This morning...

have woken up cross and with what MOMD calls my 'grumpy pants' on. I do not want to get out of bed, and convince myself that as there is a lion on the loose, it is better not to get up, but just to stay here and not encounter the lion of Essex, realising of course that Essex is many hundreds of miles away, but better safe than sorry. Gloom, on reading the news to discover that the lion of Essex turned out to be a large ginger tom cat and that all is well. Try to find other reasons not to get up... I know that the reason I really don't want to get up is that I have to go to heart and soul bearing therapy, and that I really don't want to go... have stern word with myself, and carefully remove foot from under warm and cuddly quilt to see if it is warm enough to get up....bahhh... it is, and I scoot to kitchen to make strong coffee and make pot noodle for breakfast. Ha, the flippin' sun is shining, well that might tempt me out, but still not sure about therapy. It is the last one of the compassionate mind therapies today. I have bought a card for the pyschologists who are running it, but feel I should go buy flowers or something. Then argue that this is their job so why should I? Guess they might expect me to say thank you with flowers and card and end up in muddle. Take coffee and pot noodle back to bed... stuff the sunshine, I am staying here.

Dream of living on a deserted island, just me and endless beaches... but no kettle, no coffee and no pot noodles, huh... dream turns into nightmare, and I decide to arise from from my pit.

Stuff countless pills in mouth and swallow with strong espresso, wait for things to seem better... no, not working.... hmm, maybe if I go and sit on step and have a quick fag, things will appear better, but cigarette makes me feel sick...back to bed, swallow sleeping tablets and give up....there is no pit, there are no dragons, but maybe the most compassionate thing to do is just to give today a miss and wake up tomorrow.

sorry to say...

today has been horrid, torrid, and yet hopefully some good will come of it. I have failed to be assessed by the local 'womens aid', or whatever they are now called, as the assessment raised too many questions, which I am not well enough to be able to respond to without falling into crisis, which I have. Looking for comfort from MOMD, have met with blank resistance, that my behaviour is unacceptable, and therefore he doesn't want it around him, but that is another story all together....... was then rescued by wonderful CPN, Nick. Wonderful man, don't know how I managed before he was here to make things cope able.
Have had some lovely phone calls from AMAZING friends, which reassure me that humanity is not dead, but I have to say that today is over, and has been over for some hours, I have taken the cop out route, hell, sometimes, even one dragon a day is too much.
But, some good news, and some that I know will be good for you to hear, is that the health reporter, who I mentioned in my last post has spoken to me, and seems keen to take on the fight with me, so here's to things being better in this city for others like me, who are ill, really pretty ill tonight, and who deserve to be looked after better... maybe she can take up the reins and I could have a few more days of oblivion.
Much love x
P.S. MOMD = Man Of My Dreams

The Anti-Wedding Anniversary Day......

Today would have been my 26th wedding anniversary.I didn't make it that far, I ran away. Today brings mixed feelings, huge grief for what I have lost, and massive strength from what I have gained.

I cannot bring myself to think about the losses, therapy, psychology etc. etc. cannot bring me to discuss or think about them, I know where I go when the losses come to me, and it is not a good, safe place to be, you know where I go, Police cell, hospital bed, the depths of the pit of doom.

But, what have I gained? I guess that now, when I can combat the internal battle, that I am safe now. I choose my friends carefully, will be more carefully after I have been on the course the Police have got planned for me, I can't remember what it is called, but it is to make me more aware of abusive behaviours, what is right, what isn't right within a relationship, friendship, lovers etc., so that I can see who is being abusive before it becomes a criminal offence I guess.. Oh it is called 'Pattern Changing', and will apparently make me have more self esteem and confidence, rock on that sounds good.

