Dammed

Hey

That was a nasty blip.

It seems to be subsiding a bit at the moment, but I can still feel it there at the back of my mind, lurking like a storm cloud, waiting to burst.

I think it has to do with therapy last week. That's the first time I've really talked about he who left me in a while, and more specifically the emotions I have about it. Usually I just keep them all bottled up inside.
I think therapy was a bit like making a small hole in a dam -- it isn't as easy as all that.
You can't make one little hole and just let a trickle come out.
The whole lot wants to come gushing out.

I think that's a big problem with borderline personality disorder -- there really is no middle ground. Its an all or nothing kind or thing. Or, at least, I haven't found the middle ground yet.
I'm working on it.

So what do I do?

Keep everything bottled up? Because clearly it doesn't all stay put -- I do get angry, and I continue to hurt.
Letting it out doesn't feel like an option -- my propensity to become uncontrollable is far too terrifying.

In the USA the answer seems to be DBT -- a kind of therapy where the therapist more or less acts as a surrogate parent, more or less holding the clients emotions until they learn the control they never learned as a child. But that takes trust, and money, and I don't have much of either at the moment.

I guess I better keep my finger in the dyke for a little longer...

Bad day

I'm having the worst day I've had in about a month.

But its not PMS.

It could be because it's our anniversary this week, or it would be, if we were still together.

I feel terrible at the moment.

I'm not sure if I want to cry or rage. Or both.

I miss him so much, it still hurts so much.

I shall take a sleeping pill, and go to bed.

If a tree falls in the woods..

... and there's no one there to hear it, does it still make a noise?

I was reminded of that saying in therapy yesterday.

If I express my anger at someone but they are not there to know that I am doing so, is that enough to let me work through the anger?
Because somehow it doesn't feel like it is enough.

And then I remembered he who left me telling me about someone else who was angry with him.
I have no idea who she was. Is.
He just said she used to phone him up periodically to shout at him, and that it scared him that she was still so angry after so long.
God, how I wish I'd asked more questions!

But I know how she felt.

It's difficult, when you're stuck with all these emotions, and it doesn't feel as if there is anywhere for them to go, because the place where it seems that they belong refuses to accept them.
What are you supposed to do with them?

And I wonder if that is the life pattern for he who left me?
A kind of tessellation of angry people, left behind; never meeting; never overlapping; and him just moving on when real emotions get involved.

Its hard to feel angry with someone and sorry for them at the same time.

Dolphin

There was a dead dolphin washed up on the beach today.

A smallish one, but definitely a dolphin.

The kids stood and looked at it.

Number two daughter always said she wanted to see a dolphin close up, but she didn't mean like that.

I'll be pleased when this weather improves.

Storm

So far the storm-force winds have brought down more than half a dozen tiles off of the roof.
Every morning there are more, the slate smashed to pieces on the ground.

On the lowest parts of the roof the gaps are visible, like missing teeth. The rain is starting to come in, and it isn't going to get any better if I go on ignoring it.

Looks like a visit from the roof-dentist might be in order.

Narcissus

Dear momma's boy
I know you've had your butt licked by your mother
I know you've enjoyed all that attention from her
And every woman graced with your presence after
Dear narcissus boy
I know you've never really apologized for anything
I know you've never really taken responsibility
I know you've never really listened to a woman

Dear me-show boy
I know you're not really into conflict resolution
Or seeing both sides of every equation
Or having an uninterrupted conversation

And any talk of healthiness
And any talk of connectedness
And any talk of resolving this
Leaves you running for the door

(why why do I try to love you
Try to love you when you really don't want me
To)

Dear egotist boy
You've never really had to suffer any consequence
You've never stayed with anyone longer than ten minutes
You'd never understand anyone showing resistance
Dear popular boy
I know you're used to getting everything so easily
A stranger to the concept of reciprocity
People honor boys like you in this society

And any talk of selflessness
And any talk of working at this
And any talk of being of service
Leaves you running for the door

(why why do I try to help you try to help you
When you really don't want me to)

You go back to the women who will dance the dance
You go back to your friends who will lick your ass
You go back to ignoring all the rest of us
You go back to the center of your universe

Dear self centered boy
I don't know why I still feel affected by you
I've never lasted very long with someone like you
I never did although I have to admit I wanted to
Dear magnetic boy
You've never been with anyone who doesn't take your shit
You've never been with anyone who's dared to call you on it
I wonder how you'd be if someone were to call you on it

And any talk of willingness
And any talk of both feet in
And any talk of commitment
Leaves you running for the door

(why why do I try to change you try to
Try to change you when you really don't
Want me to)

You go back to the women who will dance the dance
You go back to your friends who will lick your ass
You go back to being so oblivious
You go back to the center of your universe

By Alanis Morissette

Un-fare

I've just found out that the return train fare from my brother's to here is just under £100.

