A Reminder

Monday served as a grim reminder of just how unpredictable depression can be. Just how hard it can hit back after an easy - or at least relatively smooth - time.
It came out of no where, really. I'm well aware that a 'good' day for me usually involves a period of feeling down or restless or unsettled - I don't often get whole days of feeling good at all. I guess I do know how it happened. I like routine, although I use that phrase loosely. My routine consists of being at home, in Newcastle, and sleeping in my own bed - not travelling too much, going to work, sometimes meeting someone in town for coffee etc.

Both weekends of the last fortnight, I've spent in wildly different places. One was at Bloodstock - a festival in Derbyshire and the other was a family wedding in Gretna Green. Between the two I was only at work once. All the packing, unpacking, washing and repeating had me worn out by Sunday just gone - when I got home from the wedding. I had intended to go out with some friends - just meeting them at the pub like I almost always do on a Sunday night - but in the end I didn't feel up to it. I was low and tired and figured I'd be no fun to be around. Fortunately, I'd picked myself up a bit by the time my other half came home.
Monday, however, was something else entirely. I was distracted, withdrawn. I kept sitting down and losing myself in my train of thought. I didn't know where this had come from and I certainly didn't understand why it was happening. It wasn't until that evening that it occurred to me that I'd barely had a minute to myself in the last two weeks. I'd hardly had a chance to touch base. I hadn't seen or spoken to many people, the house was a mess because I hadn't been there to tidy it and I'd just been eating junk and snacking or having big starchy-carb meals.
I don't know how it happened. One minute I was fine - or thought I was, or thereabouts - the next I was crying uncontrollably. There was shouting. Lots of shouting. But mostly crying from me. I remember the door slamming. I remember screaming, near silently - unable to get the sound past my throat. Hoping that my flatmate wasn't in. Hoping my flatmate was in. I needed someone. To come and hold me, to comfort me, to shush me while I cried. I couldn't stop myself.
I had a hospital appointment that afternoon. I still hadn't stopped crying by the time I got there. One of the nurses rang the mental health crisis line for me because she was so concerned. Surprisingly they didn't actually do anything - I guess they didn't think I was much of a suicide risk because I'd managed to get myself to the hospital already. Despite the fact that I'd told them I intended to take my life and was concerned I would if left alone. Then again, maybe the sheer fact that I was lucid enough in that moment told them that I wouldn't do it. Or something.

I was in the hospital five and a half hours before I spoke to someone who really took the time to listen to me. Of course, by this time I'd calmed down a lot. I just didn't want to be there. I didn't want to go home either. I just wanted everything to stop. To hit pause. Throw my hands up and get off the ride. I'd had enough. More than enough.
Home wasn't better. The next day wasn't really better either. The doctor recommended a week off work with more time if needed. We fought again once I got home. I'd tried to talk. He still didn't want to have to deal with anything. I cried again. The only thing that was different is I didn't take it out on myself. Tuesday night was a little better though.
Wednesday was a little brighter. I met up with some of the girls I used to be in college with. I had tea with my parents and when I came home we weren't up long before we went to bed.

Today? Today's been better. I feel more secure in the knowledge that we're actually alright and it was just that everything was getting too intense. I've got an interview at Lush in a couple of hours and I'm bricking it. Well, I'm actually pretty excited - I'm just nervous too. I keep thinking that I know nothing about the brand or the products or anything like that but I know it's not really true. I'm looking forward to it.
It's just for a xmas temp job but hopefully I'll get kept on at the end and I'll be able to leave Sainsbury's in the new year.
That seems so far away right now but I know it'll come round in no time.

Pills and Dubstep

So I'm writing to you from Boots as I wait for my new prescription to process. My music's playing but my headphones are around my neck - no doubt to the delight of the other customers. Yes, today I am that girl. You know the one, with the scraped back hair, blasting electronica from headphones, looking a bit cheap and a bit common throughout the wait. 

I'd like to point out that that is very rarely me. I don't wear tracksuits and only occasionally wear jogging bottoms (I only own one pair and I got those from my pole-dancing school for when I don't want to cool down too much). I very rarely have my music loud enough for others to hear too - I like to think I'm considerate that way. 

Today is different I guess. I've just gotten out of the doctors. My mirtazapine's been increased to 45mg and I've got to reintroduce diazepam to keep a lid on my anxiety too. I get to review it all on Tuesday again. 

I think I'm just starting to lose hope a little. To lose sight of where I'm headed and what I'm aiming for. I'm starting to care less and less about everything: work, chores, my appearance - you name it. 

When I get home, I think I'll try and do something nice for myself. A long shower and a face mask maybe. I did get some new Lush things to try the other day. 

All in all, it's taken an hour and a half to get my stuff sorted, from leaving the house to go to the appointment to getting back. There was a bit of a hiccup with Bitch-Receptionist and whether or not my prescription was actually at Boots after I ordered it on Monday but it turned out that Mr New Pharmacist had just misplaced it. 

Bitch-Receptionist actually told me I must be taking too much propranolol. Clearly I don't know how to take my meds. It's only been a year after all... 

Maybe I could have been more polite but frankly it wouldn't have been the first time she'd buggered my script order to my detriment!