My brain is resisting sleep. Getting out of bed is hard but getting in is harder. My anxiety is so restless even though I’m on more than ever before.
I was bouncing off the walls. A good proportion of my dad was spent pacing back and forth. I was hiding in my room to avoid human contact. Even though the ward was closed and there were hardly any patients in, as we know I still found everything and anything to be irrationally enraged at.
My trichillomania had been triggered as it often is in times like this but bizarrely instead of pulling out my own hair, it has been transferred onto my boyfriend.
“Can you talk to the doctor about this?” He asked jokingly, pointing to his scabbed up face. I cringed. Once he put it out there it seemed to be no joke at all. Popping his zits is something I do a lot – be honest ladies, you know you do this – but my attacks on his face had gotten harsher. Patches of hair from his beard were missing too, as I kept saying I “just want to get rid of the weird hairs.” I had to keep checking for grey hairs, or split hairs, or hairs thicker or thinner than the others. And if I found one, it had to go.
BF had been saying that he wanted to meet the doctor to get a better understanding of my illness. I asked the doctor if him sitting in for a bit was ok, which he agreed to but once the door closed, stage fright struck. We asked BF if he had any questions and he kept saying he didn’t know. After a few minutes of this I grew impatient and threw him out.
The doctor was sympathetic to my claims of elevated mood from the previous week, even though it was maddeningly settled that day so he couldn’t observe it in consultation. He admitted that the increased melatonin may have overshot the mark and scaled it back to 25, increasing my zeldox by another 20 at night because previously when I had been taking 20 morning and night I always needed a nap at midday.
My med woes were not over however, as later that night a nurse came running into my room absolutely beside herself. “It’s no good, Mac. We’ve messed up your cycle. You need to start used protection because if you get pregnant because of me, I’ll never forgive myself!”
She explained that there had been a communication issue regarding the dispensing of my contraceptive pill. A few days after I arrived another nurse gave my pill back to me and told me to manage it myself. I thought that was fair enough. But that night, I saw a little Yaz in with my normal pills. Silly me just assumed without questioning that they’d changes their minds.
Apparently it hadn’t been recorded that I was managing it myself, so depending on which nurse was doing the medication rounds, some nights I was being given the pill, and some nights I wasn’t. And stupid Mac was just swallowing whatever she was given without checking.
After apologising profusely she launched into a lengthy lecture about safe sex that left us both ruffled and red-faced. Do I have access to condoms? Will BF wear one? Will I make him wear one? Can we abstain? Is it hard for him? Hard for me?
I’m going red again just thinking about it.
Her concerns turned out to be unjustified as I got my period a few days later. Maybe that explains my mood. I’ve had to deal with all the delightful extras that come with that, including the cramps. My cramps are nasty at the best of times, and the only thing that really helps is heat. Unfortunately heat packs are not allowed due to the risk of self-harm so the staff loaded me up with panadeine and I had several hot showers a day. The temperature of the showers is set to a maximum of pleasantly warm so we can’t burn ourselves.
On the increased zeldox my brain became settled enough to make one major decision – I have decided to move back in with my parents. My health has been so bad for so long I’ve had to get real about what I actually need and at this point I feel like living in my parents’ house is the best option.
The configuration of the house will have to be changed to give me acceptable independence. My parents have tasked me with working it out and it has shown to be a good way to keep my mind active.
New year’s eve fell on this week and it had me really worked up. Maybe because it was so hot, maybe because my mum and I had an argument over the way I cleaned the bathroom on leave but I was ready to go without dinner – and let my boyfriend do the same – after I called around several take out places for dinner to find they were all closed and had a ‘fuck this I’m done’ moment.
After a pep talk from mum I called one more place – which was open. My anxieties about traffic and crowds were completely unfounded, while the restaurant was located in the middle of town it was deserted when we got there at 5.30. And the pizza was fantastic.
I’m not really one to get worked up over FOMO, so I wasn’t keen for grandiose new year’s plans and BF is the same. But I was a little bummed about not being able to do the midnight kiss. See, normally the clinic doors lock at ten so we have to be back by then when we’re on leave. The staff were willing to make an exception for new years eve but legally we had to be back by midnight.
So we went to 9pm fireworks which were fantastic…so fantastic that I had a brief seizure! I’m epileptic, even though my seizures are very rare I am changing meds at the moment so it’s not that big a deal. I notified the staff when I got back to the hospital and that was their impression as well.
My doctor was off for the rest of the week and I was supposed to see one of the others but I didn’t realise that he works on a different schedule to mine, who works Tuesdays and Fridays. The fill-in works Mondays and Thursdays so I went out all New years day thinking I would be seeing him on Friday, but no deal. Oops!
With only the one tablet being increased it’s not that big a deal; they can’t bring it up faster than once a week anyway.
I would have to wait until the next week to see him, when the ward opened again…how would I be handling that? You’ll have to wait until the next instalment to find out.