It's now 0300 and I've dozed a bit - I popped a couple of lorazepam at 0130, but not to much avail. The lorazepam was suggested by HT, whom I phoned in desperation - I would have thought 350mg quetiapine and 2 nitrazepam would be enough, but oh no. Any road up, here I am again. My hands are terribly itchy, which doesn't help - they get worse when they are hot, so I run them under the cold tap every so often. Piriton arrives tomorrow with the HT team and Dr Gowing, who is coming to review my medication. She was staggered by my tolerance to drugs - and at this minute, so am I. She's very nice - thorough and caring, and reminds me of Judith, who was my previous psychiatrist. I prefer a woman doctor and I think I'm better behaved with them - with men, there's always the power issue, and I think with them I'm a bit belligerent. Also, women are used to being dotty homicidal maniacs once a month, so that helps with understanding clients.
I don't know what to say to HT in the morning - if I say I've hardly slept, I'll come under pressure to go to the Recovery House and cancel weekend guests. The guests are only using my house to sleep in - so they'll be out from morning to night and I don't have to entertain them. I cancelled my friend Preller as she would have to be entertained and I'm not up to that - I'm not fit to be seen by the public, and I don't want to see the public. I shall have to wing it in the morning and see what happens - fortunately, the team doesn't appear to read this, so I can say exactly what's on my mind.
I could weep with fatigue, but I'm too flat to cry. Emotions disappear when one is depressed, apart from irritation at others. I often think becoming depressed again is like falling down a mineshaft - each level contains a new hell and reminds one of all the previous depressions. When I'm well, I can't get in touch with any of the levels and the shaft is closed - when I'm ill, the depths open up again. I went down a lead mine once and was terrified - that was on an outward bound course in Wales, which I hated. I was looking forward to it, but it was disorganised and dangerous - luckily, I had to leave early to sail for the RAF in Gibraltar so I flew away gratefully. AND we won the sailing match, so yah boo to Wales.
Leaving the RAF in 1991 - now there's a whole bag of worms that I think I'll open next time. Suffice it to say that the manner of my leaving was punitive and small minded, arranged by people who knew nothing about mental illness. More next time.
Speaking of the RAF, I'm supposed to be going to the RAF Club in Piccadilly a week on Saturday to attend a WRAF reunion - think I may have mentioned this before. I'm not sure I shall be well enough, and it's a very early start,which always throws me. I can't face early mornings, even when I'm well - I think I"ll have to make a stand and just not go to meetings if they start before 1100. When I'm ill, mornings are the pits.
I think I'll try bed again - nothing to lose, I suppose.
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?