Sleep paralysis has returned. I mean, they never really stopped, but they were short and panic attack-less and just generally less intense. So that's... fun. Or the other thing. Vile. I can't even hide in sleep now.
In other news, I've got my initial assessment in just 2 days. So at least I don't have to hold out too much longer for help. I really hate feeling like this. Like my insides are hollow and the world is underwater and everything is wobbly and I'm not even swimming in it or floating really. More like I'm drowning, except I suspect I'd feel more if I was drowning.
Mostly, I'm just tired. Tired of pretending I'm okay all the time. Tired of feeling like I should be able to will myself well. Tired of feeling like I have to justify myself. Tired of fighting my own mind.
Monday, December 21, 2015
Friday, December 18, 2015
Finally!
Got in to see the GP. She was lovely, and sympathetic, and gave me an urgent referral. I'm to contact her in 3 weeks if I haven't been contacted to set up an appointment by then. I was a mess. Really nervous and twitchy. I didn't realise how afraid I was of getting turned away, or told I was imagining it or that I basically just need to buck up. I think people want to tell you "You're okay" because they think that that's comforting. But when you can't trust your own judgement about anything other than the fact that you know you are NOT okay, that's the last fucking thing you want to hear. I had to hand her my little notebook with my recent symptoms. Here, I can't think, but I made you this list when I wasn't a ball of nerves. It was good, though. I'm really hopeful that this will help.
Yesterday was a good day, (loads of sleep, good experience at gp's office), but today is proving a bit hit or miss. I feel fine, mostly, but I caught myself having an old argument with the voices. One I've had many MANY times, but forgotten about. It's the one where the voices tell you that you're lying. You're FINE, this happens to everyone. It's perfectly normal, and you're just looking for attention, because you're basically human filth that doesn't follow the rules of shutting the fuck up about the secret unpleasantness that everyone deals with. And you ALMOST think the voice has a point, until you realise that you are standing on the side of the road, having an argument that is taking place entirely within your head, and the voice of the opposing party seems to be housed within a fucking pink wooden plank door in a goddamned fence. This fence door, as a matter of fact.
(Sorry if this is your door!)
Can you even imagine? Sure, maybe you're right and I've actually just decided I was bored with being happy and really desperately wanted people to look at me like I'm a fucking aberration except no, you're a fucking door, and this is definitely not something normal people would do. Plus, you look fucking ridiculous. So fuck off. I suppose the upside to this one is that the entire argument happened in my head, so at least there's that.
Anyway, hanging on and hoping to get assessed soon. Have come round full circle and am almost hoping the suggest meds, at least in the short term. It would take the pressure off to fix this all myself. In the meantime I will just concentrate on trying to take the best possible care of myself I can, and hope it has a positive effect.
Yesterday was a good day, (loads of sleep, good experience at gp's office), but today is proving a bit hit or miss. I feel fine, mostly, but I caught myself having an old argument with the voices. One I've had many MANY times, but forgotten about. It's the one where the voices tell you that you're lying. You're FINE, this happens to everyone. It's perfectly normal, and you're just looking for attention, because you're basically human filth that doesn't follow the rules of shutting the fuck up about the secret unpleasantness that everyone deals with. And you ALMOST think the voice has a point, until you realise that you are standing on the side of the road, having an argument that is taking place entirely within your head, and the voice of the opposing party seems to be housed within a fucking pink wooden plank door in a goddamned fence. This fence door, as a matter of fact.
Can you even imagine? Sure, maybe you're right and I've actually just decided I was bored with being happy and really desperately wanted people to look at me like I'm a fucking aberration except no, you're a fucking door, and this is definitely not something normal people would do. Plus, you look fucking ridiculous. So fuck off. I suppose the upside to this one is that the entire argument happened in my head, so at least there's that.
Anyway, hanging on and hoping to get assessed soon. Have come round full circle and am almost hoping the suggest meds, at least in the short term. It would take the pressure off to fix this all myself. In the meantime I will just concentrate on trying to take the best possible care of myself I can, and hope it has a positive effect.
Sunday, December 13, 2015
Holding pattern
Still attempting to get in to see the GP before they break up for Christmas. While I wait for that, I've been researching resources on line. There is so much out there I wasn't aware of. I've learned about TUFR and WRAP, and Rethink. I've found out that there is an Twitter community using the #schizotribe hashtag to connect with and support each other. There is so much more information readily available than there was 20 years ago. It is really encouraging and, I think, empowering.
