One Day of Rest

I spend a lot of times on buses.
When you’re pregnant, you’re not necessarily recommended to eat healthily. Before I got pregnant I was 9stone 6lbs on average. I lost a lot of weight in the first two months. I was pretty ill before I got pregnant, I was having body jerks which was a lot of exercise and I thought the run down-ness I was feeling was because of that and the kidney damage I had. To quickly explain the kidney damage, when the lithium got to a place of toxicity it damaged the mesh on my kidneys that kept protein and bacteria out and my doctor said it should heal on it’s own but it can take a while.
Anyway, I got down to about 8stone 13pounds before my partner (mainly because of breast tenderness) recommended I take a pregnancy test and to be honest, whilst we had had unprotected sex before I thought there was no way in hell I was pregnant. But there it was 2 lines on the pregnancy test. So we went out on a Sunday about 10pm at night and walked quite a distance to buy more pregnancy tests. We bought 3. I took two that night (a cheap one and a clearblue) and a cheap one the next morning and they all came up positive with the clearblue saying I was 2-3 weeks which after I looked it up on the internet actually meant I was 4-5 weeks-ish because they go on the first day of your last period which is typically two weeks prior and since I couldn’t really remember when mine was I made a rough guess.
I’d been suffering from nausea but since finding out I was pregnant I began to force myself to eat which made the nausea worse in general and meant that at the lowest weight in my pregnancy I got to 8 stone. When I actually began to throw up, I knew I couldn’t take it and neither could the baby so I went to the doctors, onto the hospital and onto anti-sickness tablets but because of all of this and the fact I have low blood pressure – I was told to continue taking my pre-natal multivitamin and try to eat more fat-filled foods and have the daily recommended intake of salt. So my breakfast when I get up at 8:30am in the morning tends to be a packet of salt and vingear or ready salted crisps.
A few months ago between dropping out of school and SIL1 and niece1 coming back, I had a pretty sweet set up. Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday I rode the bus to my dad’s and Wednesday I stayed in with the dog, Brandy and we watched TV, rested and did chores. I got up all the days I went to my dad’s at 8:45am and just before it got too cold I made an effort to look okay. I loved Wednesday’s though and didn’t realise how much needed they were until now. I’d stay in bed all morning, watch TV until I then would tidy our two rooms (and nothing more since we rarely went in them and never left a mess) and do the laundry. I’d catch up on phone calls and emails and it was all in all very chill.
When they came back from Canada, for the first week I made myself scarce because it was their family time and I would have felt awkward either staying in my room or coming out and hanging out with them. 
I’m pretty sensitive to any type of criticism – even vague, not-even-criticism-to-most-people kinda criticism so when GC told me that SIL1 had said that I didn’t like her because I didn’t come in the room with them, I decided I wasn’t even going to bother.
She was annoying before she left and she’s annoying now. 
So my new morning schedule is to get up at 8:30am, eat, check Facebook to see it SIL1 has posted anything about what she’s doing because if she posts her morning onto there then I know whether she is or isn’t coming home after she drops her kid off at school. At 8:45am, get ready to go out and I’m usually done with that at 9am and then I will sit with the door slightly ajar to hear if she comes back. If she does, I don’t have to worry about bumping into her coming out of the house (as I changed the bus stop I went to so I didn’t have to go down to the school) and if she doesn’t then I don’t have to worry about her calling me just as I’m about to leave. So I’m always torn as to whether I want her home before I leave.
I then walk down to the bus stop and probably wait about 5 or so minutes for the earliest bus I can catch for free due to my disability bus pass which only starts working at 9:30am. I travel for about 30 minutes into town where I walk to the next bus stop and wait (usually in the cold and today the wet) for 15-20 minutes for the next bus which is about an hour to my dads. I spend time at my dads, maybe actually get some peace and some sleep. I then leave at 3:45pm to catch the bus back to town (and that bus is usually late) and then another 30 minutes home where GC and I meet.
I miss those Wednesday’s and since I’m ill and pregnant, I really need them. But it’s more stressful for me to stay then it is to leave every morning.
So yeah, I spend a lot of time of buses.


My living situation 

I’m going to try my best to explain my living situation and why it’s a – cause of stress for me.
I moved out in last summer and it kinda took a while to move in just logistically with boxes and stuff but it happened. I’m going to try my best to explain the situation but don’t worry if you get lost, I do sometimes.
So I live in a disabled house and here’s why: GC mum is on the book as owning it and her mum (GC grandmother was disabled) and at this time GC, his two siblings, his mum and grandmother and other relatives on and off lived here. Then the grandmother died and GC brother got married and had a kid. The brother, sister in law and kid took upstairs, GC took the disabled area of the house and a few years ago the sister in law (let’s call her SIL1 for short) helped their mum find a man and move out.
The disabled area has wider doors, has a kinda corridor leading to the back door as well as having it’s own front door, a bedroom and it’s own bathroom. The bedroom is at rough estimate 10ft by 8ft (but don’t quote me on that) whilst the bathroom is at rough estimate 8ft by 10ft and again don’t quote. I’m terrible estimating sizes. It’s probably smaller.
GC’s brother, SIL1 and niece all live on the other side and due to our dog we have to chain up the sliding door which slides in the ‘shared’ kitchen as the brother and niece are allergic to dogs. 
But here’s why the living situation is stressful: SIL1.
When I moved in I was reasonably healthy, my sleep pattern had improved a bit and it was summer holidays so if I was at home past 8:30 (which I usually was since my bus pass didn’t work until 9:30am) at this time I was stuck baby sitting a 9 year old which I don’t mind doing every so often and wouldn’t mind doing it on a regular basis if the thing both parents had was work but whilst the dad and my fiancé work. The mother doesn’t. She spends her mornings at the gym and during this time if I was leaving early because my dad was picking me up or I was paying bus fare to go somewhere, she tended to adopt a very pissed off attitude with me because it meant she had to bring her kid with her. Don’t have kids if you’re not prepared to give up your summers for them OR your money to find them something to do.
If I was to do anything, I also got bombarded with questions. I mean less questions then I got off my dad when I used to go out at 9:30am and not be back until midnight (those were some amazing days). “Where you going?”, “who you seeing?”, “what you doing?” – which I’m not trying to be mean is none of her business.
At the end of August, SIL1 and the niece moved back to Canada due to some legal technicalities and that no one has fully grasped of and honestly, it was awesome. I was at college for a month before I dropped out and even after I dropped out I still went out Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday to my dads and stayed in Wednesday doing chores and resting and watching TV as loud as I wanted – again awesome.
They weren’t supposed to come back from Canada until summer of next year but the legal thing had kinda resolved (?) and the couple missed each other so they came back early December and that’s when things got shit.
The only people who know I’m pregnant are: my dad, my brother, my fiancé and his brother. As well as doctors and now everyone who reads this blog. I’ve been trying to keep it quiet until after the scan partly because I want to show people proof and partly because I go between whether or not I believe I am actually pregnant which I know, is weird.
So I don’t expect SIL1 to be too understanding in that respect. But she’s not respectful in any respect. GC took her when she got back that I’m still poorly and to let me rest which is true. I still get my jerks and pregnancy doesn’t make anything easier on me. She gets up at 7am and just shouts and she has this very grating, anxiety-inducing shout. Which at the moment I need like 16 hours sleep so doesn’t actually wake me but still. She always shouts and when you’re tired, prone to migraines and pretty ill you really don’t need to hear shouting.
She’s also one of those people who are in competition to be more ill than anyone else or know someone more ill. Her ‘bad back’ that she causes herself by working out and ALWAYS moans about is worse than my jerking (which has put me in hospital) and my fiancé (and her mother in law) mum who is riddled with arthritis and will probably end up in a wheelchair. Her sister has worse bipolar than me but everyone doubts she actually has it as she’s being treated for postnatal depression. Which is part of the reasons none of my fiancé’s family like her. Except they’re all pretty fake to her face.
A more recent instance of her lack of respect for GC (especially) is we went to my dad’s for Christmas and we stayed from Christmas Eve until Boxing Day and then came home. When we got home there were chairs that we were never asked/told about fully out in our room. Whilst I can consider the corridor to the back door ‘common’ property, our room isn’t. They’d go mad if we did that to them. 
Another is the fact that I don’t get asked questions directly. GC was asked if I’d baby sit over New Years. I wasn’t asked (first at least). We’d already told her that I couldn’t because of my jerks and I had a history of passing out. That’s not fair to put on a kid. Another example of this is at Christmas I got a new phone from my fiancé and she had an idea to give it to their mum. Not actually against the idea. I am against the fact that I wasn’t asked GC was. It was my money bought my old phone, not his. So I should have been asked. 
This post may have gotten away from me and turned into a rant. But you can see why it’s stressful for me. This isn’t just the handful of things she’s done. We’re trying to move but that’s easier said then done.

With the family.

My day didn’t get off to the best start. I began to dissociate and flashback in the car for about an hour but it was a two hour car drive so it started to fade out. Funnily enough though, it didn’t stop the manic episode from happening almost immediately and becoming very addicted to temple run 2 on my brother, TB iPad. I got scarily addicted and crazy about it. We were supposed to meet a 1pm but my sister texted saying she wasn’t going to get there till 2pm. TB needed to get dressed and ready which would take him half an hour because he is in a wheel chair, so he probably wouldn’t be there till 1:45-2pm. No one knew whether AdB was actually going to come and SB and his boyfriend run the pub so they would be there whenever we got there. But it’s like the last hurrah before the pub was sold. So we got there and we AdB walking down the road, so I yelled his name several times but he didn’t hear me. It being a particularly warm day we sat outside, AdB had gone down the shops, SB was working inside but his boyfriend (with the same first name as him by the way) was outside with us and so was my dad. TB has bought his iPad so AnB (my youngest brother) and I kept taking it in turns to play but eventually I won control over the iPad.

