Quick update on my last psych appointment, because im still hearing voices and because Dr B isnt happy with that, she’s upped my Latuda again, this time to 120mg a day. My psychosis is definitely less but i feel sick all the time and im definitely off my food in a big way. Maybe that’s a good thing though, haha!

Anyway, sorry it’s brief, i promise i will update properly when my brain isnt soup from lack of sleep!

Josh woke me up in the morning with a breakfast of blueberry pancakes (seriously, his pancakes make IHOP look like crap) and bacon. After breakfast, i opened my gifts, which included many wonderful things. My family had a book made up of pictures of me from birth to 30 years old, it is seriously beautiful. Im thinking of photographing some of the pages/ photos to post here, but im not sure yet. Maybe i will. Josh gave me a set of candles, each representing something in life (peace, fun, success etc), you burn one each month and each one burns down to reveal a charm hidden in it’s depths. Just beautiful. He also gave me a folder type thing designed to store all your pertinent information (since im always worrying about that), a TARDIS mug and a sonic screwdriver pen. Mental Mama gave me a gorgeous shrug she crocheted for me, it is seriously beautiful, and she made me a gorgeous deep blue/ purple and silver necklace. V, one of my best friends in England, sent me a great book written for military wives after WWII and some gorgeous perfume. My niece and nephew got me VW Bus coasters- so cute! I was seriously spoiled!

After gifts, Mum and Dad called on Skype and we had a good chat, then i took a shower. After my shower my sis and brother called me, so we had another good chat. At this point my hair was beginning to dry and i wanted it wet for my haircut, so off we went. There was a long wait at the hair-dressers, so we killed time in Michaels, where i bought some more yarn for a baby blanket im working on, plus some gorgeous lavender yarn for a shawl i want to start soon. Then we went back and i had my hair cut, she put in lots of layers and feathering to make it look better when i leave it loose, then we headed home. Once i got home i got a call from my other brother and my sister-in-law. Got to talk to them for a while, plus i got to talk to my niece and nephew which was awesome. It really helped make the day so good that i was able to talk to my whole family. After the call we chilled for a bit, then i got dressed for dinner. Dinner itself was at the Cheesecake Factory, and was amazing. I was feeling adventurous so i tried a couple of new things, much to Josh’s amazement (im seriously a picky eater, but i was feeling good so i decided to take advantage of it. Dessert was a piece of lemon-raspberry-creme cheesecake and OH. MY. GOD. it was good.

Saturday dawned bright and early, and we got up to get the house ready for my birthday BBQ. Josh went to get supplies (and a birthday cake) while i cleaned up the house and got everything ship-shape. Around 3 Mental Mama and her Josh arrived, we sat and chatted for a while, naturally we did some knitting and crochet (it wouldnt be a party without yarn!), then after a while Josh’s friend G arrived and the guys retreated outside to man the BBQ. Oh, i should tell the story of the BBQ. We bought a new, fancy one because our old one was a $30 pile of crap. Well on Thursday i was having a terrible time with voices, feeling very down, anxious and scared. I came to Josh crying my eyes out and told him how i felt this controlled my life, how useless i felt. And then he said a strange thing: “Let’s put the BBQ together”. I agreed and, somehow, he engineered it so that i did most of the work. No, he wasnt being an asshole, because at the end he said to me “you just put that together pretty much by yourself. A useless person couldnt do that.”. And i did feel better, between the Zyprexa i took and the work, my voices were quiet and i was feeling good. It’s wearing off now, but i’ve been riding on that “feel good” all weekend.

