A very hard day.

Today I got two calls from the Benefits Agency. 

I've been off work for months and attended a medical assessment last week to ensure I qualified for the benefit. I was worried about the appt. I thought it was tomorrow afternoon after I see my psychologist but I got the date wrong. In our last session we agreed to discuss it before I went to help prepare me, that I would try not to worry too much while she was on holiday, and that I should arrange to meet a friend after the assessment so I'd be ok. It was a good plan but getting the date wrong meant I went myself with no preparation and I stupidly decided not to bother anyone so I hadn't arranged to meet a friend.  During the whole thing I was freaking out, for days before, and after. 

I'm a catastrophic person when I'm ill. I'm always waiting for the worst and I was waiting for bad news even before the first call. I've heard of people getting benefits stopped and I knew the appt had a big part to play in it. 

After the first call I was reeling, my mood plummeted, so I took precautions to keep myself safe then texted a friend and my brother. I wasn't going to contact anyone, (does anyone really want to hear my problems and that I'm thinking of killing myself? no-one cares) but I thought they'd want to know, I needed to tell someone. Logically, I know they care. I just don't know why. 

These are the messages I sent to my brother;

Me: Got call from benefits agency today. I think they're stopping my ESA. Get a letter later this week but it doesn't sound good.

Me: She called me back. She said I passed, she was worried that I was worrying about it. She says my money will go up. I'm so relieved but feel like a fucking idiot because I couldn't stop crying.

B: Why didn't she say that the first time? Do they take some perverse pleasure upsetting people then calling back to see how upset you are?

Me: Maybe. I don't know, she sounded nice, like she didn't want to give me bad news.  I don't think they usually call back, i think she knew i was freaking. I mean i cried a little during first call but i held it together. 

She said they were looking at my case and were about to assess it. She asked if I felt I represented myself fully at my appt and I said no, I was panicking and couldn't think straight, she asked if I had problems with social situations I said yes. I cried a little asking her if it was bad news, told her it was the day for it. She sounded a bit worried at that. Then said if I didn't qualify I could appeal in writing but they'd send a letter letting me know. 

I didn't tell her that after the appt I had a huge panic attack in the street and people thought I was on something then totally shut down and zombied out, wandered somehow to the bus station, got home, cut myself and climbed into bed still zombied more than 2 hours later. Felt like I was walking through soup and I had to try really hard to physically speak to bus driver etc. 

And with my friend; 

Me: Got call from benefits agency today. I think they're stopping my ESA. Get a letter later this week but it doesn't sound good.

Friend: Why?x 

Me: She asked me if I felt the appt went ok and if I fully represented myself. I said no, that I was panicky and couldn't think straight. She said that with the appt and the forms I filled in if I don't get 15 points that the ESA would stop, and that since I have a job I wouldn't get jobseekers.  I asked her if it was bad news, i said it was the day for it. She asked if I have problems in social situations. I said yes. She said they'd look at it today and hopefully get a letter to me by the end of the week but if I didn't have 15 points the ESA would stop, I could appeal but it would have to be in writing. 

I've really had enough of all this shit. I've shoved all my tablets and my knife into the tumble dryer, locked the doors and come back to bed. I don't feel safe enough to have them near. 

Is there nothing wrong with me and I just don't see it? 

How are you hon?Xxx

Me: She called me back. She said I passed, she was worried that I was worrying about it. She says my money will go up. I'm so relieved but feel like a fucking idiot because I couldn't stop crying.

Me: Got call from benefits agency today. I think they're stopping my ESA. Get a letter later this week but it doesn't sound good.

Me: Ignore me I'm freaking out and can't work my phone xx 

Friend: R u getn it then?x

Me: Yeah. I was freaking out. I was lying here wondering what happens when you don't have money for funeral expenses. Jesus, I'm so glad she called back. I'm glad I'm seeing psychologist tomorrow. Xx

Me:Sorry for being a spaz. X

Friend:Thats good. Ur not x

Me: I am. But that's why you love me. The good spaz. Not the oh my god worst case scenario spaz. Xx 

It took just over ten mins for the Benefits Agency to call back. I wasn't expecting another call from them but I'm so glad they did. What a relief. 