My sister arrived at 2:15pm roughly in the Aston Martin DB7 which all the boys ran to look at. I sat there on temple run. I wasn’t getting up. I was engrossed. The family decided not to eat at my brother’s pub but rather to go to a different one and I walked along, clutching the iPad threatening to rip the arm off anyone who tried to take it away from me. We got to this pub; I forget what it’s called but they had ‘Mooshakes’ – I know. It had whipped cream on it and because I was playing temple run 2, my brother drank some but then so did I but it was quite sickly so AnB drank the rest. I thought we were eating there but due to flies and the fact my brother couldn’t pull his wheel chair up to the table they decided we had to go eat somewhere else. But not before they finished their drinks. This is where I started to drop. First it manifested as anger and I walked off in a huff because I was hot and “they are taking the piss” because they said they wanted to leave and go eat somewhere else but they wanted to finish their drinks and I was hot and unsettled.

We eventually did leave but Dad, EB (sister) and SB all trailed behind as AnB, AdB, TB and I got to the pub place, admittedly it was a lot nicer. I was depressed, that didn’t help. I didn’t want to eat. I was geniunely not hungry and I was told off for that and was told that it was psychological, it was probably prozacological but apparently I’ve lost weight so there is an upside to everything. I’ll probably gain it all back once depression hits again and I hit the carbs. I also was asked about how often I went to school and when I went to bed, like DUDES. Why? You don’t even know about the fact I have bipolar disorder. Though luckily my dad answered the questions. I was then picked on for my hair despite being called ‘artsy’ by my sister earlier in the day. I didn’t get the blackberry but should get it in a week or two. I left feeling utterly depressed and bad because I was kinda disengaged and harsh by the end of the day. On the bright side I got £20 which I will probably spend on getting my hair professionally dyed red. Or manic spending. One of the two.

You’re too up for EMDR

Once again I am too up for EMDR, so we just sat and talked. Miss D (which is the name for my bp and psych specialist now) had call Mr pdocman and they had both agreed I need to be seen again earlier, making an appointment for next Wednesday and I should stop the prozac. Here’s the secret though, I’m taking a prozac tomorrow and then stopping because I can’t deal with a comedown around family who already think I’m on drugs but apparently stopping the prozac will make for a mighty crash into depression and I should be prepared for that with the come off prozac, so that’s fun. But I should be put on a mood stablizer on Wednesday but from what I know and I know I don’t know a lot, isn’t it usually a mood stablizer AND an anti depressant so wouldn’t it make sense to keep taking the prozac and then add a mood stablizer? But whatever. I don’t know the ins and outs of medication.

I’ve dyed my hair red though (photos on my photo blog:

I’m seeing my sister,  2 maybe  brothers and possibly one of their gfs and my niece. My aunt and uncle aren’t coming so that makes for some awkward conversation. Just don’t bring up any drug addictions. But yes, give me the blackberry so I can have it and bbm because that’ll be funny. Possibly. Not if I’m depressed.

My Psychiatrist Letter

It’s maddening. Prepare for a rant.

Page One:

Name, address, yadayadyayada. It’s from November to April of this year, like a summary type thing.

Diagnosis/Progress Summary: Paris Presented with 15 months history of severe sleep problems (initating and maintaining difficulties), mood swings, anxiety and panics particularly when in a crowded environment. She also has a difficulty in controlling her anger and this has affected her attendence at school. Paris has suffered from anxiety since 10 years old. Paris has difficulty in maintaining friendships.”

Okay. So let’s tackle this first. Meh, 15 months give or take. I’m not going to throw a hissy fit about that because they is when this particular bit of insomnia started. Yes mood swings. Yes to anxiety and it should be panic attacks. I don’t really think ‘panics’ is a suitable word but whatever. Now, hm. “difficulty in controlling her anger” – um. wut. I have such control over my anger Mr pdocman you don’t even know. If I didn’t I would have punched you in the fucking face ages ago! Also, it’s not the anger stopping me from going school. So CAN U NOT! It’s the depression, usually. The mania sometimes. My anger has never made me not go to school, okay. So I don’t know where the fuck he got that from? I have one little temper tantrum because it took a week to see someone about me OD’ing and you think that means I have anger problems. Jeezz, you won’t diagnose bipolar but you’ll slap me with an anger problem. Cheers. Anxiety from age 10. What? I mean I probably was anxious but no one told me when I was 10, I had anxiety problems. I swear to God! If someone does not tell me what the hell is going on I… I… am going to do nothing but passive aggressively rant because I don’t have anger problems. The whole friendship thing, what teenage girl doesn’t? So, yeah. Whatever again.

Then it is a section of Recommended Medication and it’s basically a list of failed medication except no mention of the risperidone failing and this was written on the 26/4/13 and I’m pretty sure I was off it by then.


“I have continued to see Paris in my clinic in order to assess her mood and with the recent overdose I have discussed the option of in-patient admission for further assessment of mood and risk”

And I took you up on your offer of in-patient and I HAD ALREADY LEFT BY THE TIME YOU WROTE THIS LETTER SO… ugh!

Risk assessment (I really loved this):

Paris has a long history of anxiety, low self esteem and difficulty in controlling her temper and mood swings. Paris is a sensitive person who takes things personally. Paris has talked about wanting to die, but concern for her family has prevented attempted suicide. However Paris admitted to taking diazepam tablets on 17th March 2013 and the triggers of which are unclear. Further assessment in an inpatient unit would help us in further management”

Dude… Dude… Dude.. this is the last time I will say this. I went to a fucking impatient unit and YOU. WERE. USELESS. Okay, temper thing is back. Is my temper that bad? Like I know I rant a lot and moan and swear and present anger but a lot of that is passive agressive and sarcastic so is it just me? Is my temper so terrible?

You see… I don’t know what to say about the whole “takes things personally” thing because I AM writing a blog about what I have got pissed off about in his letter. I am offended by the comment but can’t I really take it up that far considering this blog? Also. I am not sensitive. So. Shush.

Then just a crisis plan saying contact people. Um, no. I will go to friends and family not useless paid people.

Second Page: GP to Note.

First paragrah is an apology for writing late and the list of appointment dates which by April was one with a triage nurse and 5 in the space of 6 months.

Then some bullshit about sleeping and the fact I said I went to bed at 10pm to 11pm which is a lie because I told him between 1pm and 1am anyway. He basically got the waking times wrong and the times I went to bed wrong but hes going all the way back to like January 2012 so no wonder it’s wrong.

Then the next paragraph is about anxiety and mood swings. First thing to annoy me: “difficulty getting into crowded environments” – yes, me and the rest of the world. I’m not a big pusher. No, not a big fan of pushing people so I tend not to push people so yes I have difficulty getting into crowded environments but I hardly see how this is relevant.

He put “manic phase” in inverted sarcastic speech marks like that. I USE MANIC PHASE BECAUSE THE GP AND THE OTHER PSYCHIATRIST USED MANIC PHASE so don’t make out to be a fucking idiot for using it. Insulting.  My low mood in April was last 4-5 weeks not 3 weeks, so well done for not listening. He also wrote how I hear voices but apparently “did not elaborate much on it” – ok. Lemme explain me. If you ask me a question about it, I will answer but I am not going to sit in a room guessing what you want to know. I’m not a mind reader. If you asked any questions I would answer but you didn’t so I figured you didn’t find it important. I dno, hallucinating is still all very new to me. I don’t know what you, you idiot, wanted to know.

Paris has good appetite and concentration” – what? Are we in the same meeting? Because I don’t think we are too be honest. My appetite goes to near normal to not eating and my concentration is rarely ever good. I try and use the best of it in those meeting because I have been under the misguided notion that you, you twonk might be able to help me.

she did not describe worthlessness or hopelessness” – I SWEAR WE ARE NOT IN THE SAME MEETINGS OMFG. So many times have I expressed hopelessness. I even quit treatment for a time, I was so hopeless. Also, I’m not going to describe how worthless I feel because I’m not going to trigger myself. I am one of those people who have the lowest self esteem and feel worthless but act elistist.

They also called my mother by my dad’s surname – I told him they never married. *sing songy voice* yoooouuu neeever listennn. Also “From the description it seems that Mrs [name redacted] suffered from depression and anxiety.”

I also said mood swings, so someone explain why that is not in there. I also don’t know whY THAT IS EVEN RELEVANT! But whatever, I’m sure you have your reasons but you again are wrong.

On mental state examination Paris came across as an average built teenager who was dressed in casuals and offered variable eye contact. At times she would stare, but appeared mature for her age. She tends to talk in a loud volume. I have not witnessed any low or high mood. Her affect is reduced.”

Is average built offensive? Because I feel offended but, okay. Let that slide. What has my clothes got to do with it? I’ll come in a fucking suit next time. You know if I had the energy I would come in a suit to the next appointment and whisper just to be a sarcastic little asshole. I talk in a loud volume because I spent from ages like 6-13 partially deaf in one ear and my dad has hearing difficulties. So yes, I shout because that is what I trained myself to do. I am sorry if that annoys you, tell me and I will lower my voice. I am aware I have a tendency to do that but that is not a mood thing. That has always been someone couldn’t hear properly. Offered variable eye contact. I would look at you when you wrote because I wanted to know what you were writing, hence the staring. But thanks for making me look creepy. You have witnessed low mood so many times. I look down, avoid eye contact, only speak when spoken too and I spent the highish mood organising your toy box and YOU got pissed off at me. ARE WE EVEN IN THE SAME ROOM?! What the hell does affect is reduced mean?

