The weekend - almost at home

Saturday. On weekends the patients of the psych-unit are allowed to sleep as long as they want, or can. For me that meant 8 a.m.. Five hours of sleep was definitely more than I had gotten the nights before. I took a shower and made myself ready because I was allowed to stay at home on Saturday and Sunday. You know, before they let you leave the psych unit altogether, they let you test a night at home and see if you can handle being in the outside world amongst healthy people again. So even though I wasn't sent home on Friday as planned, I was supposed to spend two days and one night at home. 

I had a long chat with one of the nurses before I left. I had met that guy at another unit before and he is quite funny and loud. He gave me my meds for the day and we had a little argument because he didn't give me all the sedatives that are on my list. But it really didn't matter because I have all those meds at home as well anyway.

My husband came to fetch me and we went home. It always feels a bit weird to come home when you have been at the hospital. I was afraid that all my old feelings and impulses would catch up with me but they fortunately didn't. We wrote a grocery list for Christmas and my husband was really happy when I told him that I would follow with him to the supermarket. I can't stand shopping, my social anxiety always acts up in supermarkets. But it went well, we did A LOT of shopping and when we got home I was totally exhausted. I cuddled with my cats for some time and then took a nap.

The rest of the day was spent in front of the TV, watching movies and trying to feel safe at home. I actually got a good night's sleep in my own bed. When I woke up in the morning I knew that I wanted to be at home and not at the psych unit. That was kind of the moment when it turned for me, when I realized what I wanted something again, when I realized that I'm better and don't need to be at the hospital anymore. And then my legs started acting up and I was a total mess. I cried so much, I didn't know what to do. So I came back to the psych unit crying and told them that I needed to see a neurologist now! But nope, the nurse (no clue who she was, never had seen her before and she wasn't even wearing a name-tag) told me she could contact the on call psychiatrist but that's all. I took a sedative and waited. It only took an hour this time and a young doctor arrived. He, of course, couldn't help me. I had known that before but the nurse has insisted on calling him. All he could do was to write down a note in my file that I once again had been cryng out for help because of my restless legs. 

I just took another sedative and got a bit fuzzy in my head. My legs were still terrible but at least I wasn't as anxious. I even talked a bit with the other patients. You know, they had put up a plastic Christmas-tree at the unit and the tree was in silver. And about everyone was complaining about the colour of the tree. Yeah, Christmas at a psych-unit, can you imagine that? Poor souls!

The rest of the evening I spent studying Russian and chatting with my room-mate. I tend to get quite chatty from benzodiazipines. I think they make me let my guard down. So I might have just babbeled on and on and my room-mate was irritated. But in my head we were both chatting. Haha. I took my Zoplicone, watched some Dexter and fell asleep around 2 a.m..

Day 1 - in hell

Wednesday. The first morning at the psych unit. They wake you up at 7.30 a.m., no matter if you have slept during the night or not. They want you to sleep and gather your strength but at the same time they want you to get routines. Well, getting up that early has never been and will never be my routine. I was a wreck. I talked to my husband on the phone who told me that he wouln't come and visit me that day. He needed some distance. That was quite a shock for me because he has never missed a day to visit me when I was at the hospital before. I was shattered. You know, him having his freak out and screaming and shouting, threatening to leave me kind of drove me over the edge. I get that my illness has a negative effect on him and that it's dragging him down. I get that he was afraid. But that doesn't give him the right to push me down mentally, to make it worse. And I had by then realized that he is the only thing in the world I'm still fighting for. The last few years I haven't been fighting for myself, I have been fighting for not making him upset. I love him and I don't want him to suffer. When he told me that he couldn't take it anymore, I just snapped. I felt like it would be the best solution to disappear. I felt like that I was a burden and that it would be best for everyone involved if I just died. It was just the final drop to my misery. So that he didn't want to come and visit me was really difficult for me. I understood that he needed some time for himself but I needed support as well. He has had a fucked-up life and still hasn't dealt with a lot of things so I understand that he has difficulties dealing with the present because of that. I just had hoped that he would understand that I needed support. Or maybe it was egoistic of me to think that I was suffering the most in the whole situtation.

They didn't have my Vitamin D-pills which I thought was a tad unprofessional. It's no big deal if you skip them one day but come on, I'm at a hospital, you should have medications. I ate half a sandwich which I threw up because I was so anxious. I spent the morning in bed, watching Dexter. I took a short nap. Then I had a meeting with the chief psychiatrist, a nurse and an intern psychiatrist. I had had met him before, J, the chief. We just never got along because he didn't get me. He is not Swedish so in the beginning I thought it was the language. He has a bad accent but his grammar is correct so I don't think it's the language. He is known to be tough and mean. I know of people who actually officially complained about him. I know of people who refuse to be in the same unit as him. But I had no choice, he is the chief of the unit and he was the one treating me. There is one thing that I like about him, he is straight forward. And he asks things, he discusses things, he is a bit like a therapist in that. His answers are never empathetic though. He understood that I was in a bad state but he decided that I should be send home on Friday. I told him that I'm not sure if I'll be alright until then but he had already decided that that was the treatment-plan: let me stay for two more nights and then send me home. I asked him about the restless legs and spasms but he said he didn't want to give me anything for that and he even doubted it was the Propavan that had caused it. He told me to try out that blood pressure med I had gotten prescribed instead. Then he asked why I had gained so much weight since we last saw each other. I told him that I have been diagnosed with hypothyrodism and he answered that it can't be only that. Well, thank you asshole. And then he told me that he wants to tell me something, kind of off the record. He told me that he had met me a few times now and that he doesn't get anything from me, he doesn't feel anything from me. He said that I don't have a personality!!! Who says something like that to a person that is suicidal and already hates herself?!? I didn't even know what to reply. I was stunned. So we shook hands and I went back to my bed.

I couldn't get his words out of my head. They haunted me. If I don't have a personality, I can't be human, I must be like an empty shell. R, my absolute favourite nurse, had heard that I was at the other unit and came over for a minute to give me a hug. It felt really good to see a friendly face. The one nurse that was responsible for me is actually someone I know, she is a friend of some friends of mine. We had never talked but we had been to the same clubs and parties. But as I thought the law prevents her from telling anyone about me, I didn't really care if she was my nurse or not. 

