Three Little Pills: Adventures in Antidepressants

 I've been debating whether or not to post something about this but hey, as I'm still awake I might as well. About three weeks ago I had an appointment with my psychiatrist, in the run-up to this my anxiety had been in check, the horrible migraines it used to bring on were no longer part of my daily routine thanks to the increased dose of my meds. However for whatever reason my depression had been rearing its ugly head, and while I didn't know if it was because of Christmas having just gone and the stress that comes with it hanging over me, the back-to-university panic setting in, or just my brain deciding to be mean to me for shits and giggles.

10am yesterday, calling it bedtime in Monday's clothes

 We discussed my sleeping patterns, and how little sleep I tend to get, and even long sleep tends to be poor quality (you try having reoccurring dreams about having Vladimir Putin as your Year 9 English teacher). In the end she decided to prescribe me some new medication to work alongside my current ones. They would hopefully calm me down and overall help me sleep. By this point I was willing to try damn near anything, I could barely remember the last time I had a decent night's sleep. The new tablets were green and purple, and combined with my current prescription of course my first thought was "yay! Suffragette-coloured meds!". My first night on them came with the typical new substance anxiety, I felt like a teenager trying out drinking again. But within an hour or so I was flat out, it was hands-down the best sleep I've had all year. Remember though, it's not February yet.

 I even managed to get up early, by my standards, the next morning and already couldn't wait to go back to bed. Not in my usual "ugh, I'm always so exhausted" sort of way, but because I was so excited to experience a decent sleep again after so long. But like they say you can have too much of a good thing. By the time I got into bed that night I wasn't feeling tired, despite having worn myself out looking after my niece that afternoon, and instead I climbed into bed with a head full of swirling thoughts and anxieties, going deeper than they had previously. I didn't sleep until 5 the next morning and even then only managed a few hours. The rest of my time on this medication led to a recurring pattern: one night of blissful, uninterrupted sleep, the next plagued by a new level of anxiety. Through the day I would feel flat, no energy and no drive. I felt the worst I had in months. The house was neglected, I wasn't feeding myself properly, and I was no longer looking after myself mentally. No matter how good the possibility of sleeping on a normal schedule sounded I knew that they weren't the right meds for me. I've made the decision not to name them because I don't want to influence anybody else's decision to take them.

 A few weeks later and here I am, 3am on my third night without them. 3 days into sweats, shakes, and the 6 hours of sleep I've had overall, when I'd gotten to the point where I was too exhausted to shake and sweat anymore. I'm currently lying in the empty bath, wrapped in a blanket with the window open. It's the only place in the house where I'm perfectly between being warm and cool, and there's room for me to lie down. Plus I won't wake Paul up in here. I'm sure that some of you might roll your eyes and think "drama queen"; I've barely gave them a try, if I keep at them they'll settle down, I shouldn't feel as ill so soon without them. I'll address the last one first and tell you why that's bollocks. Before I started taking them the psychiatrist went through all of the possible side effects of both taking them and finishing them, my blood pressure is ridiculously low - despite being a 'salted is better than sweet' type of popcorn gal - and blood pressure was mentioned in all of the side effects. Plus I'm allowed to be a wuss sometimes. Secondly, I know my own body, and know what it feels like when my body doesn't accept something; this was definitely one of these times. Because of this, and past experiences, I knew that it would be better for me in the long-run to to quit now rather than wait and see how it goes. 

 And, one person to shut you all up, my psychiatrist at yesterday's group therapy (which I can't say anything else about due to confidentiality, other than I think it's a pile of wank) said that I had made the ultimately right decision. She says she's seen people who thought they should come off of a certain medication wait it out just that little bit longer, and ultimately end up worse for it. I'm tired of putting my body through unnecessary amounts of meds in order to see what happens. I'm not a guinea pig, having no say over what the effects on me are as opposed to what they could be (totally against vivisection btw), and not being able to say no. While this may not be helpful advice for others it helped me get these past few days off of my chest. Several of my burly sisters said I looked like I should have probably been in bed but honestly I just feel much better knowing how I'll feel once they're totally out of my system, but thank you for being lovely ladies! Keep an eye out soon for more burlesque-related posts coming soon, despite how weak the link was here...