In the next paragraph it’s pretty much okay, he talks about “chronic sleep deprivation” – finally something we agree on. I disagree with the diazepam having “no benefical effect” because it did calm down panic attacks but with sleep I agree. I think clarification is needed on the Sertraline making the “mood swings worse” but whatever, it sped the up so that is in a way making it worse. “I also discussed the option of a referral to the PIER team to seek a second opinion” – never did you discuss it with me. Never did I know it was a second opinion. You liar. “Paris believed she was suffering from bipolar affective disorder” – not believe as that implies I just self diagnosed. I was told by a GP AND a private psychiatrist that is was bipolar and granted they didn’t give me a type so in my mind it is Bipolar Disorder NOS because well, a private psychiatrist has said it and I still take his word over yours because as I have stated repeatedly, YOU DON’T LISTEN.

Now this isn’t wrong ( well a bit is), it’s just sort of funny. “Paris was very angry as she wasn’t taken seriously even after seeing her GP 3 times in a week. She refused to discuss anything about the overdose or her feelings. She was very angry and at one point even kicked the table and declared wanting to opt out of treatment” 

Oh Lordy Lou! I kicked a table! Now that is obviously the work of some anger issued individual, well oh mai. Send me away. You’ve never asked about my feelings since so I don’t know why you write this, you obviously don’t care a great deal. The wrong this is that I saw two different GPs only once. I saw one on the Monday and one of the Thursday. Well I came back, so get over it Mr pdocman.

It ends with some other bullshit but meh, it’s neutral.

Now I am continuing with PIER, I felt heard. Respected. I felt I was given a fair choice, a fair explananation about the EMDR and just heard, you know? I feel like I got a bad bit of luck having Dr pdocman. I know I’m going to do the most ironic thing and get angry about it or be passive agressive and ask him whether there is a brick wall on staff I could talk to because I feel like I’d get more from it than talking to him and then chuck my highlighted copy of the letter where I highlighted everything wrong – I wasn’t allowed to highlight the whole thing.

Seeing Family

I saw my family today. First time since like October. It was okay, I suppose. I couldn’t get onto my brother’s internet using my laptop so I went onto my phone and just did things but I was/am tired, I keep getting headaches and so I was irritable and I am offically going into mixed because my dad could tell I wasn’t as depressed anymore as I had a little more energy. So I couldn’t go on the internet, my older brother took my seat and my uncle fucking triggered flashbacks so I was not sitting in the sitting room. Then in the kitchen was my aunt and dad so I stayed there but yawn, taxes and cars and insurance and the news and I was bored and tired but here’s what really ticked me off. My family don’t know I have bipolar disorder so I don’t expect a lot of understanding and I don’t tell them because they’d get too involved; well my aunt would. But I don’t like my irritability passed off as “teenage behaviour” by my aunt when it’s obvious I’m swaying side to side, my eyes are closing, it’s hot outside and I’m shivering and my head aches that my irritability was not normal teenage behaviour. I told them it was because I was so tired which is the truth but it was more the mixed thing too.

Then my uncle comes in when they’re about to leave and pretends to punch me again. I fought back every urge to punch him in the face which I know everyone except my aunt and uncle would enjoy. Pretending to punch me is a trigger. Surprisingly, punching me in the arm whilst it hurts is rarely a trigger but doing what my uncle was doing pisses me off. Everyone let’s him off saying “oh he doesn’t know how to deal with children” ok w/e but he does know how to deal with humans, right? Like humans. I mean he’s married so obviously he has a little experience with people otherwise how the fuck did he get married? You don’t pretend to punch a human, forget triggering people but it’s rude. But then they left and all was right.

I know it sounds mean but my uncle is one of those people who get under people’s skin and just is very irritating so no one in the family except my aunt likes him. Mean, yes. But you’ve never met the guy.

My older brother, the middle of the eldest.  – AB did some gambling on horses and he didn’t win despite the fact he had like 4 bets on 4 horses in one race and it was just funny to see the guys falling off and some of the horses he bet on not placing. All the boys were intrigued, my dad stood up to watch over the chairs and I just lay down nursing my headache and tiredness.

My brother – TB gave me and ALB (my younger brother) £50 each for last Christmas and Easter, so it was good but it’s unfortunate to get it now because I ordered:

csi supernaturalExpensive yes but a lovely distraction but it won’t arrive before school starts and tonight is my last night of not caring about timing and bed times but I am tired but unsure of what to do in terms of bed. My dad has started going bed at 11pm contray to the time he used to go to bed of 8pm and my younger brother going to bed at 3-4am contray to his usual midnight bedtime. I mean older people need less sleep and my dad can get up later so hence the later bed time, my brother it possibly is just a combination of holidays and puberty making him go to bed late but it throws me off as with my bed time. I mean it’s worse now that I’m risking paranoia. I mean now I can look back on the nights holding a knife and thinking someone was going to hurt me as paranoia but in that state of paranoia you feel like the sanest person and so you don’t deem your actions as crazy until later but that’s the curse of being bipolar. Hindsight. In the moment we commit the action we think it’s right but we look back and just realise how crazy it was if we had just paused to look at ourselves.

Also, I have done 0 revision. None whatsoever. My brother was asking me questions on history and I did not know a thing; ah, the confidence booast of the pop quiz. I should revise but everytime I look at the books I just feel guilty about how much time I spent off school, how much I missed, how I can’t remember anything because my memory is shot and then I just think “life is too short to be looking at this bullshit” – ah, great attitude. I mean the only ones I really need is English, Science and maths to get to A levels where I’ll do better. But I just feel crappy knowing I’ll fail.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, my dad has mild hypoglacemia which is a low blood sugar thing. He’s gone on a diet which is stupid. He’s not unhealthy and he’s not ‘fat’ (not that I believe anyone is) but he’s not. So he doesn’t eat except at meals and so a few days ago he started getting shaky, pale, faintness, light-headed and mild hypoglacemia isn’t easy to diagnose as they check your blood sugar levels but if it’s mild and you’ve eaten before going to the doctors there can be no signs but I told the doctor and she said it sounded like hypoglacemia so she took a blood test and put it on this paper thing and said it was a little low and we went through if my dad had eaten and she was like “mild hypoglacemia” so I researched and found a cause can be alcohol use. He doesn’t drink it so much now but he used to and going almost cold turkey has got to take a toll on the body. So I told my dad if he wants to continue with this ridiculous diet, he can but he’s got to eat an apple every two hours (or any kind of food). But just eat every two hours.

I’ll write tomorrow about how I’m feeling about going back to school.

Arguments and other tales.

I had an argument with my dad *insert shock horror here*

Basically, my dad had switched TVs with my brother because he bought my brother a new one and in the process had knocked my book pile down, my teddies – which yes pissed me off but I didn’t mind too much because whatever it was an accident. But then I get into bed and there is a plate in my bed with toast crumbs all over it and I had sat in it spreading the crumb everywhere. The plate by the way was in my room but it did not need to be moved for the purpose of getting my TV in so whether he left it there by accident or whatever. There was no need to move it and it was just as easy to move it out of my room.

Also earlier I came out of the shower and was sitting in the sitting room and my dad was sorting his new TV, he was on the settings and was suppose to put the teletext settings to East rather than West but he didn’t and I told him so and he just got annoyed at me and then because he had chose West and the TV ariel was only picking up East, the TV was like “dude, what’s the primary way you want me to look?” and then I told him to let me do it because he can’t do anything when it comes to electronics. Anyway so we got into an argument and then I went back into my room and the whole knocked down-toast thing happened and I started crying and that wound my dad up and he eventually snapped and said he was going to put me in a ‘secure facility’ which essentially means mental hospital and so I’m not really talking to him anymore after said argument. I don’t think he can do it without my say as I’m not specifically a danger to myself or others and he’d have to get like a medical professional to agree which they won’t do.

Book Haze

I woke up around 3.30am, brushed my teeth and was reading my 4am. It was a 313 pages and I finished it just in time to get ready for school. It’s call ‘The Fault in our Stars’ and to anyone whosever read it, you know this boo has you laugh and crying and for me laughing whilst crying. I mean in the ‘this-book-is-amazing-way’ not ‘I’m in a mixed epsiode and it sucks way’. But it’s very poignant and I can never get over how amazing a book is especially in just one day. It’s called a ‘book haze’ from what I once read in a book on tumblr and that happens to me a lot. Movies, books, just a haze for an entire day. Sometimes longer. Which I like in a way.

I sat in the car just wishing we’d get stuck in the snow because I didn’t want to go to school. I was just sitting in the car thinking “I could open this door, avoid school and possibly die”. With each episode I come closer to taking my own life. It took me over 8 months to work up the courage to attempt it seriously for the first time and I worry I’m getting closer and closer just to take away this emotional pain and I was probably very selfish in the car to sit there and speak to my dad about letting me die, killing me, just stopping this emotional pain because I’m pretty damn sick of feeling like jumping off the bridge after feeling so euphorical. But in hindsight expressing these feelings so badly to my dad, sounding like a child about suicide probably made my dad upset. I think it’s just ever since the reality of me being mentally ill is that it is getting worse rather than better and that no, this isn’t something he can brush under the carpet, he’s been treating me differently. Hardly commenting on the things I say, treating my brother better than me. It could be that he can’t see the connection between my physical health and mental health and I’m pretty sure he still doesn’t believe this isn’t partly due to my mother and so he blames himself for not seeing through that situation quicker. I leave the car most mornings when in a mixed episode having sworn at him, called him many names and without saying ‘i love you’ even though he says it to me. But he frustrates me. I like to read about bipolar since the paid for pdoc said that was my most likely diagnosis and I have the symptoms and yadayadayada because then I know what is normal behaviour for each episode; as if we could call it normal. But my dad refuses to read even the NHS symptom list because he’s avoidant. I think that’s where I get this avoidant personality trait from. Which is fine with me. He said he wants me to explain it in my words because he understands it better that why but then I get ‘sciencey’ with chemicals, chromosomes. I think it’s hard for both parent and child when the child becomes smarter than the parent. I mean he’ll always be smarter than me at maths but I now check his letters for spelling and grammar, know a lot about science and anatomy. Anyway, I tell him. I explain this is an illness and that majority of behaviour he puts down to being “selfish” is mania. All the arguments we have are from a mixed episode and so is all the abuse I throw at him because I need to release my anger. Then the ignoring and the isolation is depression. But he treats me like I’m doing it all on purpose. I think though, the most frustrating thing is that for the arguably mundane, my dad puts my brother first. I’ve been needing my hair cut ever since I manically cut my hair and I’ve said this but he never makes an appointment. I’d make it myself but my dad would argue he couldn’t do it. He always tells me to hurry up in the bathroom because my brother’s desperate but never when I am because he believes I can hold it… I was in hospital for dehydration part of the reason why I shouldn’t do that anymore. It drives me crazy. I love my dad but it just seems the time he is more helpful than hindering are getting further apart.

