Medication.. the pros and cons

....before I begin, please please remember this is my point of view. I have no medical qualifications, and speak only as a user of medication, not a prescriber, or anyone who has any knowledge of pills and potions, only my own thoughts.

I take a variety of tablets each day. One anti-depressant, one beta-blocker, three anti spasmodics (for epilepsy) two to four sleeping tablets, and I have a variety of pills to take when things get a bit tricky and I feel awfully awful.

If you read back a while in the Blog, you will see the post where I decided to stop taking all of them. I did this as a reaction to an assault, which I can't speak of, as what I say becomes both evidential and possibly libellous. I stopped taking the medication as after the assault, I had a conversation in my brain, to work out what had just happened and that it wasn't with my consent. The conversation was a long one, which afterwards I realised I had little, to no control of what my brain was doing, which at the time, wasn't much.

So, I stopped taking them and for about three weeks, everything was great. I felt euphoric, well, in control of me, and actually happy. I thought of the medication I had been taking as actually a big con', it hadn't made me well, it had just numbed me, maybe prevented me from being well, of repairing properly, it was just just an anaesthetic.

Then the sh*t hit the fan, overdose, cutting, being detained by the Police, and I wanted to go back onto them, the realisation that I really wasn't very well, and that the medication had been prescribed for a reason. Of course the reason I had been so well for those three weeks afterwards is the 'half-life' of the pills, the time the medication is still in the blood, although I wasn't taking it.

Of course there are huge drawbacks with the medication I have. First, I really really can't drink, secondly they make me hugely hungry and therefore I have put on a vast amount of weight. Thirdly, I can't quite get the amount of tablets to take at night quite right. The anti-spasmodics make me sleepy, and so do the sleeping tablets. Sometimes, the following day I really can't wake up properly all day, not good. I have a  rash of tiny blisters on my pulse points, this is probably a side effect of the beta blockers. I get incredibly hot, this could be a reaction to the tablets, or it could be the early onset of menopause! I could go on, but the main thing is that it has been  twenty four days without self harm and nine days without vodka, so I think I will keep on keeping on with the pills and potions, they must be working!

The walled garden of doom.....

Ha... I escaped from it, and not through the use of the usual concoction of drink, drugs, slicing and dicing etc.. but this time with the support of others, a shower, and a dial for delivery pizza! My Mum used to say that everything seemed better with a hot bath and a full tummy, and blow me down she was right. 

Today the South West of England is surrounded by thick, damp, gloomy fog, and is the perfect setting for another awful day, but I am too busy to have one of those. I have the world to change, cushion covers to make, flat to clean.... I am sure the pit or garden of doom will reappear, but will do my utmost not to sink into its willing grasp, there are dragons to slay on a day like today... and I am ready for them. Bring it dragons...

Last night.....

zzzzz.......
Usually getting to sleep involves a great concoction of vodka, sleeping tablets and meditation (then giving up and watching endless CSI, NCIS etc, whatever 5USA has to offer) But last night, after having over 1750 hits on my blog, and the amazing supportive comments, I was asleep by eleven, vodka untouched, meditations not needed, slept like a baby, with a feeling I haven't had for years.... peace of mind.
THANK YOU ALL
I feel as if I am doing and have done, something that really matters, and something I feel I have your support with. I no longer feel alone, yes I might feel lonely, but that is different.
I approach today with a new vigour, perhaps wrong word, resolution, that it really will be ok (soon), and ....... my lovely mate Nikki is bringing her epilator round at 2pm so I can wear my skirt without having spider legs growing from them!
Without sounding melodramatic guys and girls, thank you, your support has and is making such a difference to the way I am feeling about myself..... can't say more than that.
BUT will later when I have met the MP chap

dear God, call off the meeting.....