So, today is full of mixed emotions. Have decided that instead of having another rotten day, I will make today my 'anti-anniversary day', and go and have fun. The sun is sunny, the bunny is happy, I will go to the Barbican and have a womble around the charity shops and find some fabric to make an anti-anniversary patchwork cushion. Nikkinoccynoo has lent me her sewing machine, so I will have a go, and make something positive and punchable! Heh heh heh, oh yes, punchable!

Detox Day Three....

slept well, so well that getting head off pillow was difficult. Feel like I have been sedated, except for my tummy which is violently upset, and makes me bolt for the loo frequently. Well, it is a detox, guess the 'tox has to come out somewhere... yuk

Day feels empty, the brief numbness which alcohol provided me before, has been replaced by a day long numbness from not having it... odd. Try to think of something which is worth doing today, but brain is in neutral. But, one day at a time, and today, being in Numbville, is pretty good!

kerplunk........

it's Thursday, nothing has changed, except that without warning, I have landed back at the bottom of the pit. It doesn't help that I feel physically ill again, but no, back at the bottom. Perhaps that's not fair, after all, I have not chopped myself up, overdosed, planned to die, and I am not sat in a cell in a Police Station, I have not been detained, so perhaps I am only half way down, oh joy, that means it could be worse. Or perhaps not, maybe I could get some climbing gear on, and climb back up, but I can't today. It isn't a raw feeling, just an over all sad and incapable one. One of those times where sitting staring into nothing at nothing seems like the best, if not only option. My CPN will be here in about an hour, he is great, but there isn't an answer to this, no magic fairy dust, no elephant pill, no cure for this, it just is what it is.

Hands together please.....

and a standing ovation for me, as I have driven to and from Liskeard, negotiating right hand turns and roundabouts (both absolute phobias of mine), without incident, and without tears.... ta daaaaaaa.....!

Last time I had to drive any distance, and we are only talking driving up to the service station at Exeter, about forty miles away, I sobbed for the entire drive,  navigating Haldon Hill with buckets of tears and snotty hankies piling up, I am surprised I made it at all. But that time I took Dave the house rabbit with me, so I had to drive carefully. Poor Dave, all of a sudden he is bundled up into his carry box, strapped onto the passenger seat and driven up the A38 and M5 to meet a Police Officer, who also thought the arrangement slightly odd, but was pleased to meet him. This time, as Froogs and I were doing the ladies who lunch and womble day, it was unfair to cart him off and leave him in the truck for hours so I drove on my own. I was accompanied by Radio Four with a stern female voice who I could imagine telling me to pull myself together and get on with it, so I did.

The day has been great, lovely to meet up with Froogs and gossip and shop and lunch. Great to have completed the drives there and back without bumping into anyone or anything, and so great to do it all and feel competent and well... hooorrrraaayyyyy!

oh my....

everything is still alright. Had a huge panic attack last night about nothing, which was concerning, but oh wow, things are still good. Think that today I shall not tiptoe through life, trying to make sure that I don't lose this feeling, but try to be more robust and see if it stays even when I am ignoring it, after all it is just a feeling, an emotion, it isn't a delicate crystal glass.... well we will see.

Am off to Liskeard, to womble with Froogs again today, which will be great fun. Made some uber cool cushions with some pillow cases I picked up with her last week. They have fab retro 70's pink flowers on and look great, I am pretty proud of my needle work, as I don't have a sewing machine!  then later will watch day two of the British firework competition, which was pretty spectacular last night.

Fingers crossed, and keep on keeping on.

Much love x

Coming up for air......

Recently, well, to be more precise over the last week, but not Sunday, Sunday was awful, but that is over now thankfully, I have felt a new feeling. The feeling doesn’t last for very long, and I don’t think I have felt it before, but it is good. I can’t describe it as ‘peace of mind’, that doesn’t explain it properly; it is more like a feeling of total well being.

There is a battle in my head. On one hand there is me, grown up, successful, caring and in control of me, versus, a little girl who is frightened, lonely, unsafe and has no control of herself or anything. The problem has always been that the little girl me, is much much stronger than the grown up version, so she wins. Her vulnerability, her inability to manage a grown up world, her absolute need for love and acceptance, at whatever cost, have always been stronger than the grown up version, who can actually do ok.