I’m beginning to ruin my head sometimes because some of the things I do remind me of my mother, my face, my voice, some of my mannerisms. It’s sort of impossible that I wouldn’t inherit somethings as I am her daughter after all. I think that’s the worse thing about losing everything you once felt for a parent. Maybe that’s where some of this unconcious aggression comes in from my dad. I can make sure my personality isn’t like hers, which is difficult since we both suffer from the same illness but I can’t stop my physical apperance. I think that’s why I hate my face. I don’t hate it in a teenagery way. Too fat, too thin. I just think I look a lot like her and that scares me.

I’ve had a lot of auditory hallucinations today. More than ‘normal’. I had a few where my name was being called, a conversation that was too faint to hear and a guy singing but this was probably the weirdest thing. When I have music halluincations, it’s usually classic music that I’ve heard before but the guy singing, I didn’t recognise the song but I recognised the voice. I was in an empty corridor and so it was hallucinating. It was like a deja vu of the voice but I can’t place who the voice is, I just recognise it. It was funny, it was a cheerful song which makes a change from the hate I usually experience from these voices.

JLS wasn’t at school today. But I texted her about this boy, I may have mentioned him. Last week he randomly starts a philisophical debate with us about God and religion, Greek philisophers. I liked it. Finally found some intelligence. His friend was also intelligence but also realised that asking some year 11s about this who he didn’t know was crossing the social line. Today I saw him asking some year 10s who I presume he didn’t know due to their horror stricken faces and he was just asking them about nazis and history and I rather liked that. But anyway, I texted her and of course. I tell her I have found a male who doesn’t utterly scare me (not out of a mean way, just a psychological thing) and she assumes I want to “get on dat” whatever “dat” is. But I was confused because one week I want to fuck everything that moves and then this week I can hardly feel any sexual attraction towards anything. I go from bisexual/pansexual to asexual in the shortest amount of time. So I wanted to just have a serious conversation with someone about it because I just want one thing I am sure of. So I text my supposedly best friend. The conversation went like this:

Her: u could have him because ur both confident n smart n I’m sure you’d be good at harrassing people.Me: I’d be friends with him. That’s him.
Her: Okay…
Me: I meant that’s it.
Her: Ahhh sure 😉
Me: Serious I think I’m asexual.
Her: Haha x
Me: I’m not even joking. When I’m in a mixed episode or depressed. I’m just asexual. I am really serious.
Her: That’s epic xx
Me: How so?
Her: I have an asexual friend you coul have babies and I could babysit n u wundt have to bother about a man
Me: Well that’s not what asexuality is but point taken. It’s just frustrating because my sexuality changes with my moods so I have no idea what sexuality I am and it’s fucking frustrating. (I then send the wikipedia definiton of asexuality as a picture)
Her: ohhhh so ur like not bothered
Me: Well it’s not like that either. It’s complicated. I just know when I’m depressed I feel like this.
Her: Ok 🙂 xx

I was hoping for some support. I don’t have a support network outside the internet. I mean I do for panic attacks but for suidical ideation and just basically all the moods there is no one I can turn to and know for sure they’d help. Which is the worst part. Especially as my physical and mental health begin to deterioate. At the beginning my dad used to say he’d take me to hospital and I think it was a scare tactic because I wouldn’t admit anything was wrong with me but now he realises that if he took me to a hospital I’d most likely be admitted to a psych ward and I’m pretty sure he still carries the stigma of people in psych wards got when he was younger. I do feel it’d be the best place for me.

My dad rescheduled the appontment with my one and only psychiatrist. Guess when it is?Guessed?

28th of February. A month this Thursday. A month.
A month.
A month.

I doubt I’d last another freaking month. At this rate I’ll be in my late 80s before I will even start anti depressants.

Blood, drugs and rock and roll.

So yesterday wasn’t a great day. I wasn’t going to write a blog about it but I feel that if I’m going to be completely truthful on my blog I might as well tell you. My original plan that way was: get up, do dad’s eye drops, watch CSI whilst eating breakfast, get dressed, go shopping, come home, watch CSI, eat dinner whilst watch CSI, wait till dad goes to bed, revise some science, do my RE homework, attempt sleep, sleep, wake up, realise forgot to brush teeth, brush teeth, dad wakes up, Sunday starts and hopefully hypomania is more prominent.

That’s not how it went. Everything is the same up to watch CSI whilst eating breakfast. I continued watching CSI after breakfast and didn’t realise the time. Five minutes before we had to go my dad tells me we have to go. Not knowing the time I said “What? I’ve got 5 minutes before I have to get dressed?” He replied saying: “yes”. So after CSI finished I began listening to some rock and roll, well just one song before I had to get up and dad told me to hurry up. I then realised I had some emails so I told my dad to bring my clothes into my room so I could change. I usually wear the same clothes I wore on Friday on Saturday just because I don’t see anyone I know and I don’t see the point of only wearing clothes only one day. So I tell him every Friday not to wash them and usually he doesn’t because he forgets they are there but this week he told me he washed them. I don’t offer this as an excuse but I was in a mixed episode and lost my temper and told him how he doesn’t listen and how it’s just been in the last few weeks, just before everything with his eye. So he told me he didn’t want me to come and asked my brother to but my brother wasn’t dressed and said he would come but he’d have to get dressed but my dad lost his temper, went out the door and slammed it whilst shouting what bad children we are.

I was angry. I mean, punch a wall angry. But with the current state of my hands I managed to rationally think that if I was to punch a wall that’d be the end for my hands and so I needed to take this anger out. The thing is though, I usually take anger out on myself and it is on the rarest (and most horriblest) of occassion my anger stays onto another person. So I cut and I knew I was being weak but I cut and the anger went away and I felt happy again, hypomanic happy and this mood continued for a while until dad arrived home.

I went to get a chocolate bar and no one said anything. The next time I went to get a drink and this time I asked if he wanted his drops done because it was about this time and he said he didn’t as he’d done them himself and so I asked how long he was going to continue to be childish, he laughed in that way that says “have you looked at yourself recently?”. I calmly pointed out that I am 16 and can be childish. I’m really confused to how he feels bad about me not having a childhood but when I act the least bit childish now he thinks I’m the worst thing on the planet. Whilst I was arguing with him this searing pain came into the side of my head and I began to cry and dad told me not to “use that ploy” that ploy being crying to get him to forgive me. He doesn’t need to forgive me, I need to forgive him. So I yelled “Don’t think yourself so fucking lucky that I’d cry over you, I have searing pain in my head and a fever!” to which he told me to go lie down. So I did and amongst crying that the only people who care about me and I mean truly care are on the internet, I cried from the immense pain and fever and chills I was currently experiencing. So I did something arguably stupid. I got up took a migraleve (it’s a main to relieve migraines), went back to bed, no effect, so I figured I needed to sleep or at least relax. So I got up and took 7 2mg pills of diazepam. I was taken off the dose after no sleep effect at 6mg, so I was over double that. I’d done research on how much would kill me before and I’d need a lot so 14mg wouldn’t do my any harm. It just made me disorientated, little light on my feet and imitating the signs of intoxication. But it didn’t stop the pain, it did lower the fever. I took another migraleve and then my dad kept getting involved. I would get up for a drink, he would tell me to go back to bed, I went to the pill drawer and he kept asking what I’d taken (I told him the truth) and took two painkillers.

I don’t really remember every detail but I made a lot of comments about commiting suicide, my dad telling me that I sound just like my mother (which rather lends more evidence to the fact she has an undiagnosed mood disorder) and to me kicking my door open whilst lying on my bed so as to annoy my dad. By doing that he said “I really didn’t care about anyone but myself” to which I retort “I care about AB” < My brother. my brother, my internet friends and the mustered prospect of a future are the things keeping me alive. It’s hard to care for someone who is emotionally and mentally abusive. If anyone is this forsaken house is like my mother, it’s him. My biggest fear though is that my brother turns out like me. Whether he has the depression (not manic depression) like I had when I was younger, anorexia like I had, anxiety disorder which I have/had. I swear if that ever happened I would get my brother out of this house so fast. Only two and a bit years until I can leave for university.

Maybe We’ll Never Really Know.

How was everyone’s Christmas? I know a lot of people don’t technically count it as being over just yet and for you guys it’s probably not but for the people who aren’t spending it with families or don’t have Christmas decorations up, it is over.

