Sorry I haven't been blogging for a couple of days - blame the wretched illness. The good news is that I slept last night, thanks to Mr Nitrazepam and Mrs Quetiapine, but tonight once again, sleep eludes me. Disaster has struck in that my coffee machine has stopped working, so I have a cup of tea to go with my e cig. I've ordered a new machine, but until that arrives, it's back to the cafetiere and hot milk.
My itchy hands are back; they always arrive when I put my quetiapine up, so I shall phone the GP for some cream tomorrow. Haven't had a shower for a while - the thought of doing something as difficult as that is overwhelming. Pathetic. My mood was dreadful this morning, but towards the end of the day, it improved slightly. Apparently that's typical of bipolar depression - one can be suicidal in the mornings, but able to hold a reasonable conversation in the evenings. I'm listening to classical music - which is a good sign as I haven't been able to tolerate noise recently. I've just heard Panis Angelicus, which was beautiful - the fact that I can appreciate it is also a good sign. Often when I'm ill, it's either too sad or I panic because I can't feel anything. The front of house me is coping, but behind the scenes I'm still struggling to experience normality.
Sleep is the key, of course - both mania and depression are the results of lack of it. I'm taking, amongst other things, 300mg venlafaxine, so I might bounce through into mania, and I shall have to watch that. Feeling as I do, mania would be a blessed relief. But not the spending.
I shall try again.
I was feeling too ill to blog yesterday, and I didn't sleep well, which compounded the issue. Today, however, I have felt a bit better although I'm awake now having had a nightmare. I get them when I'm ill - all about dead bodies and corruption. I don't understand the brain - I never have these dreams when I'm well, so why now? I suppose it has to do with the mineshaft and access to bad memories.
The nurse tried to get blood from me again - the veins in my arm don't seem to exist, so no success there. I used to be a blood donor but gave it up because it started to hurt and they couldn't find veins. And, of course, my blood is full of drugs. My hands have started to itch and swell again, because of the increased quetiapine, so the Home Treatment team are picking me up some eumovate tomorrow.
I think I can see a faint light at the end of the tunnel, although mornings are still pretty dire. I managed to have a shower and wash my hair, which although it was a major effort, made me feel slightly better. Tomorrow the team are coming at 1100 so I shall have to try to concentrate, which I can't do in the early mornings.
Still on the e cig - nearly seven weeks of not smoking.
The mineshaft beckons. I did sleep last night, with the aid of nitrazepam and quetiapine, and I got up about seven, feeling slightly woozy. No shower, but that would have been a step too far. I'm not hungry, which is a departure from my usual depressions, but I am drinking a lot of water. Fed the cats, however, as they are perpetually hungry.
I feel split into two. The "front of house" part of me goes through the motions, talking and communicating; the other part is locked in, mute and scared, flat and emotionless. When I speak, it's as though I'm talking through a glass window - I'm detached from the world and disconnected from reality. Time has a fluid quality - sometimes it stops altogether and I am trapped in the moment. That moment is often not my most favourite place as it involves panic and distress. At other moments I feel nothing. The Home Treatment team came out this afternoon which was helpful - they tried to get bloods from me but as usual, my veins weren't having any of it, so they might try again tomorrow.
I've explained about the mineshaft before - basically, the further one drops down, the more one remembers past depressions and feelings. Or lack of them. The voices are back, telling me exactly how useless I am and how I shouldn't be alive. At the moment, I can handle them. I watch crap TV to drown them out, and I leave the TV on at night so that I'm never in the dark with my thoughts. 0300 is the worst time to be awake, and I did phone Home Treatment the other night because I needed a bit of grounding.
I'm still on the e cig and I think I'm through the worst of giving up real fags. The e cig bumph says one battery lasts a day - bollocks. I get through at least three, and five filters. Luckily, I buy in bulk. Speaking of buying, the wine rack arrived today and will go into the spare bedroom, freeing up boxes to fill with stuff for charity shops.
Well, I suppose I'd better go to bed and see if I can sleep. I might be back.
I know, I know. I haven't given it enough time for the drugs to kick in. I am, However, not a bit sleepy, although I am tired. I'm trying a new e cig which tastes of cherry, and very nice it is too. Typically, having not been in need of food all day, I now want something to eat. Baked beans? Bacon butty? Egg banjo? I'll consult my stomach. Bacon wins.
Once again I'm alone but not lonely - I'm very fortunate in that I never get lonely. When I'm like this I stare into space a lot, but people don't figure. I never know what to say - after all, who would want to talk to an empty shell? I did have a good conversation with my sister tonight - she's a wonderful person and I'm tremendously lucky. I'm also lucky with my friends - I have a marvellous group. So why do I get depressed when my life is so full? It's not, of course, like that. Depression makes no allowance for life.
I rather think I'm in a mixed state - as well as having all the depressive symptoms, I get agitated. If there's an obstacle, I panic and it takes on overwhelming proportions. At other times I feel dead. By that I mean I am a blank, a hollow object, useless. I could have a achieved much more over the years - all that time I was ill and staring into space. I have lost my dynamism. Actually, at the moment, I've lost myself.
I'll try bed again.
I should have realised that when I have a virus, my mood does something. It also does something when I give up smoking. Well, dears, I'm back down the mineshaft, with the tendrils of depression wrapping themselves around me once more. When I recovered from the virus, I realised that I was having terrible trouble getting to sleep, then dozing in the armchair during the day. And feeling very odd. It came to me in a flash - it's mood, not virus. Once I realised that, I put my drugs up - 200mg quetiapine and 300mg venlafaxine. I've left the Abilify on 20mg - regular followers will know that I'm gradually reducing it. And lorazepam for the agitation.
The increase hasn't worked. I have now called the Home Treatment team, and they came to visit me today, which was reassuring, and made me feel a bit safer. We have a short term plan - take lorazepam at night as well as the quetiapine - and it was an abject failure this evening. My bed is comfortable, I'm very tired (but not sleepy), the bedroom is dark; but I ruminate and my brain won't stop working. So here I am once more.
I'm having a massive clear out of my house - or at least I was until this struck. There are two enormous boxes to go to charity and a pile of kitchen equipment that is waiting for a large box. I have got a large box, but it's full of wine at the moment, so I've ordered a big wine rack to go in the third bedroom - it is ridiculous how much booze I have in this house, considering that I don't drink. Anyway, the kitchen is nearly done.
My heart sinks when I think about time. I can't bear to look ahead as it's too frightening - I can manage hour to hour. Six weeks since I had a proper ciggy - the e fags are taking a battering.
Well - back to bed? I'll give it a try.
I spent 16 years in the RAF defending the Free World , then got bunged out unceremoniously for being bipolar. I and was subsequently diagnosed with PTSD. Funny old world, isn't it?