The little girl knows that her writing is rubbish. If you really knew her you wouldn’t like her. If you knew her you would push her away and not accept or love her. That no place is safe. That little me has been kept strong by abuse, and  by others reinforcing those beliefs.

The grown up me is not strong, it hasn’t practised enough how to manage, how to cope, how to deal with every day life, it hasn’t been fed, made robust, It has no resilience.

The grown up me knows that actually everything is ok, that I am safe, warm, clothed, have food in the cupboards, fuel in my car, some pennies in my purse, and that right now, I am ok. But the stronger persona, the little me, is jumping up and down, shouting that everything isn’t ok at all, that everything is really scary, that I can’t cope, that I must keep the curtains shut, mustn’t go out, must stay inside…. The little me wants to phone everyone and make sure that they still love me… the little me is sure that no one does, so it hurts itself.

So, why do I have a feeling of total well being sometimes now? I guess that the voice of the little me is getting drowned out by the support I have been receiving through my blog. That maybe I can write well, that may be people really do care about me, that actually though I do struggle, it is ok… other people who may or may not suffer in the same way empathise, sympathise and give a shit….  there is becoming a balance of those personas, maybe the support for me is strengthening the grown up me, and maybe, just maybe…everything will be ok.

Much love x

Well, it went something like this.....

After having posted yesterday morning, I began to feel really, really bad, massive panic attack which just wouldn't go away, tried drugs, nope, tried calming breathing, nope, tried going for walk, nope, tried driving to Sainsburys buying cheap bottle of pink wine, drinking large glass, yup, that worked...

Ho hum... wish it wasn't alcohol that makes the feelings go away, but at the moment, it'll have to do.  

Nikkinokkinoo, a great friend from school arrived at 2pm, with the epilator, so with as much physical effort as it takes to trim a garden hedge, I removed offending hairy areas from legs!

Thank goodness she was there... not only did I not drink the entire bottle of pink wine (which would have caused me to be calmer, but less eloquent at forthcoming meeting!), but she put together a plan of what I wanted to achieve from the meeting.  Nikki and I have known each other since I was twelve, and I think she truely knows me (she is also a teacher, so a few teachery looks from her, and I did behave, drank a glass of water, instead of the rest of the bottle!). Having a written 'plan of attack' made me feel much more in control of what I had to do, I kind of had an idea in my head of what I wanted, but having it written down made much more sense.

So, aim one for him to understand and support the need for a crisis house in Plymouth, and to work towards having one in place for people who need support in times of mental health crisis.

Aim two, to understand that the unit for people detained under section 136 of the mental health act to be reopened without delay.

Aim three, to agree to use publicity, ie local press to promote the positive impact of how aims one and two would impact on the city

Aim four, to agree an action plan towards the above goals with a timeline, and to define my own role within the project.

Aim five, to take me seriously or I would burn down his office.

I had printed some of the blog, and he had obviously read the letter which is one of the previous posts, letter to Oliver Colvile.... I also printed a copy of a summary of a CICA tribunal which has awarded me 100% compensation for abuse suffered in a previous relationship, my entire teaching portfolio, which shows where I was when I was well, plus a copy of my care plan written by my CPN, so we had enough information to go forwards.

   

Well..... not only did he take me very seriously, and listened to what I had to say, agreed with my ideas and said that he would support them, he also raised other points.

He has given me the name of a journalist who I could work with to raise awareness of mental health issues within the city.

He will be meeting with the Police Superintendent to speak to him about the way in which I was dealt with, refer back to post on being detained under section 136 of mental health act in a Police cell for five hours, plus the strip and internal searches of my body. He will be writing to the Home Office regarding this also.

