Will I Always Be Like This?

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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.

Messed up

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My mood and general feelings have been all over the place this weekend. I finished venlafaxine/effexor for good on Wednesday night and I honestly felt much better to be off the damn stuff. On Friday and Saturday night though, I began to feel energised and restless but not in an entirely unpleasant way. I’m not used to having energy and wanting to leap out of my chair and up and down the stairs, I even went into town on a Saturday to buy a few things, something which I never normally do.

Being on such a high (225mg) dose of effexor wasn’t doing me much good, in my layman’s opinion. Last night I started the first of my 2 week supply of seroxat, but not without a struggle. I went to purchase them on Thursday from Boots, where I always go when I’m in Nottingham but even though the script was only for 2 weeks worth and they had to cut a blister pack up and repackage the pills for me, they somehow ended up giving me prozac instead. The pharmacist did not notice this either and signed off on it, leaving me to discover their mistake on Saturday morning. It’s a good job I checked and I don’t just unquestioningly swallow everything they hand over, being on 3 ADs in 2 weeks wouldn’t have been much fun, I imagine.

I went back and caused a minor panic there, the manager even came out and took me to one side to apologise and assured me they would do an investigation into how it happened. I hope no-one gets into trouble, after all I am ok.

Nothing to report about the new meds yet, I still feel reasonably ok for now but things still lurk in the back of my mind, as I fear they always will.

Psychiatrist Visit #49230

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This one went ok, answered the usual questions yet again, haven’t had any particularly strong or vivid suicidal feelings this week so there was no time wasted with that. We agreed that I would switch to 75mg venlafaxine starting this weekend while I am off uni for Easter. Then next Saturday I will stop altogether and spend a few days med-free before starting on this particular guys shot at fixing me up (or least stopping me complaining): paroxeteine AKA Seroxat, Paxil.

Which will it be?

Which will it be?

Apparently it is effective for treating SA and depression, which sounds good in theory. I have heard horror stories about it’s withdrawals and increasing suicidal ideation (ha!) but I guess it’s worth a try. That image took way longer to make than it was worth, by the way. 

Only one more day to go until I go home for 2 weeks for Easter. I have mixed feelings about it. It’s strange to think there is a part of me that would rather stay here than go home for the whole time. Back in September I never would have thought that would be the case. I’ve come to appreciate my little bit of independence and especially privacy here, not to mention the city centre is within walking distance and doesn’t require a 30 minute bus journey among chavs and criminals. 

I’m in a fairly good mood today, managed to make dinner twice this week and have talked to my flatmates a bit. I also went to the post office twice to send some items I sold on eBay which required me to converse with the people at the counter so I think it’s been a reasonably successful week.