In those ten minutes I stuffed my knife and all my tablets into my tumble dryer, locked the doors, took the keys out the locks, and climbed into bed.  I was thinking "this is it. I don't know if I'll get through the night". I left sleeping tablets and diazepam in case I needed to knock myself out to stay safe but I realise now there are enough here to more than do the job. I hope that if I hadn't gotten the second call I wouldn't have taken them all, but I don't know. Thankfully, she called back and I stepped away from the abyss I was teetering at the edge of. I was whimpering during the first call, the second opened floodgates. She asked if there was someone I could call. I told her everyone would be at work. She said she'd stay on the line for a few minutes till I was ok. This is a woman who has compassion. She didn't have to call and tell me I'd passed and she didn't have to try to soothe me and calm me down. She did anyway. It helped me so much. 

Afterwards I thanked God. 

Sincerely. 

Stuffing everything in the tumble dryer, putting things in front of it and locking doors. Sounds silly, like that would stop me right? 

I know I have to do things that give me extra time if I feel very unsafe, even a few seconds is enough to change things if my brain decides to kill me. 

Every second counts. Every one. 

I don't want to die, but sometimes I act so impulsively I know that if my brain decides to try to kill me that I could do something I know I'll regret before I get a chance to stop myself, which is why I did it.

I think about suicide a lot. How the world would be much better off if I weren't here. I can't stand the depression and all that brings with it. I remember waking up in intensive care years ago, Malc and my family worried sick, and I remember finding Malc dead. I don't want to put anyone through that. I'm very glad I answered the phone because I usually don't. 

Someone up there is still looking out for me I think. Whatever happened to bring this result, I'm grateful. Very grateful. At least that's one verdict been handed down and a bit of a weight off my mind but I still have to fill out new forms because they need to assess it on income rather than contributions now. I'm still grateful. 

July 30th 4am ish

I really can't handle nights. Or days. I can't handle much at all. Whether I never get out of bed or I manage to function slightly by eating and getting up for a couple of hours, or I have an appt and I'm up most of the day, the darkness descends eventually, and not just literally. Such dark thoughts, horrid, horrific. I try to keep them to a minimum by taking sleeping tablets and diazepam but it doesn't always work. Or at least not as quickly as I need it to. I've woken crying a few times lately. I have nightmares. I have dreams of my mum and dad. Of Malcolm. Dreams where life is perfect then I wake and I'm crying because it was just a dream and my life feels like a nightmare. After Malcolm died I used to say "I'd like to wake up now" a lot. 

I've started to think that a lot. I want to wake up please. 

I wonder if I actually died all those years ago and this is purgatory. Punishment for taking my life. It feels like it. 

Most mornings I wake and along with my usual tablets I just take more sleeping tablets and stay in bed because everything is too hard. I know I'm feeling emotions I've never dealt with before because I've blocked them out or antidepressants have numbed me but the way I'm feeling now? 

Brutal. 

I'm not right. I can't stand the pain. It's too much. 

I feel like screaming and kicking and punching, ripping my hair out, clawing at myself, wanting to put myself in danger so someone else can hurt me so I can hurt them right back. Physically. 

I've been cutting. For a while I've been cross-cutting and seem to take photos. I'm not sure why the photos. The blood gives a satisfaction. Calms me. The photos, maybe the same. I put bloody handprints on paper with "loser" written on and put them on wall. When I told Frances she asked me to take them down. I did, but it's lying on the basket in the hall and one's in my diary. I didn't admit to writing it on the mirror in the bathroom till last week. She persuaded me to clean it off. I also told her I've been thinking of cutting my face. That's not a good sign is it? I mean, I'm ugly enough. The closest I get to normal is going to costa and reading. It keeps me safe, it's familiar and the staff are getting to know me, or at least what I drink.  Somehow I can act normal even if I don't feel right. I know no-one's looking so if I'm silently freaking out who knows? Only me. 