Anyway, so the guys decided to fire up the BBQ and drink beer outside. Mental Mama and i carried on with our yarn work and then i made a really bad decision. I opened a bottle of wine. I’ve mentioned before that i have an alcohol problem. I dont consider myself to be an alcoholic, but i think i have the potential to be. I rarely stop at one drink, and every time i drink i want MORE. I dont want to stop, who would want to stop feeling good? So i had a couple of glasses, and i started getting loud and opinionated. Soon the food was ready and we all tucked into our burgers and brats. And i carried on drinking. Pretty soon i’d finished the bottle and Josh wasnt happy with me at all. And i was TANKED. MM and her Josh ended up having to leave early because i was on the verge of passing out. So i made an ass out of myself and woke up feeling crappy and weepy the next day (being how alcohol is a depressant and all that). Oh and Saturday night we had the worst storm i have ever seen, i thought the hail was going to break a window or something, and there were 80mph winds. Lots of thunder and lightning too. And the power went out. So i was terrified (as were the cats, poor things).

So that was my weekend. Wednesday night im going to a NAMI support group for people with mental illnesses, i’ve been once before and really enjoyed it, so im going again this Weds. Thursday i have both Dr B and DJ, so i have to admit to the anxiety i’ve been feeling and how my voices have been a bit bothersome (to say the least!). Should be a right laugh…

I had a bad episode yesterday. Right now those that were directly involved know what happened and maybe when i dont feel so ashamed i might talk about what happened. But i will say one thing: for the first time ever, i advocated for myself in an extreme situation. I realized what i was doing and took Thorazine, then Mental Mama messaged me on Facebook and i told her what was going on. She alerted Josh, who came home from work to take care of me.

This is huge.

I dont reach out, as a general rule. It’s taken me 5 years to get to the point where 3 out of 5 times i will go to Josh if my voices are bad and tell him what is going on. It’s not anybody’s fault, it’s just the way i am. I’ve been ill for 26 years. And for something like 22 of those years i kept silent. I told nobody about the voices. I kept my mouth shut when i was so depressed i wanted to kill myself. When the voices told me to do it. When i was being given homicidal thoughts. How could i tell anyone? “Monster!” they’d cry, or else they’d tell me i was over-exaggerating. And that stays with me now. If Josh asks me what my voices are telling me to do, he get’s a vague, often monosyllabic answer. Usually along the lines of “you know. Hurt the cats and stuff…” because it sickens and ashames me to say the words. To admit what he is asking me to do. And i think he knows that, he counts on it. Tell me to do heinous things and i’ll be so ashamed i wont speak up, if i dont speak up i wont get help and he gets me all to himself. I think that’s the reasoning, anyway.

But i am trying. Yesterday was a huge step for me in getting the help i need, when i need it. I took Thorazine, then Josh came and got me and we ran some errands on base, then i bought coffee and still managed to come home and sleep for 3 hours. But today i feel better. Not perfect, but my brain is quieter, which is a good thing.

Needless to say i’ve been having trouble with the voices and some paranoia recently. I went out on Saturday for the first time in ages, where i actually left the house for more than an hour and didnt just go to Walmart! We drove to Platte River state park and did some walking, took some photos. It’s a beautiful place, we may even go camping there if summer ever comes! Im slowly overcoming the paranoia, it’s getting easier to deal with. Just have to keep reminding myself, one step at a time. That’s all i can do.

So what have i been up to? Mostly crocheting, and working on self care. Before i get into any gnarly mental health stuff, here’s some fun stuff- crochet! First up is the Rose i made for Mental Mama’s birthday. This was the first non-simplified pattern i’d ever used and i think it came out rather lovely. She loves it, which is the important part

Next up is a baby bootie that was an experiment, im trying to make a pair for a friend who is pregnant but im having trouble finding a size that will both fit baby’s feet (he’s growing fast and is going to be a big baby). Anyway, here is the first:

And for my own projects, i have the Recovery Blanket. We talked in therapy about me doing small projects to give me a sense of achievement, and to help overcome my apathy. So i started making Granny Squares and sewing them together, eventually to be one big blanket. Im 9 squares in so far:

And i made a cat toy using Mental Mama’s instructions, to use up some naff yarn:

