Been told I’ve become fat…

I come to Indonesia, I’m reunited with my relatives whom I haven’t seen for two years, and I get told I’m now fat. Okay, so maybe not quite that way. But that’s my interpretation of it.

“You’re not so skinny anymore, that’s good huh?” my uncle remarks to me. I give a humourless laugh in response.

The next day, my grandma comments to my aunt in Hakka, a Chinese dialect, “She’s grown fatter.” “Do you know what she said?” my aunt asks me in Mandarin. I confirm in the affirmative. A minute later, I’m being offered food, deep fried food, and is it any wonder I decline? “She’s not going to eat, now that you’ve said she’s gained weight!’ my aunt chided, speaking Hakka to my grandma. “When we (her and her husband) saw her at the airport, we noticed she had gained weight too, but we didn’t tell her so!” Gosh, well thanks for telling me now, though indirectly and in a language you think I cannot understand.

I don’t have the symptoms of an eating disorder anymore, except for the occasional binge and purge. For the most part I’m glad to be rid of it. The obsessive weighing. The lying and sneaking around. The absoulte disgust at one’s self. The hunger. The physical effects on your body. But comments like these, I almost find myself wanting to go back to those days where I was underweight and if comments were made it was on how skinny I was- not how fat.

Logic tells me I’m not fat, a BMI of 18 is still on the lower and of the ‘healthy BMI’ scale. Everything else is telling me otherwise.

I also received a call today. A social worker from the Self Harm And Crisis Counselling Service. Finally. It’s only been… over a month since I was discharged from the psych ward. The result of that phone call is, I have an appointment with their counselling service on 8th of Febrauary. Let’s see how this turns out then…

Carrots, tomatoes and eggplants

My grandfather told me today that ‘eating carrots, tomatoes and eggplants will make you happy.’ That and ‘laughing aloud’ apparently. Combine it with getting a grip, and I will be cured from depression in no time!  So why did I fork out all that money on mental health services again? According to my online Medicare records, in 2010 $4417 was spent solely on appointments with my GP, psychiatrist and psychologist, $923 of that sum was paid out of my own pocket. Think of how many carrots, tomatoes and eggplants I could’ve bought instead! With that amount of vegetables, surely I would’ve been the happiest person in the world by now, if only I had been advised how to spend my money wisely earlier.

But joking aside, it really just prompts me to want to scream or punch the wall in frustration. My grandparents and aunt have been like this ever since they found out of my overdose. A month has passed. How much longer are they going to keep this up I wonder?

One month on

Looking at today’s date, I realise it’s been one month since I overdosed and was subsequently admitted to the psych ward. I am overcome with a mix of emotions. Regret that things have not really changed since my admission. Glad that I’m physically well. Mournful that it came to that. A sense of accomplishment that I’m still here, trying to survive. I don’t know what I feel and in many ways it’s a lot easier to just cut than to deal with these emotions.

A month has passed, and in terms of getting help, things have not moved forward. The hospital Self Harm and Crisis Counselling Service never did contact me, which is a shame given that they offer free counselling in the months after discharge. The DBT coordinator has yet to phone, after that call from the hospital with news of receipt of the referral, I really thought it gave signal to a fast and efficient intake. But it seems not, the hospital/DBT staff are handling this in accordance with how I’m usually handled by professionals. Neither have I made an appointment with one of the two clinical psychologists Dr T gave me the number of, but that stems from my own cowardice.

Less than a week ago I found myself once again sobbing with the pain of it all, feeling hopeless and out of control and wanting to overdose. I almost dialled the number I was given, the psychiatric triage of my local public hospital. A few things stopped me. The anxiety of making the call for one. The knowledge that if I did call, what could they do anyway? Also factored in, I am flying to Indonesia in a couple of days to bring my grandmother here to Australia for a visit and it would be a little bit selfish to ruin everyone’s plans. Thus, no matter how awful I felt I wouldn’t really overdose right before my trip overseas.

Thankfully, my mood has improved since then. There have been times where I have wanted to be back on the ward. But for now, I am glad to be curled up with a Jodi Picoult novel in the comfort of my own bed, instead of a psych ward with the air of loneliness and tears.

Final Exit

*Warning: Talks of suicide. Read with caution.*

About a week ago, I borrowed out this book;

I didn’t and don’t have any immediate plans for my own demise. But I wanted to read it for, well, just in case.

Within the pages of this book is a caution that reads,

If you are thinking of ending your life because you are depressed, or cannot cope with the pressures of this difficult world, do not use this book. [...] Please respect the true intentions of Final Exit: the right of a terminally ill person with unbearable suffering to choose to die.