Then I had another major breakdown. I tried to strangle myself with the cable for my netbook and lost consciousness for a second. Another patient found me on my bed but I told her not to tell anyone. I was afraid I was going to be restrained. So I just sat on the bed, crying, shaking, having lots of anxiety. I went to the bathroom and I found a needle on the floor there. One of the women that I shared the room with was a muslim and I think the needle came from her head-cloth, I saw her attach it to another cloth underneath with needles. So I self-harmed in the bathroom. I went back to bed and on the way there my legs gave in. My legs were just so weak from the spasms and the restlessness. I crawled back to bed. And cried. I could have gone out and asked for help. The thing is that I didn't want to bother anyone. I didn't know anyone who was working. I felt like I had no right anyway, I felt like I wasn't human and just didn't have the same rights as others. Eventually I asked one of the women who I shared the room with to fetch someone. A nurse came, we went outside to some sofa to talk. She was really terrible at her job. I was crying, sobbing, telling her about how I wanted to die and how I just couldn't take it anymore. And what did she say? "Yeah, I can't solve your problems". What kind of an answer is that? So I asked for a sedative because I just wanted it all to go away, I wanted my head to shut the heck up. And guess what, they had forgotten to sign off my pills again so they couldn't give me anything! WHAT THE FUCK? How unprofessional can they be? They had to contact an on call psychiatrist again. In the meantime I was freaking out. I talked to one of the other patients for a minute or so and decided to just leave. I put my shoes and my jacket on, my cellphone and my cigarettes in my pockets and wanted to just leave. I had a 5 now, I knew that J had changed that. So I had the right to leave. But they didn't let me. This one male nurse refused to let me out. He said that he can't trust me because of the state I am in. I honestly didn't know what my plan was anyway. Just to get out of there? And then what? Kill myself? Go home? I really hadn't thought that through.

So I ran back to my room and hid under my blanket. The other patient said "I told you they wouldn't let you out!" and I was just crying. After an hour I finally got a sedative. And all of the sudden I got a lot of attention. I wasn't alone for the next several hours for a second, there was always a nurse checking up on me, trying to talk to me. I got forced to eat some dinner, I had some bites and threw it up again. I was such a wreck. But eventually I calmed down. The sedative helped a bit. One of the women in our room got discharged so we were only three women that night. The muslim woman slept all the time. I talked a lot with the other woman, a Finnish woman who was constantly knitting clothes for her grandchildren. She told me that I should take care of myself in the first place and not let my husband oppress me. He can't blame his behaviour on me. We also talked about meds and other things. You know, when you are at a psych unit, all people talk about are meds, suicide, good and bad psychiatrists and so on. Weirdly enough, she had met all the doctors I had met and had the same opinions about them as I have.

I could fall asleep that night but I woke up after two hours again, took another sedative, cried some more. My legs were driving me crazy and I could barely make it to the smoker's cubicle. Another terrible night. That was my first day at the psych unit.

How and why I ended up at the hospital ...

So about two weeks ago I really hit rock bottom. I had been in a depressive period for some time. I had had difficulties with my daily routines, with eating, with my sleep, with my studies, with getting out of bed at all. I had been aware of that, really aware. But I just couldn't do anything about it. I tried to fight on with simple things, trying to do positive things. But life just happened and a lot of things stressed me out at the same time. I maybe could have handled the depression, I maybe could have handled the problems. But I couldn't handle both. I had had some meetings with my therapist, even had a meeting with him and a psychiatrist. I had called the ER twice. I didn't want to end up in the hospital. But at the same time I just really wanted to die. The suicide thoughts were in my head all the time. I was in a very desperate mood. I planned, I tried to ignore the thoughts, I wrote goodbye-notes, I burned them. It was all just a huge mess. And I self-harmed. I'm not a self-harmer, it has happened four or five times that I cut myself. All the times before I could actually blame meds, they made me worse and drove me to self-harm. But this time it was ME, I had so much self-hatred inside of me. I hated myself for not being brave enough to kill myself. I hated myself for dragging everyone around me down. I was disgusted by myself.

Tuesday. I was in a bad state because of four reasons: 1. The depression had stolen my ability to sleep. I hadn't eaten in two days. I was sad, so sad. I was anxious and restless. 2. My legs were still driving me crazy, the restlessness, the spasms. I couldn't take it anymore. I coud barely walk. I felt handicapped and so over with this feeling. 3. I had disappointed my mum because I had cancelled on her and my sister for Christmas. They were supposed to come and visit us (I live in Sweden, they live in Germany) but I felt like I was in such a bad state, I couldn't have them at my home for a week. At that point I didn't actually care about Christmas. I wasn't even sure I was going to live until Christmas. 4. The day before had been a horrible horrible day. My husband had a total freak out because of how I was doing. He basically screamed at me for hours. He threatened me with kicking me out, with sending me back to Germany, with leaving me, with getting me sectioned. And he made it very clear that he was doing badly because of how I let myself go. He just couldn't take it anymore. I hid in the bathroom for a time, locked myself in. I can't handle conflicts, I get really scared. And all that screaming and threatening scared the hell out of me. I had a really bad breakdown in the evening. I was close to killing myself. I had already kissed the cats goodbye. I wanted to go down to the lake and drown myself. I was so desperate. But I didn't do it, I instead self-harmed the worst I have ever self-harmed. Now I hope that the scars will go away, I don't want to be scarred for life! My husband called the ER and they booked in an appointment with the same ER-psychiatrist I had met before, and my therapist, the next day.

Tuesday morning I was a mess. I couldn't get out of bed because of the spasms. I was crying because I had so much anxiety. And at the same time I was really apathetic. I just didn't care anymore. The appointment was weird. I wasn't really there, you know, my mind was blurred, I was absent in my mind. I remember my therapist saying that he wants to refer me to another clinic for MBT-therapy. And all I thought was: great, he has given up on me too, he must hate me, I must be such an annoyance, I really should just disappear. The psychiatrist and my therapist asked me lots of questions but I'm not sure if I even was able to form a sentence. They realized that I had self-harmed and as I looked like shit, they probably understood that I was a mess. So the doctor gave me an ultimatum: either I promise that I won't kill myself until the end of this year or I'll voluntarily admit myself to the hospital. I tried to get out of it as I didn't like any of the options but he said that's it, no other options. So I had to choose the hospital. I couldn't promise anything. I somehow believe that I saved my life in that moment. It wasn't me who had booked the appointment, my husband had, he had driven me there, without him I would be dead. But I could have lied and promised things. But I didn't, I chose the hospital. My "weird" therapist told me that he didn't want to meet me while I was admitted although that's what everyone usually suggests, that you meet your therapist for support while being at the hospital. I really don't know why he is treating me like this?!? It almost feels like he is trying to punish me for being a difficult patient. I so need to discuss this with him, maybe I should switch therapists.