At the end of a long and lovely day I sat down to relax, take a few breaths and enjoy the evening sun, and there like a vision  came a reflection from my legs onto the neighbours wall.... omg, hairy... I beat the Marines, the local rugby club, the local troop of chimpanzees for hairy legs.  I can't possibly meet my MP with legs like this, what would he think? Oh no problem, I think and rush off to find epilator (obviously not allowed razors as they are sharp things I will cut myself on). But when I find the epilator, the rabbit has eaten his way through the power cable. Ok, no problem, I will replace the internal battery and remove offending hairy bits, but no, the internal battery has corroded itself in place and cannot/will not be removed by force, will or prayer. Thus I have hairy legs, and a meeting with my MP in less than twenty four hours.

Silent panic sets in... ideas begin. Apart from taking prescribed medication for panic attacks I begin to formulate way through this crisis. Being on DWP benefits, I cannot just pop down to Argos, Boots etc and pick one up, so I will apply for a crisis loan through the Benefits Agency, the meeting isn't until 4.30pm, so if they will give it to me in cash, I will be OK, legs hair free. Google for answer to this, no, they wont give me crisis loan for an epliator, and anyway they will pay it into bank account, so no use at all. Think it through.... hair removal cream? Have always responded with massive red weals to this, what is worse, red lumps on my legs or hairs like a gorilla? Decide against depilatory cream. Oh come on girl, just drive down to Tesco and buy a razor, use it to remove offending hairy areas and then put it in the dustbin in the backyard, and it has gone, no reason to keep it, no reason to chop up own body, just remove hairs and then bin forever.

Decide to wear trousers.

Tum....te....tum

Today… well today is one of those days when I am defined by illness. I simply cannot cope. I have tried removing myself from people, tried driving, drawing, painting and pastels, no good, can’t find peace of mind. Have taken prescribed tablets, not too many, just the right prescribed amount. Am thinking of turning on telly and watching mindless crap, but can’t face the thought of wasting the day doing nothing. It is intermittently raining, so no beach and no walk. Got no money, so can’t waste day wandering around shops, and really I don’t want anything anyway. Have come up with plan to clean flat, but just remembered I did that yesterday. Thought about cleaning blinds in sitting room, but after event with rabbit and curtain pole earlier in the week, have decided against that.

I am not depressed, I have great drive and motivation to do things, and depression usually affects people’s ability to be motivated. No, not depressed.

I have tried being mindful, ie. Reminding myself that right now I am safe and that nothing harmful is going to happen, or at least nothing harmful is happening right now. Nope, that isn’t what is going on in my brain.

I am not bored, though I can’t paint, draw or do anything well today, it doesn’t really matter, I can still do it, just do it badly, and that’s not a problem, I only do it for me, it’s not like I am ever going to be a professional artist and find my livelihood depends on it. But that doesn’t seem to bring relief today.

Maybe I could write another letter of complaint to the Police about how they dealt with me when they detained me under section 136 of the Mental Health Act, but there seems little point as the last two letters have made no difference. Could compile all the information I need Oliver Colvile MP to see when I meet him next week. But have awful feeling that the meeting will be that horrid little pat on the head,’there, there dear’, and nothing will change.

Maybe I could go to Sainsburys and buy a bottle of their pink value plonk and drink that followed by vast amounts of vodka? At least then I would feel nothing.

Cutting is no longer an issue, at least not to my face. Ben, my CPNs boss, who I mentioned in yesterday s blog, came to see me. He had come up with a contract, that I wasn’t allowed to cut myself until 12.30pm of yesterday and I stuck to it. However, when he came to the flat yesterday , I mentioned to him that though I had stuck to the contract and not cut, I felt that contracts should be mutually beneficial, and that this one wasn’t. He had asked me not to use my method of dealing with my frustration and self hate, not replaced it with anything else, and in return, he had a  patient who hadn’t cut and he therefore had done a good job. He then asked me to agree to another contract. This time I had wised up to his contracts. He asked that I didn’t cut my face until after I completed a new form of therapy, DBT, psycho dynamic psychotherapy, EMDR, lobotomy, can’t remember what it was.Ha! I thought, not on your nelly mate, to satisfy this contract, I want something out of it too. I suggested a large bottle of vodka, he refused, I asked for a big box of diazepam, he refused, I asked for a balloon, he refused….. running out of ideas I asked for a t-shirt. We have now agreed, that in six months time, if I stick to my part of the contract, I will get a t-shirt which will state, ‘Bugger me, Ben was right!’. I have to say I am not sure I will wear it, but at least this time, we have almost a contract.