How was my Christmas? Well, I had already bought my presents for myself so they weren’t wrapped up to open on Christmas day. I got some books including another copy of Alice in Wonderland, Sherlock Holmes books and The Perks of Being a Wallflower to replace the copy I lost. I got some DVDs, CSI and Sherlock and a lot of chocolate. But I spent most of the day in bed due to depression. I’ve been spending majority of days in bed due to depression. Today, my dad randomly says to me: “How do you cope?” I look at him rather quizically as I have no idea as to what he’s referring to. He says, “How do you cope not sleeping all night, doesn’t it drive you mad?” This is the first time I’ve actually been asked this question. “Yes. It does drive you mad. I sometimes survive it by watching things or going on the computer but at the end of it all I end up lying in my bed like I do everyday, letting those thoughts take over”. He then goes onto describe that he doesn’t sleep and that he IS depressed and then he mentions that someone on the TV says you should talk to someone about it and he goes onto apologise that, that person is always me. I felt bad for him, I’ve suffered through depression on and off for six years, I’m used to it. Plus I am mentally stronger than him and I wonder how long he will last. His depression is obviously environmentally caused but it leads me onto wonder: what if his depression gets like mine? There is no denying I have major depressive episodes and if his depression is allowed to fester, what happens when neither of us want to get out of bed? What happens when neither of us can function due to it all? It takes all the mental energy of both dad and I to get me out of bed on school days and if neither one can do it, where do we both end up?

I don’t know why I am having such an overreaction to this, I’ve known it for a lot longer than he was prepared to admit but just hearing him say it makes it all the more real. He heard on the TV that winter can be a factor and I begin to explain it can be and then I explain about SAD (seasonal affective disorder) and I lead him to believe it was winter and his eyes making him feel so bad. But he’s been abusing alcohol for a long time, he has depression but I’m praying it’s Dysthymia which I know sounds a harsh thing to wish but it’s better than thinking he will have major depressive episodes. I can’t help but feel like it is my fault. If you listen to sad things, watch sad things, you’re going to feel more depressed. If you have to sit and watch your child suffering with something that can’t be fixed easily and is something that tears them down but can’t be seen through xrays or MRIs and have to know what goes around in their head and you can’t do anything like my dad has to with me it’s bound to worsen any depressive feelings you have. Even JLS thinks she’s suffering from depression and I realise how self centred it is to say that the common denominater here is me, but it’s hard not to see it that way.

I keep feeling anxious recently and it’s very bad sometimes, a constant feeling of panic when there is nothing to be panicked about, I don’t think it’s good for my body because one day my body won’t react when it should do, which sounds ridiculous but I worry about that sometimes. It’s easy to predict but maybe we’ll never really know what to expect with anything and maybe that’s okay because if we knew everything all the time life would get utterly boring. Maybe ridiculous things and the insane keep us sane.

My dad is taking melatonin tonight, I still have some left and I’m not going to use them. I hope they work and so he sleeps, maybe he’ll feel better if he sleeps but I’ll be upset if they don’t. Especially as he’s taking 4, 2mg. So that’s 8mg. 4mg worked on my brother, I’m pretty sure 2mg would have worked on him. So I hope for everyone’s sake they work. I couldn’t bare another insomnic in the house.

I don’t recognise the face here in front of me.

My dad got my out of bed at 7am to put his drops in. His right eye was filled with blood, pure red. This shocked me, it’s supposed to happen but I just wasn’t expecting it. So I said “hold on, let me have a moment”, I got myself together and started putting in the drops. I got through two sets of drops and just this immense sense of nausea swept over me and I began to feel very woozy, so I quickly put in the other two and ran to the bathroom in case I was sick. I thought it was food poisoning or something because never in my life have I been that woozy at the sight of blood. Not even when my dad essentially cut the top of his finger off by a bicycle chain. I told my dad that I was feeling really ill and I was going back to bed. Dad then left for his check up. Everything is fine and is healing like it should be. I was in bed, with my phone on silent so I didn’t realise that a blocked number (it was actually my dad) was calling me, my brother did though. So when dad got home and his friend was waiting for us. I was pretty mad to find out I didn’t have time to get ready. Which considering I was anxious and depressed anyway, it wasn’t the best thing.

We got into the his car and he tried to make idle chit chat. I tried to continue it to dispell the awkwardness but it eventually went back to silence. Part of the problem was he was listening to music; his daughter singing in fact. She was a good singer but my brain is torn between social ettiqute and depression. Social ettiquete being to make small talk and depression making me want to curl up in a ball and not talk. I don’t see what is so wrong with uncomfortable silence.

My brother and I got out ourselves at the shop and we had to do it ourselves. I didn’t mind; we had a list. We started to shop. Shopping was overall the easy part. I didn’t anticipate how big the crowd was, I wobbled but I didn’t fall down (fall down meaning have a panic attack). I also have no upper body strength so I couldn’t control the trolley but we managed to get everything we needed and remember my dad’s pin code. So all in all it went well. I got my brother to ask about getting my prescription and going to do the lottery because I was just socially worn out.

I was walking past a mirror today and I stopped and I was staring in it, for just a few minutes. I was just dumbfounded, I didn’t recognise me. The tired eyes, the pale skin, the raggity clothes, the pulled back hair style. Just didn’t look like the me from several years ago. I don’t mean the anorexic one because actually they are all quite similar. I mean when I was 12/13, I just used to wear a headband and have long hair, I had colour in my cheeks and skin and my eyes weren’t THAT purple underneath. I don’t really pay close attention to anything when manic so there is no comparison there but it just honestly shocked me. There was a lot of sadness in my eyes and I recognised that and that probably scared me more than anything. I think the saddest part about my depression is that it makes me feel exactly like I did when I was younger and I remember how hard it was for me to recover from it last time but this time is different. It’s a deeper depression with high periods. I know I could make myself feel even slightly better, have a chance of doing something extrordinary if I could just get everything straight but I am off the deep end, just essentially all the time which is why I think my friends are sick of drowning in my sorrow which is why I feel like I’m doing them all a favour by cutting the ones I feel I hurt the most or the ones that hurt me the most (which tend to overlap) out. I figure, on new years day I just delete all the contacts on my phone of the people I no longer have interest in.

But overall today went better than expected. I have to do it next week though, so that sort of sucks. The only thing that has truely irritated me today is my left shoulder. I have problems with the muscles anyway but I’ve been having tingling in the shoulder and the top muscley bit, what’s that called again? I think it’s a trapped nerves. My back also hurts but I’m going to try and focus on the positives. Today went okay.

Side note: New chapter posted here:

And on my blog. Enjoy 🙂

Another update.

Dad is back from the hospital, he’s well. Has to go back tomorrow for a check up. He has 4 different drops. The procedure took longer than expected due to the 3 (instead of 1) scars on his eye balls, plus the cataracts took longer than they thought to get off. He was only supposed to be in the operating place for 1 hr and a half but he was there for 2 hours 20, so he felt it and instead of telling them he just left it. I was shocked when he told me that. Whether the operation worked is a game of time, but hopefully his sight will be fine.

Say it, don’t fake it.

I have a pile of books in my room. These books won’t fit onto a book shelf. There are 15 books in this pile. There are ledges that stick out. A ledge that has trading cards on. A ledge with some jewellery on. On top is a Christmas card and a fibre optic light. It wobbles a lot and inevitably it is going to fall down and I will have to pick it up and try again, each time trying to get the pile of books more stable. That’s how I picture my life at the moment. I wobble all the time and inevitably I will fall apart and then, at that point someone will try and put me back together and fix me, through medication and therapy. But this pile of books has held up against some tough forces and yet still stands strong but the likeliness is, it will fall to a small little touch.

You see why this is a good analogy for me, right?

My dad has gotten back from the hospital and his retina has basically unattached. But we were right, it was PVD that caused it. So he’s having surgery to reattach it and to remove the cataracts from that eye (they wouldn’t do the other one). So he’s going in at 11:30am and won’t be back till probably 4-7pm. I am worried just as I worry about everything but I have to be analytical with things like this and I’ve managed to get myself into a place where I worry if something goes wrong rather than what could go wrong. Otherwise I’m just building anxiety on anxiety and what use it that to me? What use is that to anyone? I’ve had to put depression in the cupboard in my head. It’s there but instead of wallowing in it, like I usually do (not out of choice), I’ve fought it so that it’s not hindering how I help. Being the one to keep everyone from losing it, is a job I’m accustommed to and I enjoy taking that role back occassionally. I miss it.

I’m was annoyed that I have missed so much of school. But, I don’t care. That saddens me that I’ve stopped caring. The depression could be to blame. It probably is but if it’s not and when I’m better, what do I do if that willingness to learn is still gone? I know that now, what I really want to do is to tour and inspire. Maybe join with a group that publizes mental illness.

Update on the dad situation.

My dad went to the GP and they did fit him in. They did checked his blood pressure which is 120/80 which is exactly perfect as it’s betwen low and high. Low being 100/80 and high being 140/80. If anyone wants to know, mine is 113/80 most of the time. Anyway, so then the doctor looked in his eye and the left eye (I think that’s the good one) is fine and the bad one (the right I think) isn’t so good, the doctor couldn’t see the back of the eye so told my dad to go to A and E, eye doctor thing. Due to the fact they put drops in your eyes to dilate the pupils, he wouldn’t be able to see so he had to get a taxi there and back. He’s still going, but it’s like A and E so it’s a long wait however, it is almost 3pm on a Wednesday afternoon so I doubt there is the queue you have on Friday, Saturday and sometimes Sunday night. Word of warning, don’t go to A and E on Christmas. Too many queues and ill people. But he should be okay, hopefully.

I just saw my dad cry.