So that’s the fun part. In the not-so-fun part, im still very much symptomatic. Oh dont get me wrong, it’s nothing like it used to be. I can go whole days with no symptoms now, sometimes even as much as a week. But the voices come back. I say voices, plural, but really it’s just him. The Nameless One. He’s a bastard, to be sure. It’s just easier to say im hearing voices, although i shouldnt really because i worry that it isnt accurate. Sometimes i think he has others with him but i cant identify them. He tells me to such horrible things, but at least i can take Zyprexa and make the thoughts go away. It’s complicated because my brain goes to two places. On the one hand, i KNOW he is real. I know he projects these horrible voices and thoughts into my head. But i also know that taking an anti-psychotic stops him. So do i see him as a symptom or as a real thing? I want to see him as a symptom but i just cant. He is as real to me as you are, this computer is, my husband is. He’s been chasing me my whole life and i know i will be a little old woman of 80 and he will be still hammering at me. So like i said, complicated.

Im still struggling a bit with self care, washing doesnt always happen, sometimes i just sleep and sleep. But im working on it, trying to get past it. And im confident i will, eventually.

In good news, i turn 30 next month!! Im keeping it low-key though, we’re having a BBQ with Mental Mama and her hubby on the 5th, the day after my birthday and we’re going to celebrate with burgers, brats and (of course!) cake. Im very much looking forward to it, it’s going to be great. The only downside will be not seeing my family, but Mum and Dad have promised to Skype on the day, which is all i ever wanted. Just to see their faces on the day will be enough for me

Oh, and before i go, a shameless plug (there’s going to be one of these in every entry between now and June 9th, just to warn you!). On June 9th i will be walking in the NAMI walk, raising money for both NAMI and Bring Change 2 Mind, two incredible mental healh charities. Im going to put my sponsorship/ donations page here, it’s completely safe and secure, and even if you can only spare a dollar (or a pound, or whatever, depending on what country you’re in), its one more dollar than we had previously. So if you can, please give what you can.

http://www.nami.org/walkTemplate.cfm?section=namiwalks&Template=/customsource/namiwalks/walkerpage.cfm&walkerID=199743

Back in 2008 i fell apart spectacularly. I started self-harming again, my eating disorder was rampaging out of control, i was incredibly depressed and my voices and paranoia were almost constant, basically i was miserable. I stopped going to work on a regular basis, i was useless when i was there. I cried on the way to work, binged on my lunch break and then went home miserable. Josh had no idea what was going on, he knew i was depressed but he didnt know how deep the rabbit-hole went, as it were. Finally my boss couldnt take any more absence and delivered an absolutely face-melting rant at me. I sat at my desk, shellshocked, as he stormed up the stairs to his office. I knew i had to come clean. I called up and asked to see him. A heavy, exasperated sigh came down the phone. “Fine. I’ll give you five minutes.” So up i went. I showed him the cuts on my arm (admittedly back then it was just scratches, nothing like the deep gashes i would end up doing later). I cried so hard i could barely speak. I told him i wanted to kill myself, that i cried every day on my way to work. I didnt tell him about the binges or the voices, but truthfully i didnt need to. I’d made my point. Now he was the one sitting stunned in his chair. Suddenly he wasnt angry, he was kind. Frustrated, but kind. He asked me if i wanted to quit my job, rather than be fired. He told me he would allow me to quit on one condition. I was to get help, real, professional help. Pills of some kind, therapy, the works. And i wasnt to work, not for a while. He said to me, if i get a request for a reference for you in the next few weeks, or even months, i will tell them i fired you and why. I didnt have a choice. If i refused, he was going to fire me anyway, so i was in a lose-lose situation. He sent me home to think about it and arranged a meeting for the next day. I talked to Josh, really spilled it out. And he agreed with my boss. It was time to get help. I gave him my decision the next day, and quit. I saw my GP, declined therapy and left with a prescription for Prozac (incidentally, Prozac makes me manic and actually makes my psychosis worse, but my choices were Prozac or Celexa, which also makes me manic, he wouldnt let me take anything else). And thus began my first “disabled” stint. I hated and loved it, the novelty of not having to go to work, really having the time to work on getting better, it seemed like a really good thing. But soon i found i was not only bored but guilty too. Josh was out working hard to earn the money that kept us, and here i was, useless as tits on a board, puttering about the house. So, in the August (i left my old job in April), i applied for a job at a supermarket. It was part-time, i figured i would have no problems. Of course, i was floridly manic at the time, tried to overhaul my entire department in a week of arriving on the job, then crashed so hard i called my boss in floods of tears and sobbed down the phone that i was quitting my job. It really hit me that time, i have a disability. I have a genuine problem that makes it hard, if not impossible, for me to work. And as, over time, things have gotten worse, through the diagnosis changes etc it has been hammered home to me time and again, that this is not my fault. I am disabled.

