Waves and Wafting

I had to go to London for university yesterday.

I got the train up by myself, a massive thing, made my way through the underground to the Science Museum by myself and didn’t panic until I got to the café and realised I had an hour in which I would be in one place (sitting duck vs. moving target) and by myself (zebra theory).  I didn’t have a proper panic attack, I sat and drank lemonade and tried to do mindful breathing.  It’s very hard to be mindful when you have voices shouting at you to stay alert and screaming kids running round the place.  It’s hard to be mindful in public.  Hard to be calm anyway.

Eleven fifteen rolled around – meeting time.  Zebra theory kicks in (that is, it’s harder to pick out a target from a moving herd), and I feel a bit safer.  There is the added benefit of being inside, and behind locked doors with access limited to employees.  Did I say what I’m doing at university?  I’m studying for an MA art history and museum curating (part time, one seminar a week), hence frequent trips to museums.  Maybe I said already, I forget things a lot.  It means we get to go backstage and see how things work.  And backstage is harder (although not impossible) for them to get through to.

I was desperate to get home by the end.  So desperate I almost walked straight into a ‘policeman’.  But I got home, safe and well and unscathed.  Whilst it wasn’t entirely untracked, at least they didn’t hurt me.  I survived.

Today is my one day of work.  I have less concentration now than I have had, so here I am writing a blog post instead of thinking of zero budget campaign ideas.  Just because my head. won’t. work.

And why do my hands smell of cigarette smoke?  Are they manipulating my thoughts again?

Why I Suck

My cousin is in the Philippines at the moment. He is safe, we’re told; he’s been in contact. But there it is again – guilt. And more guilt because I’ve made it about me. Why can’t it be me dead instead of all those people? A silly thought, I suspect. It’s unrelated. Still, I feel bad. Other people have it so many times worse. I feel like a first world problem. What are my issues compared to theirs? At the same time that thought seems to invalidate others’ experiences of mental illness. But then again I feel like a fraud. Again, other people have it worse. If someone else was saying these things to me, I would tell them that pain is relative. My worst experience is the same as another’s. I can’t seem to believe that when it comes to me. It’s not that I’m a bad person, just that I can’t possibly be trying hard enough to recover.

In other news, I saw my GP today. He is a saint. We wrote to him with regards to my meds not doing their job and my mood being rubbish. He phoned a couple of days later saying he had a plan, could come in to see him, he’d let reception know I’d be phoning so they could squeeze me in. So today I went along. He’s concerned about my mood and the voices, we talked about how I was and what I was experiencing. He mentioned words like psychosis, paranoia and delusions, but said I still seem to have some grip on reality. Which I do. I’m still fighting. The long and short of it is that he will be writing to my arse of a psychiatrist and explaining what he’s seen and what he thinks I need. Namely more antidepressant and either more haloperidol or olanzapine. Behind his professional veneer, he was rather disgusted by Dr Arseface’s actions or lack thereof. We’re all hoping for a more proactive approach now.

Oh, and I can’t see a different psychiatrist as there isn’t one.