There are two things I’ve never seen. Fairies and my dad crying. But after dinner, I went to put my plate on the side. Usually, I’d be too lazy. Too depressed to move. But I heard my dad on the phone and what with being paranoid… I had to listen. I went out, stole some chicken (yet I want my dad to put on weight) and sat and listened. He was talking to my older brother about when he goes into hospital for his eyes, he’ll look after us. His voice was breaking. He was drinking. Though not enough (not that he ever even has even when plastered) to cry. I went up and hugged him and then when he got off the phone, he started to cry. Like properly cry. He said: “I don’t want to go blind, take my leg but I don’t want to go blind”. I almost cried. It’s heartbreaking. Really it is…You all sense the ‘but’ don’t you?
The but starts with the bolded word “when”. He doesn’t know he’s going into hospital tomorrow, so keeping me off school, calling relatives, getting his “affairs” in order seems premature. It’s not like it’s a life threatening illness. I understand the crying. I’m supportive of that. I am not supportive of this dramatic persona he seems to have started. I want him to get his eyes sorted but it’s not like he needs emergency surgery. I don’t really think it’s likely he’ll go tomorrow due to hospitals being stocked up with major surgeries. But I get why he hopes there will be. I feel sorry for him and it broke my heart to hear the ol’ man cry. But what if this is all unwarranted? What if he doesn’t go and I’ve missed school and he’s worried TB for nothing? I don’t think I can tolerate him being like this. Or maybe I’m just heartless…

I’m needed again.

Chronological order time.

Sleep clinic

I went in and they asked me to fill in a survey as to whether I fall asleep or doze in the following scenorios. I put 0 for all. Then I had to get my height, weight and blood pressure done. Luckily, I’m developing a rash on my form arms so that masked the self harm. It basically boils down to “it is a massive problem” and what he said was that I have to wear this watch thing for 4 weeks which measures… something that will tell him whether I am moving, resting. I thought heart rate but apparently it can pick up if I’m sitting docile and just moving a little. But I’m not getting this watch until the end of January, so not a lot came from there.

I went to school, RE was boring. Maths was okay in the sense I didn’t do any work but bad in the sense I didn’t do any work. Then at lunch I talked to ND and she told me she gets pretty badly bullied for being a lesbian and it totally threw me because everyone I knew treated her well. In health, last lesson, my teacher asked why I hadn’t handed in my health and social slip for work experience, I told her my dad wouldn’t sign it and she took that to mean we hadn’t decided yet. Whatever makes her happy.

My brother didn’t go to school, still coughing like a smoker. I felt bad for him. But we had to leave to get into a taxi at 4:15pm and off to the hospital we went. We arrived at 4:45pm, signed in and I made my dad a hot chocolate, but no sooner had we sat down, my psychiatrist came out and said “Mr B” and here I thought the appointment was for me. We sat down and he complimented how well I had presented my mood diary. He hadn’t really read it, I could tell. He did some maths, adding up how long in those 3 months I was depressed, manic and mixed episodes. He drew a diagram. It was two lines, a Y and an X axis and drew a wavy line with the bumps not venturing far, he then drew one where the bumps went way down into the negatives but not much higher in positives and then he drew me. I went up and down to both high and low but with more low. He said that it was best he stopped treating me due to the complexity of my case and that I just work with CAMHS. But he said that if he were to treat me he would give me antidepressants making sure there was a support system in place in case I reached mania or if it made me worse and willing to commit suicide (a rare side effect) and then set me on with some mood stabilizers but since he is not treating me, he told me to tell them that I had a support system and wanted the antidepressants. I think I might just do that. He then asked if I had any questions.We know what I asked…
“What do you think the most likely diagnosis is?”
“Bipolar Mixed Affective Disorder” Not knowing what that was I researched…

I found this definiton: Affective disorder refers to a mood disorder such as depression. Basically when a person is exhibiting more symptoms of depression than is typical of an individual with bipolar disorder.I also found this one: “Rarely, some people show features of both mania and depression at the same time. They are hyperactive while experiencing depressive mood. Such patients are said to have a mixed affective disorder.”
“Bipolar affective disorder, mixed is a subcategory of the disorder featuring mixed episodes. A mixed episode is characterized by a period of a week or more in which the symptoms of both a major depressive episode and a manic episode are present daily. These episodes may last from a week to a few months. The individual may experience mixed episodes, manic and/or depressed episodes over the course of the illness. A mixed episode may develop from a manic or a major depressive episode, or on its own.

The DSM-IV-TR (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 4th Edition, Text Revision) adds the suffix “rapid cycling” to the diagnosis if the individual experiences four or more mood episodes (depression, manic, or mixed) during a twelve month period. The suffix “with seasonal pattern” applies to bipolar affective disorder when the depressive component is temporally related to the season of the year (i.e., fall or winter). The suffix “with” or “without Interepisode Recovery” may also be applied.

A mixed episode may include anger, panic attacks, agitation, anxiety, restlessness, suicidal thoughts, persecutory delusions, hallucinations, and confusion. This disorder is not a result of drug abuse, a side effect of a prescription medicine, or a medical disease such as hyperthyroidism.

There is no single proven cause but the disorder is thought to be a biochemical problem related to lack of stability in transmission of nerve impulses in the brain. This biochemical imbalance makes individuals with bipolar affective disorder more vulnerable to emotional or physical stress.

Risk: Bipolar affective disorder can present at virtually any point across the life span but mixed episodes are more common in younger individuals and individuals over the age of 60. Bipolar affective disorder is a heritable biologic illness with occurrence higher in relatives of individuals with the condition. The presentation and course of bipolar affective disorder differs between women and men, depending on the subtype of the condition. The onset of the disorder tends to occur later in women than men, and women more often have a seasonal pattern for any depressive component. Mixed episodes may be more common in males than females. Women with bipolar affective disorder have an increased risk of experiencing additional episodes in the immediate postpartum period (DSM-IV-TR; Thase).

Incidence and Prevalence: Estimates of the lifetime prevalence of bipolar affective disorder from two major community surveys of the general population of the US vary from 1.0% to 1.6% of adults (Keck).”

“Causes of bipolar affective disorder

The exact reasons why you may develop bipolar affective disorder aren’t fully understood at present.

There are some factors that may make you more likely to develop bipolar affective disorder.

  • Having a close relative with bipolar affective disorder I may increase your risk. If your mother, father, brother or sister has the condition, you may be up to nine times more likely to get bipolar affective disorder I and up to five times more likely to get bipolar affective disorder II.
  • Stressful events, such as the breakdown of a relationship or physical illness, may cause bipolar affective disorder episodes.
  • Problems with how your nerves in your brain work.
  • A chemical imbalance in your brain.
  • Emotional damage caused when you were a child, such as physical, sexual or emotional abuse.”

So much research…

That sounds right. I was happy how it went but not happy I wouldn’t see him again and was stuck with CAMHS pdoc.

It lost £45 to get there and back in a taxi.

As for my title as I now include them. My dad and brother need me and that washes the mixed episode back. My dad’s other eye began to show lights and now we worry that one’s going to0. But he is going to the doctor tomorrow. He actually did make an appointment at the private hospital for January but it’s become a forefront issue. My dad might then have to go to A and E according to the eye doctor he briefly spoke to privately. My brother is off school tomorrow anyway becase he’s still ill but I am going to school; mainly for sociology. So if my dad is taken to A and E, then it’s just a long process in which to get home. Get on one bus, go into town and then get on another one to go to another town, walk from there whilst ringing my older brother and telling him to come pick my brother and I up. But he’s hardly going to be rushed to A and E in a car ambulance. I think, like me, my father has a flair for the dramatic.

Also check out:

I have reuploaded the first chapter, the rest of the chapters will be up there as well as on here and there will also be some extra short stories.

Paint me rage.

Okay. This is going to go chronologically rather than in order of what everyone would like to hear first.

I went to school. School was okay. I did a lot of health work in the library, I also have to do my personal statement for sixth form so Miss can check it over the weekend but I do also have to finish my course work so that sucks. Lots of work to do. We then had biology. I like biology. We did respiration; it’s interesting. We finished watching this movie about discrimination against black people (sorry if that offends anyone but it’s okay to say ‘black people’ in England) in the 1960s and the discrimination of that time period, the ku kluck klan etc. But I left before the video ended as I had CAMHS appointment.

As you can see I have cut down that story considerably because I know what you lovely lot want.
We drove to camhs.

We got there. I was angry, frustrated and anxious. One guess as to what period I was in…
MIXED! WHOO! no. No, whooing.
Anyway, we got in and I was cold. Which enhanced the shaking from anxiety. We went into the waiting room. The waiting room contains a lot of baby toys, I sat by the radiator, we hadn’t even been there two minutes and he says: “I’m bored” -_-He started watching this tutorial on how to text on an old nokia phone. He was annoying me, so I walked to the other side of the road and grabbed the “where’s Wally?” book. For those of you unfamiliar with that book is you have a crowd of people and have to find just one called Wally, google it for more details. Our appointment was at 3pm. I didn’t want to go and I said that. My dad said that if the pdoc doesn’t come by 3:05pm then we will leave. The pdoc came in before 5 minutes past 3. My dad and brother were told to wait there and I was led into a room with a psychiatric nurse and the man who came to get me was the psychiatrist. It started with plesantries. “hello”, “how are you?” etc.

Okay, so he had the notes from before so he didn’t need to ask everything again. He started with sleep. How long I slept. Why I didn’t sleep. Fairly standard questions.
The psychiatric nurse chirped in several times but she had to leave quarter to 4, that’s how she started off the meeting.
But I had an attitude. I was frustrated and angry.
So he asked how long I slept a week, roughly 5-10 hours. He said “a day?” I answered with a “no, a week” which was met with a surprised look. I ended up shrugging a lot because how do I didn’t feel like answering his questions. He didn’t like the fact I kept saying “well maybe it was subconcious because I was certainly not aware of it”. He then asked how sleep deprivation affected my life. I basically just said the biggies: concentration, memory, hand eye coordination skills and math skills. He just couldn’t believe how I looked and acted on such little sleep. I didn’t like his tone. His tone implied he didn’t believe me. I didn’t like it. As a health professional he should know everyone reacts different to everything. Some people can survive two months without food, while some can only last two weeks. So I can survive on an hour a night sleep. If he’s not going to believe me then what’s the point? He kept asking why i didn’t get help for the insomnia. I honestly thought it would pass. It passed before. I also said it was too much “drama” to do it. That I wasnt worth it. Remember, I was in a mixed episode. I was upset. I was angry. Shaky. I wanted out.