I had to wait in the waitingroom for almost an hour (under the supervision of the receptionist) while the psychiatrist got in touch with the hospital and tried to find a bed for me. When he finally came to meet me again, he told me that I was going to be at a unit I had never been at. I was in tears. I have social anxiety, I can't deal with new places and people well. The only person I knew was the chief of the unit because he used to work at the other unit I usually end up at. And we don't get along, he just never got me So I didn't want to go. But really, I had no choice. I could have lived with the usual unit, where my favourite nurse, R, works. He had always been able to pull me out of the shit. He is basically the best nurse you could meet. I love that man! But nope, I was now going to a unit I had never been at, with staff I didn't know, and no R. I was allowed to go home and pack a bag. And about two hours later I rang the bell of the unit.

The unit is locked which means that there are two double doors which are locked. And only the nurses have keys. There are five different numbers you can get: 1 - not allowed to go out and constant supervision 2 - not allowed to go out and regular supervision  3 - not allowed to go out on your own, only with staff  4 - only allowed to go out with staff or family 5 - allowed to go out but you have to tell them where you are going and when you will be back. 

There is a smoker's cubicle, a small kitchen, a dining room, a TV-room, a nurse's office, a nurse's kitchen and room, lots of chairs and sofas, four conversation-rooms, an examination-room. And the patients' rooms. There are no single rooms (well, unless you need constant supervision, then you sometimes have a room for yourself). There are two four beds rooms and the rest are two beds rooms. Each room has a bathroom. It's a mixed unit, men and women, 18+. It's a unit for depression, anxiety, personality disorders and suicidal patients. 

A nurse picked me and my husband up at the door and I was placed in a four beds room. Luckily I had one of the beds behind the blinds. All other three beds had patients in them. I talked to the nurse who told me that the psychiatrist from the clinic had forgotten to sign off my meds or write something at all in my journal. So I had to wait and meet an on call psychiatrist so I could get my meds and get assessed again. What the heck?!? I needed a sedative so bad. I talked a bit to one nurse and my husband stayed until 8 p.m.. They tried to convince me to eat something but I didn't want to. Four (!!!!) hours later I finally met that psychiatrist and I had to tell my whole story because he hadn't had time to read my journal. He gave me a physical (he couldn't find me pulse first, and I had high blood-pressure due to my anxiety) and signed me in properly. I got a 3 and all my meds got listed and allowed. I watched an episode of Dexter (I had my netbook with me and they have wifi) and at around 1 a.m I took my Zoplicone and tried to sleep. That didn't work at all. At 2 a.m I had a bad breakdown, talked to a nurse for an hour, cried, cried, cried, got desperate, wanted to leave, cried some more, had bad spasms and restless legs, smoked at least 5 cigarettes, cried some more, talked some more, tried to sleep again, had a hot chocolate, cried again, telling them to just leave me alone and let me die. In all of this I tried to not disturb the other patients. I was sitting on a chair, close to the outter doors, as far away from the patients' rooms as possible. They convinced me to take a sedative and around  5 a.m. I finally fell asleep. So those were my first few hours at the psych unit.

GAH!

I really don't want to complain about this anymore. But the restlessness in my legs and arms is driving me nuts. I'm somewhat in pain too because my all my muscles are tensed all the time. The spasms aren't getting any better either. What annoys me the most is that I have tried to get help for it and I have been refused. My (new) psychiatrist told me that she can't prescribe anything for physical issues, even if it's withdrawal-symptoms from meds I'm getting from her. My GP doesn't really take the problem seriously. Sure, she tested my blood for all sorts of things and found out that I have hypothyroidism and vitamin D-defiency. But that's not what's causing my restless legs or the spasms. I know it is Propavan-withdrawal. But she she didn't listen. She just told me that she was glad she didn't prescrible L-dopa to me. L-dopa is the most common med against restless legs in Sweden. It has tons of side-effects. But at this point I wouldn't care. Give me anything, give me fucking horseshit to chew on if it is known to help! So what are my options? Take a whole dosage of Propavan again and give up forever to ever get off the pill. Or get through it and hope for the best. At the moment I'm sticking with the second option. Logically and stastistically, it should get better after a while. When I went down from a whole pill to a 3/4-pill I got restless legs and spasms three weeks after that. It was really bad for two to three weeks and then it got a bit better. So I went down to half a pill about three weeks ago. So in about two to three weeks it might get better. That's what I need to focus on. If in one month from now it has gotten any better, I'll give up. I could talk to my GP again but really, I don't think she will listen. Restless legs is something old people have, she said. And she totally ignored my comments about the Propavan. Another thing I could do is take Oxazepam. It didn't help before and I don't think it would help much now. But it is muscle-relaxing and it could reduce the anxiety I'm getting from this. So maybe I should just turn to good old benzo. 

Despite the damn issues I'm struggling with, I have been a good girl during the last two days. On Thursday I finally applied for a new ID-card and passport. I have been avoiding this so much because of the photo that has to be taken. I hate getting my picture taken, it gives me lots of anxiety and my self-hate always reaches new levels when I see myself on a photo. And especially those small photos for ID-cards and passports tend to look hideous! So I went to the police station and got my photo taken. I just asked the woman if my eyes were open on the photo, she said yes, and I told her to take the photo. I didn't want to look at the photo properly because I knew it would break me. I paid the 750 SEK (fucking expensive!), let them scan my fingerprints and signed. So that's finally done. Now I'll have to wait for another week and I can fetch the ID-card and passport. After that I went to the library (well, we, my hubby was with me, I don't think I have left the apartment on my own for months) to return some books, then to the post office to fetch a package full of books, then to the pharmacy and then to the supermarket to buy lots of fruit. On the way back to the car my legs gave in! It was really crazy, I was so weak. It must have been panic plus the restless legs. I was all dizzy and weird and I thought I was going to faint. So my hubby had to help me back to the car. I'm so dam pathetic!

Yesterday morning someone had to come into our apartment to check the ventilation system. They do that every few years, the law says so. I hate having strange people in my apartment! And I hate when they tell you that they will come somewhere between 8 a.m. and 4 p.m.. This only builds up extra-anxiety. The doorbell rang at 8.30 a.m., a young guy. I had just gotten up and was stll in my PJs. Anxiety, shame, trying to explain myself why I'm not normal and already up and busy early in the morning. I finally got the ultrasound of my thyroid done. I had to go to a clinic some miles from where we live to get that done. It was terrible to be in the waitingroom for half an hour because my legs were driving me crazy, I was in panic because there were so many people around and I just didn't want to seem weird and move around my legs all the time. T E R R I B L E! I was close to dissociating. When they called my name I first didn't even get that they meant me. I changed my last name when I got married and I'm not used to that yet. So they scanned my thyroid and it looks fine. The doctor there was really nice but that didn't help me much. I was on my back and someone was pressing a scanner against my throat. I was in panic! Well, at least I don't have an enlarged thyroid. Then we went grocery shopping and even to a shopping center to check one of their home improvement stores because we need new curtains. And it happened again: I got all weak, my legs were like rubber, I could barely stand up on my own. I really think it must be a combination of the withdrawal and panic/anxiety. My legs must be weak from all the spasms and I can't just walk around for hours. 