So what does this mean? It means different things to different people. People see me as lazy. I dont have a wheelchair, cancer or any other visible disability. I can get myself out of bed, get dressed on my own, you cant see my disability. This is seen by many as just laziness. I just dont want to work. I’ve had all kinds of things said to me, mostly by Americans since i came over here:

“Everybody gets a bit depressed now and then, it’s no reason to go off work!”

“You’re just using your husband to support you so you dont have to work”

“You dont deserve to have Tricare/ military housing, that’s for hardworking Americans, not scroungers who dont even pay taxes!”

“You dont have a disability, you dont even know what disability is!”

Etc, etc, etc

I’ve lost count of the number of times i’ve basically been called a scrounger/ malingerer because of my disability. Most people dont see mental illness as a disability because of this attitude that you can just pull yourself up by your bootstraps and get on with it, and that anyone who doesnt do that is “milking it”.

Dr B asks me on a regular basis if i claim disability benefits. Each time i explain to her that my green-card status means that i dont qualify, i would have to be a citizen and i dont want to do that. She says that’s a lot of pressure to place on Josh, and i know it is. See, people have this image that i lounge about in my jammies every day eating doughnuts and laughing it up at everybody who has to go to work. And my voices tell me that i am that horrible person, but im not supposed to listen. I do what i can to keep the house nice, i try to keep occupied during the day, i cook the meals. Because i like to feel useful, i need to feel like i bring something to this household. Because Josh goes through a lot with me, from trying to talk me down when the voices want me to do something destructive, to sitting next to my catatonic self holding my hand when im doped up on Thorazine. He deserves someone who tries, someone who does stuff around the house, someone who contributes.

And sometimes i see myself that way too, i wonder if im not just lazy, i wonder if i should just go back to work and see what happens. But i know, deep down, that im not ready. And if that means staying out of work a bit longer, that’s what might have to happen. And it sucks.

Ugh, looks like today is going to be another day where i dont really say anything. I had a horrible night’s sleep due to anxiety and when i finally got to sleep this morning a stupid phonecall woke me up. Since then i’ve had a roaring headache that goes right down the back of my neck and wont go away. I’ve taken 800mg Ibuprofen and im about to take 1000mg Tylenol because im getting desperate. I hate headaches with a passion.

I’ve been crocheting a lot, i just finished a project that im really proud of but i cant post a pic yet as it is a birthday gift for Mental Mama, so i will post a pic after i give it to her! My next project is a hat and booties set for one of my best friends who is pregnant, the hat im not worried about but the booties i am! It’ll be interesting…

I think im going to leave it there… short but sweet, at least i’ve actually posted! And i’ll try not to go so long between posts again

And im not out of the depression yet, but today i took a huge step. I went for a walk. It is a glorious, almost spring-like day, with temps in the 50′s and clear bright blue skies. So i decided i would go outside for a walk, and oh am i glad i did! The sun on my skin felt so good, i could feel my mood lifting with every step. I kept the music on my ipod bright and happy, encouraging “you can do it!” songs and i just walked. I forgot to turn on my walk app so i dont know how far i walked, but i would estimate maybe 2 miles. And i walked fast, so i even got some cardio out of it! Now i just want to lie in the sun and soak it up. Maybe i should start taking my D3′s again, it might help. But i think its the psychological aspect of seeing the sun, and the clear skies, smelling the scent of hot charcoal as people fire up the grills in their gardens, it makes me think of positive, happy things. It makes me feel much more positive. It makes things seem more do-able. I think Mum was right when she said i should try to get out of the house more, i think im getting too used to being cooped up here, it’s making me stir crazy. Tomorrow im going to walk down to Scooters and take advantage of a 50% off coupon for frozen yogurt, which will be fun. Small goals, small steps.