So, today, I am going to draw, very badly, some boats and some angels……..

Much love, peace and safety  to you all 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.

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

Note to oneself.....

Cleaning is a very important part of life, it makes sure I don't get killed by germs and bugs.
However, whilst under the influence of prescribed sedatives, the rest of yesterdays vodka, a loose house rabbit (whose only purpose in life is to run around me like a demented giro) to decide stand on a chair, then climb onto a table to undo a screw I can't see (which is holding up a curtain rail), the resulting fall and nasty ankle injury is likely to get me detained on another section 136.

For today, why not just watch the Olympics dear, it has got to be safer.

Goddamit, they will take away my drugs.... :o(

THIS IS A VERY HONEST ACCOUNT OF SOMETHING YOU MAY FIND OFFENSIVE, AND MIGHT BE BETTER OFF IGNORING THIS POST


One day this week, and I can't remember what day it was as I am totally stuck on today being Tuesday, and apparently it is in fact Sunday. I took 500mg of diazepam with 70cl of vodka, reason for was to die.
If you refer back to my complaint to the Police entry/post you may understand my motive for this even though you may not understand how I justified suicide, my thoughts of having no one who loved and cared for me, was my rationalisation for this. Yes, many of you will not understand, and I am sorry, and I accept you can't. Many of you may think it is an offence against God, Buddah, whatever you believe in, and maybe it is. But I can't exist without knowing that someone out there cares and accepts me, for the shitty, nutty, crazy  loony that I am.
Someone, who will remain nameless couldn't get hold of me of the phone, but didn't have the balls themselves to knock on the door and show some compassion, or at least just let me be, phoned the Police and  Paramedics who broke in through a window. I was unconscious. They chose to go against my wishes and to save me. I don't think, that once I woke up in hospital, I have ever been so pissed off about being alive, as I have ever been about anything else ever.
I tell you this with honesty, clarity, and with some idea of how things might get better. (But I can absolutely guarantee the secondary mental health team will not give me drugs again. Bless them, I surely let them down by doing this, and I am sorry that I did this with their prescribed drugs.)
The man who I loved has asked me to write down a list of things that he has to do to regain my trust, my love and my respect. Right now my reaction to this is for him to either lie down in front of a truck and die painfully, or I could try to stay off the vodka long enough to write the list, or I could do some self preservation, keep my phone off and not bother with him (Jesus, i nearly wrote another profanity again).

And...... the amazing thing, the thing I had not even thought about is the seemingly endless list of amazing friends who are there for me, who do love me for the fucked up nutter that I am. I could make a huge list and embarrass all of them, but it is ok to embarrass my brother, that is part of my role of being a sister, ha ha ha, my brother is the best. I haven't seen him for so many years, but you know what, even though we loathed each other as children, normal brother sister relationship, I couldn't love anyone more, obviously in a sisterly way, than I could love anyone.

Here's to brothers! To staying alive, but living somewhere else, to having my right to be utterly nuts, and being left alone. Yeay.... now I am going to drink copious amounts of vodka and go to sleep, much love you to you all, I think somewhere inside all of you are all probably a bits nuts, or wish you could be, that's what makes me love you more x

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

Daizepam days.....

Things got pretty bad, pity really as the sun is shining, so it's off to Diazepam world for two weeks. Please presume nothing intelligent will be written during this time! I may write, but it is likely to be garbage!
Sort of borrowed, stole this cartoon from great site, www.gapingvoid.com the cartoons always seem to touch my soul in some way or another, so as I can not put together a coherent thought this morning, I thought the least I could do was to share the site with you.

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.