It's too much.

He was going to come and see me next month, so I didn't feel quite so isolated, but he can't afford it, so it looks like I won't be seeing anyone after all.

Me? Angry that I'm stuck up here, alone, in this god-forsaken miserable forgotten corner of the country that someone once described to me as the arse-end of the universe?

Perish the thought.

Breathing

I realised today that for the first time in as long as I can remember, my life has some kind of sense of slowing down.

It's a big relief.

The spinning and the noise and the not knowing who or where I will be from one day to the next feels like it is coming to an end.

I don't know how long it will last, but for now, I'm breathing again.

I might even take the dog for a walk later.

Play it again, Sam.

On the subject of protection, I never felt that he who left me would protect me.

Thinking about it now, one of the biggest rows we had was probably about protection -- about him protecting someone else over me.

Her name was Sam. I don't know much about her -- I wasn't allowed to ask questions (that was the point of the row). What exactly was he protecting? I'm not sure.

All I did know is that he met her on a chatline, and she was (is) a social worker who lived on the South Coast. I knew they must be pretty close because she knew his real name as well as his writing name, and she stayed with him at his flat in Brighton -- something I was never allowed to do.
He said he wouldn't answer questions about her because she didn't matter; she was no one; they had no connection, whereas we did.

We, as he put it, were entangled.

Yet here we are now, not tangled at all; not even communicating, but I bet he is still in contact with Sam.

So who had the greater connection after all?

Maybe thats why he was prepared to defend their connection -- because he knew it was stronger than ours?
Or maybe it was stronger than ours because he was prepared to defend it.

Protection

I've been thinking a lot over the last few days, about what my psychiatrist said.

I told him about what happened at Christmas, and he said I needed to be protected.

I need to be protected from any more swings in my mood as bad as that, he said.

No one has ever talked about protecting me before.

It has always been about protecting other people -- whether it is my kids or my wider family or just people around me, or even complete strangers, it has always been about protecting other people from me, not about protecting me.

I'm not saying that other people don't matter -- especially my kids, of course they do -- but the idea of protecting me is new, and strange, and made me want to cry, and thank him.

Double Top

I spoke to my psychiatrist, and the plan is to double my mood stabilizers over the next two to three weeks, and see if things are a bit more stable then. He's also writing to my doctor about keeping something on hand here for emergencies, to keep me calm and out of hospital, because Christmas was a nasty experience and not one I want to repeat.
Won't repeat.
The plan would be that number one daughter would hold it in reserve, to be administered only in an emergency, instead of calling an ambulance.

I like that plan.

At the moment number one daughter is back in the throes of exams. At least this time I feel that she is pulling out all the stops.

Strict instructions would have to be included, that even under extreme exam stress, she is not allowed to use said sedative on herself.

PS: A Word on Antidepressants

All through the summer I was taking antidepressants.

And all through the summer I got worse and worse.

Then suddenly in August I heard my brain screaming at me that they were killing me, and I stopped taking them. I stopped taking everything.

And then things got very very rocky indeed.

And eventually I got myself to a very good psychiatrist, who actually knew what he was talking about, who listened to me and didn't tell me that I wasn't trying.

He told me that I was bipolar, and that I have a particular kind of bipolar, called rapid-cycling, and that it can be brought on or made worse by antidepressants if they are not given VERY carefully.

So I am not anti-antidepressants; I never have been.

I just want to be very very cautious this time around.

What I think is interesting is that somehow my body/brain/something knew that I shouldn't have been taking them, no matter what the doctors said at the time.

Human beings are amazing.

Insomnia

I hate it when I can't sleep.

I mean, sometimes it used to annoy me -- being the only one awake when everyone else is snoring peacefully -- but now, since I've been diagnosed bipolar, it kind of scares me.

I used to think it was just a quirk of mine -- that I would go days or weeks only sleeping two or three hours a night. I hated sleep; felt like it was a waste of time, that I could be doing something else. Now I know it means something is going wrong. The pills aren't working. Things are starting to speed up, and I'm getting nervous.

