Stuck

Wow. I can't believe that it has taken me so long to get back in the mood for writing a blog-entry. I have the most lame excuse: I just can't get started with things these days, I can't focus and I basically lost all motivation. It could be a sign of depression or maybe it's just the fact that it's still winter and the lack of sunlight has drained me of energy. I think it's depression as I'm taking vitamin D - supplements and they should be helping me with lack of energy. It doesn't matter what the cause of my total indifference and concentration-issues is. Eh? Anyway, tonight I just thought I'd force myself to write a bit and hopefully it will put me in the mood for more things that I love doing. Or that I have planned. Or that I should be doing. So what has happened in my life during the last few weeks?

Mental health. I have had periods that were quite alright. But most of the time I have just felt dead inside. A huge feeling of indifference. Other days that indifference is replaced by mind-killing anxiety. Suicide thoughts come and go. Self-harm thoughts come and go. The worst is my lack of motivation. It has a lot to do with that I have given up. I don't believe I can get help for my mental health problems. I'm not in the state where I think that it can never get any better. I might have some okay-ish days. But I don't think I'll ever have any real capacity to make it out there in the world. I'll end up being dependent upon my husband, or the social services, maybe the health insurance. I feel like I'm incurable. It's not like I feel that I have it worse than others. It's just that I have tried everything, nothing worked. And I can't get bothered to try yet another med or therapy. So I have lot all interest in the future because I know I have a bleak future ahead of me. I have nothing to look forward to, no goals that I know I can reach. I'll spend the rest of my days in this apartment, in the evenings my husband will be here, I have my two cats but I'll basically be cut off from society, success, social life. And that's why I'm not motivated to do anything. Why bother? I have given up. A huge contributer to this state of mind is the fact that I have dropped out of therapy. Before anyone starts blaming me for my own situation, let me explain. I didn't really make the decision because I wanted to. My therapist, well, ex-therapist told me that we are not getting anywhere, that it is always about suicide-prevention and crisis-solving with me. He made feel guilty for being unstable. And that's what he literally said to me: You are not stable enough for therapy. I wanted to continue with therapy but he made me feel like I was taking up someone else's spot, someone who deserved it better than me. And not mention that it seemed to me like he didn't believe that I could be helped. Honestly, how can anyone be not stable enough for therapy!?! Isn't therapy there for making you stable and help you deal with your problems? So I dropped out of therapy because my therapist talked me into it. When I look at it now, I'm quite sure that he manipulated me into dropping out. Instead I was sent to see a counselor, just so I have some kind of psych-contact. I met that person once. She didn't know what to do with me. She told me that we can meet sometimes, just to talk. This really didn't seem like the greatest help in the world. So I feel stuck. If they ever think I'm stable enough to start therapy again, I'll be put on a waiting-list, a 5 months wait, at least. And honestly, I'm bipolar and I don't take any meds, how am I going to be stable for 5 months? I cancelled my last appointment with her. It just feels useless. I'm sure there are other people going through some life-crisis right now who need the time with her. So: no future, no proper help. Why fight if what I have right now is everything I'll ever get? Oh, and I have a new psychiatrist. A confused old lady. She must be around 70. She  had forgotten about our first appointment. She hadn't read my file and proposed all kinds of meds to me, and all of those I had already tried before (Seroquel, Lamictal, Prozac ....). She had also promised me to contact a neurologist about my legs. She forgot about that. I had to call her to ask her about it, over a month later, and she was like: oh, I must have forgotten. Yeah, right, maybe time to retire. So I doubt that she will be able to help me medical wise. I'll get prescriptions for Oxazepam and Zoplicone whenever I need it. I guess that's something.

