Tuesday, 13 April 2010

This Town Is Full Of Counterfeit Dreamers And Maybe I'm One Too

Been a while since I've done a serious update about... well, my life. I figure now would be as good a time as any with so much having gone on the past couple of weeks alone that my head feels like a blender. Again. If you have no interest in my life, don't bother reading. I can't be arsed to justify myself to people who will claim that this piece is self-centered, egotistical etc. This is my ------- blog after all and if I want to talk about myself, then I shall and will. No one forces you to read any of this.

Anyway, after splitting up with Will in mid February, I felt... well, like shit. Having been told thta I was basically scary and psycho... That was something I'd never had said to me before. It made me take a long hard look at myself and I came to the conclusion that he was overreacting. Figured "can't win em all" and met Inigo through Misha. I didn't really expect anything to happen there but.. it did. I wasn't exactly disappointed, shall we say. After the first night we met (properly) at the Arts Centre, I realised I could talk to him about pretty much everything and anything. And of course, me being me, I had to screw up by BEING a screw up. Yes, I'm now going to go on a self-loathing spree based on my mental state and my neuroses. It honestly feels that every time I find myself in a situation where I'm happy, I have to do something to make myself unhappy. Not because I like being unhappy, just because it... happens. I don't know how to make it stop. I wish I did. Apart from a couple of really stupid overreactions on my part based on emotions that I felt not in control of, I did something really retarded about 2 weeks ago.

As I wasn't getting anywhere with mental health support, I decided that I would go along with my friend's suggestion of hanging off a bridge to get the mental health team involved, get my diagnosis and get me some meds. I'd not really had much in the way of help and support from my GP/link worker who said that I'd have to go another 3 months of having my random mood swings unmedicated while I kept a, get this, mood diary so they could get a better idea of how my mood patterns are. My counsellor Jenny who went along with me, actually said to them that she didn't think it was a good idea for me to have no short term measures in place over the next 3 months while this was going on. My linkworker came out with the retarded line of "If you feel unwell in those three months, make sure that you ring the crisis team to talk to them". Right, so talking to more people who don't give a shit and won't actually do anything to help me when talking isn't working...

The easiest way to put it is that talking only does so much with me. I feel that I have come to the end of usefulness as far as talking goes. I see Jenny once a week to talk about current issues and problems. I see Simon once a week to talk about the past and to try and help me cope with some of those really deep-seated things. It can be very grueling and tiring to discuss some things like that. Result is usually that I come out of counselling on Friday feeling really crap and wanting a hug. Sometimes the stuff that's brought up as a result is really difficult to deal with. Certain revelations about things, certain things that I normally don't think about because they hurt too much... Basically, counselling needs to have something to balance it out and make it easier for me to deal with after I walk out of the door. That's where the medication is meant to come in to cushion the blow. When I basically had the refused me and was told to deal with it... I couldn't. I know that I need more support than that, at least on a temporary basis and it's not exactly smart for me to be trying to cope with all that on my own with nothing to act as a buffer. So, I decided to go with the hanging off a bridge idea to get the attention of the mental health team. Result? I got police sectioned and taken for an assessment at Hellesdon Hospital (mental hospital) where they gave me the diagnosis of emotional instability personality disorder which is basically a form of borderline, and not too far off the initial thought of bipolar. Same tree, different branch. While they claim that medication isn't a great idea, I have too much in the way of depressive shifts for them to honestly ignore it. I mean, I can't fucking deal with it without anything. I'm trying and all I'm doing is hurting people. Like Inigo.

It came down to him being the one to make the phonecall to the police to say we were hanging off the bridge and since then, quite understandably, he's been pretty shaken up by the whole affair and we're currently "on hold" while he gets his head around everything. I mean, this whole experience has been one hell of an eye opener for me and I'm not going to be dangling myself off a bridge again. Why do I need to now I've got the help I wanted? I don't want him to be my carer. I just want things to be back to how they were before I had the damn fool idea. I've just got this huge sense of loss that I can't shift and it's making me feel worse. I've just got over food poisoning and I'm not entirely well still. Really tired and drained. Came down with it the weekend after the bridge incident so I've really not had any recovery time whatsoever. At the moment I have some ends to tie up regarding my old flat as well which isn't exactly a piece of cake. The thing that's upsetting me the most is knowing that Inigo and I aren't ok. If that one thing was going ok like it was before, I'd be able to breathe somewhat. It's not just the fact that things between he and I are so screwed up, it's also knowing that I caused him hurt and I don't know how to fix it, how to make up for it. That makes me feel infinitely worse about the whole situation. That's the bottom of the whole matter, actually. Knowing that I was the one responsible for it and it's something I don't know how to fix, hence my self-blame for my own stupidity.