All The Little Pieces Falling Out Of Place

Two nights ago, I was "the new one." The "where is the new one's dinner tray?" The "why are you here, are you from Christchurch, how old is your baby?" The New One.

Because two nights ago, just hours after my last blog, I was sitting in my therapists office, sobbing uncontrollably, unable to stop my nails from digging deeper into my arms, begging her to put me in hospital.

And here I am.

"This ward is sad. I'm sure people will think I'm a snob becuase I've shut muself away in my room. It's hard to make something so sterile and dated look - let alone feel -  homely. But I'm really trying.
Maybe that's the point, so you don't want to stay here? Amongst the word down carpet, the scratched and dented walls, or the old fashioned cots, some steel some flakey paint white.
They've decorated the walls with Winnie The Pooh Decals, but somehow that just seems to exacerbate the overall sense of despair." 07.04.14

It was an unexpected ending to a very planned out day, ending up here. An inpatient in a mental health ward. I actually couldn't tell you how it happened. Except that it did.

I was home from respite. I was excited to be there. I was loving Bean lots. I was excited about all the changes to our lifestyle we were starting to make. We were going to eat healthier, have screen free bedrooms, hire a cleaner once a week, get some help with Bean by hiring a Nanny or finding some daycare.

Everything was going to be all right.


The next morning I woke up with a masterpiece in my head. A book on par with the Da Vinci Code. It was going to be the book of the year. A thriller to defy all thrillers to date. It was going to be a movie within six months of its (imminent) release. I was going to win a Pulitzer. An Oscar. And of course, Ellen was going to star in it.

I couldn't wait to get writing. I wasn't exactly sure what I was writing, but I had a killer opening sentence and a fairly-solid-almost-completish idea for the story itself. But first, I had to write a blog. I needed to reassure everyone that I was ok after my weekend of melancholy poetry uploads. I also had to attend my stroller fitness class because I'd booked and paid for it. Besides, fitness is good for your mental well-being, it gives you endorphins, it makes you happy. And wasn't happy my goal?

I only lasted 20 minutes into the session.
I couldn't keep up with the other mums. I suddenly realised how tired I was. I suddenly found myself biting back tears.

That was all the warning I had, before my happy morning clouded over so fast, that I didn't have time to catch it.

I've been here three days now. My moods are cycling so rapidly I can barely catch a breath. I thought I'd be super visual with y'all and draw a diagram so you can understand a bit better.

This graph is not an exaggeration I'm sorry to say. It really is that fast, and the moods really are that extreme.

Since this time last week I have had my medications played round with in ways I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. I've had increases in Lorazepam (Ativan). "Take half a tablet. Try two. Oh, lets just say 3mg shall we, feel better yet?" 

I've had decreases in Fluoxetine (Prozac) "Been on it seven years, you say? Well, clearly it's not working. Let's stop it now shall we?"

I've flirted with Quetiapine(Seroquel). "12.5mg not putting you to sleep? Ok, take 25mg. Still not working? ok, 75mg. You were awake till 2am with restless crawling arms and legs? Ok, lets try 150mg. Oh wait - you seem to be reacting badly let's take you off it."  Thanks.

Started Sertraline (Zoloft). "Just a little at first, to counteract the withdrawals from the Fluoxetine, then we will increase it as needed."

Started Risperidone. "Now, this is similar to Quetiapine, but not the same. It is an antipsychotic, but no one is saying your psychotic. You're definitely not psychotic. 1mg?or half? Let's try half."

I've been experimental with Zopiclone. Half a tablet, one tablet, two tablets. Addicted. Try sleeping without it NOW HAHAHAHA.

It's no wonder I am a sleepless, scratching, nauseated, anxiety ridden, suicidal, elevated mess.

At least I managed to convince my charge nurse to include watching Ellen as part of my treatment plan. (My distress over the no TV before 5pm rule was not healthy).

I worry so much about the impact on Bean. 

I try to get someone else to take her if I'm about to start crying or if I am thinking of killing myself. But at the same time I worry that she is scared, I worry that she doesn't know where she is, that perhaps she is worried about me.

I worry that I don't know when this will get better or if this time I will even make it through. 

It is hard to keep going when you don't know where the light at the end of the tunnel is. 

It's hard to trust others and forgive myself when pieces of me are falling away and I am supposed to be the one person Bean can rely on.