 I've honestly never been a fan of self-care or mindfulness, I think they're both a load of bollocks. No, I'm not asking for a fight here; no, I don't care if you disagree with me; no, I am not willing to discuss why I feel this way about it with you; no, I don't give a shit. I was once on the phone to the district mental health Crisis Team when I was told by one of their advisers to try a mindfulness app or an adult colouring book while I had been screaming down the phone to him at breaking point. He rang back after I hung up on him, not to check how I was, but to tell me I was rude for swearing at him when I suggested where he could stick said colouring book. I digress. But this situation is one of the first where I can truly say that I was mindful of my own body and its needs, and took care of myself by stopping these tablets.

 Ugh. No. That was beyond cheesy. I hate myself for that line. Ew.

 Anyway, I think I'm starting to get sleepy. Sweet dreams and sweet potatoes; guys, gals, and NB pals x

Following in Father's Footsteps...

WARNING: This post is a little gorey, if you're not a fan of hilariously stupid injuries and fairly graphic descriptions of them then you may want to turn back. In the meantime though you can check out my shiny new Facebook page for behind the scenes rambling, daft pictures and more details of other shenanigans.


 This is my Daddybear. Isn't he handsome? He's the loveliest Daddy I could have asked for - albeit occasionally grumpy and a total wind-up merchant - and I love him to bits. I've always been told I look a lot like him, though my beard never comes in that well; and that we have a lot of the same mannerisms. We're both total nerds, enjoy shouting at the telly and ranting about things and both find Hayley Williams very attractive.

 But last night I had a moment that definitely solidified that there is no denying I'm his daughter. When I was younger I would do the typical teenage thing of arguing with him, storm to my room and slam the door, and think to myself "how can I actually be related to this man!?". Don't lie, we've all done it at one time or another. However this event makes me question how I could ever think that.

 One of my clearest childhood memories was from when I was about seven. Dad was fitting a new banister, and being the handy-around-the-house DIY type that he is he was doing all the work himself; staining and varnishing the wood, cutting and fitting pieces. Though this would prove to be a bit of a mistake. I'd been sat in the living room watching Scooby Doo (probably, it was my absolute favourite) when he comes in from his garage (aka his Man Cave), talking incoherently and in a panic and goes to see my Mam. I follow him into the kitchen and see blood all over the kitchen floor and him holding his hand. From what my little brother told me it was quite a spectacular sight. He'd been in the garage at the time and saw Dad slice through his hand between his finger and thumb with a stanley knife while evening out the bottom of one of the rungs, coming very close to losing his thumb. The knife had slipped, cutting his hand quite deeply, blood shooting up in an arc through the air. My little brother's reaction - cry, scream, panic at the blood? Nope!

"Wow, do it again Dad!!"

My Mam, as any good partner would, put it under the tap to clean it up and see how bad it was. However in the process she ended up washing part of his nerve down the sink too. It was a bit of a crazy night, one of our Grandparents having to take him to hospital rather than dragging the whole family out to Accident and Emergency. After surgery and a lot of stitches he was all patched up and on the mend. I remember Mam taking us on the bus over to see him in the RVI and it absolutely pouring with rain; we ended up having to duck into the Oxfam shop on the way from the bus station to get some dry clothes - I got a nice pair of jeans with a skirt attached to them and they became my absolute favourite. He looked pretty sorry for himself, full of painkillers with his hand all strapped up. It's pretty strange as a child with parents who are otherwise fit and well to see them so ill. Dad recovered well and eventually got the feeling back in his hand, though we still mock him to this day about this and similar clumsy injuries. However last night I may have lost any high ground I had to mock him from about such a ridiculous injury.

Like father like daughter - still both adorable!

 Paul and I got back to Newcastle at about 10 last night after a weekend in Edinburgh with a wonderful friend of ours, we had had such a fantastic time and were quite sad to leave. Given how late it was and how down we felt about coming home we agreed that something quick and convenient from Sainsbury's would be better than cooking that night so instead we could devote our energy to cuddling up in front of the telly and talking about how good our trip had been. Being the good wifey-to-be that I am I put Paul's pizza in the oven while my pasta bake was in the microwave and he got the telly set up and an episode of Family Guy ready to go. However shit hit the fan when I decided to go one step further and cut his pizza for him, the cutter slipped when I got stuck on the crust and I found that while I didn't quite get through the crust I had almost severed the tip of my finger.

 It was a bit of a surreal moment, it stung like a bitch and bled all over my feet and the floor and all I could do was stand there looking at it, wondering how on earth I had managed such a deep cut with a bloody pizza cutter of all damn things and how I'd go about clearing it up with just one hand. Priorities, amiright? When Paul came in to see what had happened, what had warranted the "oh fuck", he immediately began asking if I was okay and how bad it was. All I could say?

