So the last few weeks/months seem to have come straight from hell - special delivery too, might I add. After my last post, my gran deteriorated with alarming speed. An infection of some sort, and the whole heart rate thing were the cause of that. I visited her on Saturday evening and she was, obviously, very ill but she was also fairly stable. By Monday she could barely breathe on her own and, when I saw her in the early afternoon, had been moved to ICU.
At 5am on Tuesday morning, I got a call saying that we had to go in. The nurses at the hospital didn't think my gran would live long enough for us to get there. She held on for another hour and died just after 6am. It came out of nowhere and left us all in a shambles.
The three of us, my mum, auntie and I, organised the majority of the funeral details together. The day itself went without a hitch - for the most part - and there was a huge turnout at both the church and the crematorium. It just went to show how well-loved my gran was.
After that, I had a disciplinary at work for my absence at the end of August. After I explained to them how close I came to taking my own life they decided it would be against the company values to discipline me. They didn't do anything particularly helpful and I was allowed one day's worth of compassionate leave - my gran practically raised me so, even though I wasn't really entitled to any leave since she 'wasn't a direct relative', my special circumstances warranted a day off to organise the funeral.
Work's not gotten any better, I still pretty much hate it. The customers are awful and the staff aren't much better and, in all honesty, I can't wait for something else to come up so that I can leave.
In other news, college is going pretty well and I'm midway through my first two proper, graded projects (see my latest project here). On an even more fun (and nerve-wracking) note, NaNoWriMo is almost upon us! 50k words in 30 days whilst also working, studying and trying to corral a region for the first time? Total cake-walk...
Friday, 18 October 2013
Friday, 20 September 2013
Just when you think it's all over.
So my gran - the one mentioned in the earlier post today, who'd had a heart operation - had her check up with the consultant today. She'd not been doing too badly even though she hadn't really been doing enough exercise or drinking enough so we weren't expecting it to go badly. I don't think it went badly so much as created a mild concern for the consultant. She's being kept in again because her heart rate's too fast. I don't really know anything else just yet but hopefully it'll just be stress from being out of the house - she hasn't really left the house since her operation. She'd been out a couple of times but always with someone and, when it came to walking less than 500m to go to the doctors the other day, she wanted to be driven.
My gran used to be really independent and always busy - she was really physically fit and had a very 'make do and mend' out look on life and was generally a healthy, robust woman, if slightly overweight due to too many biscuits/carbs. I'm just worried that she's going to turn into one of these frail, sickly, old biddies who are scared to go anywhere in case something happens. We'd spend days in Newcastle walking, talking and shopping, stopping here and there for a bite to eat or a cup of tea but now it seems like that's never going to happen again and I'm worried that she's going to lose herself to this post-op fear.
It's probably nothing - maybe the consultant will give her a nudge in the right direction and she'll be back to her old self by the spring. She gets on well with Mr Lord, he's been her favourite doctor all along. Part of me wonders if it's because he's british and treats her like his own grandmother. She has that slightly narrow-minded personality that a lot of elderly people seem to have regarding 'foreign' doctors. Personally, as long as they speak the language well enough to work effectively, I don't see a problem with having doctors that weren't born and/or raised in Britain.
Anyway.I'm trying not to think about things that worry me, remember.
Regarding iOS 7, I'm not really a fan. It was too much of a change too quickly and nearly everything about its visuals is repulsive. It's cartoonish and child-like and too 'Android'. If I'd wanted something that looked and acted like an android, I'd have bought a friggin' android! I must admit, it is growing on me - very, very slowly. One of the features which I do really like is Airdrop. It's just so handy having aeroplane mode, bluetooth, 'do not disturb', wifi, music, etc in nice, easy-to-operate page which is accessible in one motion from any screen. The way they've changed the navigation bar is ok too - I did really like the other one but this one has much less clutter.
I don't like how blocky all the native icons are now either - it just looks really amateur and childish. I like the iPhone because it was sophisticated and business-like almost in its appearance. Now, though, that's all gone and there's just colours everywhere... Not even slightly muted colours either and it almost looks kind of trashy.
Maybe it'll grow on me. Maybe it's just where my head's at right now and it'll grow on me more as I become less of a cynic. Maybe I'll learn to enjoy trivial things and embracing the inner child. Or maybe pigs will fly.
Until then, I'm just going to make do with what I've got and organise things til I feel better.
My gran used to be really independent and always busy - she was really physically fit and had a very 'make do and mend' out look on life and was generally a healthy, robust woman, if slightly overweight due to too many biscuits/carbs. I'm just worried that she's going to turn into one of these frail, sickly, old biddies who are scared to go anywhere in case something happens. We'd spend days in Newcastle walking, talking and shopping, stopping here and there for a bite to eat or a cup of tea but now it seems like that's never going to happen again and I'm worried that she's going to lose herself to this post-op fear.
It's probably nothing - maybe the consultant will give her a nudge in the right direction and she'll be back to her old self by the spring. She gets on well with Mr Lord, he's been her favourite doctor all along. Part of me wonders if it's because he's british and treats her like his own grandmother. She has that slightly narrow-minded personality that a lot of elderly people seem to have regarding 'foreign' doctors. Personally, as long as they speak the language well enough to work effectively, I don't see a problem with having doctors that weren't born and/or raised in Britain.
Anyway.