I'm going to go out and get myself a notebook. In it, I'll list all my positive and negative symptoms, past and present. Everything I can remember, everything I can put into words. Then I'm going to make myself up a chart. A sort of weekly grading system, so I can monitor my symptoms and my stress, keep myself aware of when and where I'm slipping. I was mainly "asymptomatic" for 18 years without meds, and whether or not I wind up back on them, there is no reason why I shouldn't be again. I'm tragically disorganized by nature, but I think having a self assessment method in place will help me both long and short term. In the short term, it will give me a reference of concrete things I can share with my GP and whomever I get referred to from there. In the long term, it should make self care much easier, as I will be able to see ahead of time when I need to go easier on myself, or seek out assistance.
As for my current state, I am mostly settled into the aftermath, the negative symptoms, with only the occasional delusional thought process or minor visual/auditory/tactile hallucination popping up. It is usually a momentary thing that is easily packed away, now. My motivation, on the other hand, is at zero. My ability to concentrate is severely limited at this point, and my self care is suffering, although not so much so that it's terribly noticeable to others. I'm still a bit withdrawn emotionally, and finding it very hard to relax. I'm aware of all this, though, so working to find ways to stop withdrawing.
I'm going to go out and get myself a notebook. In it, I'll list all my positive and negative symptoms, past and present. Everything I can remember, everything I can put into words. Then I'm going to make myself up a chart. A sort of weekly grading system, so I can monitor my symptoms and my stress, keep myself aware of when and where I'm slipping. I was mainly "asymptomatic" for 18 years without meds, and whether or not I wind up back on them, there is no reason why I shouldn't be again. I'm tragically disorganized by nature, but I think having a self assessment method in place will help me both long and short term. In the short term, it will give me a reference of concrete things I can share with my GP and whomever I get referred to from there. In the long term, it should make self care much easier, as I will be able to see ahead of time when I need to go easier on myself, or seek out assistance.
As for my current state, I am mostly settled into the aftermath, the negative symptoms, with only the occasional delusional thought process or minor visual/auditory/tactile hallucination popping up. It is usually a momentary thing that is easily packed away, now. My motivation, on the other hand, is at zero. My ability to concentrate is severely limited at this point, and my self care is suffering, although not so much so that it's terribly noticeable to others. I'm still a bit withdrawn emotionally, and finding it very hard to relax. I'm aware of all this, though, so working to find ways to stop withdrawing.
Tuesday, December 1, 2015
December begins
December has arrived, and I'm okay. It's not left me completely, but it's not interfering, either. I made the decision to go to the gp, to discuss my history, my past couple of weeks, my options going forward. Of course, getting in to see the gp at my surgery is an epic quest, and I'd honestly be shocked if I made any progress before Christmas break.
So I'm distracting myself doing elf on the shelf light (they're here to visit and countdown, not spy and judge) and putting together boxes for the Southend homeless shoe box appeal. Tomorrow I'll go help out at the soup kitchen, delivering hot meals to people sleeping rough down the town and near the seafront. Anything that keeps my focus outward can only help.
The kids seem fine, completely unaware of what's going on with me. So much the better. Mazzy was off school last week, and she actually came on Skype and chatted with us. It was wonderful. Even Chloe got excited. I miss her terribly. She seems well, which is amazing and probably more gratifying for me than ME feeling well, at this point. I do wonder how much of her troubles are the fault of the shit brain chemistry I might have passed on to her.
I sound all doom and gloom, I think, but I'm not. I'm tired, but hopeful. December, the end of the year, and all the symbolic death and rebirth jazz that goes along with it always put me into a mood of retrospection and introspection, which is probably a bit compounded by my situation at the moment. Doing my best not to hide away in my hole and hibernate.
I skipped Thanksgiving, as I've done every year since I moved here, but I have been thinking about the things I'm thankful for. I'm thankful, most of all, for Jim. He's been amazing (as usual), but especially about all this. He's definitely my anchor. I'm thankful for our beautiful family. They keep me grounded, and (holy shit!) WE MADE THIS. I'm thankful for all that we have. Fuck, man, people with the life I've had, loads of them live on the streets and have nothing. I'm thankful for his family, who take care of me like I'm their own. I'm thankful that there was an ocean between my mom and I this time around. That she didn't have to be the one to pick me up and carry me home and watch and wait for the tide to recede. I'm thankful that she doesn't have to know this time.
So I'm distracting myself doing elf on the shelf light (they're here to visit and countdown, not spy and judge) and putting together boxes for the Southend homeless shoe box appeal. Tomorrow I'll go help out at the soup kitchen, delivering hot meals to people sleeping rough down the town and near the seafront. Anything that keeps my focus outward can only help.
The kids seem fine, completely unaware of what's going on with me. So much the better. Mazzy was off school last week, and she actually came on Skype and chatted with us. It was wonderful. Even Chloe got excited. I miss her terribly. She seems well, which is amazing and probably more gratifying for me than ME feeling well, at this point. I do wonder how much of her troubles are the fault of the shit brain chemistry I might have passed on to her.
