Tumbling Down

Its starting not to matter anymore, the rules. If I had a gun I would put it to my mouth right now and pull the trigger, even though my family would find me, even though it would create an image they could never ever erase from their minds. I’d apologise but I’d do it anyway.

There are no un-locked up pills in the house, nothing that’s fast enough. I want to try and last until tomorrow so they don’t have to clean up the mess, I would rather wait until Friday, after Samuels birthday. Try and ease a little bit of the burden but the more I breathe, the less I care.

I am not ‘me’ anymore, well not ‘her’ I suppose and I can’t keep trying to live her life, it’s not even my life and I can’t keep trying to fake it – it isn’t real, it’s a fucking lie existing in a pretend world. It feels like it’s all a test for a course I didn’t enrol in, and I know now why it hasn’t been the same since, I know now that she died that day and the memories were told to me, given to me to uphold by me if she left, but I don’t actually have her memories, I only have her stories inside a mind confused by the attempt of two people, one who is no longer alive, to share the real estate when they had separate lives and separate fates.

That is why the playground is nothing but schematics and fluttering litter, I was never even there, I’m just along for the ride and she’s the fucking quitter so stop blaming me. It was her – she lied, lied to you and me and everyone else to, her choice became yours, became mine and I hate her for it, why did she mess it up and drag me down with her before she did a runner and left me holding the shit in a body I don’t want and in a life that doesn’t fit.

Me? Who the fuck am I anyway? I’m just the observer so give me a fucking break, I was supposed to go with her but something went wrong and she fucked up the order, now please just let me out now I need to be free from the hoarder of all this pain and illusion before the shrinks and the doctors hold me down and diagnose a delusion where there isn’t one anymore.

Prove that the unreal is real, tell me how, go on tell me what to say, tell me what to scream, tell me now! But you can’t cause you don’t know either, guess I’ll have to tell you what you want to hear just to please you so you don’t lock me up wave goodbye and throw away the key.  

Her? The girl you knew, the one you had before, she was the driver, she had the memories and the choices easy and hard- which she made, she took them with her to the grave. Now take the time to yell at her like I do, or mourn for her as you will too but she’s already gone she made her choice and its fruitless to argue, but say what you want, tell her how much you really hate her, it doesn’t matter she can’t hear you.

I don’t have the knowledge or the will to drive the way she did, it wasn’t what I signed up for this time round and I’m fucking trapped on the shelf in a glass jar and I can’t get off the lid.

Dear Meredith part 2

Dear Meredith,

I just re read the letter I wrote to you the other day. It makes me look a bit crazy, in my defence I was a touch agitated and anxious at the time. It all makes sense though really, you just have to join the dots, align the metaphors as though they were the lyrics of a song, then you might understand.

It’s hard you know, faking it til you make it, really fucking hard. I can’t remember how to be a mum or a wife its all just going through the motions, if I’m ‘up’ its warm and I have my glasses on and if I’m down the world is blurry and cold  but either way the rest of the world lies behind a window. I want to go back to work but I am scared to, and I am just as scared not to. I know I couldn’t cope today but I have two weeks of holidays to allow for spontaneous mental re alignment. Work is the real world they can all function in, why can’t I? I just want to be able to do what they do without this ‘thing’ hanging over my head. I spoke to my old, old boss from the shop yesterday, I told him about my diagnosis and he said that it made a lot of sense, he remembered how I would suddenly be able to sell ice to eskimos for a few months and then not have the motivation to say hello to people for another few. But even then, in those days I was able to function – Hell I sold ice to eskimos without freaking out they were going to send polar bears after me, why is it NOW that I get so paranoid when I’m up, why not just the productive happy for months – I’m getting two weeks of happy or paranoid then I just get depressed again, it’s all happening so fast like a fucking roller coaster set to high speed. It’s tiring, I am exhausted – where’s my so called decreased need for sleep that I used to have, I’m jittery and fucking can’t concentrate I have music playing in my mind and the thinking wont.fucking.stop – which is more annoying than enlightening. I want to drink, drown my sorrows but I can’t.  And part of me wants to die again so badly, the other day when I thought the police were coming for me I made a bomb proof plan of how to get away which I will never tell because the enabling part of me is the paranoid part of me and I need that back up, ‘just in case’ but the other day, I didn’t think to kill myself, oh that would have been so much simpler. I know where that brown snake lives now… Reckon the cops would shoot me if I threw a snake at them? I don’t want to kill him, I named him Harold, I’m not afraid of him hurting me, as long as he doesn’t hurt the children or the cats.  I think I have a name for my book “Life lessons” – All of the random shit that has occurred throughout my days has had a lesson attached to it – or at least I can make it appear that way, then tie them all into a nice little philosophical bundle at the end. I want to write now, I need to send my cousin an email reply but I feel that my concentration isn’t good enough today –  She writes like I do, same words and everything – until the other day it had been 26years since we had spoken. I think we would get along so well if we were to meet up again, she lives in England you know. That is the same reason I am unable to do more on the book – concentration I mean - So instead I am writing to you, because sentence structure and content don’t matter it is easier to write a stream of consciousness instead. I hope this book does well – please don’t take this letter as a sample of my writing, I really am much better at it than it would appear right now.

