What a Difference a Day Makes...

...Well, 21 actually. I just logged in and realised that it has been 3 weeks to the day since I last posted, and after reading through my last post, I hardly recognise it as me, and yet I remember writing it through tears. I can't believe how completely different I feel.

I remember Seaneen saying once that if you feel suicidal try to ride it out for just one month - chances are, you would have changed your mind by then. It's so true. I'm not saying that I wanted to kill myself and that I've been waiting for a month to pass, I'm just saying that 3 weeks ago I would never have imagined I could feel as different as I do today. This is probably the best I have felt in at least 7 years.

In fact, I'm in such a positive place right now that I'm scared of losing it or spoiling it in some way. For the first time since Mr Man's first admission into hospital, I'm at peace, and I want to stay at peace. For this reason I have decided that I won't be writing in my blog for the time being. Although I have struggled to update my blog regularly for quite some time now, I never thought I would stop writing it completely. But dwelling on past experiences has not allowed me to let go of the anger I have felt over certain events, and although I desperately wanted to share them with the world, I now feel that it's time to move on. Of course, never say never. This is perhaps a "See you later" rather than a "Goodbye".

Thank you all for reading, and especially those who have taken the time to comment. The blog will remain and I hope that others will continue to benefit from it.

Dread

Hi. Yes, it's me, the sporadic blogger. I just felt like posting a little update today, partly to get things off my chest I suppose.

Things have been, well, y'know, the same. Or worse. I'm not sure. Better actually, because I have been avoiding life like never before. Less anxiety because I haven't been shopping or done any cooking or cleaning or... anything. The cupboards are empty. Mr Man is starving. We've just been living off take-aways. But the counsellor said it's ok to avoid things that cause me anxiety, so that's ok. (?)

Well, it did help with my anxiety for a while, but now I realise we have things to pay and I have wasted all our money, so long term it's kind of made things worse. Now I have to go back to managing the anxiety of shopping and cooking with the added anxiety of worrying about money.

Some readers suggested ordering shopping online and having it delivered, which was a very good suggestion and I did try, but I had to register and fill in an online form which kind of brought on a panic attack and I haven't tried again since.

I feel like a failure. All I can do is apologise to Mr Man over and over again, but it doesn't seem to mean anything. "I'm sorry" doesn't cover it. It doesn't do my feelings justice.


I have an appointment with the counsellor again on Friday and I'm absolutely dreading it. I don't want to go because I'm still so upset by the things she said last time. I don't trust her anymore. She made assumptions about me without even giving me the chance to speak. I expect she thinks I'm trying to blame all my problems on the way Mr Man was treated in hospital in 2002, which I'm not, but she wouldn't know that because she didn't let me explain. It certainly was a major contributor to the anxiety that I was already suffering, but as you readers and other carers will understand, struggling to keep Mr Man safe was traumatic enough. They can't comprehend that. Despite all their training and qualifications, none of them truly know what it's like to try to keep the person you love safe, when they are genuinely suicidal for so many months, or even years. None of them know how hard it is to watch the person you love give up on life and lay in bed in their own urine, refusing to get up, refusing to eat and refusing to drink. None of them know what it's like when the person you love is persecuted every day by frightening hallucinations and there is nothing you can do to protect them from their own mind. And none of them know how it feels to place the person you love into the care of others, only to realise that you have placed them in even more danger. None of them understand these things.

I know, I should have recovered from all of this right? Mr Man isn't that poorly any more is he? So why haven't I been able to move on? I don't know the answer to that. And I don't know why it has rendered me useless in every area of life.


Other updates

Mr Man has been sporadic too. His mind becomes over active and he doesn't sleep for days, and then he burns himself out and sleeps forever. He swings from being a great entrepreneur to being an online gamer who doesn't feel well enough to handle life's responsibilities. He's been very understanding but unable to help me in practical ways. He still starves if I don't cook, and I still have to remind him several times a day to take his medication before he actually takes it.

Jenny

Please just give up.

I know your country, region and IP address.

...

To other readers:

Yes, you've probably guessed it. Due to one bot/imbecile (delete where appropriate) I have had to change the comments settings. I got a bit bored with following "Jenny" around my blog to delete all the crap she left behind.

Untitled

You may (or may not) have noticed that I have deleted some posts and parts of others that contained information about my health and/or depression. Something just snapped in me one night. I felt that my blog had become a very self absorbed pity party and also I felt that some people were not taking my feelings seriously, which made me want to suppress them again and keep them to myself.

I almost cancelled my appointment with the counsellor for this reason, but the carer support worker urged me to go, reminding me that these feelings have a habit of resurfacing. I wish I had cancelled it. I saw this counsellor back in 2005 because I was struggling to come to terms with how Mr Man was treated in hospital, and she was very sympathetic. Four years later I'm having to see her again with the same issues, but this time she told me that she thinks the problem stems from my childhood, that I need "a mother" figure, and that I will probably always need support.

