Do you know what really grinds my gears!? TW: Religion

(With apologies to Family Guy for nicking the quote! Religion mentioned, be careful).

 

So I use Moodscope to help map my moods. Everyone in the system likes it because it helps us realise where we are with our moods and even gives suggestions for how to help lift them. That’s awesome. Sixteen wishes she had something like that when it was her, back when our body was 16, too. She feels like she might have been able to identify when she was heading for a crash and could have stopped it from being so bad.

Moodscope has a blog, which we get every day, straight to our inbox. They’re amazing. Sometimes, they make the difference between a bad day and a better one. The one problem is, they forget about trigger warnings!

This morning, one came through which we liked, but then BOOM. Religion gets mentioned- Christianity specifically. Cue scrolling frantically past the bible verses and feeling stupid, upset and slightly panicky.

Moodscope, I think, makes this mistake because quite a lot of people see religion as benign and helpful. It’s meant to be a guiding force, something to comfort and protect. Moodscope doesn’t know that religion has a damaging power above just making people feel a bit guilty for sinning.

In some cases, religion damages people so badly they will never be the same again. We know all about that and how one small thing written about Revelation can have us feeling frightened within seconds.

Our plea to Moodscope, and any other blog/info post, for that matter, is PLEASE put a trigger warning for religion. People like us will thank you.

Troubled waters. (TW: stalking)

Unfortunately that weird guy A has struck again. The only place left for him to try to get to me is my Facebook profile, so he’s messaged me on that again.

I’m pretty sure he knows what sort of an impact that has on me.

We are all frightened. This guy found our address from nowhere and managed to send us a letter. We used to be bombarded by calls, texts, emails and IMs from him. Now he sends us one message, and I’m left dealing with all the fallout.

Fourteen is scared. She wants the Dutchman, she wants safety, and she wants to never hear from him again. Fifteen is having trouble concentrating and she’s feeling panicky a lot- she had a stalker who threatened all sorts of horrible things on her, so she’s feeling pretty frightened. Nineteen wants to go after him with a sledgehammer and make him regret scaring the younger ones, and I?

I’m kind of swimming in all these feelings, plus a general feeling of deepĀ  unease.

I thought that messaging his girlfriend and telling her what was going on would stop all of this, but she is as unconcerned and reactionless as you could imagine. She is so beaten down by his constant straying, his petty cruelties and his lack of kindness, that she genuinely doesn’t seem to be able to bring herself to feel scared or upset. The thing that raised eyebrows with us is the fact that she would only be hurt if he left her.

 

I said those words about my abusive ex all the time.

 

So now I have confirmation, at least in my eyes, that she is also being abused. I told her that she had no reason to justify his bad behaviour, and that none of it was on her. I hope she realises that he is hurting her and manages to leave.

At any rate, if I do get another message… I am hot-footing it to the police. I have copies of what he’s said to me, so hopefully I will have a case.

That is, if the police in my area have any money left to do anything.

TW: Pain and panic and hell in my own body.

Sorry I’ve been AWOL. I was doing really well.

I’ve been working at the dog kennels my auntie has recently bought, I’ve been busy with my best friend’s hen do, and living life and having fun. I feel like I’ve been doing so well and I’m so pleased that I have been managing so well.

I planned, in my therapist’s words, “a fairytale hen do,” and I enjoyed it so much. R’s face lit up in childish excitement, her eyes sparkling prettily and her smile glorious, as I unveiled each surprise. I’ve been her friend since we were eleven and I really wanted to show her bow much I care for her and respect her.

She had a brilliant time. We all did- me, my sister and her. My sister and I came home, we started unpacking, thinking about doing washing and sorting the house out for when my grandmother and uncle came to visit us the next day, and

WHAM.

I was suddenly crippled by pain. I curled up on my bed, gasping. It felt like the chestburster from Alien was clawing its way through my skin out of my womb. Pretty sure at this point it was a body memory, I pulled myself higher up the bed and willed it to go away.

It got worse.

My sister came in to ask my advice over something and was met with the sight of me unable to move, shaking and wide-eyed. She decided then and there we should phone the ambulance, but I didn’t want to. She decided on the emergency doctor instead.

Three hours later (yes, three hours of me being unable to move due to pain, screaming at times, crying and blacking out) the paramedics finally arrived. They were, as usual, amazing, and decided it was off to hospital with me. They got me into a chair in the ambulance and I told them what had been going on with my symptoms, and also managed to disclose what my ex did to me, and the miscarriage. The paramedic, a male one too, took me seriously, commended me on my bravery, and gave me gas and air to take so I would be ok and I would relax.

I got to A and E (ER for you American readers) and I was delivered to the Triage area and waited there. I was seen after about twenty minutes by a very grumpy nurse, who didn’t let me explain very much about why I was there, didn’t take my pain seriously and gave me a handful of painkillers to take.