Today I have been super-anxious because of the withdrawal. But I'm trying to ignore all the bad stuff. I'm trying to keep busy. I have gotten a reply from my professsor, he has read my paper and he gave me an A. So yay, first paper/exam passed. I'm satisfied with myself. Now I hope I have passed the Russian-exam as well. Today I have worked on a paper that has to be in a few days and I have learned Russian vocabularies by heart. Trying to keep busy. Trying so hard. But I think I'll soon be standing in front of my medicine cabinet, taking out an Oxazepam. The anxiety is bad. Suicide is always a last resort in my head. Not good.

I'm still alive, hello again

Hello! Remember me? I'm still alive. I just haven't been able to connect with myself, with my creative side. I couldn't type anything concerning my feelings or thoughts, I have been disconnected. I'm not too sure if I'm actually back, back in my head, back in my body. I have been an empty shell. It has just been weird. I didn't want to force myself to write something, I would have just gotten desperate and sad. But tonight I felt like I should give it a try. It's almost one a.m. and I probably should be going to bed. Soonish.

So much has happened. And at the same time I'm still in the same state of mind as I was in my last post. It has been going up and down. Right at this moment I'm just sad and I feel totally worthless. I have been thinking a lot about suicide during the last few days. And it really doesn't help that my husband seems to have fallen into a depression too. He is complaining a lot, whining a lot and he is often desperate, sad. He is discussing things that could happen, like his sister dying, or him dying, or me dying. And he doesn't hold it in like I often do. He is really talkactivre about it. I'm trying to listen and to just validate his feelings. I think we are dragging each other down these days. We had a good moment today though. We took a nap (yes, nap, no interpretation needed there) together this afternoon, hugging tightly. It was warm and cozy. Maybe that helped him a bit. 

I have gotten into therapy and I meet my therapist once or twice a week. He is alright. He is maybe a few years older than me and he seems to be a typical Swede. I totally confused him with my style and he asked me things like if I was a satanist, if I worship death, if I use my looks as an armour against others. I think he now gets what goth is and that I dress the way I do because I find it aesthetically appealing. I like that we are discussing things. That we are reflecting. He is both a CBT and a psychodynamic therapist. But we are doing psychodynamic therapy, just sometimes he is offering a CBT point of view. I think I will be able to understand myself better one day. I think this kind of therapy is right for me because it is about intellectualizing issues instead of actually trying to change them by action. I need to understand to be able to act.

I'm still trying to get off the Propavan. It is hell! But this time I'm determined. I'm down to half a pill now. For a few weeks I had had the worst restless legs. I was crying a lot about it. I talked to both my new psychiatrist (she is alright, just a bit condescending at times) and my GP about it. None of them wanted to give me some meds for it because I'm too sensitive to meds. Great. I don't think they even understood that it is a withdrawal-symptom. Idiots. During the last two days mys spasms have come back. This morning I have been  almost paralyzed in bed for two hours, my muscles were so stiff and I had small spasms all over my body. But it has gone away by itself before so I hope it will do the same this time. The restless legs are back too. They have started again the other, day after I had exercised. They are not only restless, they also hurt weirdly. Maybe it's some muscle pain from the spasms. Same with my arms. But this time, this time, I will stop taking the Propavan. I'm not giving up again. It can't get much worse. But honestly, I'm feeling really sorry for myself. Self-pity.

I met my GP because of the restless legs. She is a nervous Russian woman with a bad accent. I often don't understand what she is saying. But she seems to really to want get to the root of things. I had to leave blood and urine samples twice. And it turns out that I have major vitamin D defiency and I have hypothyroidism. Now I at least know why I am fat. Boohoo. My mental issues probably don't come from my thyroid-issues but they could have been worsened by it. They have checked my thyroid-levels a lot during the last three years and they were always alright. So I was quite shocked when I got told that my thyroid is messed up. For three weeks I have now taken a synthetic thyroid-hormone (levaxin). I don't feel much of a change. My energy-levels are fluctuating. I can go from hyperactive to dead tired within an hour, and then back to hyperactive again. I'm on the lowest dosage at the moment. I'll get a ultrasound of my thyroid done this week. I should have gotten it done last week but the office was closed when I got there. I'm also taking vitamin D supplements. I wish I hadn't PTSD and social anxiety. My mood swings could be the thyroid though. We'll see. So basically, my mind and my body are ill and messed up.

My university-studies are going alright. I'm trying. I have had two exams the last two weeks. I really hope that I'll pass. I'm trying so hard. Unfortunately I have not been able to stick to any routines. My sleep is messed up so I just can't get up early. But I'm studying a few hours every day. I'm so thankful that there is something like distance learning. 

Most of my student benefits have gone to our flat. We have renovated the kitchen, painted the walls and all that. We have bought new lamps for the all rooms, we have hung up 10 posters, we have bought small decorative items. So now our flat is all goth and cozy. I really like what we have done. There are still a few more things we need to get done but I'm totally broke now. And there is some part of our car that needs to be repaired (don't ask me what ...) and that will cost us 3000 SEK. I'm used to being broke so I really don't care too much. 

Today I met my friend T. She came over. She is also suffering from mental illness so we don't need to pretend in front of each other. She seemed a bit medicated. She is taking three antipsychotics these days, eight meds altogether. Poor girl. It was really good to meet her. She only stayed for two hours though. I think her social anxiety got too strong. This was the first time I have actually met a friend since February. And I'm really exhausted. Being social is exhausting. I just wish I had more strength. I miss many of my friends. At the same time I really don't want to meet anyone. 

So my life is still somewhat pathetic. I'm really pathetic. But I am trying. Really trying. 

Barely alive but trying hard

I have been staring at a blank page all day, trying to come up with something I can write about. I have somehow lost the motivation and inspiration to write. I even scribbled down some topics I could discuss on a piece of paper. I have just been incapable of writing something that makes sense. So now I'm giving this another go. And as you can see, I'm writing. That's progress!