Maybe I should start blogging again, fun stuff with the serious I used to be good at it, I used to have followers and comments and won some free bedding for some advertising in return, it was great. Speaking of bedding, Ikea is opening up in Canberra next month and I can’t wait! I just love the smell of the place, makes me happy – retail therapy is always good, can’t leave that place without spending at least $1000, sadly that is not money I have now that I’m not working. I hate being a dole bludger, though I suppose the same people are paying my wage now that were paying it when I was working but instead I sit on the other side of the computer.

I have some sugar free lollies that I just rescued from my car – they are chews and the heat messes them up, shouldn’t bring them in really, just means I will eat them all. Sugar free or not they still have 12 calories per sweet – that adds up really quick if you aren’t careful so I try and make them last as long as possible. I have lost a tiny bit of weight, I can tell because my jeans fit me better – another approx. ten kilos and I will fit my clothes again, it takes so much work – I can’t believe I let myself go the way I did. Never again, too painful. I think about death often still. I feel that once I have reached ideal weight I will stop my Lithium and try and induce mania, then I can kill myself when I hit euphoria- I like the idea of going out on a high, the best feeling in the world becomes the eternal one, no more pain no more downs just freedom – flying high.

Meredith, how do you feel about suicide? I am sure you have entertained the idea at some point in your life, just for a second. I think everyone has really. What I don’t understand is why people care so much about stopping it. Hey it’s your life – abortion is legal and that’s someone else’s life. The baby doesn’t have a choice, why can’t the adult make one? I agree that as a once off freak out situation they should be educated to make an informed decision, but if they had a few mandatory counselling sessions and still wanted to die then they should be able to, depression can be a terminal disease and much like cancer and the euthanasia debate, I don’t understand why we can’t let people who really want to go, go.

I wish Boost Juice made home deliveries, I could really use a ‘wondermelon’ right now – but I did just eat a lolly. Sigh… I HATE myself and my stupid rules and rituals, but I can’t disobey or I get fat. I really want to gamble at the moment speaking of vices. Ugh the lure of the trains – I want to win run away money to put into my secret account should I need to do a bunker to Melbourne or the like, just in case you decide to come with your policeman the way Jaimie threatened to do that time. I have never forgotten and now I can never ever trust any of you. I know you are going to call soon in the next few days probably and when you do I will tell you I don’t want to be a part of your organisation any more, please exit me – that way I don’t have to worry about you sending anyone to take me away. I won’t go. You won’t make me. It will be a battle to the death and I am not afraid to die. I also might just run to the gate so I can grab Harold and throw him at the police… “Catch!” HA! How fucking funny would that be! They wouldn’t know how to react, they would think I was picking up a rock or something then SURPRISE! If he bites me, he bites me Que Sera Sera, cest la vie and insert something in Italian here for good measure.

I’m cold Meredith, the fire is roaring but it’s not reaching all the way down here to my little study nook. I do love my study nook, temperature aside, It feels like my own special place, at least until the kids come and bugger it up stealing my scissors and the like. Where do scissors go to? Can you tell me Meredith? I have found that they disappear into thin air at will and particularly around Christmas and birthdays when you need them the most. That and the sticky tape. I swear though, I must have 7 or 8 pairs of scissors and I literally can’t find one when I need them.