Im still hearing voices a bit, though, which is annoying but you cant have everything!

Oh, and HUGE thanks to Mental Mama for my wonderful new background it makes me smile to look at my blog now!

In order to show myself that i actually do stuff during the day i’ve been writing everything i do down, like a to-do list but in reverse. It seems to be helping. Today’s entry will be short because i dont have much to say. But i wanted to say something.

I know im stressed because my thoughts are going a bit weird again. Google has changed their privacy (it goes live tomorrow) so that they log all your info as you search and associate it with your gmail and youtube accounts. So naturally im afraid that im being watched again. It’s not terrible, though, i dont think the computer is stealing my thoughts or anything so im not too worried. A little paranoia is healthy, right?

Then there’s Shadow Man. He is the ringleader of a group of Shadow Men and last night he was in the house. I knew for a fact he was in the dining room, but if i even went downstairs he would rush me and try to kill me. He is as he sounds, a tall silhouette of a man, no face or anything, just this silhouette. Sometimes the other Shadow Men have big, leering grins but not always. I knew last night i couldnt leave the bedroom. Which was great, except for the fact that i had the most horrible cramps and needed a painkiller, which was in the guest bathroom. In the end i braved it, refusing to even look at the bottom of the stairs in case he was there. I got my ibuprofen and scuttled back to bed, but i couldnt sleep for hours (largely because i was in too much pain, but also because i kept expecting to have angered him, to see him at the foot of the bed). DJ thinks that my psychosis gets worse when im “emotionally aroused” (her words, not mine!), so that’s probably it. I know that when i’ve talked about difficult things in therapy i’ve seen spiders running across the rug, so as theories go it makes sense.

But, im doing a bit better than yesterday. Today’s small goal is to not nap. No matter if im drooping over the keyboard, no matter what i have to stay awake and not give in. And im hoping to distract myself with a few chores to keep things interesting.

Im useless and crap, and im about to turn 30. My symptoms are at a point where, if they had been this bad (and i think at times they were, i was just better at hiding them, pretending i was ok) when i was a teen, i would have been sent to hospital or a RTC. And that scares me, because i know its just my will that is keeping me out of the psych ward. But im getting tired of fighting all the time, tired of being tired, sick of being sick. And i do think of suicide sometimes, which scares me, its not that i want to die, more that im tired of worrying people. Tired of dragging Josh down. Tired of seeing the look of fear and worry on my parents’ faces when i talk about my illness. And i dont go to hospital, if im honest, because as long as i can keep pasting on a smile, pretending everything is ok, no matter how much everything inside me is falling apart, then nobody has to worry. Nobody has to worry about how hard it is for me to feel excitement, or happiness, or even genuine sadness. It takes an effort on my part to feel those things, but i keep smiling, keep pretending. I keep hoping i’ll wake up one morning and i’ll want to do something. I’ll want to do housework, or crochet, or paint. I’ll want to get up, and stay up. I’ll want to wash, instead of being prodded and cadjoled into it. Because i honestly dont care any more, and if it werent for my family, Josh and the cats i would end it not because of any sadness i feel but simply because there is no point in staying alive. It doesnt seem to get any better, the medications stop my positive symptoms (mostly), but the negative stays. I have no goals. No hopes or dreams. No ambition. I find it so hard to laugh, to find pleasure in things.

But, im whingeing again. I should just fake it ’til i make it, right? Keep that smile going and maybe i’ll stay out of the hospital and maybe things will get better. I’ll just keep telling myself that.