He is going to speak to Steve Waite, Chief Exec of Plymouth Mental Health to find out why funding was withdrawn from Section 136 unit.

But most of all, for a reason I didn't even go to see him about, but had included the paperwork in my bundle of what my life was like before I got totally nutty, he and I are going to have a meeting with a senior Police Officer in the next two weeks about how we can take forward and bring to justice someone who must remain nameless, but who so deserves to face what he has done to me, and the judicial consequences of them........

Much love x

Thought for the day . . .

Hmmmm….. Certain concerns about appointment with MP next week.

      Oh my god, what shall I wear? If I go suited and booted, makeup on and looking professional, then unfortunately stigma says that I don’t look like a nutter and maybe he wont take my complaint seriously. With this thought in mind I dyed my hair purple yesterday. I am planning to fill up my shopping trolley with plastic carrier bags, and not wash for a week. Maybe if I wear my wetsuit, with a bobble hat and slippers I may look the part. However, after being detained under section 136 of the mental health act once this week, I don’t really want to go back there.

This week has potentially been one of my worst weeks, hence the amount of drawings I have been putting up onto Facebook. Drawing is a diversion tactic for me, it makes me concentrate on something other than dying.

Yesterday I decided to cut my face off, and put cigarettes out on my arms, after having lacerated them with a Stanley knife. Therefore, today, when I was meant to have blood tests to make sure my liver is still working because of the amount of vodka I drink, I bottled out and left the waiting room. What can I say to people who ask what happened to my face? ‘Oh I cut myself shaving’, ‘be careful of exfoliation, it can remove parts of your face’, ‘I was wrestling with alligators and came off worse’, ‘be careful of those piranhas in the river, they are hungry right now’, or should I just say, I hate myself and my stupid face and wanted to cut it off?. Oh the cuts on my arms? ‘ Battling with brambles in my garden, and they won’, ‘I was engaged in a duel to the death, and though I obviously won, I have some superficial cuts’. The blisters and burns, hmmmmm, more tricky, however, what about, ‘I was involved in studying an active volcano which erupted whilst I was in the crater’, or ‘I have become allergic to sitting next to people who are not nuts, go away’.

It is ok though, I have come to a contract with my CPNs boss, a lovely man. I have agreed that I will not self-destruct until 12.30pm today, when he will phone me again with another contract. Though I have been thinking that contracts should be mutually beneficial; I don’t die on his watch, therefore he is ok, and has done his job well. But what about me? Do I get a fiver for not deliberately self harming? A certificate? A bottle of vodka? I think not, but I will negotiate with him later.

So, going to see MP today would on one hand be pretty good, as I am looking a right old nutty state, but then again, the points I wish to make need to be listened to, understood and acted on as if I wasn’t stigmatised and discriminated because I am justjane.

Karma......

Letter to MP Oliver Colville and Chief Exec of Plymouth Community Healthcare

RE: Lack of Crisis Home and specialised unit for patients detained under section 136 of the Mental Health Act