I can put the even more normal chatty persona on for Wendy, Shona, Lynne or Gill and the folks of twitter but it's exhausting. I was on twitter a lot today and I was having an ok time chatting, Neil Gaiman even responded, reading articles posted through links etc then bam, it just hit, the downer. I came to bed, read for a while which seemed to help but two hours ago I took sleeping tablet and a diazepam and still awake. 

My mind churns as does my stomach. People keep telling me to fight but what for? What do I have? Life I guess. However it may be. 

Having a bad day?

People think having depression is just having a bad day. Maybe they are right after all. 

I do have bad days, it's true. 

Those days (that lead to weeks/months) I can't get out of bed to wash, feed, work or function. 

Those days i curl up for hours on end hoping for the sleeping pill and diazepam combo to kick in so the demons in my head will rest too and I get a little respite from loathing every fibre of my being. 

Those days when I have to fight not to hurt myself by cutting or punching myself, battering my head off walls, binging and purging, doing anything, ANYTHING to hurt myself. 

Today I drank knowing i'd hurt myself. Something I've not done in a long time. As soon as i got home i stuck my fingers down my throat to get rid of most of the alcohol but it doesn't take alcohol to self harm. I know my friends would be hurt if they knew that after I left them I went for a walk around dunfermline hoping to get attacked. I've been raped, sexually assaulted and physically attacked before (and all separate incidents) so please don't think I was naive when I went looking for it, I know the destruction I was looking for. I wanted someone else to hurt me instead of myself for a change. I was looking for someone to end me or give me a reason to end myself. But nothing happened.

What sort of fucked up person does that?

One that's now home. 3:08am trying to stop my brain trying to kill me.  

It's just a bad day though right?

Yeah. 

Kids, drink is bad m'kay!!!

Yesterday i hit a bit of a milestone on that good old path to self destruction I've found myself on again. I cut myself, but that's neither here nor there. The fact I'm on iron tablets and my blood looks like blood now makes it more satisfying but it's not that. It's the fact that for the first time in quite a few years I turned to alcohol to try to quieten my thoughts and knock myself out.
I'd taken sleeping tablets and diazepam and was still awake ages later so I started drinking. Only had a few Breezers, but it's not a good sign. I'm not teetotal by any stretch, but I don't often drink because I know it affects me if I drink too much too often. I never drink alone now which I used to do all the time when I was with my ex. I used to drink just to get obliterated and forget everything, especially him, even when he was alive.
Lots of people drink, it's very socially accepted in this country (in fact if you don't drink people think there's something wrong with you!), it's a relaxant, it lowers inhibitions, it helps them cope. It's also a depressant and it's toxic so you get hangovers. If I've had a major session my hangovers don't just consist of headache, vomiting, spinny room. No, as well as the usual symptoms, they intensify my anxiety to the extreme where I want to, no, NEED to hurt myself. The drive to inflict pain and the overwhelming (and overwhelming doesn't cover it) desire to top myself is so strong it feels like I'm going against God by living. It's happened so often now that I know I'll have these feelings, so more often than not i'll knock myself out or stay over with family till it passes and I feel safe. It may not sound like a good idea knocking myself out but I'm still alive so my doctors accept it.
With me, drinking also often involved trashing my house and harming myself, it was getting out of control. I was out of control. Now I drink only with friends/family or if it's a special occasion and try (and sometimes succeed) not to get too drunk.
I've been off work for over a week, i had food poisoning last week and this week I'm not coping. I'm seeing my GP tomorrow and i'll mention the drink. She won't worry about it because I'm aware that I've done it and my alarm bells are ringing, so to her i'm still in control, but it worries me. They were only Breezers. If I start in on the wine (i really want to) or some type of spirit that's when I start doing really stupid stuff and end up at accident and emergency, courtesy of the police for my own safety, and possibly even back on the ward. I know the consequences of these actions, what happens when i drink to forget, to escape reality. I'm aware. She knows I don't want back in the ward so she won't be overly concerned, but sometimes my brain just goes "fuck it" and I totally screw myself and that's what I'm worried about. I don't want to end up on the ward.
I'm actually wary of drink, if you know me you'd never think it because I can knock it back and I love shots, but i am. When i do get drunk and say "I'm gonna pay tomorrow" i don't mean a hangover, i mean every fibre of my being will want me to hurt myself. Gone are the days when I saw an alcohol counsellor on a Monday afternoon because i thought the self-harm was getting out of control, then went straight to the pub and got pished and thought it was fun, because IT WAS FUN. At the time. That was 7-8 years ago. I stopped going after Malc died because my counsellor got a new job. I REALLY threw myself into the drink after Malc, did a really good job of stretching out denial, but then I realised I was going to go too far someday, so far I couldn't come back, and I stopped. For six months I quit and have been fairly responsible ever since. In 6 years I haven't purposefully drank to forget, to knock myself out. Why the hell did I do it last night? I might add that it didn't work. Breezers aren't strong enough. I bought some Nytol today. Hopefully they'll work.

