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 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?