will be furious. When I'm in some kind of dreamlike state my mind paints horrifying pictures of my mum getting beaten to death by my  father. Those pictures scare the hell out of me.

And that's not all. My GAD-symptoms have been worse. I feel nautious all the time. I feel like throwing up. My stomach hurts. I have the runs. I am shaking. I can't focus. I hate when my body and my mind both scream "anxiety"!

I can't fall asleep and I wake up constantly. My sleep is not sleep, it's a turmoil. It's nightmares. It's sweat. It's desperation.

I can see myself from the outside and I know exactly what to tell myself. Think about the future. Remind yourself of the good times. You never know what tomorrow brings. You have gotten through such periods before. Activate yourself. Motivate yourself. Don't go to bed in the middle of the day. Eat properly. Exercise. Distract yourself. Do the things you love doing even if they don't bring you that much pleasure right now. Cook. Write. I know all this. But my brain has put up some kind of defensive wall. My brain has lost all of its rationality. 

I'm desperate. And I'm afraid of how far this desperation can push me. I want to die. I don't want to die. I want it to stop. I feel like I deserve feeling like this because I'm a bad person. I just want peace. Desperation. I'm nothing.