Rounding out 2013

2013 has been a shitty year. No doubt about it. And to round out this shitty year I'm feeling pretty much like shit. I'm exhausted and anxious and tearful and not at all looking forward to the future which is what everyone's supposed to be doing at this time of year, right?

I tried to be positive and think of a bright future, I even went so far as to consider what I might make as my new year's resolution. All that led to was an hour long reflection on all my vices and shortcomings and how insurmountable it would be to ever overcome them.

I tried to be kind to myself. I woke up feeling rubbish yesterday so decided to treat myself to a movie. When I got into the city there was an hour until the movie began so I thought, I know, I'll go and get these tired shoulders of mine a massage. Well I did, only it was the worst massage of my life. Painful and abrasive, not at all relaxing and I think the masseuse has actually done some serious damage to my neck as I can only turn my head about forty-five degrees now. I should have said something at the time. I should have, but I didn't because I'm terrible at speaking up, even when it comes to my own body.

Tonight I'm packing. Well, packing and eating pizza and blogging. I'm packing for my New Year's Eve in Tallarook. I'm going to a festival with a whole bunch of friends but I'm not really feeling the festive vibe right now. I'm sure it'll be fine, it might even be better than fine, but right now I'm stressing about what to pack and if I'll be warm enough. And I guess I'm just wishing that I wasn't kicking off 2014 feeling like this.

See despite everything that has gone on, I still have hope for the future. Just a sliver, just a glimmer. It's the only reason I'm alive today. I do deep down believe that my life will some day be ok. And I mean just ok, not brilliant, not mind-blowingly awesome, just decent. I'll have some stability and a vague sense of purpose. That's all I'm hoping for. I just don't know when that's going to come. I want it to be 2014 but the way I'm feeling now suggests I still have many struggles ahead of me.

But who knows, 2014 might be great. Hell, the rest of 2013 might be unexpectedly fantastic. Either way, I'll keep you posted.

Holidays

Christmas can be tough when you're not feeling very merry. It seems like the rest of the world is erupting in joy and love and you're stuck under a bubble of gloom.

Christmas day was a big family affair and I managed to pull myself together enough to enjoy it, although I drank too much wine and felt shocking today as a result.

I haven't been taking the most excellent care of myself lately. I've been drinking too much too often and sleeping erratically. I half expect that I'm going to go into a state of collapse soon and part of me doesn't even care. I was fantasising about going to hospital the other day at work. I feel I could do with some extra care at present and have all my meals prepared for me and not be expected to do anything with my days. I don't think I'm sick enough to go to hospital, I think I just need a break.

I'm planning on taking some time off at the end of January but that feels like an awfully long time to wait to get some respite.

Maybe I should talk to my boss about cutting back to 4 days a week so I have the chance to rest a bit more. Perhaps just until I'm feeling a bit better. Christmas has exhausted me and New Years Eve will surely take its toll too. I've come a long way this year but I still need to work hard at taking better care of myself.

Amidst all the goings on of the silly season I think that could be a sensible idea. Yes, rest more and perhaps curtail the drinking and hopefully that will be enough to see me out of the woods.

I hope your festive season is happy and restful too.

Out of the blue

Life was traveling along just swimmingly then out of the blue I got hit with a nice, healthy dose of crippling anxiety. Totally out of nowhere! I was at work, drinking my morning coffee when suddenly the room started to shrink, a ball of lead appeared in my stomach and my chest started aching like I was having a heart attack.
I tried my usual trick of ignoring it but it's like ignoring a room full of crying babies with megaphones. Not easy. Eventually I gave in to it and excused myself from work, went over to my parents house, took too many Valium and went to bed.
I hate that it happened and it sucks that my coping skills are still so unrefined. If I was a blogger of any substance who you could turn to for words of wisdom and inspiration I would have no doubt written about how I employed my mindfulness techniques and visualised a soothing waterfall but I'm not that advanced, I'm honestly just getting by most of the time and when things turn to shit I still need to duck for cover (and call my Mum!)
Anyway, today was better but the whole episode has me a bit shaken because frankly, I'm tired of this all and just want to get on with my life in a really normal way. That's all I want for Christmas this year. A big box of moving on tied up in a bow.
I suppose I can only wait to see what Santa leaves under the tree.

Happy Birthday To Me

I got older.

After a day at work the evening of my birthday was very nearly spent on my own in the IKEA restaurant but considering last year's birthday was spent in a psychiatric hospital it would still have been a step up. As it was when my parents found out they couldn't bear the thought of me spending my birthday alone so they took me out for dinner.

The reason I was in IKEA in the first place was that I needed to make that inevitable trip one always needs to make after moving house. That's right, I'm relocated. Everything is going swimmingly at the new place even though I've found out I'm living with vegans. They're friendly vegans and not the judgmental kind. It's remarkable how much better I feel for having gotten out of my old house. All up I'm feeling pretty good right now.

Still, there is that thing that happens with birthdays, that thing where your thoughts wander to the grand scheme of things and make you take stock. I'm a fairly unaccomplished 32 year old. I still haven't completed a degree, I still don't know how to drive, I've only read about 3/4 of the novels by Dickens. I think it's time for some of those things to change. My problem has never been that I've been incapable of these accomplishments, it's just always been a matter of poor timing. I've made sudden changes in my life or gotten sick at all the wrong moments and things that should have happened years ago have passed me by.

But now could be the time to accomplish some things. I'm about 96.5% committed to returning to study next year. I keep having dreams that I'm driving which I feel is surely some precursor to actually learning to drive and I just read the first four pages of Barnaby Rudge. 32, yes this could be the age of getting things done. It would of course help if the heavens smiled upon me and I refrained from getting unwell this year. Could make for very dull blogging but that could be worth it.

Anyway, I should take my birthday body off to bed and see if I can get through a few more pages of Barnaby Rudge. Goodnight!

Time to move on

Well sometimes it gets to that time.

Right? Sometimes you just have to move on.

The anniversary of my disappearance passed with little fanfare and part of me was like 'what? World, how can you move on without paying notice' and then another part of me chimed in to point out that if the world is no longer preoccupied with how sick I am or have been then this is a good thing.

The other moving on I'll be doing is out of my current house. I've secured a 4 month sublet in an absolutely stunning house in North Fitzroy which will give me enough time to enjoy the summer before I move in with my brother and his son early next year.

In all I'm feeling very positive about life right now. I even had a moment when I questioned whether I'd tipped into hypermania because I didn't want to go to my psychiatrist's appointment but wanted to go out drinking instead. I think it was just a case of bundled up happy feelings getting confused in with the usual feelings I have of not wanting to be sick and therefore having to attend appointments.

But the positive feelings continue and I appreciate them while they exist. I'm even feeling so good that I can contemplate hosting a BBQ for my upcoming 32nd birthday. I know it's not a significant birthday but I'd like to celebrate it as it marks the passing of what can unequivocally be deemed the worst year of my life to date.

So I have a function to plan and bags to pack so please forgive me if I go a bit silent for a while. There are only good things in the pipeworks as far as I can see.

Milestones

Cropping up in my life are a number of milestones which if I'm not celebrating I'm at least pondering over the most appropriate way to mark their passing. This week saw the 10,000 page view of my blog, this is also the week of the one year anniversary of my disappearance and fast approaching is my 32nd birthday.

I'm humbled and slightly bewildered to think there have been so many hits on this here blog. Of course I fastly believe that some of them are strange misdirects from porn sites, but I do also know I have a core of readers who I'm ever so glad keep tuning in.
I never would have started this blog if I hadn't gotten so sick and had such a public misfortune to which I felt I needed a public right of reply. As much as I like this blog, and I do, a lot, in the world of checks and balances having this blog doesn't even out against having gotten so terribly sick.