Umm yeah, sorry mate, but I doubt I’m the first person to have gone seeking answers on how to die whilst struggling with a mental illness as opposed to a terminal physical one.

Their ‘recommended’ way of self conclusion is to ingest certain potent drugs. Great! Only barrier to this is how to get your hands on these drugs in the first place. Medical professionals are strict on who they give it to, maybe because…oh yeah, it can kill you in an overdose…!

Their alternate method, one which doesn’t require you to obtain hard-to-get drugs, is the EXIT bag technique. It involves inert gasses and a plastic bag. There’s a certain irony involved when a seven paged, detailed ‘how to’ is provided, yet also written is,

The following words are for information only. This text is not encouraging anyone to take their life.

Right.

Despite the descriptive instructions and relative ease of obtaining the materials required for this method, I don’t think I will be attempting it any time soon. Suffocating to death doesn’t really appeal to me. For aesthetic reasons, neither does making my exit from this world with a plastic bag over my head.

So has reading this book taught me anything in terms of termination of life by my own hand? Not really. It’s only confirmed what I’ve already learnt: killing yourself is harder than the innocent believe.

Family all know…

It used to be that I hid it so well I was ill. Nobody, nobody knew of my inner struggles. Now it seems as though everybody knows. Mum, dad, younger brother, grandparents, aunt, other aunt, cousins… Perhaps it’s a result of the decline in my mental health over the years. Maybe it’s because I’ve become more open as time has gone on. Most likely a bit of both.

These past couple of days has found me sinking into depression again. Mum’s noticed. I attempted to deny anything was wrong, which fell apart once the tears started flowing. She’s obviously worried, doesn’t know how to help, and then she started crying too. Dad’s noticed too, or perhaps mum’s told him so. “Have you been feeling low these past couple of days? You have to tell us!” I give no response, and escape to my room the earliest chance I get. Whilst done out of care and concern, it’s become rather suffocating and uncomfortable. I’m beginning to miss those days where they had no clue.

My aunt and grandparents’ tactic is to give me pep talks every opportunity they get. “You have to be strong!” they exclaim. They point out how they have overcome adversity. They give examples of people with physical disabilities who are determined enough to have found ways around it and gone on to lead satisfying lives. I sit and stare at them in silence. It’s not about you, I want to tell them. While I have respect for them, it’s not about the amputees on TV who go on to win medals in the Para-Olympics. What they don’t get is that no matter how many times they tell me this, no matter how many examples they give me, it’s not going to pull me out of this. Depression is not about strength of mind.

Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on how you look at it, my family and relatives have practically no experience with mental health issues, and therefore limited understanding of it.

In five days I fly to Indonesia on my own to stay with my relatives who reside there. Earlier on I wasn’t keen to go, but gosh am I looking forward to escaping now, even if only for a week. At least there I won’t be known as the ‘emotionally fragile one with mental issues.’ I won’t have to listen to my mother and father discussing what to do about me. I won’t have to listen to my grandmother phoning up my mum saying that she’s still concerned about me. I won’t have to feel my parent’s constant gaze on me and deal with their awkward attempts at asking me if I’m okay.

I am not enjoying my family knowing in the least.

Call from F Hospital

At about 7:40pm this evening I received a call from a lady at F Hospital, notifying me that the referral from Dr T to commence DBT has been received. I don’t think I’ve quite recovered from the shock yet because it’s only been…wait for it…FOUR days since Dr T sent off the referral. Given that I’m usually cast aside and/or forgotten about, I was more expecting four weeks, or perhaps even four months, to hear from them. I notice the Self Harm and Crisis Counselling Service of other public hospital has STILL yet to make contact…

Lady from F Hospital asked if I was having issues with my safety. “Not right now,” I answered. Was provided the number for the psych triage team at said hospital and was also about to be given the number for the Mental Health Emergency Response Line, but I informed her I had their number already.

“Do you have anything you’d like to ask?’ she questioned. I inquired as to how long the referral process was likely to take. She responded that the referral will be passed on to the DBT coordinator on Monday, then the DBT coordinator will contact me regarding the program.

I am rather impressed thus far. Fingers crossed this efficiency continues and it all works out!

Psychiatrist Appointment and Referral for DBT

Upon discharge from the psych ward, I was told by the nurse that the referral for DBT would have been sent off to Dr T, my psychiatrist. Evidently this was not so, as she was not even aware I had been an inpatient in late December. I should’ve known they would not be this efficient. Neither have I received contact from the hospital Self Harm and Crisis Counselling Service. According to their pamphlet ludicrously entitled Care After Discharge, ‘We would like to contact you after discharge, usually within three days after you leave hospital.’ Right. It’s been how many days now? It’s becoming something of a farce how many times I manage to fall through the cracks.

