Failure

I saw the CBT guy again yesterday, we went through the standard stuff that I’ve read a million times about how thoughts and behaviour influence emotions etc and he gave me a mood diary to fill in once an hour for a week. Unfortunately it only has one square for 12pm-6am which is when most of my low mood occurs…  He also informed me that I have a psychiatrist appointment at Lincoln on Friday, I never got a letter about this so had to ask for the day off work on extremely short notice which started the afternoon off with me feeling anxious. Also my therapist is going on leave for 3 weeks so I’m on my own again (with the crisis team to call in case of emergencies, ugh). It seems like I never, ever get any kind of continuity. I hardly even get to see the same person twice. I’ve literally had over 6 GPs in the past 2 years, 5 different psychiatrists, 2 therapists, about 10 million crisis team busybodies. I hate to make excuses but having the condition that I do makes it very hard to explain everything to people. Every single time I have felt like I’ve adequately got my points across I get shunted off to someone else and have to start from the beginning again 😦

My mum and her boyfriend (they both work in schools) have finished for the summer holidays now and they’re going away for a week starting this weekend. I’ve been constantly overcome by thoughts of how this would be the ideal opportunity to get things over with without the chance of being discovered. I am a complete failure. No matter what people say to me, I still can’t find comfort in anything except wanting and planning my own death. I’m worthless even by the standards of mental people. I had to fill in a questionnaire and circle which statements I agreed with most. It said things like “I enjoy spending time with people” “I don’t enjoy spending time with people as much as I used to” well I never spend time with anyone because I don’t know anyone, and I haven’t since I was about 11. There was one about sex 🙄 how can I answer that when the idea of anyone ever finding me attractive is completely ludicrous, I’m 24 and it’s pretty obvious if that has never happened so far then it’s not going to. It asked something about whether you fell worse about your appearance than you used to; I’ve never felt anything but completely ugly. I don’t know how these tests can determine anything about your mental health or level of depression if you actually are a complete failure like me. Sure, I feel like crap and if I’m constantly obsessed with thoughts of suicide then it’s a pretty safe bet to say I am depressed, but this thing was obviously designed for normal people who are affected by depression, not utter fuck ups like me.

The diary thing makes you list your activities each hour and he wants me to rate my mood from 0-10. The handout says that people rarely do “nothing” even though it feels like it and are probably more active than they think which is why it’s important to have a record of it. Well mine makes depressing reading so far, I really do “do nothing” for most of the day. Half my waking hours are spent lying sleepless in bed or mindlessly browsing the internet. I don’t have any friends or anywhere to go, I don’t have any hobbies or activities and there is nothing around where I live except houses and a school. Nothing gives me any pleasure or enjoyment, all that takes away the pain is thinking about how it could soon all be over.

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Will I Always Be Like This?

Due to the extremely long time it takes to get a GP appointment at university and the fact that the crisis team psych would only write me 2 weeks worth of AD script at a time, I had to miss a dose of Seroxat on Friday night. I felt extremely disoriented and not entirely with it on Saturday morning, it was like I was on autopilot. Words came out of my mouth but I had no control, my attention span was like a 2 year olds.

It occurred to me that I am essentially unable to function without these drugs now. My psychiatrist said I had become psychologically dependent on Effexor, I’m not sure how he worked that one out since I hated the stuff but I’m sure he knows what he’s talking about… In any case, I am a mess without them. I hate this feeling, that I am broken and only pharmaceuticals can hold me together and stop me from becoming a complete disaster. They’ve kept me from going over the edge so far but I don’t know how much longer I can stand it.

I know it’s bad, but I’ve been overdoing it with the zopiclone. It takes me ages to get to sleep without it and then its only a few hours. I hate walking around in a daze and then feeling like I’m going to pass out at about 4pm when it catches up with me.

The end of the university year is coming up, I have to go in and demonstrate the website that I made on Tuesday and I have an exam at the end of the month but after that I have done until September (assuming I don’t fail any modules). You might expect that I should be happy about this, pleased that I have finally achieved something worthwhile. Certainly if you read my posts a year ago, I am in a better position than I was back then, but I don’t feel anything

I was talking to an online friend who I’ve met a couple of times the other day and they wondered why I can’t ever be pleased with myself of congratulate myself for doing things that are challenging and that I wanted to achieve. I just can’t do it, but I can’t explain it properly either. I don’t think it’s logical to congratulate myself for doing something 99.999% of the population can do without blinking an eyelid, it’s dumb. I don’t pat myself on the back for getting out of bed in the morning, why should I deserve plaudits for being able to talk to someone?

Various mental health people and folks I’ve spoken to online say that I shouldn’t compare myself to others so much and that it’s pointless. To me that makes no sense though. In life, you are always compared to others. People can’t judge you in a vacuum, they can only get a sense of what you are like compared to other people. In any situation, social or otherwise, you are always being compared to others so why shouldn’t I worry about that?