My psychiatrist says it's more than just bipolar -- that it's an actual sleep disorder -- part of ADHD, and I also suffer from PTSD (I'm a mass of acronyms these days...), but lack of sleep is very bad news for bipolar.

So now I'm into about my fourth night of minimum sleep, and I'm worried. Tonight is particularly bad. I don't think I'll sleep at all. That will be my third night of zero sleep in about two weeks.

My psychiatrist is due to phone this evening. I am hoping he suggests an increase in my mood stabilizers. I suspect he might also suggest some antidepressants. I'm not so thrilled about that. Not that I don't think I'm depressed, just that rapid-cycling plus antidepressants is bad news. I need to be more stable first I think. I'm sure he'll agree after he hears about the Christmas I had.
Thank Christ it only comes round once a year.

Seized

I have just finished reading Seized, by Eve LaPlante, about temporal lobe epilepsy. It's an amazing book, and a fascinating subject, and I would definitely recommend it. It's available through Amazon, now reprinted.

I'm now reading some short stories by Chekhov. I have no idea if 'Lost in Translation' (the Bill Murray film) was based on the story The Lady with the Toy Dog (I've never even seen the film), but I wouldn't be surprised if it was.
It's a funny little story. Not funny ha ha. Just kind of funny. About what is it that we really want?

What is it that I really miss?

I don't actually miss anything -- we never had a chance to have anything that good. So I suppose what I actually miss is the possibility of that *something good* coming in the future. That is what I am angry about -- not about losing what I had, but about losing what I might have had.
So what is it I think he is guilty of? Stealing my dreams, perhaps? Or maybe he just put them with his own?
No, sorry Shane. No fairytale ending this time.

from Fairytale of New York
I could have been someone
Well so could anyone
You took my dreams from me
When I first found you
I kept them with me babe
I put them with my own
Cant make it all alone
Ive built my dreams around you

Anniversary

The daughter of a late friend phoned tonight.

Her dad died a year ago next week.

She's the same age as daughter number one. She lives on her own now.

Last year was a shit year, all round.

Slow Start

So far the year has got off to a slow start.

Not that I'm complaining -- I'd rather have one of those starts than the downhill at 700 miles per hour kind any time. But it takes some getting used to.

I am finding it really hard being on my own at the moment, now that the kids have gone back to school -- hence the dog -- he was supposed to keep me company. I just don't think anyone told him that. And not every mental health professional that I have worked with in the past has chewed my furniture. Having said that, he's more reliable than most, better looking than most, and generally pees outdoors.

I guess we can't have it all.

The Blogger's Lament

It must be the most commonly blogged about thing in the world -- the cyber-confession of our times: I'm sorry, but its been so long since my last post.
A third of a year in my case.

Major news is, in no particular order:

1. I'm walking again.

2. I'm diagnosed bipolar.

3. A New Year has arrived.

4. He who left me and I finally met up again, split up again, and are no longer communicating, except by the power of all the things that I wish upon him daily.

5. I have a dog.



Folks, meet my dog.

The good, the bad and the ugly.

Since my last past, there has been news.
Some good, some bad.

Good:
Number one daughter passed exams (Hurrah!), got into the college of her choice, and has made a good start, in good solid subjects. Younger childers have gone back to school and that seems to be going fine -- the highlight of number two daughter's life is that the school has installed a pasta bar for lunches.
Oh, to be 12 again.
And he who left me has said, in a round about way without really absolutely saying it but not not saying it, that he still loves me.

Bad:
I still can't walk.

*****

Its been a funny couple of weeks.

I'm off of the trazodone at the moment. I really couldn't take any more feeling sick I was so tired, and feeling like I couldn't use the top half of my brain.
It's a relief to have all my head back, but scary in a jumpy sort of way.

And apparently a sprain really is worse than a break, according to my doc. He says I could be limping like this for six months. Six months!

And today the electoral roll form dropped through the door, bearing the name of he who left me. That was a bit of a blow.

And I started therapy.

Footloose

Another week has passed, and I'm still limping.
I can just about get around, but it's a real trial, and it still hurts so much.
I always thought a sprain was a little namby-pamby thing that footballers made a fuss about for nothing, but it really hurts!
So most of the school holidays are being taken up with me in bed or sitting with my foot up, still waiting for the swelling to go down.