But not to worry, I informed Dr T of my psych ward admission myself and was asked what led to me being admitted. Because I overdosed, why else? Was questioned as to why I OD’d, the third time she’s had to ask that in the seven months I’ve known her. It’s probably getting tiresome for both of us…

I reported I was put back on the Lexapro at 10mg daily and the doctor recommended I give DBT a go.

We spent a while discussing the options for DBT. I was told some public hospitals run outpatient DBT programs, but you must fall in their catchment area. Otherwise she suggested there are DBT type groups run through the private hospital, one of which is more ACT, but unfortunately because I do not own private health insurance it’s a no go. I do fall into the catchment area of one public hospital that runs a DBT program though so Dr T told me she’d send off a referral today.

I was given by Dr T the numbers of two other private clinical psychologists, as I concluded therapy with my now ex-psychologist in December, and was advised not to wait for the DBT referral to come through as there’s no telling how long that could take. So now I face the dilemma of choosing between the two. How do I go about doing so?   I’ve consulted good ol’ Google. One of the psychologists have a website whereby they describe the work that they do and even have a photo to match, the other does not.

Given this is my forth OD this year (third as far as she knows), and I’m about to embark on the Occupational Therapy course at Uni, I was warned by Dr T that this could affect my registration. “How will they know?” I asked her. “It’s mandatory that we report depression and suicide attempts.” Oh. “If you had leukemia, we’d have to report it too if it can impact your work. It’s not just mental health,” she told me.  ”So can they stop me…?” I queried. “They can’t stop you from taking the course at Uni and they can’t stop you from graduating, but it means that you’ll come to their attention and be monitored,” she replied. Dear oh dear oh dear.

Because Google has all the answers, once home I attempted to find information about the DBT group run through the local public hospital. I found an information sheet written by said hospital on their DBT group. What is written includes a bit of information on the components of DBT and this,

This group is specifically for women who present with Borderline Personality Disorder or ‘Borderline traits’.  Experiences for these women may include intense instability of mood, a pattern of unstable personal relationships and a self-image that is not clear.  They may fear abandonment, have chronic feelings of emptiness, and often experience depression and anxiety.  They may act impulsively and have difficulty seeing things any other way than in ‘black and white, good or bad’ terms. The feelings of confusion and pain may lead to feelings of guilt or shame, at times trying to cope with these feelings with self harming behaviours.

As well as this,

To attend you must have a diagnosis of Borderline Personality disorder or Borderline Personality traits diagnosed by a psychiatrist.

So either I have BPD or at least ‘Borderline Personality traits,’ whatever that means, or I do not have the correct diagnosis to be able to access this type of therapy.

Either way, it’s a lose-lose situation.

Gotta Love Facebook

This is what I posted as a status update on my ‘real life’ Facebook account on Friday;

I cannot keep falling like this, I NEED to get my act together for 2011.

A few friends commented, and I hereby post the more relevant comments to do with this post;

N: Recovery takes hard work and commitment. It’s so easy to say to ourselves that “we’re not sick enough” or “it’s ok his once” but the reality is that to recover you’ve got to stick with treatment – even when you do t feel like it, or don’t feel sick enough or really don’t give a shit. It’s gonna take a long time. It will try you, make you upset, angry, etc. But recovery means making a lot of changes, and making them with the full knowledge that you can’t go back. I know you’re capable of it, if that’s what you want. But I also can’t tell you it’ll be ok – just because you deserve it. You do deserve for everything to be ok, but he world doesn’t work that way, unfortunately and we must fight the fight to get ourselves well. Take care of YOU miss BtF. Xx

Me: You’re right N, as much as the truth is hard. It is so easy to give up on recovery when it seems too difficult. But I really do need to get my act together next year- I want to succeed in OT, dammit! I’m telling myself I’m going to be compliant with meds- no stopping them myself again. I’m going to give that DBT a go, providing my pdoc agrees. I need to stop ending up in the ED. And one IP admission this year is enough. I need to make some changes, I really do. But it’s easier said than done… and is going to take time and lots of hard work.

L: I was meant to be doing the year-long DBT course at [hospital], but the time commitment meant that I couldn’t – it’s one group session and one compulsory pdoc session per week and you can’t miss many, so not particularly uni-friendly. It’s apparently very good though, female only, and the lady who runs it, S, is very lovely. Otherwise I think [Group place] run similar short courses using a lot of DBT style stuff. I did a couple there after IP last year and they were really quite helpful. The mindfulness stuff is great, sometimes quite hard to sit with, but really rewarding.