The ordeal really began then. After two and a half hours of waiting, where I was denied more painkillers, not told whether or not I was allowed to eat or drink so I couldn’t… I finally saw a harassed male doctor who informed me I had pelvic pain which was, apparently, common in young women (bullshit, it really isn’t that common), and apparently it would go by itself. Here, take some painkillers, stop over-exaggerating, and go the fuck home.

I was sent home in pain.

I’m still in pain.

This whole experience has taught me something: In the UK, the NHS is fucked. We have doctors who won’t help because they have to tick boxes and avoid expense. We have a mental health service with too many psychiatrists and not enough psychologists. We have paramedics who should be paid what a consultant is paid, because I have quite frankly not met many consultants who knew what they were doing.

In the meantime?

I am living each day exhausted, hurt, and upset. I am trying hard to reassure fourteen-year-old me and fifteen-year-old me that we are ok and we won’t die. I have to ring up tomorrow and talk to the people who may have to do, along with a normal ultrasound scan, a trans-vaginal one, and explain why the appointment may take longer than they expect. I am left picking up the pieces of a broken system which does not, on the whole and excluding a few professionals working within, care at all about me or why I am in pain.

Endometriosis has been mentioned, and I am wondering whether the person who gave me her opinion could ne right.

I am anxious, upset, frightened and craving to have J’s hand in mine this Sunday. I’m praying it will all go well, and I will have a solution to the problem soon.

I’ve lived in pain for so long- my back, before that horrific periods, now this. I can’t go on in pain all my life. I don’t have much left if I lose my body.

Anxiety.

I’m stricken by anxiety right now. All I want to do is get in bed and sleep. Instead, I’m mentally climbing the walls and wishing there was some way to switch off what I’m feeling. I’m working very hard for the dance school show at the minute so I am involved in all sorts of things like thinking about lighting cues and sewing sequins and rehearsing children, so the tiredness I’m feeling is more than just meds. The problem is, I’m frightened of sleeping. I’m frightened of yet another nightmare where I’m with my ex, but I keep feeling like something is wrong, and then I realise- I’m not supposed to be with him! I’m supposed to be with J!

I’m frightened of waking up and realising I’m going to have to shut my eyes and sleep again. I hate the thought that I will probably have a nightmare each and every night, and as a result I delay sleeping and then the tiredness is even worse…

I hate this cycle. It’s easier with J in bed to hold, because I’m grounded and able to realise he will wake me if my nightmares are too bad. He is there if I start crying or if I thrash too much, to hold my hand. He isn’t here though- he would be with me now if he could, but we are thousands of miles apart and I’m frightened.

I think I will take an extra dose of my meds, and see if that helps. Right now I am running out of options and frightened that I won’t be able to sleep.

Home again, emotional flashbacks, and holiday withdrawal.

Oh GOD I miss J. Seriously, like a hole inside. If not for my puppy I’d be a lot worse than I am right now- I’d be a crying wreck! He’s so calm and logical- after my last post, I went outside to the pool where J and my mum were. J was already in the pool, cooling off, and mum was enjoying a nice beer.

I had a panic attack trying to get in through the door where my dad had installed a very loud alarm- my brain entered that flight state and I started shaking and crying immediately. All that rage and terror came out in tears, but mum and J were there being awesome immediately. Mum came over took me away from the doors and hugged me til I felt better. J was there, shocked, but calm enough to tell me everything was ok, baby, and to put on my bikini and come in the pool with him to relax. Mum agreed, so I did. It worked. Tears faded, shaking stopped, and within FIFTEEN MINUTES (gotta be a new record there!) I was completely fine again, calm, and making jokes with the family and cuddling J in the cool water.

J can spot my mania immediately, and it’s impressive. Bradley has given me a great tip to manage it now I’m home again (boo, being home is not as nice as being out there with J and my family) and I’m going to start it tomorrow. I’ll set alarms on my phone that will remind me to check in with myself, and to stay calm.

So far, I’ve had a tough ride already. I’m aware that I drank too much whilst I was on holiday, so alcohol consumption has gone down a lot. Tonight, I had a cup of tea (fruit tea, orange smoothie tea!) and a glass of water as my beverages of choice. I’m doing this because when I’m manic, as I suspect I’m heading that way now, I do have poor impulse control and drink is usually the first sign of it. I’ve already had some very depressed moments, but that’s not the bipolar speaking.

That’s something else.

I’m in the midst of a bastard of an emotional flashback right now. For the past few days, I’ve felt unreal and dissociated, and horribly depressed, but the depression waned in the evening. Today it got so bad that I began acting unlike myself- snappy, withdrawn, moody, and exhausted. I even yelled at the puppy- at this point, I’m glad she’s deaf! A long sleep this afternoon fixed a lot of that, and I emerged with a better take on the world. I still didn’t understand why I was feeling like shit, but I was ready to give my day another try.