Physical health. I have been very quite unlucky when it comes to my phsyical health as well. First off, I can be a bit of a hypochondriac. I think it has to do with my anxiety, my GAD. I notice every small problem I have, I give it too much attention and I get scared. And of course I always get scared that I might some serious illness that will lead to a slow and painful death. Like, they have tested my blood-sugar some weeks ago and it was a bit high. They thought it wasn't high enough to be diabetes and it could just be that I had eaten something beforehand. The same with my white blood-cells, they said that I had a few too many but it could just be a minor infection somewhere in my body. But in my head I have diabetes and incurable cancer. I am just a worrier I guess. So, almost four months after having being diagnosed with hypothyroidism I kind of thought that they should do another check-up, especially because I had been put on meds and I had no clue if they were working or not. The meds give me side-effects by the way: my skin got really bad, I have itches and I feel nausea. But I have had worse side-effects. So I called my GP's office and got told that she is taking a break from work (sounded more like she got suspended) and told me they'd tell another GP to get in touch with me. That other GP called me, I had to leave blood-samples and it turns out my hormone-levels are still bad. The "funny" thing is that I have never met that GP. Only spoken to him on the phone once. Did he give me an appointment so we can discuss the results? Did he at least call me? Nope. That idiot sent me a letter telling me that my levels are still bad and how to increase my meds. That person is supposed to be my GP! What the heck? I'm still fighting with restless legs and spasms. It has been six months now since this shit started. I have stopped taking the Propavan in the end of November for heaven's sake. But nope, I still suffer from it. In the beginning of January I couldn't take it anymore. So I went to the ER. I had to wait for 8 (!!!) hours and then got to meet a neurologist. She examined me and decided to prescribe Sifrol to me. That's a Parkinson-medication but it is known to help with restless legs too. Well, but my fear of meds and side-effects got the best of me. This medication has side-effects such as depression, impulsivity, anxiety, psychosis. Honestly, not the best medication for someone with mental illness. I have still been fighting with the restless legs and spams daily. Some days it is so bad that I'm just in bed crying. I just can't try the med, I don't trust meds anymore. I'm really sure that it won't help and that I will just get bad side-effects. The neurologist from the ER called me this week to ask me how it is going. And I just told her the truth, that I have a history of bad reactions to medications and that I'm too scared to take the med. So she wants to book in a scheduled stay at the hospital for me so I can be observed while starting with the med, in case I get any bad reactions. I don't know. I'm really thankful that she called and that she understands and that she wants to help. It kind of feels like I would take someone else's spot, some stroke-patient who needs to be put on meds, someone with MS that needs to get their meds changed. Sure, I suffer badly but it is not life-threatening. I don't know. She said it will take some weeks until I will hear from them so who knows, maybe the restless legs and spasms have disappeared until then. Okay, I know, that is unlikely. We'll see.

So there you go. This is what I have been fighting with lately. This isn't all to be honest. But it is late now, I want to go to bed. I'll write some more tomorrow.

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 Three - no goodbyes yet

Friday. I didn't get much sleep during that night either. I had nightmares and I woke up in the middle of the night and threw up because I had a panic attack. I was still a wreck and spent all morning in bed, crying. I was so sad and scared. I was scared because I was going to be sent home. I just didn't feel like I would be safe at home. I was still suicidal and at the same time I realized that I had to start fighting. 