The one year anniversary of my very public demise. There's hardly an etiquette book on how to mark such an event. There is some eerie part of me that half expects I'll again go off the rails at this exact same time of year. Undoubtedly I'll just turn up to work same as usual and the day will pass as normal while my internal voice will be screaming 'Don't you know what happened to me just one year ago! How can you go on with your day?!' I've entertained the idea of taking myself out for dinner to celebrate having survived this last year because lord knows it's been an uphill battle most of the time.

I feel a bit the same about my birthday. 32 should really be one I celebrate since 31 has been such a bust and I genuinely felt at times I really wouldn't make it. I think I might have a quiet picnic or BBQ in a park since the weather will be getting warmer. I can invite just a select few friends and be surrounded by people who also understand how miraculous it is that I made it,

\With milestones comes reflection. I think when I look back on these last 12 months more than anything I reflect on how lonely they've been. Illness is hard. You experience it on your own regardless of how many people you have surrounding you. I think for the next 12 months I'm going to really focus on rebuilding my connections with other people and hopefully that loneliness will start to seep away. Despite ominous feelings of the past repeating itself I am feeling quite good and quite strong at the moment. I'm hoping this is the feeling I will take with me into the next 12 months and it will hopefully blossom into that state we call wellness. In the meantime I'm still taking things day by day and just marking the days worth mention.

Hesitations

First she doesn't blog for a month then she blogs twice in two days! What's with this chick?!

I'm having hesitations about moving out of my share house. While there are definitely negative features to living here, namely the anti-socialness of my housemates which has led to a feeling of isolation, there are also some advantages to living here. The location is ideal for me. An easy tram ride to work and a shared taxi ride home with so many of my compatriot drinking buddies. Plus I'm super close to Cinema Nova so if I'm ever in a film going mood it's a short journey. There is also the fact that I'm living independently and as a soon to be 32 year old this seems like the state in which I should be living.

The advantages of moving back in with my parents would be that I'd save a tonne of money, I'd have people to talk to when I'm at home, I wouldn't have to cook for myself and I'd get to watch whatever I want on the telly since my parents have 2 TVs.

I just don't know. I'm so conflicted. Decision making is hard. I feel like I've made enough questionable decisions in recent memory that trying to trust my own judgment is a really hard task. I think perhaps I shouldn't rush this decision and by that I mean I should perhaps let one more rent cycle pass by. It's only another $850 (ok, actually, that's a lot of money) and it means I don't have to go through the hassle of moving just yet (is that worth $850?).

Like I said, I just don't know. Life's hard. Don't you feel that sometimes?

Ups and downs

Well the ups is my Effexor has been upped after a stressful shaky week. It has had the desired effect and I've been once again lifted from that dangerous precipice.

The downs is I got dangerously close to that dangerous precipice again.

A couple of factors were surely at play. Work stresses (ho-hum), a wedding (long story - it was a lovely affair but my issues surrounding how I look all came bubbling to a head and I was also fearful I was going to have a confrontation with another of the guests) and the last thing, my living arrangements.

I feel in some ways I've been unfair to my current household. I was hesitant about moving in here and rather than letting go I've let those hesitations fester into a deep seated dissatisfaction with everything about the place and it's inhabitants. I've been escaping to my parents house on a weekly basis which has further fuelled my anxieties about my actual home as my absence makes me feel disconnected and like I must appear odd to my housemates.

I've had many long thinks, a couple of good cries and one particularly insightful session with my psychiatrist in which I came to the conclusion that I shouldn't be paying good money to live so unhappily.

So where to next? Well steel yourselves folks, it looks like I'm about to take the ultimate plunge into Loserville and move back in with my parents. And just in time for summer too!

Honestly though, it shouldn't be that bad. I get along well with Mum and Dad and the money I save on rent can all be funnelled towards travel plans I have for next year (The States. Again.)  I've got a very good potential living arrangement due to come to fruition in about February next year so it should only be a fairly temporary arrangement. And if I'm finding it too much to bear I can always go through the gruelling process of finding another share house, hopefully one where I can feel more at ease.

So, that wraps up another exciting instalment of my life. Send me good wishes for the next one.

Worst. Blogger. Ever.

I'm totally shit. There's no real excuse. Yes, I have been incredibly busy but neglecting my blog like this is still inexcusable. I totally understand if you've all stopped reading.

A lot has happened. So much that I'm going to explain it all in dot points to get through it all.

• I was staying with my parents because I wasn't coping too well with life
• I was asked to move in to a share house in Princes Hill
• I ummed and aahed about whether I was emotionally prepared for such a change
• I decided I was and moved
• Work got incredibly busy and stressful
• My mood went up, down, backwards and sideways
• I'm tired all the time but feeling fairly stable now
• I'm still surrounded by a sea of unpacked boxes
• I was so tired when I get home last night that I got into bed and ordered a pizza
• I ate an entire pizza in bed last night

There, now that wasn't too hard to do now, was it?

I'm about to go and house sit for my sister for a week so the fun isn't stopping yet. I'm hopeful that my body will soon start adjusting to the pace of work and I'll have more energy to blog in the coming weeks.

Once again, I am sorry for the inconsistent blogging. I'll try to do better for next time.

Gimme shelter

Storm clouds gather, the horizon blackens, in the distance thunder rolls and here I stand without any shelter.
Shelter has been my predominant thought these past few weeks. My days have been spent house hunting, responding to house ads and attending housemate interviews. As each day has offered forth its share of frustrations and rejection my mood has blackened. I cracked in therapy this afternoon and a wave of pent up emotions came flooding out. I've been internalising the rejection, both experienced and imagined, and it has been making me despise myself. The vicious cycle, for these things are always cyclical and ferocious, is that the darker I feel about myself the more hopeless I see my prospects and this shows through in my searching and interviewing. I rule myself out of houses where the advertisers sound too perky and I show up to interviews defeated and depressed.
I'm taking a break from it all and seeking refuge at my parents house. They don't have the Internet so I won't even be tempted to continue my search.
I'm also hoping that this break will serve as some sort of breaker to my circuit. If things worsen I face the prospect of hospital again and that's an unwelcome thought.
I so desperately want this part of my life; the search for housing, the uncertain hours at work and the fluctuating moods, to be over that sometimes I wish the whole game over. I know these are bad thoughts to have and I chastise myself severely for thinking them. I pay for them too. With dark thoughts comes time out of work which funnels into my financial woes. Another cycle. It's all cyclical.
And so too is this illness apparently, though we've seen little sign of it lately. I'm back on the lookout for signs of mania though as in response to my mood shift my psychiatrist has increased my Effexor. Is it terrible that I'm craving a little hypomania right now? Just a little. Just a taste of what up feels like, maybe enough to see me coast through some house interviews as a bubbly person with a sunny outlook, just a little shot of boundless energy and then I promise I'd come straight back down.
Oh dear. Some days I'm glad my psychiatrist doesn't read my blog.

My shitty week

I'm having kind of a shitty week. Let's see, where to start? How about my shoulder? Yeah, my shoulder is in pain for some unknown reason, possibly the result of too much filing which I've been doing at my job, which is another thing that has been kind of shitty. Usually I like my job a lot but this week has just been a whole load of meh with some blah piled on top. I'm working reduced hours, some days only 3 hours, and when the work itself is shitty then getting the energy up to go in for those 3 hours is pretty challenging.

Since I started with a body part perhaps I'll continue and tell you about my jaw, which is also in pain. I was so proud and boastful running around being like, 'look at me, I'm side effect free' and then I've gone and developed a side effect. It's not specifically just my jaw, but all my muscles are tensing up as a side effect to the Saphris. It's most noticeable in my jaw though because it's currently permanently clenched and so it aches and my teeth ache and chewing my food has become an ordeal. Now if only this would noticeably put me off my food I might lose some weight and start feeling better about my body, which is another thing that has made me feel shitty this week. No big changes here, still just lugging around all the lithium weight and feeling like a blimp.

