Worse

Today I would have seemed to any outsider like things were perfectly normal. I had what might even be described as an active start to the day.

My aunt has purchased a gym membership for me for my birthday (not in any hostile, suggestive way like my ex-boyfriend's mother who got me a self-help book for Christmas) and I went to the gym this morning and did a gentle 45 minute workout.

I then went to work where I tackled a busy inbox full of emails and started on the rest of the days tasks.

But I knew something wasn't right. It's the sort of something that I usually ignore but after what has happened to me recently I feel like I can't ignore any signs now.

It was like a veil had come down over me and I felt disconnected from everything around me. If I had to speak to people it required a temporary breach of the shroud between us and I would sense myself being personable and funny but it was coming from a place very remote from where I really felt myself to be. Where i felt myself to be was in a swamp of deep sadness. Simple movement feels strained, like walking through water, and my throat feels constricted, the way it does before crying.

I rang my psychiatrist and told him something wasn't right. I told my boss I needed to take more time off. I called my sister and told her I needed to go back to hospital. It has all transpired that I'm now waiting for a phone call from The Melbourne Clinic to let me know there is a bed for me.

So this is a down, but perhaps experiencing it rather than ignoring it will help me in the long run. Doubt I'll be blogging in hospital so please excuse this absence. Hopefully the next post comes from a much better place.

There'll be days like this

I'm contemplating re-admission.
That's how utterly crap I feel today, I'm contemplating going back to hospital.
See in hospital you don't have to be around people and if you feel like sleeping all day you can. You don't have to make hard choices, in fact, all of the choices are easier. Choosing what to wear is a doddle because you only have a suitcase worth of clothing, plus the answer is probably 'tracksuit pants'.
I want to be protected from the world and I want to be able to cry all day, which is OK when you're an inpatient at a psych hospital.
I saw both my psychiatrist and psychologist today and both of them mentioned that after a psychotic episode it's normal to have a depressed mood.
I'm so glad I'm doing something normal but I wish it wasn't this.
I wonder if I discharged myself too quickly. I may seriously go back. Let's see how I'm feeling tomorrow.

Back at work

I’m so glad I have tomorrow off! I am exhausted!

There were 120 or so emails in my inbox which I’ve managed to sift through and I’ve remembered how to do almost everything. I did forget my computer password and had to ask it to be reset, the IT manager eyeing me like I’m a loonie in the process.

Everyone else has been friendly, almost too friendly. They all have that fear in their eyes which I’m becoming accustomed to.

I have been meaning to see the General Manager all day, to show her I’m back, thank her for calling my parents while I was missing and apologise for dragging the company into the media fray but she’s either been out of her office or on the phone each time I’ve gone by. The later the day gets, the more anxious I feel about doing it.

Stupid really. I should just go down now

Because I’m really good at taking it easy/slowly (where’s that sarcasm font?) I’m seeing a play tonight. I shouldn’t be out much later than 9.30 and I can sleep in tomorrow morning so it shouldn’t be too taxing. And what’s the play about? Two people released from a psychiatric facility… Appropriate surely!

I also bought a new book for myself yesterday. I opened it up and found the first chapter was set in a rehab facility – I just can’t escape them!

Tomorrow I’m booked up with appointments and possibly lunch with my ex-boyfriend. At the moment we’re being civil to each other with an undercurrent of sexual tension. I should stay away but… There’s no really good ‘but’, except but I’m an idiot and don’t know when to get out of the way of oncoming traffic.

At least I’m seeing my psychoanalyst twice a week. Hopefully she can keep me in check if I start displaying signs of my head being messed by him again.

One day you'll laugh about it

I awoke this morning with a low mood and low energy. Morning only lasted a few hours before I needed a nap.
When I woke up from that I was running late to meet someone for lunch. I rushed into the city and felt the rush absorb me. Unfortunately my friend was also running late so I was forced to linger on the street, the crush of people swarming, going about their own business as I tried to reestablish my place amongst them. It has been a few weeks since I've been around crowds and I felt anxious. I very nearly got on a tram and went home.
My friend turned up and we sat outside the State Library and chatted. I recounted my story and when I came to the part about hiding out in a hollow tree, he laughed.
People have been saying to me that one day I'll be able to look back at this episode or incident and laugh. But nobody else has actually laughed yet. Everyone is very respectful and concerned, some seem almost fearful, but my friend was the first to actually laugh about it.
It felt good.
I'm still exhausted but my mood definitely picked up. 
Tomorrow is the first day back at work. Hopefully I can remember the lesson of today and make it through even if my mood is low and perhaps find just one thing to turn it around.

