..and a weary numbness pains my soul, as though of hemlock I had drunk". Keats - Ode to a Nightingale. We did Keats at school, but I never got on well with his work. I preferred more modern poets. However, he was right about the weary numbness paining the soul. I seem to have no feelings but at the same time my soul hurts - it's a pain that never ends and is never absent from my days and nights. It's worse at night in solitude and sometimes I think I might die of it. Not sleeping hasn't helped me today - everything seems more of an effort. I've filled the dishwasher, but I can't quite put the rubbish out. My kitchen table is a monstrous mess, clutter everywhere, but I can't tidy it, despite it making me feel stressed.
Kate and Bruce came round, which was nice as I didn't have to put on The Face. They're off to walk the dogs at Cerne Abbas. The very thought of walking in open spaces makes me tremble - outside is too big a place to go with any safety. The Tesco's trip with the nurse last week was bad enough - I had a complete white out at the cash machine. So no going out for me for a while. Do I feel safe in this house? I think so - anyway, HT have most of my drugs, and that would be my method of choice. I've been sitting here so long I have callouses on my elbows where they rest on the table. I shall be covered in cobwebs next, like Miss Havisham in Great Expectations, and no one will notice me as I get older and older. I might resort to Keats's hemlock if that happened. I have to believe that this will improve.
I've had my Berocca today - it's a fizzy orange tablet that contains vitamins and minerals. Because my diet is so bad, I try to take it once a day, along with some supplements that are supposed to help with joint pain. Yes, along with everything else, I have arthritis in my shoulders and knees. Had a total right knee replacement about 5 years ago, but it didn't work very well, and so it still hurts. I've had to give up fly fishing as my shoulders don't cope with casting any more - and I miss it; it is a wonderful way of being in touch with nature, and it's terribly relaxing.
The nurse came to see me from Home Treatment - she's so good at what she does and has lots of skills up her sleeve. She's going to arrange for me to see Dr early next week as my mood won't shift - maybe I'll have to increase the venlafaxine. Mind you, I'd do anything to get better. I told her my thoughts about the mineshaft and said that I was quite a long way down - it's always tempting to pretend one is better than the day before, but there's no point in that, so I told her the truth. She asked me if I felt safe at home and I pointed out that I didn't have many tablets, so couldn't do anything if I wanted to. I promised to let them know if I begin to feel unsafe here. I also said I'd open my mail this evening, so I shall have to do that. HT will phone in the morning to fix a visit for tomorrow, and in the meantime I can call whenever I need to.
Some friends of mine have just left a message - I sent them a note to explain that I wasn't able to see them at the moment because I was ill, and they have just responded with good wishes. I can't face talking about how I feel at the moment to anyone who doesn't understand - it's just too difficult. I know intellectually that this will get better, but not being able to feel that, or be optimistic, is dreadful. I shall persevere.
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?