"Well... There's no denying I'm my father's daughter."

 I stayed quite calm actually, polishing off my pasta bake and chatting happily about what an idiot I was while my poor Paulobear panicked that I'd severed my tendons. Having done so himself a few years ago I could see why it was a worry. After a phone call to NHS 111 I told him to get to bed while I got myself along to the RVI. A long wait, x-ray and a tetanus jab later (it really fucking hurt, right in my shoulder!) the wonderful doctors determined that I had cut right down to the bone but it was perfectly intact, no damage to that. Unfortunately because of where the injury is, right down my finger tip it wouldn't be possible to stitch it as it would just split again so I'm looking forward to sever weeks of steristrips and three days of antibiotics just to be on the safeside.

 So from my little misadventure I've learned several things:

• If you're going to slice your hand/fingers with anything, do it with a pizza cutter; it leaves a nice and straight cut - although hot cheese and tomato sauce aren't the nicest of things to get in a wound.
• The NHS is absolutely fantastic, no matter how stupid your injury they'll try their best not to laugh at you.
• Clumsiness can run in the family. Not only have me and my Dad shown that we can't be trusted with sharp objects but a year or so ago my darling little brother thought that the best way to see if the blender was still broken was with his finger...

 Thank you Daddybear, while we may be ridiculous human beings we at least give people a good laugh! Love you xx

P.S. - if you haven't already, check out my shiny new Facebook page here!!

The Importance of Self-Care: Theory and Practice

Afternoon all!

 Now it's been quite a while since my last post, it's seeming to be one thing after another lately. A mixture of tendinitis in my shoulder when trying to finish university work, preparing for a few short breaks, work, and now when that all seems to have settled down my health seems to have taken a rather bad turn. Over the past month I've been having (as of yet) unexplained seizures, mostly as it's been described to me afterwards as tonic-clonic seizures, and partial seizures in other cases. Having been back and forth to my GP and to the hospital in this time I'm having to wait until September for a referral to a neurologist; while I've made necessary adjustments to my own lifestyle in the meantime it's frustrating and honestly quite scary having to wait such a long time for a diagnosis and even then the guarantee that I'll get a diagnosis straight off. At first it seemed the most terrifying part of them was waking up, unable to speak and feeling weak all over, but now the worst seem to be those while I remain conscious but don't have control over my own body and motions. But as scared as I am I'm determined not to let it rule my life.

 In the past few years self-care has been very big on the feminist agenda it seems. Far from being a new concept it's great to see it making a comeback, but while it's often discussed as a wonderful notion it is one of those things that I know I'm not alone in finding very hard to apply to myself. I'm extremely guilty of, well, feeling guilty when caring for myself, I often feel as if I'm abusing the idea or using it as an excuse to be lazy. The right answer here should be 'even if I am, so fucking what??' but I tend to find myself panicking and the guilt piling up for doing so and even more for thinking in that way; I've found it to be a vicious cycle. Since I've been feeling the toll of these fits on my general health and well-being though I thought it was about time that I really made an effort with it.

 I feel as though it has had an impact on my relationship too. Paul has always had a very caring nature and for as long as we've been together he's really looked after me but because neither of us know what's causing it, when it will happen or what to do about it it's scary and very frustrating for us both. He's learning well how to cope with me though, going to doctors appointments with me, researching bits that he can and helping me with keeping a note of what happens during and after seizures. His workplace have been accommodating too,  letting him take the time off for the appointments or if we've spent the night at the hospital, and allowing him to keep his phone on hand to get in touch and see how I am through the day. One drawback though is that Paul says it makes him feel quite possessive doing this, especially when I was on a weekend away with friends and he just wanted to be sure I was okay; I've been doing my best reassuring him that I don't mind and I really understand both why he feels like that but also why he wants to be sure I'm okay. It can be horrible thing seeing someone you love ill in this this way and not knowing how to fix it - and unfortunately for us it seems to be me who does most of the being ill!

 I'm currently easing myself into a routine of self care and really hope to carry on with it even after I've gotten a diagnosis and hopefully something to control the symptoms, so here are a few tips that I would like to pass on as somebody who has struggled to get into it, I know I'm not the only one!

• Don't feel like a burden - you most certainly aren't!

