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Small steps

As requested (thank you for your concern), an update.

I saw the doc on Monday. She’s referred me for CBT, which should take 4-6 weeks for them to get in touch, which considering this is the NHS, I thought it was quite swift! In the meantime, sticking with the happy pills, and go back in just under 2 weeks for a re-fill.

I am a lot brighter than I was when I saw her 2 weeks ago, which she commented on. Admittedly that day I was hyper – in the morning I’d seen the physio, busy day at work, left early for the doc, had my hair cut then dashed off to a church meeting (first one in a while and it was actually OK). I seem to be feeling more on top of things just by saying I have a problem and I can’t cope – a lot of worry has lifted (but not gone), and with (most) people reassuring me I’m not mad, I don’t feel quite so crazy.

I also have new glasses (which I need to get adjusted on my wonky ears) and have had all my hair chopped off. About 7 inches of it!

The amused face is due to my hyperactive housemate taking the photo.

I went to look at a flat last night. It was tiny – saving £100 a month is not THAT important to me. Coping a bit better in the house now, so will just keep my eye out and see if anything comes up.

Job is OK, if a little busy. I’m putting in coping strategies, and when things get really bad (and I had a moment of rising panic last week), I take a bit of time out, either food or a walk outside. Seem to have resisted the urge for cigarettes, which is good, as they only make me feel horrible after.

The wrist is healing, and I’m picking it less. Or causing less damage when I pick.

I’m also trying to find things to do to keep me busy. I’m investgating joining St John Ambulance. This weekend I’m marshalling at a charity walk.

I’m planning to start pilates next week, at the advice of both my physio and my podiatrist. Also have to spend at least an hour each day stretching and doing exercises, and the podiatrist reckons CBT would be good for pain management too.

I’m even thinking about a holiday. I mutter back in Jan/Feb about my ideal trip to Istanbul by train. I’ve found something similar. Though this could end up being an expensive trip, but 22 days exploring (very briefly) Eastern Europe and Istanbul… I’m planning, if I’m up for it, to go and talk to them about it, with a long list of questions, as they’re based withing walking distance from me. Though still rather nervous about something like that. Would still rather go with a friend. The Bank of Dad is, however, prepared to loan me some dosh to pay towards it, if I want to go, though my Mother has been sending me all the bad reviews of the company she can find on the internet. So I’ll be ‘properly informed’. Born pessimist, my mother. Which explains a lot about me!

I’m tired and need to go get some food and then head for bed. Have not been reading many blogs as have been trying to get earlier nights, and have been reading various books. Am in the middle of Perseolis, which I am enjoying. Hope to catch up properly on blogs over the weekend, but am managing to resist the need to ensure Bloglines doesn’t have any outstanding posts on it, which has been known to stress me. As does a full inbox at work (I have folders to hide emails in and try to keep the essentials and outstanding ones in my inbox – I have about 30 at the moment and am trying to contain the panic everytime I look at it!)

I think that sums it up.

Sticks and stones

“Sticks & stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”

Well, that was a pile of crap (not carp, as I just wrote, though stinks just as bad!), wasn’t it? Not only do we get beaten up by others who talk us down, but we get eaten up by our own negative self-talk, and end up believing the lies, comparing ourselves to others and not living our lives to the full.

I bet you remember some of the shitty, nasty things people said. And some of the things people didn’t realise would hurt you, the labels they gave you.

“You can’t sing.” Uh, yes I can, but it’s taken me over 15 years to pluck up the courage to do so, so thanks.

“She’s the grumpy one.” she wasn’t, but life sucked and she didn’t know how to handle it at such a young age, but the label stuck, and now she IS the grumpy one, the depressed one.

Burn update

I’ve been picking the burns. I get a certain amount of satisfaction from doing so. Weird, gross, I know, but there you go, that’s what I’ve done for most of my life. It will be a hard habit to break, but hopefully I’ll be able to do so, with some help.

The happy pills – Citalopram – are on Day 5. Feeling OK. I think there’s a lot of relief in being able to just say “I can’t cope – help me!” It’s like a weight has been lifted. Hopefully the happy pills will enable me to get through the next stage, working through the crappy stuff, such as why I don’t like myself, why I think I’m useless, why I don’t think people will like me, or love me, why I don’t think I deserve to meet someone. All that shit I’ve rambled on about over the last few years, which I’ve known I need to deal with, but haven’t – or wouldn’t – deal with.

Direction

Thanks, everyone, for all your supportive and encouraging comments. I’m actually feeling OK at the moment. I think I might be a little high – the pills can make you a bit hyper at first. But I think also, it’s the relief of finally, after years of struggling, holding my hands up and saying “I can’t cope!”

And the doctor has validated it. Which now gives me permission to say to people that I’m depressed, sometimes I just can’t cope and need to take a time out, or talk it through. Why it took burning myself to do that, I don’t know! Putting safety nets in after you’ve fallen off is great for when you get back up again, but would have helped if they’d been in place the first time. Still, at least they’re being set up now.