I sound all doom and gloom, I think, but I'm not. I'm tired, but hopeful. December, the end of the year, and all the symbolic death and rebirth jazz that goes along with it always put me into a mood of retrospection and introspection, which is probably a bit compounded by my situation at the moment. Doing my best not to hide away in my hole and hibernate.
I skipped Thanksgiving, as I've done every year since I moved here, but I have been thinking about the things I'm thankful for. I'm thankful, most of all, for Jim. He's been amazing (as usual), but especially about all this. He's definitely my anchor. I'm thankful for our beautiful family. They keep me grounded, and (holy shit!) WE MADE THIS. I'm thankful for all that we have. Fuck, man, people with the life I've had, loads of them live on the streets and have nothing. I'm thankful for his family, who take care of me like I'm their own. I'm thankful that there was an ocean between my mom and I this time around. That she didn't have to be the one to pick me up and carry me home and watch and wait for the tide to recede. I'm thankful that she doesn't have to know this time.
Wednesday, November 25, 2015
The one where I get serious and try to lay some shit out.
I think the difficult thing, for me is that I need to talk, or write. I need to get it all out to make any sense of the jumble in my head. Sometimes talking or typing in a void is enough. Sometimes you want to bounce things off of somebody. If you go on line, go on Facebook, where ever, and you look up anxiety and depression support groups, you'll find more than you could possibly participate in. They're out there and they're full of actual human beings, interacting. Talking about their meds and dosages and what helps and how to deal with all sorts of triggers and shit. People reaching out and looking at each other and understanding each other. That's a lovely thing.
Now you try looking for a schizophrenia support group. There are a few. They have people in them to. I haven't joined them all, or anything. I can't speak for all of them, but man, the ones I have. If people are posting at all, it's some wild shit. It just sort of reminds you how really alone you are in this. That guy posting about the mind control experiments the government is doing on us all... I mean, I won't pretend I can't sympathise. I've felt that way. I've been where every one of my senses can come to no other conclusion. But it just made me aware of how abysmally fucked up I was. I certainly didn't want to shout about it from the rooftops warning everyone.
That's not a dig. We've all got our own brain demons to slay. It just reinforces the fact that there is nowhere to say this shit, unless I make a place to say it. No one is going to nod at me and say, "Yeah, that shit is rough. You'll pull through." No one is going to say anything, in fact. What could they say? The beauty of the internet is not having to see how they look at you, with this silent, sad concern.
I suppose I haven't said it on this blog yet, that word. Schizophrenia. Isn't it just all big and scary and weird? I bet it makes you think of asylums or homeless people. It does me, and I have it, so, you know. I don't want to be afraid of a word. I mean, I spent years in the thick of it. My every waking moment was full of fear, fear of myself, fear of my brain and what it would make me see/hear/smell/feel next, fear of losing everyone I loved, fear of what would happen to me. Then things got better, and I lived in fear of it coming back. Fear of being there again. Fear of saying it, that word, and the way people would look at me once they knew. I'm fucking tired of being afraid. Afraid of a fucking word.
So yeah, I'm schizophrenic. I suffer from anxiety quite often, and depression much less often. I expend a serious amount of brain space and energy gauging my capacity for dealing with things, socializing, even just being around people. Most of the time I do it without thinking. I keep my expectations of myself really low. People probably think I'm a lot of things that I'm not. But it's when I forget to pace myself and let myself off of doing too much that I run into problems, most often.
Sometimes it's hard to let go of the things that we once enjoyed. Sometimes we think, oh, I'm so different now, LIFE is so different now. Maybe it'll be okay. You know what? Maybe it will, but it isn't worth taking the chance. So maybe, instead, it's time to stop trying to shove it all under the bed and forget about it. Maybe it's time to accept it and own it and then let it go.
Now you try looking for a schizophrenia support group. There are a few. They have people in them to. I haven't joined them all, or anything. I can't speak for all of them, but man, the ones I have. If people are posting at all, it's some wild shit. It just sort of reminds you how really alone you are in this. That guy posting about the mind control experiments the government is doing on us all... I mean, I won't pretend I can't sympathise. I've felt that way. I've been where every one of my senses can come to no other conclusion. But it just made me aware of how abysmally fucked up I was. I certainly didn't want to shout about it from the rooftops warning everyone.
That's not a dig. We've all got our own brain demons to slay. It just reinforces the fact that there is nowhere to say this shit, unless I make a place to say it. No one is going to nod at me and say, "Yeah, that shit is rough. You'll pull through." No one is going to say anything, in fact. What could they say? The beauty of the internet is not having to see how they look at you, with this silent, sad concern.
