besieged ·
15 January 08

I have a million thoughts rushing around my head. I have neither the desire or the energy to write out how I feel. I am doing this as best I can. My arm is in pain from holding the phone for so long, talking to my psych. The topic of conversation was my last blog entry. It triggered some silent alarm bells I think, or perhaps that’s exaggerating the truth a little. I’m not certain. It’s difficult to type when your arm feels locked in position, a position which to get out of you have to suffer some mild pain.

There’s a horrible after taste in my mouth, which is probably a side effect of taking larger doses of my medications. Last night, or this morning, I had trouble sleeping as I did the night before. This time, however, the difficulty in sleeping was so overwhelming it was affecting me physically. I was mentally drained and physically too. I felt like praying for some help to get me out of this mess. But I didn’t pray, I just got through it with teeth grinding. I didn’t sleep, but I got through it.

I am contemplating suicidal thoughts more so now, because I talked about it with my psych. It was somewhere in my mind, but talking about it has made me feel worse, and it’s also looking like a plausible option. I told her that I just wanted this mental torture to end, and by taking small over doses I thought it would help me cope better with such feelings. The desire to harm others is less so now, than the desire to harm myself. I keep seeing razorblades cutting into my skim. It would be a sort of relief really, to see if I’m still human as I don’t feel human.

For a long time I’ve felt dead inside, but that’s really magnified now before and after talking with my psych. I’m suddenly thinking about things that I had done before. It’s like 10 years ago when I first saw a college counsellor about my depression (for me the voice hearing was normal at the time, something that happened to everyone), and doing so let open flood gates of emotions which I was unable to cope with. I had no skill in managing my deeper, repressed emotions. It feels like a repeat after talking with my psych, where I was able to repress darker thoughts, but confronting them has sort of opened the gates again.

Not as a flood, I still feel as though I have overall control, but I’m definitely thinking more darker thoughts and it seems attractive to act out those impulses. I won’t, however, because I’m low, but I have control, and that means that I can manage it, to some extent.

“Why do I write?”, I ask myself. It’s not to shock people, it’s not to alarm any one, it’s not to act out any fantasy I may have. It’s a release of pressure from my mind. It’s physical as well as mental and writing helps me manage that. It’s a coping mechanism that has worked fine, even now, I feel as though the pressure is lifting, and the dark clouds I see are moving away. It’s something I discovered myself, and have used as a way to keep sane. If I bottled up these thoughts, I would probably murder without a second thought. Consequences be damned. I’d then probably kill myself too because I wouldn’t be able to handle going to prison. In many ways, I’m weak and that’s just one example.

Although I refused initially the idea of seeing my psych before the next appointment, I feel a bit relieved having written this, and therefore I feel more capable of going out to see her at her office before my last appointment. I was offered an appointment to see another psych who deals with the medication side of things, I think. I refused that because it would mean seeing someone that I neither trust no believe in. If she read my blog she would probably call social services again.

The last time the social worker came around, my half-brother was in tears. He’s been traumatised by that incident, for example, someone came around to discuss ways to improve the housing, he was crying buckets because he thought it was as social worker. I had to tell him that nothing bad was going to happen and that he isn’t going to take any one away and he won’t have to talk to them. This pisses me off no end, and I squarely lay this problem at the feet of the psych that contacted social services. It was to protect him, I understand, but he didn’t need protecting from a thought.

My psych suggested that some feelings may be caused by the fact that my psych will no longer be my psych, and that my case will be transferred to another individual who I do not know and cannot trust, initially at least. It didn’t enter my mind, until my psych mentioned it, and I guess it’s been floating around my head. I also don’t want group therapy and would prefer one to one therapy on a regular basis. I think that would work better for me than to visit a group where I feel no connection with individuals. I don’t want to hear their stories, and I don’t want share mine. It’s like I feel that the group therapy is almost a throw away gesture.

It’s what’s left having exhausted one to one therapy. The idea of group therapy feels alien to me, I feel I would be isolated and not conform to being part of the group, it’s like every one jostling for position to contribute some half-assed theory about how people feel. The words “touchy” and “feely” come to mind. I hate the idea of group therapy, even though I haven’t attended the session yet, it just feels the wrong thing to be doing. I don’t know how I can explain it. My guts say that it’s going to be worse than my low expectations, and if anything it will exacerbate hostility towards myself and others. I think I could develop a deep seated hate towards others and myself if I intend.

I received a letter today from the people that pay me my benefits, saying that I need to fill in a questionnaire, and I will have to prove that I am ill. I’m not sure what to do about, because I know on the news they said they want those with mental problems to be able to work. It’s their drive to reduce the negative numbers and spin positive ones. If I was ready for work, I would be working right now. But I feel so hostile and paranoid about other people that my suspicions may lead me to harm others. I can’t cope with crowds, I can’t cope with strangers, it would be a futile exercise right this moment, and I will probably end up killing myself.

I wish I was ready to work, it would mean I could finally kick start my desire to pursue a career in IT or something along those lines, that’s why I’m trying to complete a course that will bring benefit to me. But this “work or die” attitude is only going to make me feel more suspicious of others, and paranoid about what they want from me or intend by their actions. It’s freaking me out right now, and sending shivers down my spine. I cannot contemplate being around people without wanting to harm them.

I know, the voice gets worried when I’m approaching new methods of coping with all this shit. I know that it will coerce me into taking all the wrong steps to ensure my demise. And yet, there seems to be a logic to what he is saying about all this, about suicide, about therapy and about my future. I can’t stop listening to the voice, I can’t ignore the voice, but I can resist, though it takes a great amount of effort.

When the voice plants seeds of doubt and fear in me, it’s difficult to shake them off. If I was to quantify how much control the voice has over me, with 100 being total control, I would say it’s in my favour by 60/40. You can’t really quantify that, but it’s my best guess. There have been times where it’s reached 50/50, and in some cases 40/60 in favour of the voice, but I’m so familiar with dealing with the voice that even when the voice is in control, I can shift the balance in my favour.

Right now I just feel overwhelmed with a darkness, I can’t see any bright light that will guide me out of this mess. I want to end my life because I no longer feel in control of it, and that the voice is over powering me. I’m making contradictions left, right and centre clearly beause I’m breaking down and don’t have the energy to resolve whatever it is that has got me this down. Depression is horrible thing, and it may be the thing that kells me before the voice does.

The medication has been working relatively well up until now, where I’m feeling quite low and without hope. I think an increase in the dosage of both resperidone and duloxetine would be a good thing. When I was just double my dosage I felt better, it’s only when I quadrupled it that it’s affected my body with unpleasant side effects. I don’t want to change my medication, but I do want an increase in the dosage. I also need a sedative, because otherwise I can’t get a decent amount of sleep. Most of the time, I end up just closing my eyes, not sleeping, but being fully aware that I’m awake. Shutting my eyes offers some respite over not shutting them. It’s the best I can manage when I can’t sleep, which is often. Insomnia + psychotic thoughts + depression = bad.