TW FOR SH, SUI & BEREAVEMENT OF PARTNER
I think it’s fair to say, I don’t do things by halves. When I ride the bipolarcoaster, I do it big time. I do it in style. What I have realised without any doubt since my last post is that I was on an almighty high at the time of writing. I was aware of that to some degree at the time, but with hindsight, I can see it oh so clearly, in all its embarrassing glory. I spent a fortune on who-knows-what, and put myself in situations that just make me cringe in the cold light of day. That’s beside the one-nighter with Matt, that I’m still not sure how I feel about that even now. What I do know is I was definitely more taken with him than he was with me, and he hasn’t even had enough respect for me to be honest about that. We’ve had one text conversation in the six weeks since we got together. I’m torn between feeling I deserve better, and just missing him. It feels like a loss in my life, and as I know fully well, I don’t cope with loss.

After around 5 weeks of being hypomanic, I gave my nurse a call to keep him updated. He was concerned how high I had become and low long it had been going on for. Shortly after my psychiatrist phoned and she wanted me to reduce my antidepressant and increase the low dose antipsychotic I take, just a little. I protested about this at the time. The antipsychotic has a hugely sedating effect on me, even in tiny doses, pretty much sending me straight to sleep. My doctor reassured me these effects would definitely lessen with time though, and a few days of rest after an exhausting hypo phase wouldn’t do me any harm. I agreed at that point, but soon found taking them during the day completely unworkable. I could literally do nothing, and certainly wouldn’t have remotely considered driving whilst on the increased dose. I spent an irritable period of being in a mixed mood, and also suffered much increased anxiety, probably due to the reduction in the antidepressant, and even suffered new psychotic symptoms I’d not had before. It was horrible. And then things got worse. After about six weeks of being the highest I’ve experienced since starting on a mood stabiliser, I began the rapid, desperate descent into the abyss of crippling depression. I was unprepared, even though I know how the old adage of ‘what goes up must come down’ applies to my bipolar disorder, and suddenly I felt like my life was unraveling around me. Again. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to that sinking sensation and the chaotic, blind panic that ensues, as inability to function sets in.

My teenage son, who is in foster care, visits me on a Sunday and stays overnight. I considered speaking to social services and cancelling his stay, due to the severity of my depression, but concerned how that may affect our contact in the long term, so I gathered up every bit of strength I could muster and went ahead with things. I endeavoured to make the weekend as simple and stress free as possible to give myself the best chance of coping. It took huge effort, but we went to church on the Sunday morning. I enjoyed the time of worship, however when it came to the preach, I fell apart. Our friend with CF was talking about his experiences of being in the ITU, and his photo came up on the PowerPoint with tubes, lines and monitors everywhere. He said, “I know it’s horrible, but imagine a loved one of yours in that position.” I started to panic. I didn’t need to imagine. I only had to remember; this was exactly how my husband’s life ended. I felt my son’s hand on my right arm. I felt my friend’s hand on my left arm, but that familiar tightness in my chest and inability to take a deep breath sent me racing out of the hall, tears flooding down my face. 

I have spent the best part of the last 2.5 years trying to come to terms with the fact that despite my love for him, my husband was controlling and emotionally abusive to me, and it has actually been the major focus of my time in counselling with RASAC, in the context of how my childhood abuse has caused my vulnerability to being abused in this way as an adult. It has created massively confusing mixed emotions, as I have never stopped loving my husband, and in fact has hindered my progress in counselling as expressing feelings of anger about the abuse is key to beginning to deal with it and move forward.

In fact my anger has been so repressed I have been absolutely terrified to attempt to get in touch with it. I am petrified of conflict. I will literally run from it, or hedgehog-style create my own prickly defences to protect myself. When faced with anger I can not run or hide from, my outlet has primarily been self harm or destruction of inanimate objects. Counselling almost ground to a halt because of my reluctance to face my anger towards my husband. I essentially had my counsellor saying that my nurse and the mental health team should be picking up the pieces of my emotional fall out, and the MH team passing responsibility back to RASAC and me. It seemed like my allotted 6 months of counselling was going to end before I’d achieved what I knew I needed to do to heal. I was devastated. I have only ever been able to safely express anger as a psych inpatient on a 1:1 basis with an experienced, trusted nurse, and there is no way I would qualify for a hospital bed in this day and age. I’m just not ill enough. And the fact I have insight into my illness works against me, it seems.

But there was something about seeing the photos of our friend in ITU that opened up the floodgates of grief, and I have cried for Andrew more recently than any when in those last 2.5 years. It also started a series of flashbacks to the night he died, from resus, then ITU that I have really struggled to cope with. The sense of loss was increasing.

I can’t begin to express the intensity of mental pain I have felt recently. I even cut myself one night, after a year of managing not to. That was gutting in its own right as I felt an utter failure again. I have had to call the out of hours and shared care teams frequently. When I saw my nurse last week he had this look about him of someone who really wanted to help, but didn’t have a clue how to. I have been asked numerous times in the last couple of weeks what help I need. And guess what? I have no idea. I want the pain to end (to the extent I have been researching drugs for overdose). In previous times I would have opted for a short voluntary hospital admission at this point; but as I say, that is not an option in the current NHS.

After more struggling, I tried to make contact with my nurse yesterday. I was told he had the afternoon off, but someone else would phone me back later. I spoke to the nurse who called back, I know her a little. During the course of the conversation I mentioned having seen my nurse (Care Coordinator) the week before, and was rather abruptly told that he wasn’t going to be my CCo any more – she was. At this point I literally howled. The guy I have spent 18 months building up trust with has moved to a different office. To say I am gutted is an understatement. I literally trusted him with everything, and the progress I have made under his care has been massive. The therapeutic relationship I had with him was pretty unique, mainly based around tea and cake, but it worked somehow!

Did I mention I don’t cope with change and loss? To have not been prepared for this change, particularly at a time when I have been so emotionally vulnerable seems like a massive oversight to me. I suddenly feel like I’m back where I was 2 years ago. To expect me to survive this current car-crash of grief, loss and depression without the one person I’d come to trust in times like this feels frankly like a complete impossibility. As much as friends try to remind me I’m not alone, it feels pretty hard to believe right now.

I hope this explains how things are in my world currently. And I am grateful for my friends who love and support me, it’s just sometimes my face doesn’t really relay that! 

Thanks for reading and take care all xxx

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