To be honest, at the time I was so emotional that her comments just left me confused. So confused. I couldn't make sense of my thoughts or what she was telling me, how I was feeling or how to express it. The last time I felt that mentally and emotionally confused is when Mr Man was actually in hospital and all these problems began. (At that time all I could do was pace the floor and bang my head saying: "Think. Think.") I've been in that confused state for a couple of days now, but now that I'm starting to get my head together I feel angry.

Ok, I didn't have an ideal upbringing - who has? - but I like to think that I managed to deal with those issues and put them behind me a long time ago. The fact that I am still struggling to come to terms with the events of 2002 only illustrates how traumatic they were. I constantly felt that Mr Man was in immediate danger of losing his life, and I had to rely on people who couldn't care less to protect him. Their lack of interest caused me unimaginable stress, not to mention the things they did that actually contributed to the worsening of Mr Man's illness. I fail to see how my parents are to blame for the total incompetence and shockingly poor attitude of those doctors and nurses who were supposed to care for Mr Man.

Once again I just feel that those people are being excused for their behaviour and that the trauma we have both suffered is not being taken seriously. It's my fault for being weak, it's my parents fault because of my upbringing, it's everybody else's fault except their fault for being completely unprofessional and not doing their job properly.


Once again, I apologise for not responding to emails or comments. Please be assured that I value each one, but I can make no promises to reply any time soon.

An Interesting Statistic

In light of the recent news coverage of the investigation into the murder of a pregnant woman by a man with Schizophrenia in 2005, the BBC Health Correspondent Branwen Jeffreys has this to say:

The number of homicides by people with mental health problems has remained fairly constant at around 50 a year since the 1950s. In the same time frame homicides overall have roughly tripled.

The level of public anxiety about the risk of violence from people with mental health problems is measured by the Department of Health in England as part of a wider survey of attitudes. It suggests a third of people think someone with a mental health problem is likely to be violent.

The public perception of the risk of random violence from someone with mental health issues appears to be out of step with reality.

So in the last half a century, although the rate of murder in the general population has roughly tripled, the number of those with mental illness committing murder hasn't changed. It would be interesting to know how many people in the UK are diagnosed with a mental illness compared to the 1950's, but I always find the internet to be a tad over-rated, and I never seem able to find the information I'm looking for.


The full article can be found here.

Realisations

Some of this post has been deleted

I've been looking for reasons for why my anxiety has got worse recently. I think one reason is simply that my depression hasn't been under control since September 2007, and anxiety has always gone hand in hand with depression for me. Another reason directly relates to Mr Man. Although he has suffered occasional blips, Mr Man has been doing really well since his medication change last summer, and yes, that has been a cause of anxiety for me. He's doing so well that he is eager to start working again and wants to run his own business from home, but I am aware that his condition can change at any time - as it did a couple of weeks ago - and when it does I have to be ready to support him. Supporting him emotionally is one thing, but supporting him in running his business is something else. As much as I would like to help Mr Man run his business, I just can't cope with that sort of responsibility. Hell, I can't even cope with opening the post every day, and half of that is junk mail.

Another reason why his recovery scares me is that ultimately he would like to be able to cease claiming benefits altogether. I worry that the pressure of having to work once his benefits stop will make him poorly again. Maybe if he had been consistently well since last summer I wouldn't worry so much, but although generally he is much better, I have seen a lot of fluctuations during that time. He goes from being very focused with lots of business ideas, to burning himself out and feeling under pressure. I'm just not sure if he is ready for this sort of commitment, and yet I have to let him try because it's what he really wants to do. He has an appointment coming up to see someone at Working Links, so it will be interesting to see what sort of support they can offer him, if any. Of course, any changes in income will mean changes in housing benefit etc. and I'll be the one who has to keep filling in the forms and taking bank statements to the council.

I want to see him work because I want to see him happy. I know that he feels ashamed that he's not able to work. But it's just such a huge step. Maybe all of this has been worrying me more than I realised.

Oh Crap

Am I allowed to say that? I mean, I know some people are offended by the word, but although Thomas Crapper didn't actually invent the flushing toilet, he was a plumber and he did make toilets and invented the floating ballcock. So that's probably how toilets came to be known as "the crapper", although it's believed the word "crap" was in use before he was even born, and that the fact that he made toilets for a living was an example of "nominative determinism" whereby a person is more likely to do a job connected to their name. I think it's a load of old ballcock myself - I mean, what kid being laughed at in the playground for having a name that basically means "poo" is going to think to himself "I'll show 'em. I'm gonna do a job connected with poo when I grow up". Nah, I don't buy it.

So, if you're offended I apologise.

But anyway, before I completely forget the point of my post - I've just discovered that my "mrmanswife" email address hasn't been working since February. So if you have tried to email me and haven't received a reply I apologise, although to be fair, I'm rubbish at keeping up to date with emails anyway.

This will explain why Seaneen was contacted by Radio 4 to have her blog turned into a radio drama and not me! They couldn't get hold of me! (yeah right) A big big congratulations to Seaneen! And make sure you're all listening to Radio 4 on Friday 8th May at 2.15pm.


I'll try to get Mr Man to sort my email address out for me as soon as possible.