I wonder if I'd lose the weight if I went off my medication? I've been wondering about being off my medication ever since my psychologist asked me what I thought I'd be like off my medication. I've been having a few issues with this psychologist and I don't think this has been helped by such portent questions as this. I think I'm going to stop seeing this psychologist but then I have to go through the hassle of finding a new one or try going it alone for a while, I don't know, it's all just a weight on my mind right now. What I do know is that I don't need to wonder what I'd be like off medication right now because the agreed upon course of action decided upon by myself in consultation with some very well trained health professionals is that I'm going to take my damned medication.

And that is medication that from tomorrow is going to start costing me a pretty penny more as Centrelink have decided since I'm working all of about 15 hours a week now I no longer qualify for Sickness Allowance and they've cut off my health care card. And what really irks me is that I'm really not earning very much money. Certainly not enough to have saved anywhere near enough money to move out on my own despite leading an austere existence at present. And what I'd really like more than anything right now is to have a place of my own. I miss having that haven and I am losing hope that it will ever be mine once again.

So that's a brief summation of the things going on in my shitty life this shitty week. However, I'm not feeling depressed, despite there being numerous things I could feel depressed about. I'm not suicidal, not even a jot, so even if my life is shitty at present I still fully intend to keep living it. And finally, this week will pass. It may be replaced with one much worse but it may be replaced with one much better. (Please be one much better.)

Strength

There were some mean boys on the bus this afternoon. They stole another boy's laptop and then after he got off the bus they were laughing about another time when they stole one of his shoes. It made me feel glad that I'm no longer in high school but it also made me sad that I didn't feel strong enough to stand up to them and say something.

One of my favourite internet pastimes is a site called Pinterest. Pinterest is great, it's like an electronic pinboard for sharing images and links and right now mine is going berserk with all the American feminist pinners I follow sharing links on what's happening in places like Texas, Ohio and Kansas. It seems like a full-scale assault on women's reproductive rights. Alongside the political pins there are lots of inspirational quotes about standing up and making your voice heard and being strong. These sit uneasily with me because while I know I would like to be strong, I feel at the moment like I'm not and I don't have the power to stand up and make my voice heard. Is there a place in feminism for a weak woman? Is there a place in the world for a weak woman? And if not, how do I go about suddenly becoming strong again?

I feel like I'm trying my best at the moment. I'm medication compliant, attending therapy and support groups, getting enough sleep and looking after myself as best I can. This has taken me to the point where I feel I'm recovering, but still not yet well. I want to be well. I feel it will be my first step towards becoming strong but I can't force this state into being. I wonder if there'll be a day when I realise I've passed from recovering to well or if it's a day that will slip by and only be noticed in hindsight.

Until then I think I'll just be feeling slightly abashed that I don't have more fight in me and I don't know how to be strong right now. I don't mean this to all sound so terribly self-piteous but my honest assessment of myself is that I don't have much strength right now. I think I've used it all up fighting off my demons and now I'm in a slow state of recuperation.

The good news is of course that I'm in recuperation. Little bits of me are flocking back, whether they be social involvements or shards of self-esteem. I'm going to get my haircut on Friday which might not sound like a big deal but for the longest time I couldn't care less about how my hair looked because I couldn't stand the sight of myself and thought vanity was wasted on an empty shell like me.

Perhaps I'll be like some reverse Samson and gather strength from the cutting of my locks, perhaps Friday will be the day I finally realise I'm well. I doubt it, but it's nice to think that that day is coming whether it will be recognised as such or not.

Getting past the language

My first session with the new therapist was a success. Lucy is lovely and I found it really easy to talk to her, even as she was asking the probing questions about my life that a new therapist must ask. She was confident that we'd be able to work together to address the issues of guilt and anxiety that I specifically want to address and she even gave me a brand new diagnosis! Turns out I have a generalised anxiety disorder as well as bipolar disorder. Who knew?!

The only real downside is that Lucy is incredibly popular and I can't get in to see her again for another month. The upshot of this is that I have a month to do the homework she assigned to me. This might be for the best as one of the things I have to do is read a self-help book.

You might mistake me as the sort of person who gets in to self-help books. Certainly my ex-boyfriend's mother did and gave me one for Christmas one year (don't ever give somebody a self-help book as a gift, it's a strange kind of cruel). Truth is they make me roll my eyes into the back of my head and make gagging noises. It's the language! It's so dumbed-down and condescending. Plus I just don't buy into the idea that somebody has "the answer" for the very personal and unique predicaments I face and conveniently it's succinct enough to be put into a book.

So the book I'm set to read is called 'The Happiness Trap' (rolls eyes, makes gagging noises) and Lucy actually warned me that it was badly written. I've ordered the book online but the first chapter was free to download from the author's website. I'll spare you the ordeal of sharing any of it with you here but needless to say I turned into an eye rolling, gag-noise making machine as I waded through it.

The thing that's getting me is Lucy wants me to read this book and has acknowledged that it's poorly written but clearly there are some ideas in there that warrant attention. It's made me wonder if there are other things that could be helpful that I am missing out on because I don't appreciate the vehicle or the packaging for them. One prime example that comes to mind is exercise. I have now cancelled my gym membership due to poor attendance. I know that exercising regularly would be beneficial to my mental health but I really can't get in to the whole gym experience. Vitamins are another thing. I'm inclined to scoff at the world of natural medicine but other people swear by supplements they take.

It's unlikely I'll reconcile myself to self-help books, the gym or vitamins overnight but it has got me thinking that perhaps this recovering little mind of mine should be a bit more open rather than the tightly curled up little creature that it is.

Between starting this post and finishing it Lucy has had a cancellation so I'm off to see her tomorrow. Maybe she'll enlighten me some more on my close-mindedness.

Making Meaning

I read an article recently about finding meaning in your life when you have bipolar disorder. It has resonated with me as I have been feeling lately, even on my good days, that my life has become somewhat small and meaningless.

What I mean is that I used to have so many facets in my life; my work, my studies, my friends, my creative endeavours, through which I found meaning in my life, and many of those have all but disappeared due to my bipolar disorder or subsequent treatment, shrinking my life and limiting the areas in which I might find meaning.

I'm currently only working part-time which leaves me with days when I have vast expanses of unoccupied time to fill. I understand that it's necessary for me to be working part-time at the moment; my stamina is still not what it has been and I tire easily, but some days I face an empty afternoon and genuinely wonder at how on earth I'm going to fill it. There's always TV or fooling around on the internet, but these things don't really add to any grand sense of meaning in my life, they feel like activities to mark time.

I used to occupy more of my time with friends. My illness isolated me and has left me at times feeling friendless. I know this to not be the case but it's difficult to maintain friendships when I'm sick and barely able to leave the house or afterwards, in recovery, when I'm taking such painstaking care of myself and trying not to exhaust myself. People drift away and it can feel like they've turned away instead. At the moment I'm trying to reconnect with some of those drifted friends but where previously I could pack a full day with socialising I now know I need to pace myself and do one activity per day, so it's a slow process of reconnecting with the outside world.

I think one of the greatest losses is in my creative life. I used to write plays. While I was never prodigious or disciplined in writing regularly, it was something I always had a hand in. I'm unsure whether there's a dulling down of my senses from the medication or if it's just that my brain is still too preoccupied with its own illness to contemplate anything else, but I have no inclination to write a play now and feel like I may never again. While there should be no need for a creative outlet when there is no creative outpouring, it was something I used to define my personality. But now, if I'm not creative play-writing Katie, I wonder who am I?