I'm going through a very bad period right now. This is definitely the worst I have felt for many many months. First off, I feel alone and lonely. I don't often feel that way because I think that having a rich social life is really something that society tells us is normal. But that's not true, we all have different personalities and preferences. But you know, I have been telling myself that I'm alright on my own, only with my man and my cats. But M said something the other day that made me cry later. He said that whenever I have been out, met people, talked to people, I lighten up, I get happy. And I know that it's true. I love talking with others, discussing things, learning things from others. I love putting make-up  and decent clothes on and go out. I love it. But my social anxiety has gotten so strong that I kind of lost that part of me. And I don't feel like I can be bothered to get that part back. There is too much pain involved, too much anxiety. The thing that bothers me the most right now is that I haven't met a single friend for a proper date since March! I know, that sounds crazy but that's the truth! I have had lots of mates and a few closer friends but they have all given up on me. I don't even get messages on Facebook anymore. The only people I text with are my social worker and my boyfriend/husband/man/the guy I live with. The same with phone-calls. It's my own fault, people just gave up on me. I always declined meeting them, going to parties, going to clubs, going to exhibitions. But now I want out of this exile I have created and there is no way out! So I feel incredibly lonely and alone. I feel like I am not connected to other humans anymore. I don't exist.

Depression has hit me hard. I can see all the signs and I know I'm in a deep depression right now. My psychiatrist agrees with that. Last week I have been crying my eyes out every day. My body was still twitching from the Seroquel-withdrawal, I had restless legs and I was so sad, sad, sad and anxious. All I had on my mind was how I was going to kill myself. Has it gotten any better?!? I don't know. I feel detached from reality most of the time. I try to avoid spending the days in bed but it's difficult. I don't eat. I have no creativity in me, no inspiration, no motivation. The moment I wake up I wish it was evening again so I could go back to sleep. And there are moments when I have the strong urge to die, to just jump off the balcony. To walk to the subway-rails and lay down and wait for the train to come. But then I remember that I have responsibilities, that I can't just leave. So yeah, proper depression. I'm just trying to make the best out of it, small steps every day. Cooking. Reading. Writing. Taking a shower. And still, I'm crying. I don't want to. I don't have the strength. Why can't the ground under me just open up and swallow me?!?

I met my psychiatrist in the beginning of this week. We discussed the twitching/spasms/weak legs/stiff muscles. He checked my arms and hands and said that they were fine. He said it will eventually go away. I believe him. I have to believe him. It has actually gotten a lot better during the last two days. The only thing that is still utterly annoying me are my legs. Sometimes I just want to chop them off. I'm also trying to get off the Propavan again. I think the Propavan has a lot to do with my dopamine-levels being messed up. So he gave me some instructions and I'm following them now. I'll take a 3/4 pill for a month, then down to 1/2, then down to 1/4 and then stop taking it. And I'll take Zoplicone every night. It still works for me, after all those years, because I've not been taking it regularly. But now that I do, I'm worried it will stop working eventually. We'll see. I'm also supposed to take a Valium in the morning and one in the evening due to my increased anxiety, depression, suicidality and restless legs. But you know me, I'd rather not do that. So far I haven't taken a single pill. But I might need to do that. I'm not too sure if Valium works for me, the half pill I took some weeks ago didn't do shit. The whole pill I took gave me difficulties to breathe. I know that I'm stupid not following my doctor's advice. I don't know, maybe it's still the punishing myself thingy. I once got told that I'm using "not taking sedatives" as a way to self-harm. That might be true! Maybe I should just go back to the Oxazepam. I told my psychiatrist that I never want to try new psych-meds again. He said that all I have left is my own strength and therapy. And hospital every now and then. He actually said that, someone with my gravity of mental illness won't be able to stay away from hospital forever. I so didn't want to hear that. It was our last appointment before he quits. I'm supposed to call him next week, maybe I'll get some dopamine-pills. We hugged and wished each other good luck with our future endavours. 

I'm trying to stay positive. I cancelled on my social worker this week so I can just focus on finding some kind of strength. Next week my university-studies will start. I have already registered, I have looked at the lists for literature I need. I have read some introduction-texts. I know what will come, I have seen deadlines, topics and exams that I need to pass. I hope I can handle two courses at the same time. This weekend I'll spend on looking for books I need on the internet. I have checked my bank-account and I'll get my student-benefits next Monday. For the first time in 9 months I'll actually have money on my account. But that money is already spent in my head: new ID-card and passport, books, petrol, the paint for our kitchen. It doesn't matter. I can actually spend money! Next Tuesday I'll also have the first meeting concerning the psycho-dynamic therapy. They'll evaluate me. I'm really nervous about it. I hate having to make a good first impression. I'll probably just sit there, shake because of anxiety, move my restless legs and hope that I don't get a freak out and run off. I need this therapy. So things are going to happen next week. On Monday evening I'll have my first chat for the philosophy course. On Tuesday morning I'll meet the psychologist. On Wednesday the Russian course starts. I need to focus on those things. Change. I'll have totally new routines. This autumn things might finally get moving for me again. Take a pill or two. And breathe! (And chop off your legs!)

RESTLESS

My legs have been driving me crazy during the last few days. And the restlessness is also creating more anxiety because I'm getting nothing done at all. And I've been googling my issues so much just to find reassurance that it will go away soon. That everything will go back to my normal state of depression and anxiety. But all I have found are terrible stories about how it has even gotten worse for people! I have read on some more reliable websites that the "extrapyramidical" withdrawal-symptoms most likely stay in the body for up to four months. For some people they will never disappear. I have only taken the stupid Seroquel for a little more than three weeks, how can I suffer from this? I mean, the damn restlessness in my legs came about a week after I have stopped taking it. I also have a very tensed jaw all the time. And I'm too scared to only take the Propavan during the night because the one time I tried I had muscle-spams in my whole body which was really awful. So now I'm taking Zoplicone every night. Not good. I have read about people who have had muscle-spams and akathasia even years after having stopped with the Seroquel. They are bound to bed and their lives have been destroyed. And of course I'm now worried that that will happen to me too. But it hasn't gotten worse for me yet. This morning, for about two hours, I didn't have any restless legs at all. It has just started again.

So what to do? Should I wait it out? I have been trying to avoid sedatives because I just don't want to take them regularly. I'm just not someone who goes and takes a pill right away. My husband thinks that I should call my psychiatrist. But I feel like I have annoyed him enough already, called him twice two weeks ago. And I have an appointment with him in six days anyway. So what I have done is to write down a list of things I need help with. If the restlessness doesn't go away, I need some medication for that, at least for a short period of time. He will probably be really confused that I'm having these withdrawal-symptoms but I had told him from the beginning that I don't work with meds. And I need to get off the Propavan. I guess I'll get to hear that I need to take benzodiazipines for a while, regularly. I guess I'll have to live with that. 