I have work tomorrow. I can't face it. I'm seriously considering topping myself so I don't have to go. I don't hate my work. It's a good place. I just don't fit. Anywhere. I feel incompetent because my last school had us doing so few jobs that in my new workplace I feel I don't know anything. I've already cut myself today for other reasons and taken tablets to knock myself out. It worked for couple hours. I don't have enough tablets to knock myself out now and keep myself safe and all I can think of is taking them all, everything I have, that would put me to sleep. Permanently.

The Best Thing That Ever Happened To Whom?

Whenever I lose someone i take it hard, my parents, my boyfriend, my best friend etc i torture myself for years about where i went wrong because I thought that they were the best thing that ever happened to me but you know what? Where my ex and ex best friends are concerned Fuck that! Fuck them! Maybe I'm the best thing that happened to them? Maybe it wasn't me that fucked it up?
I'm fiercely loyal, honest, caring, giving, fun and I'd do anything for the people I love. If someone turns their backs on me especially when i need them most (like for instance being put into a psych ward after my mum died) then it becomes indellibly inscribed on my soul that I deserved it, I must've done something wrong, it confirms my deeply held belief I'm not good enough, I didn't deserve THEM. They didn't deserve me dragging them down.
Here's the thing though, i know its tough having a friend or living with someone who has depression, anxiety, self-harm issues. I live it every single day. When I'm low I retreat so I don't drag people down. I suffer in silence. I keep the worst from them because as is always proved to me, they don't actually want to know about it because they don't understand it. They scold me for not asking for help or for not asking to meet but then they don't ask me out anywhere! It's a two-way street or at least it's meant to be.
I do sometimes put on a happy face when i really don't want to if it's a special occasion like a wedding or birthday or something. I must be good at it because they always say I'm on top form even though inside I feel like I'm dying but on the outside I'm the class clown and I'm treated as such.
I'm tired of it. So tired of it. I can't tell the difference between true friendship and pretend anymore with some of them.
Who's loss is it? Who's fault is it?
Why was I ever fucking born? Why the fuck should anyone care?????

Knife play

I can't remember the last time my knife felt so good. It felt really good cutting just now.
I thought for a while my blood looked different. I don't know if the iron tablets have changed it, but it appears more like blood now and there's more of it!
I know that sounds stupid but it looked different a couple of months ago I swear, and apart from coming off anti-depressants, the rest of my medication is the same except I'm taking iron tablets. Black poop, woop!
It's weird, I brought some toilet roll to mop up the blood and thought woah, that's a bit much, so I halved it. Turns out I needed it all though. I now have a lovely satisfyingly blood-soaked wad of loo roll. combine that and the pain and I know I'm still alive, for now. So much for my "I actually didn't make any New Year's resolutions but I'll try to stop cutting" HA! I'm still not sure why I take pictures of the blood but hey, does anyone have all the answers?