I don’t know. I sent a horrid email to all of my family because they didn’t answer the phone and I felt all alone and neglected. Then I was mean to my Mum on the phone. I’m basically a horrid person. And then I cried. Heaps.
Mum tried to say I should probably go back to the doctor and have my meds checked but I argued with her, saying I was most probably down and feeling a valid emotion unconnected to being mental but I actually have no clue if that’s the case or no.
This bed is of my own making. I was stressed and struggling all week and I feel like it all got on top of me, as things do. I want to think it’s not because of ye old crazy mental brain illness but I’m no expert.
I’m feeling overwhelmed again. I have Things to Do and I can’t get control of them. I’m sinking in debt and my cat is overweight. I’m not sure how to fix things. I’ve stopped going to my psych because I was ill and missed the last appointment which they will charge me $190 for and I don’t have it to pay them so I’m hiding. My house is a mess. I’m just dog-paddling through everything. And I’m ashamed. I’m ashamed at failing in life. Because I let myself down all the fucking time.
Not everything is horrible, but I just can’t seem to get a grip on living and I’m still way off my pace at work. Maybe it’s the medication. I’m not sure. Maybe my head is wired all wrong. I want and expect so much yet I can’t do it. Everything is scrambled.
All I know to do is to keep my head above water. And I will. Because I want to be here and to do things and to write the goddamn book and shit. I want to see Japan in the Cherry Blossom festival and visit New York and watch Scotland win at Murrayfield. I want to get my diving ticket and swim with whale sharks. I want to watch the Hong Kong 7s again and hang out in the Edinburgh bars of my youth. I want to see my cousins happy and settled with someone. I want to hug my parents and my sister.
I can’t STAND the thought of another Christmas working all day and going home alone. But that’s the reality this year. So Im feeling motherfucking sad for myself and sometimes self-pity is good for you. From down you can only come up.
So cheer up Charlie, you’ve won the golden ticket. I just don’t know if what I’m feeling is because I have a stupid ridiculous mental illness or a valid emotion. Thanks, Mental Health Pathway. Your perfunctory slightly funding a bit of things what I’m supposed to have is super. Because neither my doctor nor my psychologist can communicate and make sense. Also, thanks Government, that I SHOULD have and WOULD have and my doctor WANTED ME TO see an actual psychiatrist who could have done All The Things but the waitlist was three months and I was better off taking the meds and seeing a psychologist who asked me, after a particularly bad episode what my “negative self talk was” “nothing. I refused to admit anything was wrong because I’d taken my medication and exercised and shit but it was still going wrong” (which is a classical side of the condition and I couldn’t get to see my doctor for several days and when I did she upped my medication because IT WAS ALL ABOUT MY STUPID BRAIN NOT WORKING PROPERLY, not about me deliberately being sad and shit.)
The thing about all of this is it’s hard to figure out what’s real or not. I don’t know. The fact I’m actually holding down a pretty stressful job is a miracle. Also, without a partner or boyfriend, without my parents or family, basically without anyone (my friends are amazing and I love them, but they have lives and shit to do, tulsa). It makes everything so much harder.
Here’s why I’ve stopped seeing the psych: 1. I owe her $190 and I can’t pay it. 2. She asked me when was the last time I’d been on a real, real actual holiday. It was almost five years ago. She said “you need to go on holiday”. Me: I have no money to go on holiday, I might not get the time off and I’ve got NO ONE to go with. She does not see this as an issue FFS. If fixing me was as easy as forgetting my strata fees and rates and water an electricity and just strapping on a backpack and heading off on my own (rape, anyone?) then maybe I’d do it. You’re a psych in Mt Lawley for god’s sake. You probably go to the South of France and have a pool. Gah.
Ok, rant over. I’m going to bed with a cheeky wine and a cup of tea and a book.
I know usually I’m amusing and shit be Here Be Me. Take the rough with the smooth, my friend. It’s my blog, I get to write what I like and if you don’t like it….guess what?…..nothing happens. The world still turns, I still write crap and we all carry on as before. Oh hang on, I’m a-gonna post you a song about that. Good night x