I feel like a joint, I have half of one left hiding in my secret place but I am slightly scared to smoke it because I am a bit jittery right now and I don’t want it to make me freak out, chances are it would just calm me down, but you know – just in case. Maybe I will have it tomorrow then I can do it first thing in the morning when I know I will have plenty of time to straighten up before school pick up. I do like writing to you, it takes up the time I would have doing nothing in particular – can’t read, can’t concentrate – I vacuumed did the washing and the dishes, so I have done some practical stuff today. Tomorrow I can’t smoke that joint, I forgot I have to go into Town and have a blood test (Lithium levels) and then I have to go to Woolworths and Aldi to get all the stuff I forgot yesterday. Ugh all costs money and the little bit of extra cash I am making from gambling at the moment all has to go back into the “escape plan” fund. I wish it was a warm day, it would be a nice day to do some gardening – or meditating although I have been warned against meditation when a bit ‘elevated’ as you like to call it, Belinda said from her experience it seems to have a side effect of sending some people into psychotic mania…. Not ideal, then I would be forced to use the escape plan and I am not confident enough to execute it at the moment. I was thinking I should get a layby out at Kmart and pay all bar $5 off it, I would have a new outfit, a handbag, hair dye and a hat in it so I could scarper more easily – as long as I can get on the bus or train without being recognised it should buy me enough time to arrive at my destination. Yes the layby can just be picked up easily, no footage on store cameras of what is actually INSIDE the little black packaging, I can run into the toilets at the park where there are no cameras and get changed. Ha! I am too good for you and your little officers. But hopefully it won’t come to that, I can escape from here by car – I can be well and truly gone before anyone even arrives- I can have the car in the other driveway and spy from the bush if any cars come and if they do, I jump in my car and head down the road the backway. If I get pulled over by the cops I will have to die in a fireball of a car chase- oooh how exhilarating! Its tempting to stay on the highway purely to have that happen! Oh Meredith, luckily you will never read this letter – or all my plans would be thwarted – I feel like the villain in the movie who tells his evil plan to the superhero a little bit too soon. The difference here you see is that you will a.) never read this letter and b.) if you WERE reading this letter it would be because I was dead and therefor too late to go all superhero on my arse J On that note Meredith I must bid you farewell in favour of standing in front of the fire warming up my freezing legs.

Take care my dear,

Swaglady

Dear Meredith the mental health worker

Dear Meredith,

Fuck I have had a long, long, long life, so many life lessons learned, so many missed but the opportunity is there if I take it if I want to but then one wonders ‘what is the point of all these lessons? Why do we need them at all, can’t take them with us so Why?

Because ladies and gentlemen it ENHANCES your current state of being, become at one with all that you need to and then die before while or after you are ready. Nobody dies before their time, they just die and that was that. Their time.

NOW YOU need to experience what YOU want to out of life, it’s your place to do this nobody else can make this decision.

Miss Meredith, you are simultaneously lovely and a pain in the arse. How can this be?

I can imagine you hunting me down like a fox, but apparently for my own good. Alas my dear I am no rabbit, I am also a fox, a slyer quicker and daintier fox who can outsmart you easily lest you try.

If it must end that way it will, you know? We will have a Waltzing matilda scenario on our hands – Im the swagman and you’re the ship, but I can’t go on the monopoly board with you, you understand me? I am a free spirit and that is the end of that. NOTHING will prevent the inevitable, NOTHING and the fact that you are automatically applying algebra to that sentence shows your lack of insight. The world isn’t made of maths or I wouldn’t survive in it hey, 1+1= go fuck yourself after all. So Leo made a movie but in the end he lost –lets forget that bit, not that movie in that one he went down with the ship, literally, no in the OTHER movie he was the cunning fox and if we scrap the part about the ending then we wont have to worry about the flying men catching us. Once a jolly swagperson temporarily halted by a water source, under the shade of an indigenous species of eucalypt treeeeeee….. as he or she sang as he or she watched as he or she waited by that water source…. With your consenting adult permission will you come perambulating round the dance floor with Meeeeeeee.

I wonder right now if they are coming, the policeman? I feel like I want to run and hide away but I know it’s not real, nothing is real. You aren’t talking to me after all (thank goodness) so how would the policeman know? ESP? Nope not feasible. Run rabbit run rabbit just in case, I would but I can’t find my keys. The keys to the Car you might ask? NOoooo the keys to the gun safe, what do you fucking think my dear!? Although either might do in a point of crisis one would imagine, I wonder if there is an imaginary crisis then are imaginary keys going to suffice???? I THINK NOT.