Dancing was fun and went well, and when I got home, I went upstairs to get changed. Pulling my favourite pyjama/lounge type pants on, something in my head suddenly shifted into place and I got it.

I understood that when I was with my ex, I was used as a fix. Because he was jealous of my family spending an unadulterated two weeks with me, I was often subject to derision and scorn when I got home. He’d cold shoulder me, blank me, and finally fix up a meeting with him sometime or place that was impossible for me. I’d inevitably cancel, he’d throw a fit, and then break up with me. I’d be alone, blaming myself and hating myself for nearly two months, and then he’d need his fix again. He’d pretend to relent, he’d tell me he ‘forgave me’ (er, bullshit sir, I believe you finished with me for no good reason) and we’d be back in the honeymoon phase again. Lovely.

So naturally my poor beleaguered brain still think I’m in for some horrible punishment for having fun. I’m reacting like a beaten puppy and I’m shaking in anticipation of a blow that will never fall.

J’s already been on Skype, commending me for my smarts in realising this. I’m pretty chuffed too… BUT GOD I miss him!!! He knows that, of course.

Another remarkable milestone I’ve achieved whilst away is that I’m better able to do real couple things now. I hold hands with J a lot, I’ll go for a cuddle when I fancy one, and, best of all- I was so tired one night I felt drunk, and slipping off into sleep I told J twice that I loved him. He said it back, and I heard the tenderness in his voice alongside the amused chuckle at how sleepy I was. When I asked him about it the next morning, he said I had indeed said I loved him twice and he hoped I remembered that he said it back to me.

Of course I had.

Stuff will be hard now I’m home. I’m trying to take more responsibilities this year, and I’m hoping I don’t overload myself- apparently, therapy this week with Dr K will be the start of lots of tough things for me. I am very aware there are still big issues I need to face. For instance, whilst I was in America, I had night after night of nightmares and J had to hold me to calm me down one night after I told him I was frightened to sleep. Hopefully, I will get these discussed with Dr K and she will help me become less afraid.

There are bonuses, though. I’m taking on more work so I can fund myself to get to America to see J quicker (I hope), I’m finally meeting a good friend I’ve talked to for a long while, I have a snoring puppy next to me and I’m planning dance numbers for a show. There are definite goals to achieve.

Fingers crossed that this year is the year that I get stuff solved, and not another year where I wrestle incessantly with the contents of my own head.

Admitted- the beginning- Part Seven.

I said when I got out I would write up my journal entries. Here goes the first one.

April 24th, 17:31.

Voices are on at me still non-stop. Being admitted. The mental health nurse said that I was a concern. Dr K got me to come here because she was worried for me.

The RAID team got called (Rapid Response mental health team) and now I’m waiting for a bed.

The voices are so angry with me! They want me to die so much. I don’t want to kill myself but they keep wanting me to.

I really hope this fixes some of this or I might die.

April 25th, 00:59.

I have been admitted.

I’m absolutely exhausted. I want to sleep but my brain is on fire, so I’ll be writing until I feel a bit more tired.

I’ve been taken to A&E before, like I’ve written, but I’m not sure it’s ever been as stressful as this. I was in such a state with Dr K at my appointment, she taught me some breathing techniques with a relaxation technique, then she rang the RAID team to let them know I was heading across. She talked to mum, too, and we got to A&E (ER for my American readers). The lovely Triage nurse saw me and told me that they would keep me safe. That was nice. Right then, I felt anything but.

The good part about being assessed was that I didn’t have to keep saying all the bad stuff in front of my mum. I felt believed, respected and valued.

I’m in Ward 3- have my own room with a little ensuite toilet. Not sure how I managed that but it helps with the paranoia. It’s a mixed ward but the men can’t come down here, so that’s a bit relief.

I saw the consultant- she was very kind. She has taken my blood and done a full mental health assessment on me.

I rang R and J. Both were awesome. Told Mr Robot about all of this too, and Harley Quinn and Y.

Oh, I think I actually feel tired now. I will end up writing more tomorrow.

TW: PTSD dreams suck.

I just woke up from yet another dream where I’m worthless and violated as those pictures I posted the other day. I’m curled up on the couch at the moment, desperately trying not to fall asleep again. I don’t want the dream coming back.

It was him but he was pretending he saw nothing wrong in the things he’d just done to me, and I wasn’t supposed to “put this on” him. How can I not!!?? He wasn’t listening again, deaf to me and my protests. Deaf to my tears and my pain.

This morning I really want J, ironically enough. I want him here for a hug, and to let me know it will all be ok, baby. I miss being able to wake up and know he is there, just in case something bad is happening in the prison of my mind. Right now he is hopefully sleeping, so I can’t just pick up the phone. I did drop him a quick message, but he hasn’t answered, seeing as it’s late where he is.

I am so tired. I just want to sleep. That’s all I want. Can some part of my life not be tainted with this horror!?