I don’t walk around with a sign saying that I have a mental illness, nobody knows that walking into a room full of people makes me shake with fear or that I’ve seriously considered taking my own life on numerous occasions this year alone. They take it for granted that people can do those things, normal things easily. I have to strain and push myself to even be considered at the baseline of what a functional human can do, there’s no way I’m ever going to be a worthwhile friend, employee or anything else.

I’m sick and tired of being me. I hate myself because I am self centred, pathetic, utterly repulsive and probably manipulative even though I don’t mean to be. I don’t know whether to call it a day after I finish uni for the year. I don’t have much else to look forward too. I’d honestly rather die young and not know what a pathetic and miserable old man I’d become if I didn’t take things into my own hands.

It seems no matter what happens, I can’t be satisfied. I’ve had probably 3 days this year where I was briefly happy but within a day or even hours, I was already deconstructing what happened and discovering reasons to be sad again. It’s hard putting on a front for so long when you just want to die. I think that’s one reason I dislike being at home just lately, I have to put on a happy face and not let my mum know what’s going on in my head. She wants to help but cannot possibly understand or maybe she just doesn’t want to accept that her son (and by extension, she) isn’t perfect.

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Sorry I haven’t written in ages, I’ve been off uni and am now back after two weeks. I had/have got tons of work to do before the 7th of May so probably won’t be updating much between now and then.

I finally ditched the CMHT in Nottingham after seeing the 4th psychiatrist since I started there and am fully transferred over to Lincoln now. Got an appointment with a CPN in early May so I’m hoping something good comes of that. I’m glad to have crisis out of my hair for a while, they are pretty useless although I’m partly to blame since it takes me so long to be able to open up to someone and I can’t really explain the reality about my suicidal thoughts and feelings. The only person I think I managed to communicate them effectively to was the CBT woman at Nottingham who I won’t be able to see again 😦

Oh well, my mood is better than before, I’m glad that foul venlafaxine has got out of my system, not sure what good the seroxat/paroxetine is doing, but I can detect the tell tale signs that I got from citalopram are present. Seeing the Lincoln psych tomorrow, hoping he gives me a months script this time so I don’t end up paying twice as much. I filled an HC1 form in for assistance with prescription charges for people with low income, even if they only give me a couple of quid off I’d be happy. Seems ridiculous that you can get them for free if you are unemployed and claiming JSA but have to pay full price if you are a student. I have barely £20 a week, half of JSA to live on.

Anxiety and CBT

I’m absolutely tired out but I wanted to write a post, so forgive me if it’s even more haphazard and depressing than usual. I got up early to get the two buses I needed to arrive at my CBT appointment first thing this morning. After meeting the therapist last time and my relatively good week I was in quite a positive mood but she then explained to me that having spoken with her manager and the crisis team at Lincoln, they found out I have been referred for CBT there instead and so I can’t see her any more 😦

After I bared my darkest fears and thoughts, I’ve yet again been shunted along to someone else. It seems that every time I have any form of appointment I have to start explaining things from scratch and by the time any kind of connection is made I’m moved on. In one year I had 4 different GPs at home and one at uni, seen 4 different psychiatrists and 6 different crisis team people. It’s beginning to get rather tiring and disheartening.

Later on I started feeling incredibly anxious, not in an obvious shaky-hands way like when I’m forced into a dreaded social situation but it was bubbling beneath the surface. I felt like I had to keep moving, keep thinking and acting quickly. If you know the feeling you get when you know that you have to leave the house or you will miss a train or whatever but you can’t find your keys, it was like that. I’ve managed to calm myself a bit now, feeling the venlafaxine withdrawals kicking in though as it’s more than 24 hours since my last dose. It’s an odd sensation, your brain craving serotonin or whatever it is.

Had a meeting with the psych last Friday and managed to convince him to slow the withdrawal down a bit so I’m on 150mg for another week at least. He wants me to move down to 75mg after that if I can, but I don’t know if I can do it. At least he didn’t talk to me about sex this time. One thing he did say was “It sounds like this crisis you were in is over” and I understand what he means but I don’t think it explains the whole picture.

Like most things, it is not a black or white situation. I may have felt in an acute crisis at that time but not now, but that doesn’t mean everything is fine. I should throw the pills away but I can’t. I still want to buy more, more components of a lethal cocktail.

No medication can change my situation, the psychologist who I could’ve had for CBT said that today and I can’t agree more. When the possibility of me going back there after I finish university was mentioned, it dawned on me that I may be like this forever. Of course I have thought that many times, but no-one has ever said it to me implicitly like that before. I don’t want to think about being 30 or 40 and still having the social capabilities of a child. That fear will always be there in my mind and that is what keeps me planning my escape.

New Psychiatrist and Self Loathing

After a 1 hour 20 minute wait with the Daily Express for company (ugh) I finally got to go in and see the psychiatrist I’ve been transferred to. He seemed like a pleasant enough guy, he listened patiently while I answered the same questions that I’ve been asked seemingly hundreds of times. When, where and how I get anxious, what I was like at school and so on.