There are of course still areas in which I find meaning. I adore being Auntie Katie to my three wonderful nephews and I find that my role in their lives is a rich one, I hope for them as well as me. I hold a treasured place in my family, something being sick has actually made me more aware of with the care and affection that has been afforded to me in this time.

And there's also this blog. It's a solitary exercise to write this and I often feel like it's purely an exercise in self indulgence but then the feedback I get makes me feel like it is worthwhile.

This week I am beginning a course of Acceptance and Commitment Therapy with a new therapist. I suppose this also has me thinking about the meaning in my life as part of ACT is committing to values in your life, so I'll need to define them. I'm hoping this will be a guided process and in weeks to come I'll be able to tell you more about the values I am realising in my life. In the meantime, thank you for reading and by doing so contributing meaning to my small but hopefully expanding life.

Happy Winter Solstice!

My prayers were answered and it was a remarkably short stay at The Melbourne Clinic, thanks to a medication adjustment.

I was taken off the Abilify and started on 10mg of Saphris and 75mg of Effexor. Within a day I started to feel brighter and as the days went on I noticed I was less tired, my anxiety lessened and within the week I could honestly say that I no longer felt depressed, hence my discharge. It's remarkable as well what a difference the absence of side effects makes. They were only ever slight with the low dose of Abilify but there was a constant underlying sense of restlessness I experienced. So far, side effect free on the new meds, apart from the mild drowsiness after the evening dose of Saphris.

Taking the Effexor is a bit controversial for somebody such as myself with a bipolar diagnosis. Antidepressants, particularly those of the SNRI branch, which Effexor is, can cause mania and that was the real worry with putting me on it. I was concerned too that my sudden mood shift was one that was going to head into the stratosphere, but so far my mood seems stable at a positive place.

The other thing that was a huge help from my hospital stay came from a group session run on Acceptance and Commitment Therapy. The session was specifically on thoughts so I was interested in attending due to the hostile nature of the thoughts that had recently been clogging my head. In Acceptance and Commitment Therapy we are taught that we are always going to experience negative or painful emotions, thoughts and physical sensations and rather than trying to avoid or fight these we can learn to accept them and cope with them and commit to living by a set of values.

In the session I attended we were informed that around 80% of our thoughts are involuntary and they tend to predominantly be negative. Avoiding or fighting these thoughts exerts a great deal of energy and is mostly ineffective. Instead we must accept that we are having negative thoughts. The thing to understand though is that our thoughts are not necessarily important. They are not commands we must obey or the truth or threats. If we can recognise that our thoughts are not necessarily important then we can examine them to find out instead if they are useful or helpful. Then, if the thought is not useful but still present there are a number of ways to accept the thought while minimising the impact of it.

I'll give you an example, say you have a recurring thought like 'people hate me', you think this over and over and immediately your amygdala lights up and sends cortisol into your body and your heart starts beating faster and you begin to feel really bad. Rather than continuing thinking 'people hate me' (which is an unhelpful thought) or trying to avoid thinking it, which tends to make the thought come back stronger, you can try thinking 'I'm noticing that I'm thinking people hate me'. The thought is being accepted, but diffused by the language surrounding it and the impact of it is lessened.

This all might sound like psychology mumbo-jumbo but as somebody who has the thought 'people hate me' about ten times a day, I've actually found it really effective. And it doesn't just work for that thought, oh no, it works for 'I've failed at life' and 'my life is a mess' and all other manner of thoughts. Try it some time! You might like it!

Well, anyway, the conclusion is, I'm feeling pretty darn good right now. I'm inside and warm on this cold day, the shortest one we'll have this year. Even though this means we're at midwinter, I like to think positively that the days are only going to get longer from now on. And may they mostly be happy ones!

Waiting on a call

Things further unfurled.

My anxiety and restlessness kept me up at night. My concentration deteriorated. While I was away in Sydney this long weekend I started to hear a voice. It gave me compelling reasons to die sooner rather than later. The reasons started making sense. I'm waiting on a call now to say that there's a bed for me at The Melbourne Clinic.

I'm hopeful it's a short stay. I'm hopeful it will just be a simple medication change or even a short round of ECT and I'll bounce right back. I'm hopeful, and that has to count for something, right?

I'm sorry then if it's a while between posts. I'll write when I can.

Ill at ease

I had a few bad days and then things righted themselves and I got back to being me and went off and did fun things like watch new episodes of Arrested Development and book flights to Sydney to see Angels in America. But I was still worried about those bad days I'd had. So in consultation with my psychiatrist I decided to up my dose of Abilify from the piddly 10mg I was on to 15mg.

A few days later and without consultation with my psychiatrist and I have dropped it back down to 10 and if I didn't think it was a completely reckless thing to do I would stop taking it altogether.

For the few days I was on the 15mg I have never felt so ill at ease. I couldn't get comfortable. Even in my favourite track pants. Even in bed. I just felt physically uncomfortable and emotionally unsettled. It doesn't sound like much but after 3 days I was so exhausted I wanted to cry. I was desperate to know if what I was experiencing was common or likely to pass and so I did what any sensible person with the internet does and I googled side effects of Abilify.

Holy fuck! The horror stories out there about Abilify are intense. One of them claims that Abilify actually shrinks your brain! I don't know whether these posts are written by people who have now forgone all medication and swear by goji berries to keep their mental health intact or if they are people like me, desperately trying to find a medication regime that works.

All I know is that Abilify is my only anti-depressant and the plan had been that if I became depressed again we'd up my dosage as the first line of defense. Now that I know I wouldn't be able to tolerate that I'm without a lifeboat. This makes me think that I might need to try switching to a different anti-depressant, one that I'll tolerate better, not just at super low doses.

Knowing this has left me feeling, along with the residual pharmacological effects, ill at ease. I hate trialing new medication as there are never any fun side effects to withstand as you let your body adjust. I don't want to go through that wobbly stage again where nothing feels right and I can't work or see my friends. I just want things to be settled. Of course I could stay on the 10mg of Abilify and hope I'm never graced by bad times again but that just seems irresponsible.

So watch this space for news of new medication. I'm really hoping that on a pharmacy shelf somewhere out there is the right drug for me.

A place for things

Last year, when I had my psychotic episode and ended up in Tasmania, I was in the process of moving out of a one bedroom apartment in Footscray.

There were many good reasons for me to move out of that apartment. Items of washing of mine would go missing off the communal washing line. To begin with I suspected the wind was blowing them off, but even on still days I'd still find a pair of underwear gone or sometimes a t-shirt. I began to suspect the man who lived downstairs who had a habit of coming upstairs and knocking on my door when he was drunk. He seemed harmless enough but the frequent 11pm visits to offer me a biscuit or ask if I'd lost some pegs were a factor in my decision to move.

I woke up one morning and went downstairs to ride my bike only to find it had been dismantled. I also thought initially that the bike seat had been stolen until I found it discarded down the street. One of the most infuriating things was that my bike was locked up and there was another bike less than a metre away just leaning against the wall. Not that I would wish anybody's bike to be stolen or dismantled of course.

There was also the evening that my sister was driving me home and when she went to pull into the driveway, it was on fire. Somebody had poured something flammable down the driveway drain and then it had either intentionally or not been ignited. The firefighters seemed unsurprised by the event and in fact mentioned they'd put out another drain fire around the corner not long ago.

The final thing that made me realise I had to get out of that apartment was the night that someone came to my door and smashed all my potplants and then cracked eggs on my door. I was in the lounge room on the other side of a very flimsy window listening as the whole thing happened. I was terrified. I think this attack was definitely a factor in my later delusion that I was in danger and being persecuted, particularly as that reached fever point in that same lounge room only weeks later.