Dear Sir
I write, not as a letter of complaint, but of one despair and hope. I write with honesty about me, my illness and my need for resources to be improved, not only for me, but for all other patients who have had to endure stigma, discrimination and a lack of understanding from those who have not been educated in how to manage those with mental health illness.
On the ******* I was *****. I was picked up by a Police patrol car and taken to *********  Police Station.I was naked and was given a blue paper outfit to wear At this point it was decided by the Police Officers, that I needed to be psychologically assessed to determine whether or not I was fit to consent to be forensically examined for evidence of the alleged ****. This took the whole day, being moved first to ************* Police Station, where I was told I could not be seen as I would contaminate evidence as the accused was being held in custody. I was then taken  to ********* Hospital, where I sat in a room with several Psychiatrists, a social worker, a student nurse, and two SOLO officers to determine whether or not I was competent. This took most of the day. At ten o'clock I was taken from the ward, out through the public entrance. During this time, wearing only the blue paper suit, which stank of the accused and what he had done ( I was physically sick throughout the day because of the smell), I was taken in and out of the Hospital by uniformed officers, through the public waiting area. The Officers were uniformed and I felt as those watching us walk though could only consider that I was under arrest, or in some kind of trouble with the Police. I was taken to the forensic examination room across the other side ofthe city and was intimately examined. Afterwards, though they had spent all day ascertaining that I was suffering from severe and enduring mental illness symptoms of which are self harm and alcoholism, I was dropped back to my flat where I live alone. I will not explain to you what happened next, as there is only so much you need to know about my self hate and torture, but lets just accept it wasn't nice. I should have been dropped to a crisis house. The majority of major cities have crisis houses where people like myself, who are a danger to themselves are looked after during crisis, rather than being admitted to a general psychiatric ward.
On the night of the ********I  I was visited by a Police Officer, she was there as I was not answering my phone, and someonewith a super sized ego thought I must be dead if I didn't answer his phone call, but I just wanted an evening to myself, not to talk to anyone. However, when the Officer saw the cuts to my arms and legs, she called for a Sergeant to attend. When I went outside for a cigarette, I was detained under section 136 of the Mental Health Act. I was taken to ************* Police Station. I was put into a cell, stripped of my clothing and had a scanner ran over my body. The scanner picked up metal in my hips, legs and ankle. I explained that I had had titanium implants in these areas, the surgical scars are still obvious, they they then felt it necessary to internally examine me both vaginally and rectally. I was kept in a cell for five hours. Eventually I was seen by a psychiatrist who had access to my care plan and I was allowed to leave.
People who are detained under this section of the Mental Health Act, should not be kept in a Police cell. The unit for section 136 must be reopened immediately. I understand it has been closed due to financial cut backs, but these financial cut backs may be the reason, or may already be a reason for a person taking their own lives.  My symptoms have now escalated to the point where my psychiatrist is phoning me daily, my medications have been increased, and we are looking at me having to be an inpatient at the Priory as the local psychiatric hospital would be too traumatic for me. I have no complaint with the secondary mental health team, they are second to none. I have amazing care from my psychiatrist, My CPN is brilliant and visits me at least weekly, the Gateway to Mental Health service is consistently helpful. But they cannot do their jobs effectively whilst there are these lack of resources.
I have many ideas, how we could get these resources in place, but can no longer write, it is all a bit traumatic and raw to write anymore. But I will send you my phone number, please lets make an arrangement to meet so we can discuss this further.

PS. Odd how the logo has crossed fingers, this shouldn't be about luck, it should be about human rights

Why it isn't easy to like me...

as you know, I suffer from a few pretty devastating mental illnesses. The reasons for which I cannot publish, for their libellous content, but the symptoms are not!
I cannot cope with negative emotions, they consume me. The result of this leads to me abusing alcohol, cutting my arms and legs with blades, overdosing on sedatives and attempting suicide.
I wish with everything in me that I was well and that I did not do this, but I do. I it is not "attention seeking", as has been suggested in the past by a so called friend, it is not a waste of Police and Ambulance services, as has been suggested by a Police Officer, it is not up to me, I don't want to feel like this,I WANT TO BE WELL. it is the result of an illness, of which I have no control, the reasons for cannot be discussed, as previously mentioned, they are libellous.
Believe me, no one wants to feel like this. I think everyone wants to feel happy, or at least a state of normalness, peace, safety and love.
Tonight, I had a conversation with the man of my dreams, who believes, erroneously that it is up to me to be better. Yes, I partake in the pill/potions/therapy etc which I am glad to take part in and engage fully, but to be honest it just ain't hitting the spot.
Yesterday I took a combination of diazepam and vodka, the point of this was to die. I am frustrated by my attempts to be well not working, and the effects it has had on my relationships with other people I love. It must be damn had work being friends and loving someone who just wants to die. Today, having been thwarted by the attempts of the emergency services to die, I cut have cut up my arms and legs. I have done this in an attempt to supercede the overwhelming emotions of self hate and guilt I feel for having failed to die, and for hating that I will have to cope with another day, tomorrow, feeling that I am the worlds worst girlfriend, mother, ex-wife, daughter etc.
BUT .... a word of hope, we do all have friends, strong friends who are there for us, the non-judgemental, loving friends who may not have the answers, but who are there.... love them, like they love you x x and you will find acceptance, not for the illness you suffer from, but for YOU x x much love to you friend, you know who you are x

