Day 2

If you read my previous post, Intervention, you will know that on Monday I made a commitment of sorts, to try and minimise my SH behaviours over the coming days and weeks.  I thought now might be a good time to reflect on things.

This ‘commitment’ has happened to coincide with an increase in my dose of (modified release) Quetipaine so, as I sit here, I’m still feeing slightly sedated from last nights medication.  There has been much debate among professionals recently around how best to medicate me.  My CPN tends to disapprove when my GP prescribes higher doses of my constant medications (Quetiapine and Sertraline) and/or Benzodiazepines.  But, despite my best efforts, she has yet to see me in what one might call ‘crisis’.  She only ever comes in after the event, so to speak, and invariably expresses disapproval at medication changes.  My GP, at least, will see me in an emergency and what more can he do but prescribe?  He isn’t a MH professional, nor do I expect him to act as one.  But he is sympathetic, patient, understanding and a reliable source of support.  He is also a good human being.  A ten minute chat with him always makes me feel better, looked after.  In any case, I see my consultant next week so he will have a good look at what I’m currently taking and make changes accordingly.

Anyway, my increase in Quetiapine, be it right or wrong, is helping me stay relaxed for now.  Surely that is a good thing?  But I can’t rely completely on drugs.  I have to be careful not to give myself time to ruminate or become embroiled in negative thinking.  As such, I am keeping as busy as possible while trying to give myself ‘rest periods’.  It is important that I strike the correct balance here.  For instance, this morning I did a small pile of ironing (I would previously have ironed EVERYTHING for all four people in my house) and also managed to concentrate on a book for 20 minutes or so while drinking a mug of tea.  I am also, for the first time in my life, playing around with some art.  If I told anyone who knows me well that I’d been drawing, they would surely laugh out loud.  In my school days, I was as good as learning disabled in subjects like art.  Mental illness does that, though.  As someone who struggles to make myself understood verbally, I am finding writing/blogging a great help.  Maybe art will do something similar, who knows?

Finally, and I do not exaggerate here, the support of my Twitter friends is unbelievable.  Much to my surprise, Twitter has provided the perfect platform through which one might connect with like-minded individuals.  To have people who wouldn’t know me if they tripped over me in the street rooting for me is indescribable.  Why should they care if I spend time playing Russian Roulette with my own life?  Whether I live or die?  But, for whatever reason, they do.  I have nothing to say but, from the bottom of my heart, thank you all.

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