So I knew I had to move but it was a bad time for me to be looking for somewhere to live as everything in my life; work, relationships, health, was in flux. My aunt and uncle very kindly offered that I could stay with them temporarily and put my things in to storage. That was the beginning of November. I'm still at my aunt and uncle's and my things are still in storage.

This weekend I just retrieved the last few things that got scattered to various people's houses during and after my psychotic episode and I've put them in to storage too. I've brought my broken bike back to my aunt and uncle's and I'm planning on finally getting it fixed this week. It has made me really happy to have it back, even in the condition it's in, and I think part of that is purely because it's mine and I think my things belong with me.

It's hard going to my storage facility and seeing my furniture upended and stacked or boxes with 'books' or 'yellow kitchenware' written on the side in thick marker. I miss my things. I want to be amongst them. This longing, this homesickness of sorts has me scouring domain.com for apartments where I could house my things and myself, round the clock.

I know that I'm probably not quite ready emotionally or financially to be moving out but I'm hoping the day I will be ready is quite soon. Deciding on the circumstances of where my future home might be and what it might look like has been challenging.

I've been told repeatedly and unnecessarily that Footscray is out of the question. I know my family would love me to stay close to the south in the St Kilda/Elwood area but it's inconvenient for all my doctors appointments and for seeing all of my friends. My doctors practice in Clifton Hill and all of my friends live in the north so it would make sense to live over that way but nice one bedroom apartments are rare and the costs are prohibitive. I have toyed with the idea of not living alone but I would need to live with the right person and when I think of them existing, I can't imagine them wanting to live with someone like me with all my baggage.

This quandary is causing significant anxiety in my life right now. If I could somehow skip this bit and get to the bit where I'm living somewhere furnished with my things all around me I would be the happiest girl alive. It's funny, writing that, I just realised that I really will be so much happier once I am in that situation. No wonder I'm so anxious to get there.

In the meantime, I have a bike to reassemble and I'll enjoy riding it around the flat streets of Elwood. After all, I probably (hopefully) won't be here for much longer.

Mired in the mush

I should firstly apologise to my readers for the varying writing quality on this blog. Sometimes I spend days deliberating over what to write and how to write it and other times I get all Virginia Woolf and just tap out stream of conciousness, usually one-handed into the Safari browser on my iPhone and very often from a reclined position in my bed. So hopefully even when this is a garbled mess you still enjoy or learn something, and if nothing else you should learn about the benefits of revision and editing.

So now that's done, how am I feeling today? Well, to be honest, I'm feeling mildly crap. Nothing big or bad is happening but work is just a bit underwhelming and I'm having drawn-out dealings with Centrelink and I'm getting anxious about finding somewhere to live and my appointment with my psychologist left me feeling overwrought and I saw a really bad play and just in general there are enough things going on for me to feel a bit 'meh' towards life.

It's actually a wonderful thing to feel mildly crap. When I'm depressed there is no such things as feeling mildly crap. There's just an amalgamated mush of major negativity that continually feeds itself on what would otherwise be mildly crap feelings. And I get mired in that mush and can't separate out the bits to see that anything is circumstantial.

I will be keeping an eye on my mood to see that it doesn't dip any further or without explanation but overall I think I need to just wait for some of my issues to resolve and in the meantime be good to myself. Perhaps take myself to a movie tomorrow on my day off.

It's definitely helping my mood overall that I'm returning, be it ever so slowly, to being sociable. I almost feel like I need some sort of debutante ball to reintroduce myself to society, after having become such a hermit. I'd like to particularly thank those friends who I've had coffee catch-ups, brunches or play-dates with of late for not blinking when my memory packs it in and I'm suddenly left without words. Perhaps you genuinely didn't notice, but either way it has helped my confidence immeasurably to see that my ludicrous memory isn't standing as a barrier between myself and other people.

Ups and Downs Katie Goes To A Party

I left behind Doctor Who and my pyjamas. I left behind Eurovision and the comfortable armchair. I left behind the safe familiarity of home and I ventured out into the night.

I had received the invitation to my friend's 30th birthday party on one of my last days in hospital. At that time I had imagined that by the time the party rolled around I would have transformed into some effortlessly cool social butterfly, flitting around the party with ease and grace. As it was, I was more of a half squashed moth, limping around the party, trying not to brush up against anyone lest I leave my stain on them.

It was awkward not drinking. I almost accepted the offer of a glass of champagne. I didn't want the people I was talking to to know I was sober as I hoped they'd assume I was slightly drunk and this was why I was failing so dismally at the art of conversation. Conversations were hard. I was so anxious about being at the party that I couldn't fully follow everything other people were saying to me. And I would get distracted midway through my talking part of conversations by helpful thoughts like, 'you've just used the word 'good' seven times in this last sentence' or 'these people probably remember you as the girl who flipped out and went missing'.

If I was my usual self then I would have gotten drunk and drunkenly engaged in conversations with the confidence drunkenness bestows and I would have found the whole evening to be an absolute corker. As it was, I did meet some really lovely people, I divulged all my secrets to one particularly nice girl who then told me all of hers and I made it through the night without fainting or vomiting, two things I was scared there was a very real possibility I was going to do. So I'm calling it a good night.

Returning to work

I feel guilty calling in to say I won't be at work. Even though I ended up in the Emergency Department this week, I feel like because this illness has happened on the tail end of my sick leave for bipolar disorder, somehow it's illegitimate.

Something makes me feel like there is a decision that I make to take time off work when I'm sick with bipolar disorder, which is simply not the case. When i get sick, everything falls out of my hands. I guess because my illness is so caught up in my own psyche and thought processes, it feels like I should have more control than I actually do and I perceive that others must believe this.

I know it must be hard to understand the pain, the exhaustion and the danger of mental illness if you have never experienced it firsthand. This also makes it difficult to explain to someone why I needed to so urgently take time off and for such an extended period of time. If you were to perceive mental illness as merely mood swings, this would seem unnecessary and indulgent. I can assure you though, there was nothing indulgent about my stay in hospital.

I don't think any of my uneasy feelings are being aided by the fact that there is one distinct aspect of returning to work that I'm really not looking forward to; answering the question of where I've been. I'm hoping it won't come up. We're a pretty transient workforce so people do come and go a bit. But if anyone does ask, I'm then stuck with the dilemma of either lying or telling a half-truth or telling the whole truth and dealing with the reaction to that. Most people are inoffensive in their responses but almost everyone seems really uncomfortable when I tell them, and this doesn't wear off immediately. I wonder if people who reveal they have diabetes are given wide berths and sympathetic looks like I've received.

Anyway, back at work tomorrow. One positive note I can concentrate on is that working = getting paid, something much needed after my long, finance-depleting period of illness. Returning to work also marks a return to some sort of normality; I'll no longer feel like I'm wasting water when I shower in the morning, I do in fact need to shower before going to work as opposed to other recent days of being housebound.

So, concentrating on those positives I will boldly make my way to work tomorrow and face whatever challenges lie ahead. Wish me luck.

Sick on sick on sick

An outside observer may be forgiven for thinking that I love spending time in hospital based on how often I do it.

You see, yesterday morning, after taking my bipolar medication and some Codral and Bisolvin for my killer cold I was suddenly doubled over with stomach pain. Soon after I started vomiting and couldn't stop. As I was lying on the bathroom floor feeling like I was going to die, it occurred to me that perhaps I was having a drug interaction so I called Nurse-on-Call. My nurse suggested I to straight to a GP. I went to a local clinic and saw a GP and she suggested I go straight to the Emergency Department at The Alfred Hospital as she wasn't sure what was wrong with me but couldn't rule out appendicitis. So, on to the ED at The Alfred where I was subjected to lots of prodding and poking and I answered lots of questions and was taken off for ultrasounds and as the day wore on I started to feel better but I was hooked up to an IV so I couldn't just leave and besides, I was hoping that somebody could tell me conclusively what had happened to me. Alas, 'twas not to be. I was discharged nearly 12 hours after arriving with a big, fat question mark over my diagnosis.