I'm not angry with my psychiatrist. He was really convinced that the Seroquel would help me. He maybe should have listened more to my arguments, that I always get side-effects, that I have always gotten worse from meds, instead of better. But on the other hand, I was the one putting the pill in my mouth, swallowing it. Although I knew better. So I'm really really angry with myself. I knew better! So I guess that's one of the reasons why I don't take any sedatives right now, because I unconsciously think that I deserve to feel like this. I like punishing myself. I should have listened to reason and not hoped for getting better. I knew that something like this would happen! So I'm really angry at myself. I'm so damn stupid!

My anxiety is really bad because of the restlessness. I can't sit still. I mean, I do sit still but there is always this urge to move around. I change positions all the time. I tried to exercise the other day because I thought it would make it better but my legs are so damn weak! It just didn't work out. In two weeks I'm supposed to start up my university-studies again. How will I manage that when I'm like this?

I have become suicidal again. We watched "Iron Man 3" the other day and there was a scene when Tony Stark is standing on a cliff. And all I could think about is how nice it would be to be at that cliff and just jump. And this feeling of wanting relief hasn't gotten any better. I think I'm really depressed. I am indifferent and very sad at the same time. I just don't have any mojo. I would right at this moment love to be standing on those cliffs and prepare to jump. Fortunately all our windows have locks so I can't jump from any of the windows. You know, we live on the sixth floor. And at one time I tried to jump out of our bedroom-window but my boyfriend saw me and wrestled me down. So since then we can't open any of the windows wholly, just a few inches. And I suppose that's good when I have feelings like I'm having right now.

I'm electrified - withdrawal and side-efffects hell

I'm exhausted. My whole body is in some kind of tensed mode. All my nerves and muscles are tensed, it's not painful, it's more like being constantly electricuted. Last night I decided to not take Zoplicone and just take a Propavan for sleeping. I just don't want to take too much Zoplicone due to the danger of getting addicted to it. And I have done like this for years, take a Zoplicone twice a week or so when I really needed to fall asleep because I had something important planned the next day. What I didn't think of was that I'm probably still in some kind of withdrawal-state because of the Seroquel.

I had no trouble falling asleep around 2 a.m. after having read for about an hour and having cuddled with my cats. But once I had fallen asleep the terror began. First off, I had terrible nightmares. Those I often get when taking Propavan and no Zoplicone. I dreamt about wanting to take a plane to Senegal of all places. I have never even given that country a second thought in my life. But I couldn't find the gateway, ended up in a toilet and witnessed a women getting raped and tortured. Really weird fucked up nightmare. I woke up many times during the night because of spasms and cramps. So terrible! I got those when I tried to stop taking Propavan and even sometimes randomly while being on the Propavan. It's like my body is in stupor and there are weird electric shocks going through it. And my legs and arms, even the rest of my body somehow, start moving, cramping, like a dying fish on land. And this morning it took me about an hour to get out of bed because the feeling was still left in my whole body. I guess the withdrawal from the Seroquel and the Propavan side-effects work together here. Some devilish coalition. My jaw is really tensed too. The feeling hasn't really disappeared out of my body yet. So I have taken a sedative about ten minutes ago (Oxazepam) because I know sedatives are muscle-relaxing. And I have anxiety anyway because of this terrible feeling. My whole body aches! GAH! So tonight and probably the following few nights I'll take a Zoplicone. That has helped before against the weird spasms and cramps I get from the Propavan. I have an appointment with my psychiatrist on the 26th and I'll definitely take that up with him. I need to stop taking the Propavan and I need help with that. I have read up on it (I really shouldn't google things but I was so freaked out by this) and there are many people who are getting spasms of Propavan. Plus for a few months now I sometimes have this weird movement of my mouth/lips that I can't control. That can come from the Propavan too. So once I'm through with the Seroquel withdrawal, I need to get off the Propavan. And as it didn't work out last time with reducing the dosage, I need some help. Maybe some meds or something that will get me through it. Honestly, these spasms freak me out. I hope they are gone tomorrow and the Zoplicone tonight helps. I'm getting married in two days and I really don't want to stand there, having spasms and cramps and no control over my body. It just feels right now as if something is seriously wrong.

On a positive note: the rash and the itching are gone. That's such a relief! This shows that I have actually had an allergic reaction to the Seroquel. I'm glad that I have stopped taking it. Who knows, maybe I had gotten an allergic shock eventually. I'm so over psych-meds. 

I received a letter today, telling me that I have an appointment with a therapist on September 3rd. This is making me really happy! Finally things are happening. I'll try so hard to convince that guy that psychodynamic therapy is right for me. It would be really great if I'd be accepted. I'll have an autumn where things are finally moving forward, no standing still anymore. Studies and therapy. Routines and stability. 

I'm not doing so bad mentally right now. I'm not depressed or sad. I'm a bit anxious because of the weird things happening with my body. But I'm not overworried. I tend to be really hypochondriac but even though all the symptoms are terrible I can keep calm. I think because the rash and the itching have disappeared, I'm convinced that the spasms and cramps are temporary as well. Let's hope so. Right now I'm a bit freaked out because I can't really feel my hands. Gosh, I hope the Oxazepam will make me a bit tired so I can take a nap. That's what I need. A nap.

One day it will all be over

The itching is a bit better today. It's still itching but it is definitely not as bad as yesterday. The palms of my hands are still swollen and somehow burning. But my face looks so much better. But it is still itching, especially on my arms and my back. I did something that I have actually been avoiding due to my hypochondriac tendencies. I googled withdrawal symptoms of Seroquel. I can't believe that people still get this medication! Poeple lost their eye-sight, got strokes, got heart-attacks and most people get the itching and burning that I'm experiencing right now. I'm really relieved that I actually stopped taking the med after just three weeks on it. Otherwise I probably would have had to take it for the rest of my life because getting off it would have been impossible with my ubersensitivity to medications. So yeah, I'm still itching but it feels like it's getting better. I feel a tad weak and this morning I was really close to throwing up. Most people experienced the itching for two or three weeks so at least I know now that there is an end to it. 

Getting off yet another med because of bad side-effects has led me to the conclusion that this is it. I don't want to try any new medications/antidepressants/moodstabilizers/antipsychotics. People always say that I have to endure side-effects and have to try out all the meds avaiable before giving up. Well, if I had a bacteria infection and I knew that there is an end to it, I might have to take the antibiotics for a few weeks, maybe months, yeah, I would try out everything avaiable. But when it comes to psych-meds I'm not thinking like that. It's because I'd have to take them for years and years to come. Why? Because I have several diagnosis, it's not just one infection. Anyway, I don't want to try out any more meds. I guess I slightly hope that they will get somewhere with neurological research and somewhat come up with a simple solution to mental illness. Like lobotomy but less invasive and more studied. On the news they said yesterday that they have found out that the genes of people with mental illness are the same,that there is a genetic disposition. And they came to the conclusion that mental health is mostly genetic and not enviromental. That's a huge find. But of course no one cares because they'd rather think that we have done something wrong than that there is something wrong with the genes, something we have no control over.