My room-mate had her meeting with J and she told me that he seemed to be in a good mood. You know, I was totally convinced that he would send me home. He had said he would. I had the meeting quite late, it felt like he was avoiding me. I had already packed my bags and basically only waited for him to discharge me. But he didn't send me home! He had talked with the staff and from what he had heard, he didn't think I was ready to go back home yet. I was quite relieved. I mean, I hated being there but I knew I wasn't ready. He told me that he wouldn't let me switch units, that I'm not allowed to have a choice when it comes to these things. He also said that he had heard that I don't feel like we get along. But according to him, a patient and a doctor don't need to like each other. It is his job to help me and we should have a professional relationship, no matter if we like each other or not. I really respected that and was quite shocked that he actually brought that up. He also tried to explain what he meant with that I don't have a personality. He basically meant that I don't know who I am and where I am in my life, where I am heading. He thinks I'm lost and kind of lost touch with myself. He might be right about that. Since my mental illness had gotten worse, I questioned everything about myself. My life-long goals now seem unreachable. I have lost touch with myself in the sense that I don't know who I am right now. I knew before who I was and knew who I wanted to be. But now I don't even think who I can be, I am stuck in the now, without any real sense of identity. I have been eaten up by my mental illness, it's not like that I am my mental illness, it is more like that I am nothing anymore since I have become ill. So how do I actually find back to myself? Will I ever be able to find myself again or will I be lost in nothingness forever? Oh, and we talked about my restless legs and spasms and how much that is contributing to my current state of mind. He decided to contact a neurologist for me so I could get a proper examination and the right meds. He knows me and how sensitive I am to medication so he didn't want to just give me something. I was really grateful for that because damn it, this nerve-spasm/restlessness is really destroying my life!

My husband was really disappointed that I wasn't coming home. He had basically just waited for me to call him and tell him to fetch me. I am really not all that open to him when it comes to how I am feeling and what has been going on at the hospital. Just a few days ago he had threatened me to leave me because he couldn't take my suffering and inability to fight anymore. So I didn't want to make things worse by telling him the total truth. He came to visit me in the evening again. We even went out for a walk. But my legs gave in, they were shaking and I had to sit on a bench for 15 minutes before we could go back in again. So terrible! 

I spent the night studying. I had fallen behind so bad! So I had to write a short paper on Nietzsche's perception of history and I actually managed to do that. At a freaking psych unit. Someone should give me some credit for that! I had taken all my sedatives that day so I was pretty calm  when I went to bed. Well, apart from my legs, they were driving me crazy! I watched some Dexter-episodes, took my Zoplicone and actually fell asleep before three 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.

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. 

My wedding day. Anxiety-hell

I got married two days ago. But I've been doing so badly with the damn restlessness in my legs that I couldn't be bothered to  write a post about it. Actually, I have gotten so far in my thoughts that I would like to surgically remove my legs. It's just driving me insane. I don't think this will ever go away so hopefully I'll get used to it with time. I could take sedatives because they tend to help but how is that a solution? Right, now I've started this with a lot of complaining again. All I wanted was to write about my "wedding".

So we had booked an appoointment at the town house/citizen center at 4 p.m. on Thursday. We didn't want any huge celebration or an actual party. There were three reasons for that: 1. we didn't have the money to actually host a party with a venue, music and food  2. I just didn't want my dad to be there because that would have meant that I had to dress and behave the way he wants to, and I didn't want my mum to be there because she would have overdone it. I mean, she called me the day before we got married and asked if I was going to have any flowers. It would look beautiful on the wedding-pictures. Erm, no. and 3. I have social anxiety and I just wouldn't have been able to get through a whole day where the focus is on me. I can't even meet friends or take the subway, how could I  able to survive my own wedding? So yeah, it was only me and my boyfriend.

I spent two hours to fix myself up. I didn't want to be overdressed. I just wanted to look "proper" and beautiful for my boyfriend. I wasn't overdressed, I looked goth but wasn't looking like I was on my way to the clubs. I was quite satisfied with the way I looked although I would have loved to weight around 20 kg less. I had terrible spasms in my arms and legs and felt really weak. I could barely stand on my legs. I started to worry that I had gotten some serious nerve damage due to the meds. That caused me some extra-anxiety. I was already anxious about the whole procedure. I had expectation-anxiety: I was imagining myself throwing up in front of a lot of people because of anxiety, or just running away because of a panic attack.