One of his questions threw me though. He asked whether I was sexually active, something nobody else has felt necessary to enquire about (it’s evident that I am not just by looking at me) and when I responded no he asked when I last was. I thought the uncomfortable silence and throat clearing might have tipped him off but I had to say the horrible words myself; “I never have been”. He seemed rather taken aback by this and later on asked if I have or ever had a girlfriend and later on made one of the most ludicrous suggestions I have heard yet. “You should have sex” he said. As if it was something so simple, that I could go out and do on the way back after I pop out to the shops or something. I don’t know whether he has some kind of logical disconnect, I’d already explained to him that I cannot even talk to or form friendships with the people in my classes whom I see every day.

It will improve your self esteem, he tells me. You will enjoy it. No shit. I want to scream out in anger and furious jealously every time someone talks about having relationships, one night stands or whatever like anyone can just go out and do it. This stuff made me feel that horrible pain deep inside. Not the dull hopelessness, the “I want to kill myself right now rather than live another second as this pathetic creature” feeling. He commented on my age and told me that I need to change and stop accepting other people’s opinions of me as 100% accurate and form my own opinions about myself. At this point there is no difference though. I don’t know if there is a philosophical term for how I feel, but to me, nothing matters except what other people think. If all that mattered was how good you felt about yourself then insane people who think they are Napoleon or whatever would be considered the worlds most sucessful and aspirational figures, not the talented and attractive people we actually do look up to.

I was too saddened and quite shocked to explain to him the grim reality of being such a loser. It doesn’t take long to find examples of what a crap situation I am in. Even the examples in these sites (there is very little material out there that doesn’t refer to that film which name haunts me or religious claptrap about older virgins) don’t address the extra layer of utter pathetic inexperience that I unfortunately possess. I am a million miles away from even kissing a girl and I’m twenty-fucking-four. Has anyone ever been so god damned sheltered, ugly and such a loser and recovered from it? I sincerely doubt it unless a lottery win was involved somehow.

I really honestly want to kill myself whenever this topic enters my head. I’m probably about to make myself sound like a horrible snob here but I feel seething jealousy whenever I’m in my local town, which is a grotty place full of single teenage mothers and chavs and I see prospectless, petty criminals who manage to have some kind of relationship and I know that I never will. It’s times like that when I HATE myself for not realising earlier what life is all about and what you need to be successful. Hindsight is so wonderful. I wish I could travel back in time and tell my 11 year old self that being “clever” doesn’t count for shit in this world. It’s all about making connections with people and being outspoken and confident. Don’t waste fucking time being a goody good and thinking that not getting involved with usual teenage activities makes you superior. It makes you liable to turn out into a fucked up waste of a space that I am now.

I seriously might as well be a robot. I doubt anyone would notice. I have no capacity for forming relationships. I’m far too ugly and un-humanlike to ever have any hope whatsoever of getting with any girl. I can only bear the crushing realisations and watch my dreams torn down in front of my eyes in quiet reserved fashion for so much longer. I’m like the shy teen that never grew up, everyone else around me became adults and now people 5 years younger than me have overtaken me too.

I’m sick, so fucking sick of being such a useless sack of shit. Why do they want me to live like this? So I’ll devastate my parents if I kill myself, do they think about how devastating it is to live every single day as me? I wish I could make them try it for a few months. Days and days on end with not so much as a conversation, let alone any physical contact. Respect and being treated as a social equal? Forget it.

I genuinely wish I hadn’t left my pills at uni, it’d be risky being discovered too soon here but I really don’t think I can take much more of this. Damn that stupid bridge barrier.

Making some progress

I think being able to talk things over with my psychiatrist and especially over a very generous extended appointment with my nice GP at uni has been a turning point for me. This week has been one of my better ones, probably the best since I’ve been here at uni. I managed to talk to and spend time with my flatmates every day and got to know one of the guys from the opposite apartment as well. I think they are pleased that I’m not just hiding from them so much, at least I hope so. Maybe the prospect of having some support close by and having access to the crisis team without having to let my mum find out has made a big difference, whatever it is, I hope it continues.

The crisis team came to visit me on Tuesday morning as a result of a fax my psychiatrist sent and they asked me the usual stuff and wrote up a basic care plan for me. I’m being referred to somewhere where they are going to give me a care co-ordinator at last and things seem to have started working as they should rather than the hodge podge approach I’ve had so far, being shunted to 4 GP’s in as many months and riding the psychiatrist merry-go-round. I realise things aren’t going to be perfect and there will be setbacks but I am so glad that something has happened to get me out of that horrible mindset where all I can see is the problems and hopelessness.

I took the initiative for once and asked a person who I’ve met a few times from the SAUK forums if they wanted to go for a coffee and see a film this weekend and we are going on Sunday so hopefully I can keep up my good run.