So I have given up on meds. I have given up on the hospital as well. But not totally. I can't rule out that I'll be admitted again. That will be periods when I need to be safe. But I want to avoid that as much as possible. One of my biggest fears is getting sectioned, to be admitted against my will. But I doubt that will happen. I'm a reasonable person, even when I'm anxious or really low. So I know what to say and how to act to not get sectioned. Then there's therapy. My psychiatrist told me that he doesn't think that therapy will help me. He said that therapy will only make me understand but it will never heal me. Yeah. I have tried out CBT and DBT. I don't like being told what to do without any proper explaination. The causal correlation between the past and the present, between my actions and my memories has never come up. I can't do that. I need to reflect, to discuss, to learn. So CBT and DBT (which was the totally wrong therapy for me!) didn't work out. I hope that psychodynamic therapy might at least help me to understand. If I understand and accept I might be able to change things, I might be able to gather more strength. I want my recovery to be on my terms and psychodynamic therapy seems to be right for that. But who knows, maybe I won't get in. I still haven't heard from them. It's been six months since my last therapy session. 

So, without meds, will I ever get better? And without therapy? I feel like I'm stuck right now. Nothing has moved forward for a year. In and out of hospital last year, several times. This year has so far only been about standing still. There has been no improvement (how - withou therapy?). I'm starting to give up hope. Honestly, in my head I have already given up. I don't believe that there's any help out there for me. They give me diagnosis after diagnosis, they give me med after med, they put me in and out of hospital. They don't know what to do with me. I'm too complicated, I'm not just a "simple" depression or have BPD or have social anxiety disorder. Nope, I have several things. And they don't know how to help me. I feel like that there is no help for me to get. 

If I were religious, I would let God take care of me. Well, I'm not religious, I don't believe in God, energies or anything spiritual. So where do I turn to? Nowhere. I only have myself. For now I'll take each day as it comes. I'm not in a deep depression right now. I'm depressed, yes, but I'm not awfully suicidal. My anxiety is there but bearable. So I'll just carry on. Day by day,. There are things happening in my life. In three days I'm getting married. In three weeks my university studies start again. I have things to look forward to. And I'm content about these things, but not happy. I'm never happy because even the things that should bring my happiness are always somehow connected to anxiety, worries and so on. Like: I have gained so much weight I'll look stupid in my wedding outfit. Like: I'm afraid I'll fail the courses because I'm doing too bad. So my point is: I'll just carry on, take each days as it comes and not think of the terrible, meaningless future ahead of me. But there will be a day when I won't be able to fight anymore. And that will be the day I'll commit suicide. I knew that day would come, even when I was a small child. I always knew that I'll die of my own hand. And I'm alright with that. It won't happen tomorrow and probably not this year. But maybe in five years, maybe in ten years. The day will come. And I'm alright with that. I have made my peace with the thought that I'll kill myself. Because I know that there isn't any proper help out there for me. No one can help me. And that's okay.

I've told all this to my social worker the other day. I have no clue if that was right or wrong. I explained it to him logically. He didn't say anything. He probably thought that I won't be his problem when the day comes anyway. So he just pretended to listen and hoped that he'd be able to leave my flat soon because all this negativity was making him bored. I know, I know, I can't know what he was thinking. But that's how I felt he was thinking because there was no response coming from him.

I know this post isn't overly positive. But I feel like I have made peace with the thought that there is no proper help out there for me. And I have a plan that makes it feel okay. One day it will all be over. Maybe that day will never come and I'll die of old age, with an uneventful, meaningless life behind me. Who knows.

Itching, burning, scratching - Seroquel you bastard!

I know, I promised some more entries the other day but I was busy with an ITCH that is  all over my body. Sounds weird? Well, let me explain.

My skin had been weird the moment I started taking the Seroquel. But I blamed it on the dry air and the sun. We haven't had much rain this summer and it had been quite hot. And I have quite weird skin due to the PCOS, hormone imbalance. That means that I still get pimpels, I bascially never have clear skin. But thanks to make-up, concealer and powder, most people don't see my ugly face much. Anyway, so my back was a bit itchy and my arms. But then it exploded. I got HUGE bumps on my skin, in my face, my arms and my legs. And the rest of my skin was itching and burning like hell. It wasn't the same kind of itch that I had from the Lamictal but I kind of had the same feelings, feverish, weak and confused. I had just called my psychiatrist a day before about the restless legs I get from Seroquel/Quetiapine and he had told me to take sedatives against that. So I didn't want to call him again because I hate being annoying and bothering other people too much. 

But on Thursday I couldn't take it anymore. The big blops really looked weird and most of my body was itching and the rash had spread. So I called my psychiatrist to ask him if it could have anything to do with the Seroquel. He told me to stop taking it because it could be some kind of allergic reaction. So I haven't taken the med since Thursday. 

I don't have any new rash and the big ones in my face are getting smaller. The ones on my arms have disappeared. But my skin is still acting up. I have small spots/dry spots in my face. And my whole damn body is constantly itching. It is so annoying! Oh, and the restless legs syndrome is gone. I also have a little bit of asthma and itchy eyes. But that could be from my cat, I sometimes get that. But the itching, oh gosh! Sometimes it's almost burning, especially on my palms and the soles of my feet. My face feels hot all the time. Even my scalp is burning. And everything else is itching itching itching. GAH!

I read up on it and many people get the itching as a withdrawal-symptom from the Seroquel. And as I'm ubersensitive to meds I even get withdrawal symptoms after only 3 weeks on the med. Lucky me. I have given it a thought if I might be allergic to something else as well. I mean, because the big spots/bunbs are getting weaker and I haven't gotten any new ones I can be quite sure that they were caused by the Seroquel. But the itching?  I don't think it's our new kitten, we have had him for almost a month, I should have gotten symptoms much earlier. And I haven't eaten anything new that I'm not used to. We are using a fairly new fabric softener but we have been using that one for almost two months. And the symptoms I have are not typical cat-allergy. And if I was allergic to the fabric softener, I'd have a rash where my clothes touch my body. Well, I don't. It's just itching and burning everywhere! Even in my vagina! In my ears. Fortunately not in my mouth. GAH!

So I guess I'll just have to wait and see. I am quite convinced that this itching is a withdrawal symptom, especially because it got really really bad when I stopped taking the med. Before that I had a bit of an itch but the rash and the bumps looked much worse. Another withdrawal-symptom I have is weakness in my legs. I have fallen twice because I suddenly lost all feeling in one of my legs. Yay. I also have a headache which is really persistent.