So I wasn't happy and excited. I guess that's what most people are on their wedding-day. I just wanted to get it over with and get back home. The spasms were painful, my legs were so weak and I had a lot of anxiety. So we drove to the place, walked in there (I actually had to wear socks in my high-heels because of some weird reason, my feet have shrunken and my shoes were too big all of the sudden. But as I was wearing black stockings, no one could really see it). I was shaking and just wanted to get out of there. I tried so hard to focus on my boyfriend so I wouldn't totally panic. You know, I wanted to marry him. I just wasn't happy about the whole procedure, me having to go out, having to actually be present and all that. I would have preferred to do it over the internet, some clicks and done. It has nothing to do with that I'm not romantic. Actually, while writing this post I discussed the issue with my boyfriend. I would (and he as well) have been much happier, more content, more excited about getting married via the internet. I wish that option would have been avaiable. So I didn't have to deal with all the negative symptoms of my illnesses. I hate anxiety and it kind of has destroyed my wedding day. But I hadn't expected anything else.

Anyway, we walked in there and there was this huge waiting area with wooden benches. And there were at least 50 people sitting, waiting for their appointment with the social services, the health insurance and the police. We were told to sit down somewhere and wait. So that was when the little bit of romantic feeling that I had got killed. Instead panic won! I was sitting there, my legs were involuntarily moving and I had the big urge to just run away. I focused on my boyfriend, held his hand, stared at the floor. I didn't even think about that I was getting married. I was indifferent to the whole thing. I started to dissociate and still damn worried about my legs just giving up on me. I wanted to get home. I hated the children staring at me. I was convinced people were whispering about us. I wanted to get away.

After about 15 minutes we got called in to a room. It looked like a room that was barely used. It was really dark in there. No one had bothered to turn the lights on I guess. Two women and a man followed us in. The man was the wedding officiant, the other two were witnesses to sign the papers. They didn't ask us for our ID-cards, nothing. We gave them all our papers, they got stamped, things were printed out. Then he asked us if we wanted to have the long or the short version. We both replied silmuntanously "short". You know, my boyfriend has anxiety iusses too and he was white as a ghost. I was worried he would faint or just throw up. Anyway, he asked us if we wanted to marry each other. We said yes. He said that we could exchange rings now. We didn't have any rings. He signed the papers. We didn't have to sign anything. We shook hands. We asked him to take a picture of us (my mum would have KILLED me if there hadn't been a picture). And that was that.

Then we went to sit in the car and smoke a cigarette. We kissed and both said that we were glad that it was over. We didn't want the "getting married" thing, we just wanted "to be married". So now we are married. We went home and had some cake. We got tons of phone-calls, sms, cards and Facebook-messages that day. Honestly, we counted, over 250 people contacted us. I have a lot of friends because I have lived in two countries and my family is huge. So yeah. Anyway, think if all those people would have come to our wedding. It would have been terrible for me. We later just sat on the bed and watched two movies. We ate junk food. We cuddled the cats. That's what makes me happy. Being together with my little family. Not a huge fake-romantic party!

So I'm married now. It doesn't feel any different to just being together. I have handed in papers to change my last name to my husband's (how weird it is to write "husband") and they said it will only take a few days for it to be approved. So I'll get rid off the name that connects me to my father. It will be the best feeling in the world, to see my  new name on an envelope. It's like finally getting my dad out of my life. He actually called me on my wedding-day. We maybe talked for a minute and he congratulated me. I was surprised about that. In some way I was happy that he at least had the decency to call. My mum had texted me all day long and we talked on the phone a few times. My brother wrote to me on Facebook and my sister and I skyped for an hour the next day. So my family didn't forget about me, despite all the shit that is going on right now with the divorce of my parents. 

I'm happy to be married. I think. I'm actually still a bit indifferent which has a lot to do with the weird spasms, the restlessness, the anxiety. I haven't had a moment where I could actually feel what it's going on inside of me. So yeah, my illness has destroyed my wedding-day for me. I couldn't focus on being happy. But it doesn't matter. I have done it, it's behind me and our relationship is in a new phase now. Sadly enough we didn't have any wedding-sex. We never have sex anyway. So yeah.

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.