One of the more angering and memorable moments was:
The psychiatric nurse says to me: “Have you researched what your mood swings could be?”
I said: “I researched a bit when the doctor told me to research bipolar disorder but it sounded too like me so I stopped”
The psychiatric nurse smiled and got where I was coming from. The psychiatrist said: “That happens with many psychology students, they learn about all these mental illnesses and think they have them all” which in my mind is basically implying he believes I read it on the internet and applied it to myself. But I developed the mood swings and was TOLD to research. You can’t just make it up.

The only thing holding my decorum together was the psychiatric nurse. But she left, I moved the table to the side that was seperating me from the psychiatrist so she could get out and by this point I had give my mood diary and she said she’d read it again.

The psychiatrist really just couldn’t grasp basic points. I was angry and that anger came through in quick, harsh, sarcastic comments. He focused on sleep for 50mins and then brought my dad in and my dad said “obviously I’m worried about the moods, I just wish she could sleep”. I pulled a face. My dad sensed I was annoyed and frustrated. He said “you okay?” I said “I’m fine, just frustrated”.

The psychiatrist said that since the diazepam didn’t work, he was going to prescribe me melatonin 2mg. Which I already knew regulates your circidan rhythm and comes from your pituary gland. He gave us some information sheet with the side effects. One being headaches. I wonder whether it’ll affect my migraines. We’ll have to see. He said any side effects, stop taking them and tell him. I have to take them every night. But before he could give them to me. He had to take my blood pressure and check my heart. Problem arises. So I manage to adjust myself so that my right arm (the one with the less scars on) is the one the psychiatrist can get without asking me to move. He asked me to take off my cardigan/jumper. I did. I was wearing this thin, purple, long sleeved top underneath and I thought to myself “yes, he can just take it over it”
He told me to roll my sleeve up, I did keeping my wrist under the desk as whilst it isn’t as scarred as the left one, the scars are in crosses and aren’t explainable. But he said that rolling it up made it tight so to roll it back down and he’ll take it over the top though it won’t be as accurate. He then got me to lie down whilst he listened to my heart through a stephascope. Not to alarm or accuse but he spent an awful long time keeping that stephascope on my left breast above my heart. Either he couldn’t get a heart beat or something was just… off. Still shaking. He asked why. He said was I cold. I said I wasn’t and that it’s just a mix of frustration and anxiety.

Everything seemed fine and he gave the presciption and we made an appointment for next Tuesday.

So my overall opinion is: I don’t like him. I don’t like the way he implied everything was sleep related when neither of us are sure what started first. He made out it was all in my head these mood swings and that I’d just applied the mental illness that sounded closest. His attutide wasn’t very nice. I didn’t like the fact he said not to talk about mood swings. His constant need to end his sentences with “isn’t it” annoyed me. No, he will not be my psychiatrist much longer.

It was then off to the doctors. On the way there, I was upset, irritable and dad couldn’t see as it was like 4:15pm and it had gotten dark so my dad couldn’t see. I started a conversation with “He wouldn’t let me talk” my dad told me to talk to him when he was on safe roads. So when we got onto the roads my dad knew I started the sentence again “he wouldn’t let me talk” and my dad thought I said “you won’t let me talk” and snapped at me, we argued. I didn’t talk to him after that. Due to the fact it was the time most people were going home from school and work there was a lot of traffic so I had to hop out the car and run so we didn’t miss the appointment. As it happens he was running 30mins behind. Our appointment was at 5:10pm. During the waiting, my dad went to get the melatonin but the person said it wouldn’t be in till Tuesday. it’s quite specialized so it’s hard to get. Then my dad got a phone call from my sister and had to go outside to take it. The call was about my sister had bought him a car. My dad was grateful. But a little bit pissed off as it means my aunt contacted my sister to tell her and my sister just bought it without consulting anyone. I get obviously. What with mania an’ all.

So since we got melatonin there was no point to up the dose. My doctor gave me drops for my ear. Migraleve for migraines.
So here’s how my pill schedule will go for the next few days:
Morning with breakfast: iron, vitamin D, allergy (possibly) and ear spray.
Home from school: Spray
Night: Melatonin.

With migraine tablets intersparsed.

Then my dad and I got in another argument.

Turns out that I have to either eat or sleep. If I don’t eat, sleep deprivation really shows through.

So camhs was bad. We are going next Tuesday, possibly for the last time. My dad said he’s willing to pay, he’ll borrow money if need be. I don’t think he understands how frequently I’ll need it.

I will put some pictures on the new blog in a few moments. Bear with 😉

Monday: Story Time: My mother.

Once upon a time…

Kidding! This isn’t a fairy tale and it is completely non-fiction. Here goes. Remember: if you’re sensitive to these sorts of stories, please don’t read.


So my mum and dad were never married. From what I can gather from what I’ve heard (which is mainly from my dad), my mum wanted a girl and well she got one but after I was born my dad proposed and she said no. Only using him to get a girl (they had my brother as well, my little one but that’s a whole other story). So my mum started having me during the week and my dad had me at weekends. But my mum would stop that whenever she felt like getting back at my dad. So I was used at this sort of weapon from a young age.

Anyway, she used to just give me to my dad sometimes when she wanted to go out and pick up men and stuff. Then my brother was born and she used to chuck us both out. Basically when I say chuck out, she’d put us outside and lock the door. One of the ones I remember the most, well two. One is when she left us out and it was getting dark and my brother was quite young and he was getting scared and I have 60p in my pocket and bought two lollies from the ice cream van (because in those days you could buy stuff quite cheap). We ate them and wait for our dad to arrive either I’d call him on my mobile for just such an occassion (I was given a phone about the age of 5 incase this sort of thing happened). Our dad lived about 30-45mins away, which couldn’t be helped because his place was lovely but it meant we had to wait in the cold. The other time is that mum and I were arguing so I used the landline to call up dad, I snuck the phone book out her bag and rang him and whispered that he should come fetch us. Then when mum and I began arguing again, I told her and she cried and started playing some ridiculous song to which this day I can’t listen to and crying over me and stuff. Then dad came and I left which my brother.

So you’re starting to get the picture. Well this story is mainly about why ALB and I now live with our dad. The story really starts abotu 6-8months before the event.

Basically, I gave my mum a choice: me or her boyfriend. She picked her boyfriend over me. She always needed a boyfriend. I told her he used to hit me. She didn’t believe me so I went to live with my dad but my brother stayed. I lived with my dad, I missed my brother and he missed me. So with the promise that my mum’s boyfriend was gone and that things would be different and that I’d live with ALB again and be able to protect him, I went back. But if ALB wasn’t living there, I probably would not have gone back.

So I went back. But want to know what I learnt several months later? When I walked into that house HE was there! My parents manoevered me around the house so I wouldn’t see him. My dad was concerned with keeping the peace and he didn’t know what had gone so I, out of logic forgave him.

Anyway after that my mum and I had arguments everyday. She drank a lot of brandy. Doors slammed, words were said and she always hated me for being able to best her in an argument and she’d just swear, lock herself in her room, drink brandy and ignore me for days before one of us had to apologise, but we were both stubborn. Anyway, she began to slap me a lot. Sit (that’s right ladies and gents. Sit not hit) and punch my brother. But she always made the excuse she was ill. Like hell she was. Well she was but not enough for it to be an excuse.

Anyway, ALB and I went to live with our dad again but mother said let’s go on holiday and try and sort this thing out. It was a typical English holiday to a place like Butlins. Well, the setting was. The night after we got there we did what we do on majority of holidays. My brother, me and my dad would go to the arcade and just waste a lot of money on stuff, the funnest part was the two penny things where you put a two penny in and it would get caught and it push the other two pennies knocking two pennies or a prize into the box underneath. My mother never came, usually she’d stay in the caravan watching big brother (and she wonders why I was a daddies girl). But this time, she walked the dogs and due to a miscommunication or whatever we didn’t turn up to buy her a drink (she couldn’t get it herself because she had dogs) and so when we got back to the caravan, there was a big argument and my dad left and we were there with her. But she would not let it go. Remember I was about 10-11 and my brother was about 7-8 then. She’d remind us in any argument. I’m not going to lie, some of it was fun. At the end of the week, dad picked us up because he wasn’t going to let down his children just because of her. Then my brother and I were stuck in a bad situation because neither of us wanted to hurt anyone’s feelings. Long story short, we stayed with our mother.

Anyway the next few months were just filled with arguments and just bad stuff. I’ll give you another example of her fabulous parenting. Just before I get to the main part.

In the Christmas holidays of 2008 (when all this was taking place) we went to town. Mother, me and my brother. Now I don’t care which country you come from, if your county celebrates Christmas and you go to town in the Christmas holidays, it’s busy and you risk dying. But we went and we went to Primark (as well as a bunch of other shops) which is VERY cheap clothes shop, I learn in the next few years why but I digress. Now Primark is busy on the best of days, it has two levels and the lines are always long and my brother and I were joking about. We got bored. Our feet were hurting so we were hiding in the clothes and all my mother wanted was leggings. But she lost her temper and left. We then got in an argument and we got on the bus on the way home. The next day, my mother gives me some money for McDonalds, leggings and bus fair and make me, aged 12 and my brother aged 9 go to town, at Christmas, on our own. Some of you may say: Fuckin’ hell you’re 12. Grow up. But in our country it’s not really accustommed for anyone under the age of 14 to go to town on their own. So we went. It was fun. We went to Claires and got some Christmas earrings, got the leggings and went to Mcdonalds. Anyway, by the time we were getting on the bus it was about 7pm and it was dark. We were a few miles away from our bus stop when the bus stops and everyone is asked to get off because there is a smell of cannabis on the bus, so people are left standing in the cold. So they’e checking people’s tickets but my brother and I had lost ours but the bus driver let us off and the plan was to get another bus. But the other bus broke down. So we decided to walk it. It was far, dark and cold but I just had to get my brother home in one piece. As we were walking, I tried on my earrings and my brother played with the toy he had gotten and we walked home. We got home around 9ishpm and our mother just took the leggings and said thanks.