Somebody suggested that the reflux I get from taking lithium, combined with the amount of mucous I was swallowing and the codeine in the Codral had just created a bad reaction in my stomach and made me very sick. In case this is the case I'm steering clear of codeine, so if anyone wants some Codral, there's some going free at my house.

So, that's it, that's the mystery vomiting ailment that eclipsed my killer cold that eclipsed my bipolar disorder.

I'm really praying (to whom? Not sure) for a sickness free stretch of time now. I'll see out the end of this cold, but that's it, then I want no more. If the universe could be so good as to comply I would be greatly appreciative.

Sick on sick

This post should have been about how excited I am to return to work next week and how fortunate I am to really like my job. Or perhaps about how my psychiatrist and I are both optimistic, and can't see any reason not to be, that the ECT has really worked and I'll be well for a sustained period of time. Or even about how I bought new mascara and new underwear from Target then took myself to a movie the other day, and how it takes precious little for me to feel like I'm really treating myself. Or even Mother's Day, I'd post about Mother's Day.
But this post will not be about any of those things.
Because I have a cold.

These are the rules (well, my rules) when I have a cold; nothing else matters or exists except for the cold and all the shitty symptoms that come from it. So right now I really don't care about all the mothers who had breakfast in bed - I'm drowning in my own mucous. I cannot spare a thought for what going back to work will be like - my sinuses have expanded into my eye sockets. I'm not even really aware that I'm bipolar anymore - I just coughed up something that looks a lot like a pancreas.

Today I shouldn't have even bothered blogging, I should have used my computer for the sole useful purpose it has today; allowing me to watch Doctor Who in bed. Yep. That's what I'm going to be doing until further notice. I'll see you on the other side of this cold. (If I make it.)

Peering through the mist of my memories

This is just a quick post, just a check in, to say that things are ok.

I don't feel much like writing at the moment, all I really feel like doing is being quiet and remembering things. It's both sad and wonderful that all of the memories I have now seem brand new.

I found photos today from my US trip. I was able to remember details relating to most of them but I still don't remember where I stayed in New York City. Each day little flakes of memory come drifting back to me so perhaps that too will come. I am also trying to accept that some things will be lost forever and finding a way to be ok with that.

My mood is stable at a fairly positive place, although I am prone to start crying at the slightest provocation. I watched an episode of The Voice the other night and was choked up from pretty much start to finish. Still, it's good to have my full emotional range back. Hopefully I'll begin to harness it better in the days to come.

Like I said, I don't feel much like writing so apologies for the dull post. Hopefully I'll have more vigour and my logolepsy will have returned by next post.

West Taghkanic, New York

The Mechanism of the Action Remains Elusive

I have finished up after 6 sessions of bilateral electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) and undoubtedly the desired effect of a dramatic improvement in my mood has been achieved.

Despite still grappling with a definite sense that I'm stupider than I was a month ago, a shonky memory and an unusual amount of apathy, I feel a little bit like a bucket of sunshine! Skeptics of this treatment would attribute this to the brain damage caused by the induced tonic-clonic seizures. Skeptics are well within their rights to be skeptical (besides the causal link between skepticism that leads them to being named skeptics) as while there seems to be evidence that the desired outcome of mood improvement can be achieved through ECT, it's not exactly known how this is achieved, so yes, it could be achieved through causing brain damage.

The most interesting phrase I stumbled across when researching ECT is 'the mechanism of the action remains elusive'. The writer in me adores this phrase and is inclined to attribute an almost mystic quality to ECT by virtue of the amount of inherent faith that goes into this line of treatment. The patient in me screams "seriously WTF! You're putting me under general anesthetic and sticking electrodes in my head because it seems to kinda work for some reason you're not quite sure of!?"

If I told you I was going to indulge in some faith based healing as the first line of treatment for another life threatening illness, you would undoubtedly be relieved that I'm locked up in a psychiatric hospital. And yet this is seen as a most legitimate form of treatment. Oh well, it seems to have worked (see, there's that apathy!)

I guess though there's no real way of knowing what has changed my mood. It could have been the elusive mechanism of the action or it could have been taking me off the seven mind altering medications I was on or it could have just been that the time for that mood was up and it was moving on anyway and I'd be a little bucket of sunshine right now, fried brain or not.

Oh yeah, I should have mentioned that they took me off all my medication. I had one of the worst days of my life withdrawing from the Cymbalta. Luckily my shonky memory has blocked out most of it, but what I do remember is crouching in the smoking courtyard, howling in physical and psychic pain. But Miss Bucket O'Sunshine doesn't want to talk about that! Instead I'll tell you how lovely it is to not wobble and shake like I did for all those months I was dosed up to the eyeballs. I've been started on one new medication, Abilify (isn't that the sexiest name for an antipsychotic???) and I'm back on the Lithium slow release to try to keep my mood stable.

I'm being let out on Saturday and while part of me is ecstatic (little bucket of sunshine) there is a part of me that is scared that I'm somehow going to fuck things up and wind up back in hospital again within the next few months (little half-empty bucket of sunshine). Sometimes the apathy chases the fear away and I'm glad, but sometimes I wish it wouldn't. I know I'm only dreaming when I pretend I have much control over my illness and that holding on to that fear could influence anything, but when I'm feeling positive like this it's nice to be able to pretend that my mood is something I helped create and I do have control of and I can hold onto.
May the sun shine a little bit longer.

Brain soup

I'm typing this into the unsupported browser of my iPhone and hoping the Optus 3G signal will see fit to transmit this message from my hospital bed to the great wide world. As mentioned, I'm in hospital. I'm halfway (maybe? hopefully?) through a course of electroconvulsive therapy. The good news is they've taken me off all of my medication, the bad news is my brain has turned to mush and I have no short term memory. I cannot remember what I did yesterday and strangers keep talking to me in intimate tones. I'm assured by family and nursing staff alike that this is the preferable alternative to my former state but not retaining adequate memory of  what that was, I can't really comment. Despite it's drastic flaws I have always been rather attached to my mind so finding it so greatly compromised is distressing. My deep sense of uncertainty is not being assisted by the insistence of all those around me that I shouldn't worry about it. (That's exactly what they'd want me to think, I'm sure.) I'm wishing that I had some newfound optimism to accompany my paranoia but maybe what I'm presently feeling is all that can be expected for the halfway mark of this treatment. I'll update again once I turn that corner or maybe just if I find some reliable Internet. (This is all of course contingent on retaining the memory that I keep a blog.)

This head

You have no idea how hard it is having this head of mine.
I'm trying not to give up. I'm really trying.

Unexpected

My weekend without the internet was a partial success. I had to go on Pinterest to get the recipe for chocolate zucchini brownies (don't knock them till you've tried them) to give to my sister but apart from that it was a relaxing weekend devoid of antagonism from the internet.

Last night I finished watching an episode of Doctor Who (I've become a Whovian of late) at around 10.15 after which I took my medication, brushed my teeth and went to bed. It usually takes me a little while to fall asleep but last night wasn't a particularly restless night, I fell asleep within what I would consider a normal amount of time.

This morning however I was woken by my aunt asking me if I had to go to work this morning. It was 8am and I had slept through my 7am and 7.15 alarms without even stirring. I tried to get up but it was like I was bound to the bed. I fell asleep again and woke up at 8.30 which was when I decided to call work and tell them I wouldn't be in today. Then I fell asleep and woke up just after 11. By my estimation I've just had 12 hours of sleep.

There is no obvious reason why I needed 12 hours of sleep last night. I had a very quiet weekend with no late nights, I'd gotten to sleep at a reasonable time last night and I haven't had any recent changes to my medication. My body just occasionally does things which are unexpected.