Once upon a time.....

....sadly, I have to miss the plot, because it is libellous, and the end isn't happily ever after either.
There are times when 'manic defense against chronic dysphoria', seems not only impossible, but also utterly pointless. Not the writing, the writing helps, but the condition. The fight to remain well against all odds, seems more and more like putting myself in an undefended trench whilst the enemy fire from all sides with ever increasing power.
God, Buddah, my CPN, Psychiatrist, therapists.. etc etc know how hard I try to do the right thing and to stay safe, not only from myself but also from those who have made it their lives work to manipulate, corrupt, abuse and take what they want (you can refer to the entry about fault and blame too!).
But those selfish souls have won, I give in. From now onwards they can do what they want, there is no justice, no end, no closure to this.

I will move far away, away from them all, their memories and their poison, and live in a yurt or a finca, with a few chickens and a goat, and plant seeds. I will write poetry and be regarded as slightly odd by my distant neighbours,so they will leave me alone. Occasionally I will go to an Internet cafe and write my blog, and drink good coffee.

But for now, today, I am taking my house rabbit, Dave, and my tent and I am going to practise living where no one knows me. I am going to go camping. I am going to behave slightly oddly, so that I am left alone. I will drink copious amounts of vodka, and sing loudly, and very badly. I will write my blog on bits of paper bags, and update when I return.

In the meantime I hope you all are well, are loved and are safe.

Much love x

Fighting back... Heroine or Victim?

A few years ago, I started to write a book. The book became two books, the first 'Letters to the Queen' and the second, ' Twenty One Days of Retribution'. Letters to the Queen, detailed my struggle through domestic and sexual violence over many years, and the fight to find justice and closure to it. Twenty One Days of Retribution, describes my fantasies of revenge. Fortunately they remained fantasies or I am sure I would be at the wrong end of the Criminal Justice Service!
A week ago, when I was thinking about how to change attitudes towards mental illness, I found out those books. I have been offered money for them to be published, but I could never bring myself to finish them, there never was any closure. When I looked through the manuscripts I realised that I had changed since I had written them, and the way in which I had portrayed myself was as a victim, has changed. I no longer think of myself as a victim, more of a heroine, after all despite all efforts I am still here, I survived!
I began to re-write the books, thinking that I could change the way in which I portrayed myself. But it was more painful than ever to re-read what had happened, the consequences and how I was when writing those books. I have put them away. Some things are better off not being read, or shared I think!
I am writing the sequel to those books now, 'Going ever so slightly mad', this time it is written as a triumph. A triumph over the abuse, a triumph over those people who believe that writing me off as a nutter and ignoring me would make me go away, a triumph over the Criminal Justice System (secret to be revealed very soon, well probably a couple of months!) I have not yet won myself over and I hope with all my heart to be well soon, in the meantime the demon of vodka, sedatives and cutting remain with me, but I will win. Don't forget, Manic defense against Chronic Dysphoria, I will win!

  

Keeping it all together, or not...