I've taken 12,5 mg Atarax so I could get rid of the itching. It helped a bit but my face and my palms are still burning. And I'm really tired and I'll most likely have a hangover soon. I have bought Bepathen for the weird dry burning spots in my face and hopefully it will help. I also put some on my palms but they burn just as much as before. Really, I hope this will go away soon. 

I will never take any antidepressant, mood-stabilizer or anti-psychotic medication again. I'm done. They make me suffer, they make me feel even worse mentally and physically than I am without meds. That's it. I'm so angry at myself for letting myself be convinced to try out the Seroquel. The doctor shouldn't have suggested it in the first place. I can't take meds, period. 

*yawn*

I'm on my own right now so I thought I'd spend some time on the internet before I give it a try to exercise. It's really hot today so I'm not too sure how long I can actually sit on my exercise-bike. But a few minutes exercise is better than no exercise at all I guess. My mum has arrived two days ago and since then I really haven't had a calm moment. She's constantly talking. She has been through a lot lately, with the divorce and everything. So I understand that she needs to talk about it. But I'm not that receptive right now. Luckily my boyfriend is there too so he can say more than my "mmmm", "okay" and "I see".

I'm still on the Quetitapine/Seroquel. I tried to call my psychiatrist on Tuesday but he's on vacation. Just my luck. I can't really say yet what the meds is doing to me. The restlessness in my legs comes and goes. And it can really get to the point where I'm just pacing up and down the hallway. It's a terrible feeling and it can drive me crazy. But it's not there constantly so that's good. I'm really tired, exhausted and sleepy. Sometimes I can barely keep my eyes open. That's a side-effect that has just come some days ago. I also still feel dizzy and weak sometimes. I still feel more stable though. I haven't had any suicidal tendencies since I started taking the med. I haven't cried, I haven't been sad. But I have anxiety and panic attacks. It's a bit worse than my normal anxiety. But if I'd take a sedative I'd just fall asleep because I'm so tired already. And at the moment I'm still taking the Propavan too which means a doubled hangover. Something needs to be done about the restlessness in my legs. Maybe it will go away by itself?!? Maybe I can take some med against it?!? Maybe it will disappear once the dosage is increased?!? I really need to talk to my psychiatrist about that but he won't be back until Monday. 

Two days ago we took the car to fetch my mum from the airport. I actually enjoyed the one hour drive. It was raining a bit, we had the windows open, I smoked, listened to the radio and talked nonsense with my boyfriend. It was relaxing. But when we arrived at the airport the sun was really hot and there were way too many people. So all the calm feelings I had inside of me kind of disappeared. The drive back wasn't as relaxing because my mum was constantly talking and well, she sometimes behaves like a teenager. For instance she screamed as if a bee had just stung her when she got some bubble water on herself. That kind of freaked me out. I hate when people scream! We had a nice evening though. I cooked dinner and the three of us just sat at the table in the kitchen and talked. Well, I was mostly staring out of the window but I listened and got really upset when I heard about all the rumours that my father has spread about my mum. 

Yesterday I was forced to get up early. Well, not really early for "normal" people, but early for me. And I was so hungover from the meds! Ush. We had a proper breakfast and then we went to a huge mall close to where we live. We wanted to check for clothes to wear at our wedding. As I said before, we don't want to make a big deal of the wedding, it will only be us anyway. But we both don't really own any "proper" clothes. My boyfriend found a pair of pants at a second hand store which look really good on him. It was just weird to see hm in something else than tight black jeans. I found a skirt at H&M (and a dress with small cats on it, really cute, but not for the wedding) and a pair of high heels with studs at a cheap shoe store. So now we have everything we need. We'll look proper. I was so exhauted! It was hot and buying clothes about the worst thing for me. Nothing ever fits, I always feel the judging looks people give me, like "how can she buy something here, she's way too fat"-looks. It's exhausting to get in and out of clothes and shoes for a few hours. And I was already tired because of the meds. So when my mum and my boyfriend decided that we should have lunch there, I panicked. I didn't show it but I guess they realized it because I got really snappy and grumpy. I hate eating out! We went to do some grocery shopping afterwards and I could barely stand straight anymore. I was so tired and exhausted. I could have just slept right on the floor at the supermarket. Ush. 

Today my mum and my boyfriend are in the town, taking one of those boats which goes around in the archipealague and then in the center of Stockholm. I called them an hour ago and they really seemed to enjoy themselves. My boyfriend loves to go out and my mum loves touristy things. I have decided that I'll go out with them tomorrow instead. The Pride Festival is going in Stockholm right now. You know, the LGBT-festival. And tomorrow they will have the parade so we will go and look at it. I don't know how long I can actually stand on my legs and if the heat will be bearable. But I'll give it my best. I want my mum to have fun and my boyfriend should enjoy his days off from work. I didn't complain anything yesterday (apart from being grumpy before lunch) and I won't complain tomorrow. Somehow I'm looking forward to it, somehow I'm not looking forward to it. Then on Sunday we'll have a day at home, maybe just take a walk down to the lake in the afternoon. The laundry needs to be done and we need to do the grocery shopping. On Monday it's my boyfriend's birthday and he wants to do something, to be out. So we'll take the car to Mariefred and visit Gripsholm castle. I guess I can always go and take a nap in the car if it gets too much. We'll either take picnic things with us or I'll pay for a meal. I still have that much money that I can pay for three lunches. On Tuesday we'll vist my boyfriend's aunt. And on Wednesday we'll drive my mum to the airport in the morning and in the early afternoon, T, my social worker will come and visit me. I actually cancelled on him this Tuesday because I hadn't slept much the night before and the restlessness in my legs was unbearable. So yeah, I have losts of things planned. And I still feel side-effects from my med. We'll see how that will work out.

I've been thinking about baking some chocolate-buns that we can have for tea and tomorrow for breakfast. And then there's still the exercise. I also need to make/create a birthday card for my boyfriend. I've also promised to cook dinner tonight. I guess I'll start with the card, then the exercise, then a shower, then bake the buns and then start dinner. I also want to read today, and watch another episode of American Horror Story. So I won't have a lazy day in my bed. Although that's actually what I wanted this morning. But instead I had breakfast with my mum and my boyfriend and once they left I cleaned the apartment a bit, opened the balcony windows, watered the flowers, took care of the cats, done the dishes and applied for student benefits. It's funny how people always think that the mentally ill are lazy bastards and do nothing. I can't even remember the last time I've just sat in front of the TV doing "Nothing".

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.