Good luck!

Me: Thanks for that L. Yeah I’ve heard DBT is pretty intense :S The pdoc when I was in IP at [hospital] was the one who recommended I do DBT- apparently the referral wouldve been sent off to my regular pdoc so I’m not sure where I’d be doing it- I shall see. x

Because of the replies I sent to my friends, gee am I in trouble…

My 17 year old cousin saw this on his News Feed while on Facebook. He told his mother, who rushed off to my grandparents house to question them about it, who then called my mother to join the party. My cousin and my aunt do not know of my mentalism. My grandparents, and obviously my mother, do. My mother spent about an hour at my grandparents house, and it’s good to know they were discussing my mental health issues behind my back.

I thought I was vague enough in my comments, but apparently not.

My mother arrived home, reported that my aunt now knows and that they advised me to delete the comments off Facebook. Coz ya know, it’s shameful to have a mental illness and all. My aunt’s reasoning is that the people at work, as we both work in the same pharmacy, may be nasty about it and start treating me differently.

I don’t want to delete the comments. I don’t want to bow down to stigma and I don’t want to submit to the shame that I should apparently feel. I was simply having a conversation with friends who have both been IP in a psych ward and were kind enough to share their experiences and some encouragement. I don’t see what’s wrong with that.

It’s not that I’m naive or too innocent to realise there is a certain stigma associated with mental illness. I know it all too well. But it’s my life, my choice, and I’m willing to take that risk in leaving those comments up there. I don’t see how that much can be grasped from it anyway? Furthermore, I posted it on Friday, it’s now Monday so a bit too late to hide it I think.

Unfortunately I will no doubt be subjected to questioning and probing by my aunt during the half hour’s drive to and from work when I’m rostered on for Wednesday. Now that’s going to be an uncomfortable conversation.  This is the same aunt who thinks 17 or 18 is too young to have depression. Who also thinks that depression is a sign of weakness. Seeing her on Wednesday will be *fun*…

2010 Blog Stats

Received this in an email from WordPress, was invited to post it, and I thought, ‘Why not?’ Everyone else is doing it….

The stats helper monkeys at WordPress.com mulled over how this blog did in 2010, and here’s a high level summary of its overall blog health:

The Blog-Health-o-Meter™ reads Wow.

Crunchy numbers

The average container ship can carry about 4,500 containers. This blog was viewed about 15,000 times in 2010. If each view were a shipping container, your blog would have filled about 3 fully loaded ships.

In 2010, there were 116 new posts, growing the total archive of this blog to 243 posts. There were 191 pictures uploaded, taking up a total of 19mb. That’s about 4 pictures per week.

The busiest day of the year was December 27th with 282 views. The most popular post that day was Psych Ward Day 2.

Where did they come from?

The top referring sites in 2010 were bippidee.blogspot.com, blogger.com, mymulti-colouredlife.blogspot.com, mentalnurse.org, and WordPress Dashboard.

Some visitors came searching, mostly for self harm documentary, the science of self harm, insane energy drink, the silent epidemic self harm, and faking depression.

Attractions in 2010

These are the posts and pages that got the most views in 2010.

1

Psych Ward Day 2December 2010
2 comments and 1 Like on WordPress.com,

2

My StoryApril 2010
12 comments

3

AboutApril 2010
12 comments

4

SBS Documentary- ‘The Science of Self Harm’March 2010
2 comments

5

Hospital following an OD: Day 1August 2010
11 comments

I’m a bit confused about the ’191 pictures’ though, surely I haven’t posted that many pictures on this blog? *Shrugs.*

And because they’re amusing, here are some search terms people have used to arrive at this blog;

-  ’how to survive with a cluster b’ : Best ask Dr T, she’ll tell you how to do it…
-  ’tara palmatier silent treatment’ : One of Dr T’s solutions for the search term above?
- ‘ how doctors stop someone from peeing in hospital bed’ : A catheter perhaps? Random!
-  ’do energy drinks help people with mental issues’ : Interesting idea that one, I must try! Who knows, I may find myself cured…
-  ’mentally insane person behind glass’ : Err yep, that’s me….
-  ’the psychiatrist makes me cry’ : You’re not the only one.
-  ’do psychiatrists watch you in the waiting room’ : Do they?! You’re making me paranoid now…
-  ’lady in asia has a growth disease and cant stop growin then they try to put her in an ambulance but she can’t fit’ : That one’s really random.
-  ’why my psychiatrist does not reconise me when i meet outside the office’ : Because psychiatrists cannot see past your diagnosis and the $300 an hour you make them, clearly.
- ‘ website for insane people’ : Totally what my blog is.