These curve balls are challenging because they disrupt my daily life and remind me that I'm still a sick person. I feel like there's a real pull with this disorder between doing nothing other than deal with the side effects, the mood swings, the unexpected 12 hours of sleep or trying to get on with my life and engage with the rest of the world.

I want to be a reliable employee but it's hard. I cannot ignore the things that crop up because of my bipolar disorder anymore than I could ignore a serious back injury. The difference is that when these things pass; when my mood stabilises or I've gotten an excessive need for sleep out of my system, I appear to be fine. I'm not though. I fight every day to keep strange and often violent thoughts at bay. I shut out voices that whisper because I know when they shout I can hear only them. I suppress the memories of my lowest points because if I dwell on them there seems there is no hope for me at all.

So unexpectedly I have a day to myself. I'm not quite sure what to do with it. Amazingly I'm still feeling quite fatigued, perhaps from oversleeping, so I'm not sure that anything energetic is possible. If I'm to be guided purely by my wants then today will involve watching more Doctor Who and eating a donut at some stage. We'll see. The unexpected happens so often to me that I dare not make too firm plans.

Switch off, unplug, breathe deep

My mood was great today. I woke up feeling spritely, had enough time to drink a cup of coffee AND put mascara on, I was heading out the door when my uncle asked if I wanted a lift to work so rather than being smashed into the armpit of a sweaty man on a crowded tram I was driven to work while listening to the radio so I caught up on the news of the world on the way. Arriving half an hour early I got a jumpstart on the day, went across to ACCA and got a truly exceptional coffee, started my work properly for the day and then it just flew by as I immersed myself in learning about reporting (remember previous post about how I heart excel spreadsheets? These things excite me). I left work early and came home to cook spaghetti bolognese which turned out exceptionally well if I do say so myself, then I had a fantastic long chat with my cousin. Watched a bit of Elementary on the telly then came upstairs and picked up my iPad.

Whoosh!

That was the sound of my good mood vanishing.

What is it with the fucking Internet? There's a troll on my favourite feminist board on Pinterest and usually I can step back and say to myself "Katie, this person is an idiot, stop reading the comments" but tonight I just kept reading them and then it was like I was seeking them out just to get more and more red in the face and upset. I wanted to have a reaction that meant something, that did something but there was nothing I could do. I'd start writing responses to his boorish remarks but then I'd realise they weren't enough and they showed I cared what he thought, which is not the case, but I care about the spaces in which I get to share ideas and have a dialogue about the things I do care about.

Then I went onto Facebook, which I generally avoid since I know it makes me dislike people I actually know and there were all kinds of asinine commentaries on yesterday's leadership spill mixed in amongst the other usual self important and inane crap. I felt frustrated.

Even though my head is loopy and my good mood probably has everything to do with the fact that I actually can't remember anything at the moment, I do still have a fairly formidable mind. I am a university drop out because I wasn't receiving the kind of stimulation I craved in the classroom and I am still craving it. Next weekend there is a conference at The University of Melbourne run by the Socialist Alternative called Marxism. I had been interested in attending it when I heard that Brian Jones was going to be performing Howard Zinn's 'Marx in Soho', a text I read while in the US. Further reading of the program and some correspondence with my ex-boyfriend, the socialist, informed me of a series of discussions being held about education. I'm very tempted to attend. Part of me thinks or perhaps hopes that I might find some satiating material to appease my needy mind. Then there's a part of me that concludes that all trolls or Facebook users are actually people and these people may be the ones attending this conference in which case I'll be surrounded by voices that make my blood boil and it would be better really to stay home in bed.

I don't know what the answer is. I think for a short while anyway I should give the internet a break. Definitely for at least one day, maybe the whole weekend. That's it, it's a ludite weekend. See you on the other side.

(ok, I have to tell you, my iPad changed ludite to ludicrous. Is that an Apple commentary?)

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

The weather changed. The heat wave broke and cool winds brought sweet relief. My medication regime changed and brought with it new side effects, more on that later. And my mood changed. It shifted upwards  enough for me to return to work and see that there is a light, it's just not shining on me yet.

I've also had a change in my student status. Specifically changing from being a student to not being one. It's a decision I probably should have made after last year's debacle with me withdrawing. I told one of my teachers what I was going through and asked for some leniency on deadlines. She told me I needed to hand in three assignments by the next class and do a presentation and when I broke down in tears her response was one of annoyance rather than compassion. Anyway I'm sure I'll return to study one day.

The most notable new side effect from the doubling of my Cymbalta dose is short term memory loss. At various points in the last week I've been unable to recall computer passwords, peoples names, who texted me five minutes ago, even my own phone number. I wandered on to a train platform today and couldn't remember where I was supposed to be going. Hardest of all for me is I find myself pausing to recall words that usually fall off my tongue. I'm having a reaction to my memory problem that oscillates between serious concern and ambivalence. Sometimes I think it's something I really need to get on top of and other times I think it's just one other side effect that I have to get used to. I really don't know how much more can be done in terms of tinkering with my medication. I'm up to maximum levels on some meds and the rest I've yo-yo'd up and down with already trying to find the right balance. I don't know. In case you can't tell I'm in my ambivalent phase right now.

I think I'll probably need to cut my already barely existent social life right back to none until I work out whether this memory thing is here to stay. I get so anxious when I'm out and usually I'm alright if I know I have an escape route but feeling befuddled would just make the whole experience much more distressing. No, I think it's an indoors existence with no surprises for me for now.

If I could snap out of it

If I could snap out of it I would.

I don't want this sinking feeling, these horrifying thoughts, this screen between me and the ones I love, this colander brain that only holds the bad thoughts and lets all of the salient details of life fall through. I don't want to dive down this dark rabbit hole again and like Alice before me find myself in a strange and hostile place where my body behaves in an abnormal manner beyond my control. I fear the fear that is coming. I loathe the version of me that loathes myself.

My psychiatrist has referred me to be readmitted to hospital. I don't have to go but I'm being given this option. I don't know what to do. I want someone else at the reigns. I feel like I make such a hash of my life that I shouldn't be left to control it.

I want this bit over. I want it done. If I could snap out of it I would.

Catch up

I had patchy internet and little inclination to blog for the remainder of my trip and then got back and life was all busy etc etc so it's been a while between blogs.

To sum up what has been happening since last we met on these merry fields of the internet;

• I got a tattoo

A tiny book on my left forearm. A reminder that sometimes I need to turn the page as a new chapter is about to begin.

• Andrea and I flew to New York then went upstate to stay with her family near the beautiful town of Hudson
• We visited New Paltz, our old college town. It was still heart-breakingly lovely. The woman in one of the antique stores recognised me.
• I met Andrea's grandma
• I bought a lovely antique suitcase
• Andrea and I went to New York City and stayed in a fancy hotel with bathrobes and everything
• I still <3 NY
• I don't even know what to say, we went to some of my favourite restaurants; Nom Wah Tea Parlour and Alice's Tea Cup
• The time seemed too short and I wasn't getting any closer to feeling satisfied with what I was doing in New York
• I saw my old friends from Broadway.com, we went for dinner at Heartland Brewery and it was like a dream
• It wasn't enough, just to be there visiting. I didn't feel like I was doing anything other than notifying my friends, notifying the city that I was still around and letting them know I'd visit again soon
• I saw Cat on a Hot Tin Roof with Scarlet Johannson, Nice Work if You Can Get It and the Steppenwolf production of Whose Afraid of Virginia Woolfe. They were all amazing.
• I spent a whole day cowering in bed, unable to deal with the world outside
• I flew home. It was nasty and long and the food was rubbish.
• I tried to make nice with my jet lag but days later and I'm still struggling
• I've been tired
• I've been flat
• I've stopped smoking cigarettes
• My body issues are taking up too much of my head space
• I put off blogging
• I kept putting it off
• I've blogged. I'll elaborate on things in days to come.