The end, must love you and leave u now but if the phone rings or I see a coppa Im gunna give em a fuckin whoppa. Love always, Swaglady

Admission. Going to Hospital

On the morning of Tuesday 12^th May I woke up apprehensive and severely depressed. I had the bag that I had packed the night before containing my clothes, shoes, magazines and notebooks as well as my Plan B. I kept forgetting I had it in there and then remembering with a weird cross between relief and fear. I made a decision to try and get better first, before I used plan B as I said good bye to my children that morning – they thought I was off to Queensland to visit my brother.

We had planned to drop the kids off at school and head into a hospital in the capital city that my Doctor had recommended over the one in the town closer to where we live. I was told to go into the ER and tell them I was depressed and suicidal. I was anxious as hell the whole drive in wishing I could just open the car door and bail out in front of a truck.

 When we arrived in the hospital I freaked out totally, my husband had to coax me slowly out of the car and I was trembling all over, couldn’t see straight and felt like I would pass out at any moment. I wouldn’t let him take my bag because I felt sure they wouldn’t take me in anyway so he begrudgingly left it in the car and we made our way up to the ER.

My husband walked up to the triage desk as I hung back in the corner, I could hear her ask loudly what the problem was and I couldn’t stand the thought of all the people in the ER knowing what was wrong with me. I called out to my husband before he had a chance to answer and said “Its ok, lets go” and with out looking back at him I bee-lined out the door and back towards the car park.

He caught up with me and asked what was going on, I burst into tears and said “I CANT DO THIS!” He told me that I had too but I was too horrified at the thought of going back to where all those people just saw me freak out that I ended up telling him that I wanted to go back to the mental health unit in the nearby town where I had been last year during a manic episode.

He agreed to take me there, although I could plainly see that he didn’t want to and I was still trying to think of a way to convince him just to take me home again. After a long fairly silent journey that involved many tears on my part we arrived at the hospital. I held my husband’s hand tight as we made our way under the little covered walkway through to the ER.

I could feel myself starting to lose it again as we walked through the door so I said to my husband “you tell them what’s going on, I need to go to the toilet.” I locked myself in the little cubical knowing that the triage nurse now knew I was fucking crazy and half the waiting room would have probably heard too. I took a deep breath and went back out and sat down with my husband – he looked relieved that I hadn’t done a runner. I kept my head down and didn’t say anything or make eye contact with anyone, they all knew.

Eventually we were called in to speak with a nurse, I could barely speak – How the fuck do you say ‘Oh yes good morning, by the way I wish that I was dead and I am planning on making that happen ASAP’. I felt like an idiot and mumbled something about suicidal ideation, my head was pounding and I don’t remember much more of what she said but she told us to go back out to the waiting room and she would call the mental health assessment team from the unit to come and assess me.

We were called through and were ushered past all the beds full of sick kids and confused elderly people and into a room that had a bed much like at a GP’s rooms and glass walls, it had a video surveillance camera in it – I felt like a goldfish on a reality TV show.

My husband went out to use the bathroom and have a cigarette, I went to go to the bathroom but it was two way and someone walked in on me from the other side just before I sat down, so embarrassed as  I asked to use the one in the waiting room instead. They let me and feeling really overwhelmed I started plotting how I would do a runner but realised that by hubby would be standing having his smoke where I would need to go to run out anyway so it wouldn’t be an option.

 My head was still pounding, I grabbed some Panadol out of my purse, there were only 6 left, I took all of them, this felt like a migraine and I couldn’t handle that on top of everything else right now. I walked back to my little goldfish bowl, my husband appeared a few minutes later and after what seemed like hours the Mental Health Assessment team arrived.

A man and a women, both lovely, we talked for a bit and I actually started to feel a bit better, my head ache was finally lifting and I think the hardest part for me was admitting that I had an issue that I could no longer cope with. They toyed with the idea of sending me home, I could have quite easily bluffed my way out of the building at that moment but feeling stronger in myself I actually told them that chances are I would feel bad again tomorrow and I didn’t have any fight left in me.