Anyway, main part:

So it was February 2009. Wednesday. I was ill because I had been playing in the snow the day before. I can’t remember if I had the day off or we just didn’t go. Anyway, I caught a chill in my back because the coat I wore kept riding up. So I wasn’t going to school. So I was asleep (yes, I did used to sleep). When I heard shouting so I went to see what it was and I saw my brother just playing on his PS2 (or some such console) and my mother was yelling. So I asked my brother: “what happened?”
He said that she wanted him to walk to school in wellington boots but he didn’t want to walk or go in wellington boots but then he said that he would walk but didn’t want to go in wellington boots. Anyway, I got involved and finally got my brother to agree to wear the wellington boots but she said “no you’re not going now”. It’s school. Not a fun extra curricular activity. At that point, I gave up and went back to bed. At about midday I was woken up and she told me to hurry up and get dressed because we’re going shopping. So I did and as we were driving she called ALB a (I really do want to apologise for the language and I mean this in no way offensively), she called him a: cunt. (Sorry). Which made me mad. I wasn’t a naive child. I knew what swear words meant and I knew the ones you should and should not say: bitch, bastard and fuck being okay. Twat and cunt being bad (sorry). So I took over the argument from my brother. Now the usual shopping route is we park down this road, go to the shops on this street (like a high street but not) and then do the big shop at Tesco. But the usual road she parked on was full so we had to park in the car park of the park which was at the bottom of the road she usually parks on. We got out and she is just continuing this rant! So I stop by a tree and she carrys on walking, she turns around and says “what you doing?” I told her that I refused to be shouted out down the street like I was some idiot, so she either stopped it or she didn’t. She walked on. I got on the phone to dad and basically said “prepare yourself, think she’s gonna chuck us out again”. Anyway, she came back and told us to come but when she saw I was on the phone, she walked off. So we went on the park itself and we saw her walk to her car and drive off but not before telling us to walk home. So we called dad but he lived half an hour away. So we were left on an empty park, full of snow with the only company being a druggie who worked at the nearby shop. She came back once. To swear at us and say her peace. Anyway, 10mins passed. I was ill. We were both cold and the benches were covered in snow so we couldn’t even sit down. Which is when I said that we could go wait in a shop and when dad came, if we ate anything, he could pay for it. I would of liked to see how that would happen. But people were a hell of a lot more trusting 3/4/5 years ago. But as we were walking up we saw dad’s car pull in so we went in his car and got Mcdonalds.

But that wasn’t the last time we saw her. She rang TEN days after the fact about school clothes. Dad went to pick them up. A few weeks later we went round to pick up some stuff because she and dad agreed that when she phoned to say the police had phoned her (see that story on Wednesday (I think)). We went and we stuffed as much in our bags as we could. The rest of it would be picked up later in black bags by my dad. All my stuff would smell of weed and smoke. The weed is courtesy of the half brother I have on my mum’s side who I no longer consider my brother. I didn’t like him anyway. Think he didn’t like me because mum wanted a girl, not a boy. Plus she chucked him out the house on a permanent basis at age 14.

In September when all the other drama in my life had settled down we met at this pub. Now I didn’t want to be there and neither did ALB but dad persuaded us so we went. She tried to kiss and hugs us but we pulled away, you might think that’s mean but we were still mad! We sat and ALB and I used any excuse to leave the table. One of the excuses for me was I needed the bathroom. So I went but didn’t need to do anything, so I fidgeted with stuff. Took a facebook profile picture – yes I was the girl at that age. Which is then when my mother came in. She started telling me how she had the fiancee and how we should go on holidays together.
I told my dad everything when we left and he wasn’t happy.

At this point you might be thinking: I know what she did was bad but she is sorry and in previous posts you said she might be mentally ill.

Well, maybe if we continued with seeing eachother every other Saturday, things might have gotten back on track. But then these things happened.

At this point I was at highschool and ALB was at primary school and it was a 15minute drive so we were often late to get him but he didn’t mind. He’d hang with his friends or hang in the shops and then beg us for match attaxs because they were the in tradable card and it wasn’t the worst system in the world. But one day, he got in the car and said “mum was at teh gate and started kissing me in front of my friends” – well done to her for knowing just how to embarass her spawn.
I was sitting in the front and there was a knock at the window, I turned and didn’t believe my eyes. It was my idiotic brother and mother. They told dad to give mother back her few grand. Now my dad had it for I dno really, legal reasons for my mother and my dad was refusing to give it back till child support was arranged. When I was living with my mother she got £200 a month plus money off the government because she had told them we had an ‘absentee father’ and she refused to pay anything. So my dad said that he’ll keep that money and she never has to pay. Anyway, my dad drove off and I got angry because my friends and my brothers friend’s saw. She chased us round the country till my dad got out and threatened (he wouldn’t of done it) to smash the car so they drove off.

Now this is getting rather long so the highlights:

After that we went to court to get a no contact order. We got no direct contact but indirect contact such as letters were allowed. Not like you could stop in anyway. But after 2-3 years of going through courts and cafcass we got it reduced to only a birthday and christmas card.

She came to my school several times, pissing me off and embarassing me. She also did that to ALB.

She and her fiancee tried to chase us on the way to school so they could prove we didn’t live where we said we did and so dad gave them a tap and there was no damage but next time in court there main concern was getting money to repair the car.
There is more but who has the time to read all that.

Current feelings: I nothing her. I don’t miss her. I don’t hate her. I really just never want to see her. Like she’s a stranger to me. So am I upset about it? No, I can honestly say I am not.

Depression and Illness

Now depression itself is an illness and it’s an illness in bipolar as well. But when one realizes they are depressed or even gets diagnosed with any mental illness with depression in it, you think when you realize you have it about how it will affect everything from school to mornings. But my immediate thought wasn’t “how will I feel when depressed and ill?”

If you’ve yet to experience this little gem, I will tell you how I felt: bloody awful.

So when i first got ill, I did go up a bit. Like my body was saying: “Bless ya, kid. Feelin’ all ill, I’m gonna lift that awful depression a bit so you can tackle this darn illness” – yes, my body (or at least the chemicals) are somewhat southern or northern. I don’t know many stereotypes.

So it turns out I have laryngitis.
Hold back on the ‘aws’.
Because today my flu has come out. Worst part? It’s inflammed my gum (which wasn’t fully better and just needed those lovely white blood cells to deal with the little infection left) which also goes the same for my ear. My ear luckily isn’t crackling, just feels a bit full. The flu with laryngitis.

But now, my depression is back to bad and I’ve been feeling suicidal which is the worst possible feeling when you feel like ‘death warmed up’. So feeling sucidal is awful, lying there listening to your mind count the number of ways you can kill yourself and it convinces you that it’s better than being in such awful pain. For a moment, I believed it. At that moment, I pulled myself out of bed, went to the bathroom, washed my face, brushed my teeth, redid my plaits in my hair and I felt a little better and then I said to myself that lying in bed dwelling on this awful illness is pointless and if I’ve got nothing to do, I should go and blog about it. Which you can see I’m doing.

My dad always said that the flu has always “takes 3 days to come, 3 days to stay and 3 days to come” and so far I’ve found that to be true.

I’ve got orthodontist on Wednesday, but I’m not infecting other people when there is no need, so if I’m not better, than I refuse to go. My brother has a sleepover tomorrow so he is out of the way and might avoid my flu. But if my dad gets it (which he probably will), he will do nothing but moan. Then he’ll drink alcohol and this cough medicine thing. Having a cold only gives him an excuse to drink. Every other day he just hides it, like I’m stupid not to know the diffence between him being sober and him being drunk. He drinks when he’s in pain and gives me evil looks or moans when I take pain pills. I’ve never heard anyone die from taking two parcetmol every couple of days. I have heard them die from a drink every few days.

At nights, I hear both my dad and brother sleep talking. People sleep talk when they’re worried. I used to sleep talk when I was depressed and anorexic and my stress handling system hadn’t fully formed yet. I mean I might sleep talk if I slept, currently I’m sleeping two hours. Which means I get two hours break from this awful pain! I digress, but obviously sleep talking usually means stress. I could sort of understand my dad’s stress. Buncha kids, court things (explained in tomorrow’s blog), me and other grown up stuff. But I sit in my bed wondering what my brother’s stress is. I hear majority of his xbox live conversations and the only bad or worrying thing I heard was he fell out with his friend. I don’t know, maybe he’s more worried about things like his GCSEs next year then he lets on.

I sometimes worry that I overshadow him. I have a mental illness, I get ill a lot, I’m doing my GCSEs now and hence will be the first girl (possibly person) to go to university etc. So he doesn’t get as much attention as he deserves. I also worry (though it is a silly worry as it only seems to be on the girl geneline that things go wrong) that my brother could develop a mental illness. But we wouldn’t notice it because of me. Unless he developed the same sort of bipolar in which case we probably would be the chance of that is small. Maybe this whole paragraph is mute.

So tomorrow is the start of the comically named and downplayed “Story Time” and I’m not going to lie, if you’re sensitive to upsetting stories then best not to read it. I’ll try my best to downplay it as usual and make quips and jokes, but at the end of the day it could be considered a trigger (more than my usual blogs) so don’t read it my blog for all of next week if you are triggered by such stories.