What happened

About 6 years ago I woke up in a gutter.

When you wake up in a gutter... Well, I say when but I hope it never does happen to you, so let's say if, if you wake up in a gutter, you will know something is seriously wrong.

Not the kind of wrong that comes from being a normal fucked up brat in their 20s. There had been some regular mistakes; dropping out of university (twice), taking too many party drugs, drunkenly sleeping with a random ferret-faced Irishman. Waking up in a gutter is different.

Prior to my rude awakening I had slept a total of about 10 hours in 10 days, I had partied, drunk and fucked my way through the inner suburbs of Melbourne and most unusually I had decided that a colleague was trying to poison me.

I had previously been diagnosed with major depression but after this episode I was re-diagnosed with bipolar disorder.

My diagnosis was a double edged sword. It was a great relief to know what was wrong and be able to seek treatment, but bipolar also sounded so serious and crazy. But then the treatment started to work. And my life turned around.

I was able to hold down a job, I lost the impulse to drink with the same desperate fervour I'd previously had and I felt like I finally had some control.

I stayed stable for months and then a year and decided to trial myself off medication. Unmedicated I felt my creativity flourished and I still felt in control enough to function. 
I had a number of good years. No, that's an understatement. I had a number of brilliant years. I was accepted into the ATYP Fresh Ink playwriting mentorship, I began working for Melbourne Theatre Company, I returned to study, I had my work published in the Text Camp Reader and then I lived in New York for a year.
It was upon my return from New York that things started to crumble.
I felt like the Melbourne I returned to was a hostile place. I struggled to find a job and a place to live, my friendships seemed strange and strained and I desperately missed the dear friends I had made in the States.
I rapidly sunk into a stubborn depressive episode. I started back on medication, but as is the nature of mental illness, there's a lot of trial and error before the doctor gets it right.
I finally found a combination that worked and started improving. My improvement was great enough that I was able to return to work and reintroduced myself to my social world.
Then... There's no other way of saying it I suppose; I got caught in a shitstorm.
In the space of a few weeks every aspect of my life seemed to blow up; work seemed uncertain, my apartment was vandalised, my health was ailing and personal relationships were fraying. Through all of this I tried to behave like nothing was wrong and I could handle everything but the stress became too much and my brain chemistry went crazy.
I had a psychotic episode.

I thought somebody was implanting thoughts in my head, reality started splitting and I felt like I was going to kill myself if I stayed in Melbourne and let my thoughts be controlled. I booked the first available flight out of Melbourne then left my phone and a rambling, nonsensical note at my apartment and flew to Launceston. I spent 3 days there feeling like I was dying. I was rapidly detoxing off my medication so my head felt like it was being cracked open and my body felt like it was falling apart.

I was unaware that the police had been notified I was missing or that it was all over the news and facebook. The police found that I'd been using my bank card in Launceston (to buy apples, almonds and chicken, the only things I could stomach when I was able to eat) and told my family.
My parents, along with my older brother and sister flew to Tasmania. At the same time the Tasmanian police tracked me down at the hostel where I'd been staying. They told me people were looking for me and to call my sister.
In my paranoid state I panicked and ran away and went and hid in the hollow of a tree in a  nearby park. When it got dark and I thought it was safe to come out of hiding I went to a payphone and called my sister. I yelled at her for calling the police on me then she talked me down and got me to tell her where I was. She came and found me and took me to hospital. I spent a week in the psych unit of Launceston General Hospital, the first two days 
of which I slept solidly. I was then transferred to The Melbourne Clinic where I spent another week recovering and having my medication adjusted.
I was discharged this morning.
At the moment I wish for my family's sake that I hadn't gotten sick, because I can see in their faces and their hesitating ways that they were scared shitless by what happened, and probably to an extent, still are.
Me? I'm embarrassed and saddened and tired and angry and hopeful and thankful all at the same time .I'm sorry to those I frightened and thankful to those who love me, even at my worst.
I feel like I'm getting better. If I am then I hope I stay well. I'm hoping that writing things down will help me make sense of it all.
So, that's us about up to speed I should think.