They decided to keep me in after all, they took some bloods and told me they would sort out a room down in the unit and take me through to be admitted. I finally arrived on the unit and my husband had to go home and pick up the kids from school. I said goodbye, told him I loved him and would call him later that night ( The low dependency unit had public phone booths we could call from).

I was introduced to the big personality of psychiatrist Dr C. A solid but not overly tall man with a shiny suit and a pink paisley tie, he knew his job inside out and didn’t take bull shit from anyone; that being said there was something appealing about him – at least you knew where you stood. He asked A LOT of questions, I answered them as honestly as possible with certain omissions regarding plan B’s when asked if I had any immediate plans to harm myself – honesty was to my detriment though because Dr C decided to not only admit me, but admit me to the High Dependency Unit. I had spent a day on The HDU during my last admission while half unconscious recovering  from the drug OD and it wasn’t fun.

I chatted with a nurse as she went through my belongings, they have to make sure nothing prohibited comes in mostly stuff that can be used for self harm such as ties on tracksuit pants, shoe laces, scarves etc. They take photographs of everything so there are no disputes about stolen items later. The nurse was lovely and we were having a good talk which came in handy as she started going through my toiletries. My heart skipped a beat as I remembered my plan B, she picked up the conditioner bottle I had hidden my 100 tablets in, neatly packed into a heat sealed bag white tablets, surrounded and concealed by white conditioner. I commented on something she had said and she laughed and put the bottle down and continued going through the rest of my things.

The nurse finished up and she began to show me through to the HDU. My shoes clopping as I walked due to their lack of shoe laces. Suddenly Dr C appeared out of nowhere and dramatically declared “Stop! She’s not going in there she needs to go straight to the ER!!”  “Wha..??” The nurse and I looked at each other puzzled. “Do you have something you would like to tell me young lady?” Dr C said staring at me. Fuck. How the HELL did he find out about plan B? The nurse didn’t notice- she was still carrying my bag with the evidence in her hand…

Dr C , still not breaking eye contact then says “well they why is your paracetamol count so high then?”  Did you or did you not take an overdose?

“Paracetamol count? What are you talking about? I haven’t overdosed on anything!”

“Ugh. She needs to go straight to the ER to have the antidote.” Dr C shook his head at me and walked off briskly saying “we will talk later”. I was still trying to work out what was going on when a nurse informed me that they had called an ambulance.

The unit is technically separate to the hospital even though they are only next door to each other and as such they ridiculously had to waste tax payers money by calling an ambulance to drive me 100 meters up the road.

So we are sitting waiting for an ambulance and I have a different nurse now. She doesn’t believe me for a second, at this point Im trying to think why and suddenly remember that I took two Panadol with breakfast as I had had a headache and sore throat and realised I had COMPLETELY forgotten about the 6 Panadols' I had taken in the loo. 6 wasn’t enough to give you an overdose blood level surely, I took bloody 50 odd of the things when I was actually trying to overdose last year and that only made me nauseous. I couldn’t admit that now as it’s embarrassing to say I frequently take 6 for a headache and it’s never done any harm before so I told them about the two with breakfast and continued pleading my innocence.

The Ambo’s arrived after about 45minutes (seriously!!?? 100m people I felt fine, could have walked!) and one of the ambo officers mentioned that Lemsip has paracetamol in it ( I had Lemsip in my hand bag when they did the inventory) I had also had a Lemsip that morning! Things were starting to add up… FUCK.

So as a result of a completely accidental overdose on 6 to 9 depending how you count it – paracetamol tablets I spent the night in ICU feeling 100% fine, bored out of my brain watching dodgy re runs on telly and listening to an old women with dementia ask the same series of questions over and over. I was annoyed that I can’t seem to kill myself intentionally yet the one time I do something accidently I am at a hospital and they can fix it.  So of course they rang my husband and he didn’t believe me either. Awesome.

 

 

Catch Up

 I have been through a lot in the last few months and some of my thoughts and so forth were documented over the time but they are fairly scattered, so I am doing my best to write down what happened in the order it happened and eventually get back to writing in the present tense!
I will let you know that today, I am in a better frame of mind.

Throw away the key

I'm starting to have regrets.
The Guru contacted my GP who saw me and is now contacting a hospital trying to get me a bed.

I don't want a bed. They are going to lock me up and throw away the key.