 This is something I really had trouble with, possibly fall-out from past mental health issues, but to begin with I found it hard to accept help and allow myself to be looked after by Paul and other friends and family. I hated the fact that there were things I had to rely on others for, like making sure I'm safe during a seizure and caring for me afterwards; I suppose I felt guilty more than anything else that people around me were on edge because of it. What finally convinced me to change this thinking was the wonderful women I went with to Horton Women's Centre and those that I met there too. Being in such a safe, supportive environment with people I was so close to got me to thinking that they have no obligation to look after me but do it because they care for me and about my well-being. I've always verbalised my concerns and still tend to apologise after seizures but even with that compromise it's had a very positive impact on my own dealing with them as it takes at least one element away from my anxiety around them by not worrying so much.

• Know and respect your limitations

 Another big hurdle with my past experience of self care, not knowing or just flat out ignoring my limits. I often convinced myself that I was able to do more than I was doing and I could always do "just that little bit more" than I was and I'd be fine; not just physically but mentally too. When I had tendinitis I would still go into work with my arm in a sling, serving food on day shifts, cleaning the top shelves, serving as quickly as I could on busy Friday nights. At the time I thought I could give Wonder Woman a run for her money but looking back it really slowed down my recovery time. This time round it's taken getting injured at work during a fit to stop me, after the incident Head Office requested a note from my GP to say whether or not they thought I would be safe to continue working; when I went my GP said she didn't feel she was able to guarantee this, which I took as a bit of a blow because I really do enjoy my job and now I'm having to take sick leave. To their credit though, when it first began they were very supportive and accommodating of me, making sure that I wouldn't be working alone and would be only doing duties they felt I would be safe doing. Sadly in the end with the environment I work in it just wasn't safe for me, bars can be dangerous places, but I really did appreciate the lengths they went to to support me and eventually the message it sent me about having to accept that it was in my best interest.

• Treat yourself and eat well

 Treating yourself can take on many forms and I find it's a very important part of looking after yourself, whether it's a nice glass of wine, taking a long bath, having a weekend away, a small indulgence when you feel you need one can do you the world of good. However in the past I've had a lot of issues with my weight and body image and I've found I tend to get really, really hungry after seizures, craving carby, sugary foods. At first I'd be reaching for crisps or chocolate and it was very helpful, having that little indulgence to make me feel better after a fright. Now that I've adjusted a little more to the situation it has become easier to plan around this, get in foods that I know will do me best, giving me the energy boost that I need rather than just something to fill the void. However I have been determined to treat myself at least once a day, something "bad" for me (often a nice glass of wine!) so that I'm staying as healthy as I can but still allowing myself that bit of enjoyment.

 Another thing I've found very useful around food is to prepare meals in advance. As it gets later in the day I tend to feel worse so I'm trying to get into the habit of cooking when I feel up to it, or even daring enough to make a trip to the shops, and pop it in the fridge/freezer for I want it through the week. It's a good way to ensure that when you're at a low point then you'll be eating food that's good for you rather than reaching for whatever is easiest, but at the same time there's absolutely nothing wrong with the easy option if that is the type of food you get the best feeling from. Paul and I always have the deal that if I cook then he does the washing up, it's a system that works for us but lately it's not working as well; luckily he's very handy in the kitchen, not just at the sink, and has been cooking for us when I don't feel up to it. I try and do the same through the day and keep on top of the dishes, just to return the favour, but it always reminds me why we struck up that deal in the first place - I bloody hate doing dishes!!

Well looked-after!

• Keep yourself busy

Unfortunately the post-fit cravings have led to me putting on a little weight, along with the exercise I'm used to doing no longer being safe (if I can't have a bath by myself because of them then swimming is definitely out of the question). So I've been looking for other types of gentle exercise that I can do at home, finding something that works for me that I can enjoy safely. It can be quite stressful and at the minute I'm finding it hard just keeping busy. Daytime television can be easy entertainment as a one-off but after a few days it really starts getting to you. It's the best time of any to start reading all those books you haven't got round to, do those craft projects you got all the supplies for but haven't found the time for, take a walk, explore bits of your town you've never been to before. Finding a routine can be useful if you're that sort of person, I'm struggling to find one at the moment but I'm sure I'll get there.

 With Paul working, me being off on the sick and being off uni at the moment I'm finding it difficult even to keep busy. But it's giving me a bit of time now to get ahead on wedding planning, and if it's done now then it'll be one less stress later on! Doing it in my free time now gives me time to have all the details thought out, but I can guarantee that many future posts on wedding planning will include the phrase "If it's not done now then it will never get done!"


 While this is no means a definitive list and may not work for everybody it's what I'm finding the most useful at the moment. You may well see some updates to this list but for now I'm off to play Pokémon for a bit, my DS and I have become reacquainted over the past few weeks.

 Until next time xx