Hairy Podder and the Social Anxiety in Bloomington

Yesterday I arrived in Indiana and saw my friend Andrea for the first time in over a year.
The experience was surreal, both in the fact that I finally saw her after months of yearning and weeks of anticipating but also in the sense that it still feels surreal that I'm in the US at all. I also have an eerie sense that I'm more excited than I can actually feel. One side effect of being so heavily medicated is a general dulling of the senses; excellent when I'm in distress, a real bitch kick to the tits when something genuinely thrilling is occuring.

Andrea has shown me a true welcome to Bloomington, Indiana. We started the day with breakfast at The Runcible Spoon followed by a tour through the Bloomington Public Library and a spot of shopping on the main street where I found a belt to hold my jeans up. We then went to Mother Bear for excellent pizza, the post office to buy stamps (check your letter boxes folks, there's postcards a'comin) and a visit to Goodwill.

Oh American thrift store shopping, how I love thee! I found two fantastic striped tops, because a girl can never have too many striped tops (well, surely one could, but I don't. I only have 17) and fortuitously I also found a Gryffindor t-shirt which came in handy later this evening.

We also visited Bloomingfoods, Bloomington's amazing health/organic grocery store. I can't work out for the life of me why we don't have things like it back home. Over here Wholefoods and Trader Joe's and smaller places like Bloomingfoods seem to do roaring trades. I can't imagine that as a nation Australia doesn't have enough people interested in healthy eating that we couldn't support such a thing. Anyway, it was great. We bought chicken and cheese and crackers and salad ingredients and I even treated myself to a 16oz coffee with organic soy creamer.

This evening we went to a place called Rachael's Cafe where a number of bands were playing including Harry and the Potters (hence the fortuitous t-shirt). There was a fairly average band opening and then a totally kick-ass band called Busman's Holiday. They sounded something like Vampire Weekend mixed with Wilco but influenced by Beirut. I loved them. I had no cash with me to buy from their merch stall but their drummer told me where I can buy their CD and I will. Tomorrow.

Then the headline act came on. Their two main inspirations were clearly metal and Harry Potter, an unlikely mix, but one that was proving very popular. The first thing I noticed was that they pronounced Harry with a drawled 'a' and Potter with a soft 't' which sounded hilarious to me. The room had gotten really packed by this stage and I was already sweating with my woollen top under my Gryffindor tee. I felt like I was being hedged in a bit so excused myself to have a cigarette out in the freezing, freezing cold. Feeling calmed and refreshed I went back inside and rejoined the enthusiastic crowd. Once again I started feeling a bit panicky so I bought another beer hoping the social lubricant would help the impinging people slide right past me. It didn't really work like that.

I've never been crazy about crowds but I'm much worse now than I used to be. I'm glad I went tonight because I did have a good time, some of the music was amazing and it was so great to be hanging out with Andrea again but I'm going to need to think of things I can do, long term, to help me get through such busy social situations.

Anyway, tonight is done. Tomorrow we have exciting plans to visit the Indianapolis Museum of Art and then go to a talk with Crispin Glover followed by a screening of his new movie. Fun times!

P.S. It's cold

Greetings from Orange County

It's the last night of the first leg of this little journey I'm taking.
I'm glad this was the first leg of my trip. My tussle with jet lag and attempt to reset my body clock really needed to happen somewhere relaxed, and I'll tell you, there's nowhere more relaxed than Southern California.

I've been staying with my great-aunt and my second cousins have been visiting too and really we've been up to a whole lot of not much. Out for lunch a few times, a spot of shopping (new jeans! New boots!) and a visit this morning at my request to ihop (that is the international house of pancakes for those of you not in the know) for an item on the menu that they call Rooty Tooty Fresh n'Fruity. This is bacon, eggs, sausages on one plate and pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream on another plate. That's one of the things I love about America. I mean that menu item specifically but also the idea that you don't need to decide between savoury and sweet in the morning, just go both. It's like making breakfast a two course meal. Genius!

I thought perhaps the novelty of being in the U.S. would be diminished since I lived here for a whole year but I'm still finding myself in conniptions at the sound of all the accents, the glossiness of all the food and the way they graphically explain the side effects of every drug they advertise on tv. I found out some things about Cymbalta I didn't even know about and I'm taking it! Did you know it can be used to treat chronic pain but can also cause increased sweating? Wow and ew!

I love seeing all my extended family but I feel a little out of synch here in SoCal. I'm a pasty-white, non-driving urbanite who only wears sweat pants to the gym. And I am perpetually lost as all the streets are long, straight, 6 lane highways and all the buildings are low-rise beige or terracotta stucco structures circa 1970. I can't find a landmark to take my bearings from.

So tomorrow I once again say goodbye to my extended family and make my way to Indianapolis via Denver where waiting for me is my dear dear friend. I can't wait!

So close

Passport arrived, visa organised, bags packed, bring on Saturday.

I bought $140 worth of medication to take with me, I have a letter from my psychiatrist and spare Seroquel and Temazepam in case things all get a bit to much (I should clarify, I will be using these drugs for their intended purposes at appropriate dosages. No current self harm thoughts.)

It was interesting when I was filling out my US visa waiver application, they ask if you have any communicable diseases or mental or physical conditions that could render you a threat to yourself or others. I had to very carefully read the definition as I do actually have a mental condition which has in the past caused me to be a threat to myself. There was an option which stated that if you do have a mental condition that has caused you to be a threat but it's unlikely it will reoccur then answer no, so I went with no.

But what is the likelihood of reoccurence? Well, the answer is pretty high. I mean not immediately, despite the rough patches I've experienced over the past week, but in my lifetime, yeah, I'm probably going to have more episodes.

I feel now more than ever before that I am dealing with a lifelong condition which affects me every day. I think my brain was somehow changed by the psychotic episode last year. My brain works differently and has moments most days where it goes a bit loopy and there's chatter and free association taking place all througout my head which I have no part in but just observe. I also wonder if I have some PTSD type symptoms as I have flashbacks from my episode and I startle easily.

That might make my ever so soon trip sound like a foolish idea. Clearly I'm not yet well, clearly I'm still fragile and to make matters worse I may have just lied on my US visa waiver application, but really, if there's no knowing what may come, if the next episode is waiting around the corner then I actually need to make the very most of the time I do have when I'm not incapacitated.

Pro re nata

I've had some shaky days. Literally and figuratively.

The monsters that creep and prowl around my head have been fed and are hungry for more. They gobble every setback, doubt, frustration or hostile encounter and grow stronger. My reserves are depleted and when I look through my arsenal there are few things that actually assist. 

I have smoked more cigarettes, eaten more chocolate and wasted more time on the Internet. These things pass moments but don't help overall. I've spoken to my family a lot these past few days and that has helped somewhat. And then there's the thing that really works but I'm loathe to use, Seroquel.

Seroquel is my PRN (pro re nata - Latin for "as the circumstance arises") to take when I am anxious. It leaves me in a zombie-like state but it also takes the edge of my anxiety like nothing else. It completely calms my shakes and makes every thought innocuous. When I take my PRN Seroquel the only thing I'm good at is sitting in one spot and staring into space.

It also leaves me with a Seroquel hangover by which I mean the following day I'm dopey and tired. At least 12 people told me how tired I looked today and I'm not looking forward to in the future discovering careless mistakes I've made today in my semi-stoned state.

I wish I had more resilience so that I didn't need to take medication. I wish there was something I could take that would ease my anxiety without completely stripping my personality. I wish I could live in a zen bubble devoid of all negativity. But what's the saying? If wishes were fishes the sea would be full.