Regarding iOS 7, I'm not really a fan. It was too much of a change too quickly and nearly everything about its visuals is repulsive. It's cartoonish and child-like and too 'Android'. If I'd wanted something that looked and acted like an android, I'd have bought a friggin' android! I must admit, it is growing on me - very, very slowly. One of the features which I do really like is Airdrop. It's just so handy having aeroplane mode, bluetooth, 'do not disturb', wifi, music, etc in nice, easy-to-operate page which is accessible in one motion from any screen. The way they've changed the navigation bar is ok too - I did really like the other one but this one has much less clutter.
I don't like how blocky all the native icons are now either - it just looks really amateur and childish. I like the iPhone because it was sophisticated and business-like almost in its appearance. Now, though, that's all gone and there's just colours everywhere... Not even slightly muted colours either and it almost looks kind of trashy.
Maybe it'll grow on me. Maybe it's just where my head's at right now and it'll grow on me more as I become less of a cynic. Maybe I'll learn to enjoy trivial things and embracing the inner child. Or maybe pigs will fly.
Until then, I'm just going to make do with what I've got and organise things til I feel better.
After a long absence...
16/9/13
Or at least what feels to me like a long absence, I'm back!
Or at least what feels to me like a long absence, I'm back!
August was, by and large, pretty nasty. I haven't quite decided how I'm going to run down everything that went on so here's a chronological list of most of what went on.
1) My therapy sessions with my psychologist started up in earnest.
2) I wasn't feeling too hot on the 30mg mirtazapine so my doctor put me up to 45mg. I then missed my second appointment with Marie, my psychologist.
3) I went away to Bloodstock for five days - the first weekend of August. It was amazing and I met some really great people but it was also really tiring.
4) My flatmate decided he was moving out, when I got home from work one evening, and I then found out that my other half had already found us a new flatmate without asking me. I must point out here that I didn't mind so much that I wasn't consulted - I really like the new guy and it wasn't like I had anyone to ask anyway.
5) My gran (mam's mam) took ill due to ongoing heart problems. She's had a narrowing valve for a lot of years now but none of us were ever expecting anything to come of it.
6) I went away to a family wedding in Gretna Green for a weekend. It was lovely, I had a great time even though I was largely on my own - Matt was supposed to have the time off but couldn't due to work commitments.
7) Upon returning from the wedding, I had a really bad day exacerbated by an 'argument'. I turned to self-harm and contemplated taking my life. It got so bad that I had to go to A&E to keep myself safe/alive. I was then given two weeks off work and more diazepam to recover.
8) My gran had valve replacement surgery and then proceeded to progress amazingly. She was allowed home less than a week after her surgery and has continued to improve steadily.
9) My grandma (step dad's mam) was rushed into hospital with internal bleeding and organ failure. While in hospital she contracted peritonitis and pneumonia. She later died on the bank holiday Monday after being in South Shields General for seven days. I visited her only once before she died - I was the last grandchild to go.
10) Matt got his interview for college. It was scheduled for the 28th, my birthday, and he passed well after a fortnight of really hard work.
11) I started therapy again. In the session Marie told me of a special group therapy course that they'll be running this winter. 10 2.5 hour sessions with approximately ten people all with moderate to severe long-standing depression. She think's that I suit the criteria and I thought that it sounded like a good opportunity.
12) I missed therapy again. I slept in - again - meaning I managed to sleep for a solid 14 hours. I rang in and rearranged but now I'm just waiting on my appointment letter arriving.
13) I turned 21! I ended up having to celebrate the occasion 3 times - twice with family and once with friends (twice with friends if you count my actual birthday, on which Matt and I went out for pizza and did nothing else.
14) All the while, I was trying to make it to the RVI three times a week for light treatment for my psoriasis. My skin condition is exacerbated by stress so you can imagine how well it was going... And I started working again.
15) Oh and my pay was about £300 short after being on the sick. I should get it this month though.
THEN September started and, with that, the 3rd year of my FdA in Photography. Talk about stress!
Today, when I got to the hospital, I asked how many sessions I had left. Just so I could tell work how long it'd be until I went back to my normal shifts - my Wednesday and Monday shifts had to be pushed back two hours so I could fit everything in. My psoriasis had largely cleared up a week or two ago but, knowing that I still had about a month left, I didn't point this out. Also no one asked me. However today, after the nurse said that I had two weeks left, she actually asked how it was clearing up. I told her that apart from a tiny scar on my shin and a tiny, slightly dry patch on my hip, everything treated by the light was gone. At which point she was like "Oh well you're done then!"
I looked at her from my little light box, standing there in my smalls and a hospital gown, before she added: "Since you're here, have your treatment today and then we'll discharge you."
*I must also point out that, as I write this, there's a toddler sitting on the bus next to me screaming because his mother won't give him any sweets. It's very distracting. I'm also soaked because, before I went into the hospital, it was pretty sunny, once I got out like 10 minutes later, it was pissing down and I'm wearing cloth shoes.*
It's nice, finally being discharged. I don't have to slog it to the city centre three times a week only to come home half an hour after getting there - it seemed like such a dreadful waste of time. And I won't have to work until 10pm on Wednesdays.
Well that's it for today I think, more later - or tomorrow - but I have to go to work now...
Well that's it for today I think, more later - or tomorrow - but I have to go to work now...
Thursday, 22 August 2013
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.
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.
Thursday, 1 August 2013
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!
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