It's been such a busy week so far. Appointments to keep, friends to keep up with, bills to pay, shopping to buy, cooking and housework to do, Facebook, Twitter and Blog to keep up with. Might not seem too much for those of you with a job, but this week, so far, has been a toughie. But so far so good,  I'm keeping it all together, I thought. Went to kitchen to make pot of coffee. Had run out of filter coffee in the storage jar, so opened a new packet to pour into the jar to use. The coffee spilled out of the packet and went all over the work surfaces and floor of kitchen. Now this isn't really such a big deal, at least I think it shouldn't be, but for me this morning it was the end of the world. The total proof that I couldn't keep anything together at all. So I sat on the kitchen floor and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, surrounded by coffee grounds, and one impatient house rabbit who really wanted me to pack it in, open the fridge and get his carrots out. But why such an over reaction? Problem with me is that I cannot regulate negative emotions. I am either ok, or in A&E being bandaged up and sedated.
Therapy is good, it helps me to learn skills to stay on the ok side of nutterdom, but at the moment the skills are not powerful enough to defeat the dark side.

Good news though, plan to change the world is going well, lots of great feedback for blog, and other stuff I have written. Hoping that small steps will conquer some of the negativity which seems endemic throughout much of our society.

On a lighter note, my lovely daughter will be here tomorrow, so loads to look forward to.

So..how do I get better then?

My biggest frustration and anger is that I am not better.... God knows I try, I take the handful of prescribed pills twice a day. Attend therapy twice a week, see my amazing CPN Nick once a week and a wonderful psychiatrist at least once a month, and yet I am no better. I understand more of what is wrong with me, understand the theory of how to use coping techniques when things get to what they call tier 2, but in practise, none of these work. I try harder, practise compassionate meditation, mindfulness in all that I do, but hell it always comes back to cutting, drinking yet another bottle of vodka, taking too many sedatives (or whatever else I have to hand) and trying to work out how to hang myself in my tiny flat (So far failed to find anything high enough and strong enough!)

My frustration is huge today, I have a great day planned with my lovely daughter, we have lots to get on with and projects to finish, but the blackness has enveloped me and I am not sure if I can do it. At least do it all without damaging my daughter. Are there any reasons why I should feel like this? Absolutely not, had a lovely night with man of my dreams and a friends family, didn't drink too much, took sleepy tablets at the right time, got up at a reasonable time... all good. 

Oh I got it, it's Friday the 13th! No, seriously the frustration of not being well is huge. There is nothing that I want more than to be a healthy Jane.

Further diagnosis... more labels please (I liked the last one!)

Turned up at the Psychiatrists office with a bundle of symptoms, a whole load of confusion, damp tissues, overwhelming sadness and an inability to do anything about it. I am never going to talk about why, though the cartoon below explains why some of you might have an inkling as to what happened! Oh alcohol.. how I love its anaesthetic effects, sadly though it also gives me verbal diarrhoea! 

After an hour, I had two more of the lovely labels but this time it was a lot more serious.

Chronic Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder.

Hmmm...serious stuff. These two disorders now have me permanently retired from the job I love, and unless I find a way of dealing with it, will leave me out of 'gainful employment' for good. But let's deal with the disorders first.

Chronic post traumatic stress disorder, many webistes out there which explain it well:

I think one of the best, which I feel best explains how and what is Wikipedia; http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Complex_post-traumatic_stress_disorder

As for the emotionally unstable personality disorder, it kind of explains itself. I can't control my emotions, therefore when I am sad, I am very very sad. Most of the time, I am ok, but at times I need hospital treatment.

Web link, which kind of explains it best for me;

http://www.mhguidelines-leics.nhs.uk/default.aspx?page=eupd_assessmentdiagnosis

Writing this today, is pretty scary. Telling you what is wrong with me is massive. The external symptoms that you see, the drinking, the scars from cutting are my way of coping with these disorders. The drinking aneathetises me, the physical pain of cutting makes the uncontrollable pain of grief and sadness leave me. There is no attetion seeking in what I do, I do not cut in public, this is a very private way of dealing with myself. If you see the scars and you want to know, please ask. Please dont just fill in the gaps yourself. In the words of Oscar Wilde, 'You can never be overdressed or over educated'.