I suppose I haven't said it on this blog yet, that word. Schizophrenia. Isn't it just all big and scary and weird? I bet it makes you think of asylums or homeless people. It does me, and I have it, so, you know. I don't want to be afraid of a word. I mean, I spent years in the thick of it. My every waking moment was full of fear, fear of myself, fear of my brain and what it would make me see/hear/smell/feel next, fear of losing everyone I loved, fear of what would happen to me. Then things got better, and I lived in fear of it coming back. Fear of being there again. Fear of saying it, that word, and the way people would look at me once they knew. I'm fucking tired of being afraid. Afraid of a fucking word.
So yeah, I'm schizophrenic. I suffer from anxiety quite often, and depression much less often. I expend a serious amount of brain space and energy gauging my capacity for dealing with things, socializing, even just being around people. Most of the time I do it without thinking. I keep my expectations of myself really low. People probably think I'm a lot of things that I'm not. But it's when I forget to pace myself and let myself off of doing too much that I run into problems, most often.
Sometimes it's hard to let go of the things that we once enjoyed. Sometimes we think, oh, I'm so different now, LIFE is so different now. Maybe it'll be okay. You know what? Maybe it will, but it isn't worth taking the chance. So maybe, instead, it's time to stop trying to shove it all under the bed and forget about it. Maybe it's time to accept it and own it and then let it go.
Tuesday, November 24, 2015
Deep in the process...
Putting myself back together again seems to entail all the same things it always has. Blasting music, talking to myself, middle of the night sudden onset insomnia... significantly less cigarettes (none, ha!) but yes. I almost feel good. It almost feels good. I'm not sure that anything makes much more sense than it did before, but I'm not sure it's supposed to, either. Always a bit disconcerting to be reminded how tenuous your grip on reality actually is, though. I may be being slightly unfair to myself. It's not so much that I lost it, as I put it somewhere for safe keeping and forgot where that was. YOUR GLASSES ARE ON TOP OF YOUR HEAD, YO. Something like that.
So, what next? I've no clue. A few days of taking it all easy, for starters. Maybe I'll start blogging about normal shit. Losing weight and the soup kitchen and biking and all the other shit I've had going on lately or been thinking about doing. WHO KNOWS. Maybe I'll write a proper blog post. Imagine that.
So, what next? I've no clue. A few days of taking it all easy, for starters. Maybe I'll start blogging about normal shit. Losing weight and the soup kitchen and biking and all the other shit I've had going on lately or been thinking about doing. WHO KNOWS. Maybe I'll write a proper blog post. Imagine that.
Monday, November 23, 2015
Inaugural Post
Another new blog, eh? I mean, it's not like I'm good at keeping things going. Oh sure, I start off all full of ideas and motivation, so sure that this will be the time I make a go of things, but it always peters out eventually. So why bother?
Well, hell, why not? Maybe I'll get bored (or, more likely, devoid of inspiration) and leave this blog languishing like all the others in a week or so, when the after-effects of my latest psychotic break wear away and leave me feeling insulated again. But then again, maybe not. For now, the pain and the fear and the questions (oh the many fucking questions) are bright and shining, reverberating through my consciousness like a beating, guilt stuffed heart shoved under the floor boards begging for validation. And I, dear reader, haven't got a notebook, so the gut spilling will take place here, on the wide open internet for the world to see, if the world ever happens to stumble upon this.
I guess the main and overwhelming question I need to deal with at the moment, is where is the line between a panic attack and a psychotic break, and, (for me personally) is it even possible to have the former without the latter? So, I mean, yeah... fun times! So far, my biggest take away from this latest rejection of reality is the futility of assuming that I'm "cured" or whatever nonsense it is I've been feeding myself for the past 18 years. I'm not. It's always going to be there, waiting to step in and take the reins when I push myself too far. Still, I suppose forewarned is forearmed or some shit.
Well, hell, why not? Maybe I'll get bored (or, more likely, devoid of inspiration) and leave this blog languishing like all the others in a week or so, when the after-effects of my latest psychotic break wear away and leave me feeling insulated again. But then again, maybe not. For now, the pain and the fear and the questions (oh the many fucking questions) are bright and shining, reverberating through my consciousness like a beating, guilt stuffed heart shoved under the floor boards begging for validation. And I, dear reader, haven't got a notebook, so the gut spilling will take place here, on the wide open internet for the world to see, if the world ever happens to stumble upon this.
I guess the main and overwhelming question I need to deal with at the moment, is where is the line between a panic attack and a psychotic break, and, (for me personally) is it even possible to have the former without the latter? So, I mean, yeah... fun times! So far, my biggest take away from this latest rejection of reality is the futility of assuming that I'm "cured" or whatever nonsense it is I've been feeding myself for the past 18 years. I'm not. It's always going to be there, waiting to step in and take the reins when I push myself too far. Still, I suppose forewarned is forearmed or some shit.
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