Putting Our Heads Together

TW:References to self-harm.  Please proceed only if you are comfortable with the subject matter.

This afternoon, I had an appointment with my CPN at which my Mum and Dad were also present.  Things came to a head last week, such that it was about time that they were given the opportunity to find out what is going on with my treatment and to ask any questions/express any concerns.

After establishing my lack of social skills (lets face it, we didn’t exactly split the atom there) by my Mum asking whether I usually offer the CPN tea or coffee (no, would be the answer), we got down to business.

First on the agenda was my (lack of) appetite.  Although we can blame that largely on various medications I’ve been/am currently on, I admit that I’m pushing the boundaries a little and old habits are creeping in.  To nip that in the bud, we decided to capitalise on what I will eat (cereal, wholemeal toast, yogurt…) and gradually add more variety into my diet.  I’m Anaemic, which probably isn’t being helped by a lack of nutrition.  Anyway, I have managed to eat a little more today, and hope to continue in the same way tomorrow.  If I feel up to it, I may even get out for a short walk tomorrow.

Next, was the SH.  It has become a bit of a worry recently, in terms of its extremity.  Just last Tuesday evening, I landed in A&E with my Dad.  I’ve had countless grotty infections and accompanying, necessary antibiotics.  Indeed, I was prescribed another course only this afternoon.  We decided the best way to tackle this would be to eradicate any (potentially) harmful objects from my room, which we have done.  In this way, any impulsive behaviour should be difficult to act on and I can turn to my MH First Aid Kit.  If this doesn’t work, there are other things I can try.

So there we have it; eat, be nourished both physically and mentally, think more clearly, become less ill.  Easy as pie, right?  Wrong.

I feel bad for my Mum and Dad.  I feel bad that, at 31 years old, I am giving them more grief than I did as a child.  I feel bad that I know they lie awake at night wracking their brains, trying to work out when it all went wrong (there is no point in my past that has caused this illness).  I feel bad that my Dad is ‘working from home’ so as not to leave me alone.  I feel bad for all of it; every day of every one of the last 8 years.

I feel bad that, despite all the pain, all the heartache, they’ve never given up on wanting a better life for me…one I don’t feel I deserve.  I know you don’t read this, Mum and Dad, but (just in case there comes a time) I love you both so much it hurts.