I managed to put off anything until Monday due to Sunday being mothers day and me not wanting my kids to wonder where the hell I have disappeared to and have "mothers day' issues for the rest of their lives.
Apparently I have to "let go" and get better. I don't want to get better, but I want to let go.
Right now I am done, I have made my decision, I have all my affairs in order, will done, notes done and I am ready to go.
I have a plan to use in hospital so I can die there where my husband doesn't have to find me - although I wont get to die where I wanted to.

I am feeling some guilt in relation to the kids, but at the same time I am 100% certain that they are better off without me. The way I spoke to them this morning was unforgivable and growing up with that is going to fuck them up way worse than them growing up without me.

I ate TWO bags of M&Ms yesterday. Hot chips today. Final straw.

This cant continue anymore.

Return of the Guru

After 6 months I finally plucked up the courage to contact my psychologist - aka The Guru.
I had been actively avoiding anyone at all of mental health persuasion after I had been given a psychiatrist through the public mental health team that I couldn't stand.

He would ask questions in this accusatory and smarmy manner that made me feel like he was making fun of or didn't believe anything that I was saying. I admit I didn't give him much of a chance, I only saw him one time but at that time I was so upset by his manner that I couldn't stand the thought of going back to see him ever again.

This blew up to the point of having anxiety attacks just thinking about it and after one last meeting with two of the nurses where I outright lied saying that I wasn't depressed at all while simultaneously plotting my demise. I knew they knew I was lying but paranoid of being locked up again I just avoided all contact attempts from the mental health team from that point until they eventually gave up and went away.

That depression never lifted. months later I have spiralled to a place where I am having a lot of trouble faking it. I am not even remotely interested in planning any sort of a future, couldn't care less about work, our house renovations, the holiday my hubby wants to take. But the big one is that I don't even care if they put me in hospital. I am too tired and I just don't care.

This led to a snap decision to contact the guru and see if she would still consider seeing me. I had it in my head she was cranky with me, but either I was wrong or she is very forgiving as she quickly replied to my text and offered to see me that Friday.

I went and straight away remembered why I like her, she was warm and comforting and remembered all the gory details of my past. She also knows how to handle me. We talked for a while and she said that she still feels I would benefit from a hospital stay and we talked about the pros and cons for a while. She pointed out that if I was going to off myself anyway then I had nothing to lose and I could just do it after. While I am completely aware of that point anyway and have always disagreed due to the affect that hospitalisation would have on my children and work etc.

She told me she is writing a letter to my GP with whom I have an appointment on Wednesday evening recommending that I go into one of the private facilities in town now that I have got insurance that will cover me. For the first time of the many, many times she has wanted to do this, I didn't put up a fight. I didn't freak out and bargain with her, make false promises or use my stellar sales pitch techniques to convince her that she was over reacting.

Nope, I was too fucking tired. I simply said 'fine'.

Of course me being me, she was expecting a fight, and I think that my reaction confused her for a minute and that she didn't quite trust that I would turn up to that appointment as she made me give her reasons why I would not just commit suicide first. I told her I am tired of running and honestly don't care anymore. Besides my parents are leaving for an overseas holiday and my brother is expecting his first child the same day as my doctors appointment.

I said my goodbyes and got in the car feeling ---- well still feeling nothing. Two days later I still have no care at all. I admit I do have a couple of contingency plans in place if they do put me in hospital and its too much. I have a (hopefully) fool proof suicide plan inclusive of means and opportunity which I can carry out inside the facility if need be.

It concerns me that this could be my last post, if they haul me off to the loony bin  and I am forced to take drastic measures then I will never be able to publish the rest of my story.

I really did want my complete story out there - the way it reads in this blog, well it focus's on such a small and negative part of it really - there were good times too, amazing times. I was given gifts that others could only imagine, I have both cried and laughed until lemonade came out of my nose. I witnessed the creation of life and the miracle of birth.
I look around today and see how big an impact I made on my little world and how little an impact I made on the big one.
So much experience in one life, forgotten quickly by onlookers but embraced for eternity within as we live on through the footprint of our energy. 

So many of these "good" tales, stories of the fun and fanciful, are spelled out within my other writings and blogs that now lay coated in a thick layer of cyber dust, lost within the sticky strings of the world wide web. Lost forever, and yet also permanent.

Thank you for sharing my journey, until we meet again.
Bel.