Friday, 5 October 2012

Psychosis part three....

...past few days have been more than odd. Decided after wobble with flashbacks into childhood, that I would take prescribed diazepam and remove all thoughts and hopefully therefore flashbacks from swamp of brain.

Day one; sit on sofa, diazepam is working.... no thoughts at all, love this. Mouse appears from under book shelves and runs under table. Sit still and let mouse have sniff loses interest and goes back under shelves. Nothing happens... no thinking, no nothing...grand. Mouse reappears from under shelf..... scuttles back then reappears with two more mice... I move legs onto sofa. Three mice wander around sitting room, exploring. Obviously bit pissed off there is no food, they go into kitchen. Sit very still.... I have no problem with mice, I mean I know they can be unhealthy if they get into food, but can't work out how they can, so no problem.
(Dave is on the sofa, pretending to watching some dreadful antiques programme, but is really asleep.)
I get up off sofa to make sure mice are up to no mischief. The mice are on the kitchen floor and they are broken. I can see through their fur and into their bodies. I can see the muscles, the blood flowing, the bones. There is grey fur on the floor, but the mice are black. The mice are still moving around without any care, but I know they are broken and I can see through them.
I know that you can't see through the fur and skin of mice and see what is happening inside of them, but I can.
Cry, and know that I probably will never stop.... of all the things that could happen to me.... my brain is turning into a side show, I know it can't be real, but there it is in front of me. So frightened

Take another diazepam.

Day two... CPN Nick is coming. Tidy all surfaces, spray polish in the air, plait hair, and put mascara on.... got to look like I am coping with a) housework b) personal appearance.
About ten minutes before he arrives mouse comes out from book shelves. Decide to ignore it, and not get involved. However, find humane trap, place yummy bit of Brie in it, and put it in void under fridge.... there are mouse droppings down there... just don't know if they are 'real' or not.
Make food, that is another thing Nick checks, that I am eating. Decide to make dahl. chop up onions, chilli's and garlic, fry. Add several types of lentils and tablespoon of garam masala. Decide to add the remaining chicken soup I had made on Monday as stock. As I add it, the pieces of chicken in the soup are definitely mouse... they are not chicken at all. I throw up.
Now mascara is streaming down face, kitchen is covered with vomit and all through my hair too. Need fresh air... sit on step outside, try not to think, throw up into hydrangea bush. Breath, breath, breath.... stop thinking. Look up and large truck passes, I can see through the outside of the truck body and into it. It is full of people with no faces, they are made of brown hessian. Go back to flat, shaking... pass the poor woman who I showed the psychotic guinea pigs to a few weeks ago, she asks how I am...but I think she knows.
Nick arrives. He looks for mice, but can't see them. Cannot talk to him, sit waiting for the mice to come back. He drinks his tea and leaves.

Take another diazepam.

Decide to do some cross stitch...yes, I know cross stitch...but I am not well. MOMD comes to get me to take me back to his place. We stop at Lidl to get something for dinner. He wants to get some meat and pan fry it....every piece of meat I see is mouse, feel very sick, grab some spinach filled pasta and leave.
Try to explain what is going on, but know that I must sound delusional, oh yes, that's right I am. Try to make it sound that I am not delusional and that this really is happening, but he can't get it, who could?

Am approaching today with concern..... 

Much love x

1 comment:

susan said...

I can't find the words to help you, I don't know what to say, I wish I could help, I usually joke and lark about like an arse to help my friend's through their traumas (tho they have different problems), If I had a 'beam me up scotty' type thing I would be there and try to get you through it moment by moment. Not that I am in any way an expert, but silly, stupid. farty, snorty type jokes and a certain amount of black humour gets us through the shite. (Don't forget the hobbitlike menopausal midget wearing a tatty dressing gown dancin like a video ho if it helps). When my friend was in the divorce courts with The Bastard and I wasn't allowed in I told her to imagine me in the corner looking like the little dwarf in 'The Singing Ringing Tree' (remember that hideous show in the 60s?/70s?) giving him the finger when things got tough.
PS I must remember to tell you about my 50th birthday - surreal but we laughed ourselves into bellyaches (7 of us, 5 with shit lives!)
Do you have someone to laugh with?
Sympathy and earnest careworkers are all well and good but sometimes a giggle/snorty/chortle/snicker/eyewiping breathless laugh until you fart time is good for the soul, the digestion and the stomach muscles too.
Susan x
I hope I don't sound fascetious (did I spell that right? no - bugger) x