Texting and emailing he who left me is going ok.
We are still trying to sort out some of the mess we are in -- all the things that have caused hurt and misunderstanding really need to be addressed before we can even think about being friends.

My head is still not great.
I have had a couple of up patches -- very up -- but I landed safely from those.
Downs have been difficult. It's like someone pushing at the door and I'm trying really hard to keep it shut, but when I'm tired I know it's going to be too much.

My sleeping is bad -- up until 3 or 4 a.m. most nights, and then sleep until 10 or 11a.m.
I think maybe I'm nocturnal, like a bat.

I realised this week how bad my paranoia is, and that scares me.
I understand psychosis to be when one's reality differs from everybody else's, and mine certainly does that sometimes.
I think people are lying to me -- I am so sure I am right and nothing can convince me otherwise.
And yes, it could just be stubbornness rather than paranoia, but I had the most massive row with number one daughter because the dishcloth went missing and I was utterly utterly convinced she had hidden it from me with the deliberate intention of upsetting me.
Ok, so the cloth was found and the next day I could see that she hadn't done it, but at the time, I couldn't be told otherwise.
And that's just one silly example, and it scares me.
I have no psych lady anymore because I accused her of lying, and rather than seeing it as part of my problem she just said she wouldn't work with me.

So I have no psych lady, no psychiatrist, I can hardly walk and my mood is still up and down like a whore's drawers.

Apart from that, it's been a good week.

What a Difference a Week Makes

Its exactly a week since I last posted on here.

Its been a funny week.

Last Saturday and Sunday were pretty good, as far as I can remember. Church on Saturday, a birthday on Sunday. We ate cake and Chinese food.
Fine.

Then Monday it all went pear-shaped.

Its hazy in my head.

Psych lady phoned and spoke to number one daughter.
It didn't go well. Number one daughter spoke to the crisis team, briefly. They couldn't offer much advice.
I was getting more and more distressed, and I wanted to sleep.
I used up the secret supply of pills I had -- the ones I don't take when number one daughter hands them over.

I drank some vodka.

I really really really wanted to hurt myself.
I remember that clearly.
I wanted to cut myself.

And the pills weren't making me sleep and I was getting more and more agitated so I did what I thought was the most sensible thing I'd ever done in this situation.

I called a taxi and went to the hospital.

We arrived in A & E, and they asked what I'd taken. They asked if I'd spoken to the crisis team, and agreed that they were useless.
'Don't worry,' the nurse said. 'We wont send you home tonight.'
And they didn't.
I spent a quiet night on a medical assessment ward, and waited to see a psychiatrist.

'It's your choice,' she said. 'Clearly your meds aren't working, else you wouldn't be here. It's all your choice.'

She left, and I came home. Depressed, scared, rejected, insecure and wondering what the fuck I should do.

I did what she said, and stopped taking my meds.

By that evening I felt a bit better. I got out of bed, and typed up all the things I wanted to talk to psych lady about.
Off of meds, my mood was high. And I had some good arguments. I rushed downstairs to show daughter number one.

And I fell.

I remember wondering where the ground had gone, and then reaching out with my toes for something solid. The next thing I remember was hitting the ground and screaming.
Boy, did I scream.
I thought I'd broken my ankle -- it was massively swollen and hurt like nothing on earth.

I couldn't face calling an ambulance that night, so I slept on the sofa.
The next morning it was still swollen and hurting and I couldn't walk on it, so an ambulance had to be called and I ended up back in A & E.
X-rays were ok though, so we got to come home again.
Crutches on the bus was not as fun as it sounds. All in all, we were gone about 4 hours.

I made it back home and slept. I think later that night I ate supper on my bed with the kids, and then I slept right round to the next morning, Thursday.

Pretty much as soon as I'd woken up the phone rang.
Psych lady.
She had come round soon after I'd left in the ambulance, and my son had given her the notes I'd typed up.
She said she didn't think we could have a therapeutic relationship anymore.
She said she was reporting me to social services, for leaving my kids alone.

That was two days ago.
I'm still waiting for social services to descend, I'm still waiting to be able to walk.
My mood is ok -- thanks are due to he who left me, for talking to me and texting me and keeping me calm and giving me strength, and for talking a lot of sense which sometimes we both doubt that he can do.
Thank you.



It's been a rocky week.
But I'm back on meds and I'm trying to be optimistic -- at least I can pee in the bathroom again.