I’m also high I think from passing some of the burden over to others. The doctor is taking control of some of this. Friends are praying and being supportive. I don’t have to fight it all on my own. In fact, I don’t have to fight it at all: I just have to face it and deal with it. And with counselling, I will deal with the issues. How I get past the feeling that I’m not worthy of anything, and hence why it’s taken me so long to get help. Why I think I’m unattractive and undesirable, and that the only way to get a guy is to sleep with him. Why I beat myself up everytime I “fail” at something, or make a mistake. Why I worry endlessly about things that might never happen.

Someone asked in one of the comments what has been happening with my spiritual direction. Honestly – nothing dramatic. Just little things that help me to realise that even if I might struggle to believe (and I think I need father’s prayer of Mark 9:24 “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!”), God is still there.

Need to try and sleep now, otherwise if I can’t, after a few nights I’m going to need to crack open my emergency diazepam. Which I’m keeping for emergencies only. Which will hopefully mean I’ll never need them!

How do you want your religion, sir?

There appears to be an interesting discussion going on in the comments of my post on religion at the moment. Pop along and have a look. Feel free to join in the discussion.

Doctor update

I went to the doctor yesterday. Filled in a questionnaire to determine if depressed, have borderline personality disorder, or just down.

Moderately to severely depressed.

Started antidepressants this morning. Take 2-3 weeks to kick in, and could make me worse before they get better.

Back to the doctor in 2 weeks to see how I’m getting on and to talk about the other part of getting better: therapy/counselling.

Sex and the City – spoiler!

Saw Sex and the City tonight. Really enjoyed it, actually. And there were some really deep bits during it, as well as the sex, the shopping, the shoes and the laughs!

Self harm

I burnt myself – deliberately – for the first time 2 nights ago. I didn’t realise, until I found this site, that I’ve been self-injuring for the last 13 years. At least. As a kid I was always picking at scabs, and I’m a nail biter (though I stop every so often, and it’s now rare that I bite right down to rawness, I pick at the cuticles and skin around my nails. They’re ugly!).

But I remember the day when I started. I was at Uni. I was trying to wax my legs for the first time, because short-sightedness, heavy-handedness and razors on legs don’t go together, and my room mate couldn’t cope with my wincing. So I was left with partially done legs. And a pair of tweezers to pluck the rogue hairs out.

And then I guess I realised there was a certain satisfaction in the pain of pulling the hairs out. I was depressed during most of my 3 years of Uni, I now realise had been for years before, and probably still am at a low level now.

So now, give me a pair of tweezers and I’m happy. I can create a whole heap of scabs, because sometimes the hairs are stubborn, sometimes they’re growing UNDER the skin and need to be dug out, and then there’s the last lost of scabs that need to come off. It’s become a habit. It doesn’t serve the purpose of dulling any obvious pain anymore. But it does serve the purpose of reinforcing my low self esteem and unworthiness. It keeps me from getting close, because who’s going to want to love a fruit loop with scabby, ugly legs?

But I did tell the guy from work what I’d done, with a little of the history, and he didn’t run away screaming. And has been in touch since! So obviously not everyone is as shallow and flaky as I expect them to be!

Of course, I’ve picked all 12 blisters from the burning incident, which will satisfy my dual “enjoyment” of picking, and will (hopefully!) leave a whole bunch of scars. Because I love scars: they always have a story, and can often be quite sexy. (The chef has one under his eye from where he was stabbed in a fight when he was a teenager. It’s sexy!) And even though I’m looking at them and can see they’re most definitely infected, part of me is looking forward to them scabbing over properly so’s I can rip the scabs off.

Because I think scabs are ugly, and even though I’ve done the cell biology at degree level and know that if you remove the scab another will form, the subconscious part of me believes that removing the scab will get rid of the problem. And then I just deal with the next one in the same way. Until eventually I’m too tired or distracted to pick and it gets a chance to heal properly. Or at least doesn’t form a pickable scab.

But I intend to see my GP this coming week, as now I’ve done something more serious once, I could do it again. This is obviously already an issue. I don’t want the new level of self-injury to become the norm. Hopefully he or she will put me back in touch with the mental health worker and we can go from there.

I’m actually a lot brighter today! I spent the morning in bed, psyching myself up to go out this evening to a birthday do where I’d only know a few people. We went to a kids’ jungle gym that they hire out to adults in the evenings, and I can’t remember the last time I had that much clean, childish fun! And I remember how I was actually a fairly happy, confident child. Until about the age of 9 when we moved.

But that’s a story for any therapist I end up with.

Am working my way through the comments section of http://asbojesus.wordpress.com/2008/04/17/443-444/ which is helpful.

ITCH

The summer (well, sort-of summer, this is the UK!) is giving me the itch. All I seem to think about is sex. Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex… you get the hint! Permanently horny! And they say men think about sex every 3 seconds!Starting to get annoying now.

Problem is, my friendly chef is (still) far to keen to help me scratch!

I’m having to live by ‘lead me not into temptation’ on a minute-by-minute basis!

I think that’s part of what OUCH was about – the general pent up frustration! Plus Church Boy has just been over to Northern Ireland to see a lady he likes. I’m kinda cool with that. But it’s still a reminder that there’s still nothing, nada, no one out there for me at the moment.

And I really could do with a decent hug!