Insomniac Ramblings

I can smell chocolate.
I don't know why and I don't know where it's coming from. But I know that I can smell it... I think it might be from when Matt was eating one of his Easter eggs earlier - there was a chocolate-looking mark on the bed where he'd been sitting.
There's also a chance that it might be coming from my Herbalife shake tub... They're chocolate flavoured and remarkably realistic! I'm enjoying having them - they're quick and easy to make, they taste good and they're generally pretty convenient. With the added weightloss bonus of course...

Anyway, back to what I was originally going to post today...
I've realised that although I started this blog with the intention of going through how I was coping with depression and anxiety and how it all made me feel, I'm not sure I've done much of that.

For me, depression makes me feel worthless and as if I'm not good enough. In turn, that stops me from trying because I believe that I'm crap anyway, so why bother?

Some days, I find it especially hard to get out of bed because I just haven't got the strength to face the day. Everything seems bleak and dark and pointless. I don't want to do anything. Anything I do do is faced done with a rather miserable attitude of 'why am I bothering, I don't want to be here' regardless of how well it's hidden.

I hate the fact that I have to fake smiles. It's exhausting. It's stupid. I don't see why I should do this for others half the time.

Of course, that, to me, comes across as extreme selfishness - something I was raised to hate and avoid at all costs.
This, ergo, makes me feel horribly guilty - like a truly despicable human being. I disgust myself and hate myself. There are times when these feelings get so bad all I want to do is die. I don't want to kill myself, I just want to die.
Of course, there are the other times when I do want to take my own life. Whether it be through overdose or through cutting myself somewhere vital. Sometimes I cut myself to feel in control when everything else is too crazy. When it feels like the world has stopped turning but I haven't and all I can hear is my own mental screaming and my own voice and the other voice telling me how worthless and horrible I am. When all I can see are flaws in everything. When I feel so much that I feel nothing. The last of my most recent scars are nearly healed and the itching is driving me mad.

It's pretty tough. Sometimes, like now, I can see that I don't give myself enough credit for dealing with this and getting the help that I have. Sometimes, I don't feel like it's been enough. I know that I'm going to go to the doctors tomorrow and tell him that I don't feel any better. I'm going to tell him that I in fact feel emotionally dead most of the time. That time itself seems to take three times as long. That I'm spacing out, confused, disorientated. I'm not sure what the outcome of that will be but I'll let you know either way.

On a somewhat lighter note, Matt had his closest friend visiting today so I cooked us all whole wheat spaghetti bolognese. It was amazing. We had it with warm, freshly made bread and garlic Lurpack. There's still some bolognese left - I'm planning on having some tomorrow with rice. Or maybe just with salad. Or with pasta salad. I haven't quite decided. Obviously...

Flu, Viral Infection or Meningitis - Medical Roulette

After explaining my symptoms to one of the out of doctors, I was told I probably had one of the above three conditions. Their symptom checker, which, yes, I made the mistake of using, told me I'd either had a stroke or had a "serious illness". The first person I spoke to after calling 111 seemed a bit simple - I'm not sure whether she knew what she was doing or whether she thought I wasn't talking sense but she kept asking and re-asking the same questions, explaining the difference between dizzy and light-headed by using roundabout analogies, and managed to come up with about four different versions of my surname after I'd explained it to her and then spelled the whole thing out twice. The actual doctor I spoke to was lovely and really helpful, she went through her questions like a normal person and didn't treat me like an invalid but did manage to give me the "probably flu, a viral infection or maybe meningitis" diagnosis which was a little alarming... She put me on the 'urgent' list for call backs and appointments and a little while later I got a call saying to get to the hospital as soon as I possibly could so, with a friend in tow (at the demand of my other half who was at work), I made my way to A&E. After a pretty reasonable waiting time, I got to see the doctor. She made me do a few rather fun coordination and reaction tests after taking my temperature, blood pressure and pulse. She checked the back of my eyes and made me stand with my arms across my chest and eyes shut - to see if I fell over essentially - and then checked my throat and tonsils before quickly dismissing the notion of meningitis and flu. A viral infection then, and quite a nasty one at that, was deemed most of the cause of my problems. Another contributing factor, she said, is withdrawal from Citalopram. That's likely the cause of my five day migraine. Joy... So I left the hospital with a prescription for some lovely penicillin based antibiotics (which I couldn't get today - damn bank holidays) and the feeling of being reassured that the lining of my brain was not inflamed in any way.

To go back to the Citalopram withdrawal: I meant to write a couple of weeks ago about how the Citalopram was no longer cutting it and the doctor and I had decided it was possibly time for a change. I asked for a few days to think and that, because it's nigh impossible to get an appointment at the surgery, turned into a few weeks. I went back on Tuesday after spending all of Monday in a semi-catatonic state and he decided that I should move onto Fluoxetine within the week. My instructions for the transition were to go to half dose for three days (yesterday was day two, I nearly killed myself, I instead spent about half an hour self-harming) and then to drop to quarter dose for three days. After that, I can start taking 20mg of Fluoxetine a day. Apparently it's a rough starter and that can last anywhere from two to six weeks and since I already had a rocky beginning with Citalopram, I'm not looking forward to it so much... I dunno, maybe it'll be alright - it can't get tooooo much worse I suppose.

Other than that, things are going alright, I moved departments at work so I'm even happier there now than I was before. College is going alright but I missed my latest deadline due to sickness (read Citalopram withdrawal and viral infection) so I'll lose out on marks for that unfortunately. On the plus side, we've broke for Easter now so I've got a fortnight to improve my essay and work on my image. I've gone back to pole dancing and I'm getting back into the swing of it all so to speak.
I'm going to start setting proper times and dates to blog and I'm going to start writing and drawing again. And, now that the weather's getting better, I'm going to start running again. I think it'll all help with the depression lark and stuff.

Anyway, I'm going to get some more rest. Night all!