Why I have been away

There is no delicate way to say this. Mum's got cancer. The bad sort. The kind you can't operate on, or get rid of. In other words, she is dying.

In the space of just two months I have witnessed my mother deteriorate from a vivacious and witty 56 year old woman into a bumbling, shrivelled shell, utterly dependent on morphine. Mum's gone. She's been replaced by a woman I could never have imagined, not even in my most troubling nightmares. The cancer hit her pancreas, and sat there, leaking silently into her liver, we have no idea for how long.

I'm offended by the cruelty of this disease. How dare it take away my beautiful mother's energy, personality and future?

I want to curl up on her bed and weep into her lap, but she barely knows I'm there. Sometimes I sit there, watching her lapsing in and out of consciousness, and I think 'you are dying'. Then I turn around and I say 'oooh, let's get you some clean pyjamas out, shall we?'.

The Hallowcaust

*awful wallowy post alert*

Arggggh. I am sooo crap. I was invited to a 'do' with some lovely, lovely, interesting people but I just felt to 'nuuurgh' to go. How long until people's patience wears thin? How long until the 'being eaten by my cat' nightmare becomes a reality?

I know that staying here, gnawing my nails and drowning in a mire of doubt is making things worse, but going out and being socially inept can make it all seem ten times worse. I honestly feel like I have nothing of any worth to say to anybody right now. So that's why this post is going to end rather abruptly.

What's wrong with me.

The above is a statement, not a question. I know exactly what is wrong with me because I received the notes from my previous psychiatric appointment in the post today. And here it is:

Diagnosis:
Recurrent depressive disorder - currently in remission (ICD10 F33.4)

The notes are pretty bleak.

Miss O'Donnell has a long history of recurrent low mood.
Several times a year she has periods of a few weeks or so where she has moderate depressive symptoms. At this point her sleep, mood, appetite, energy, motivation, concentration and interest in socialising are all affected. She also has clear anhedonia (an inability to experience pleasure from normally pleasurable life events) at these points.
Ms O'Donnell was a pleasant young Caucasian woman.
Her content was logical and coherent.
She appeared to be euthymic with a bright reative affect.
She was cognitively grossly intact.

And the crunch: "Ms O'Donnell has a long history of periodic recurrent multiple depressive episodes. She has occasional low-grade 'highs' but would by no means qualify for a Bipolar Affective Disorder diagnosis."

So there I have it. In black and white.

As a footnote, I googled ICD10 F33.4 and this is what I found.

F33.4 Recurrent depressive disorder, currently in remission
A. The general criteria for recurrent depressive disorder (F33) have been met in the past.
B. The current state does not meet the criteria for a depressive episode
(F32.-) of any severity, or for any other disorder in F3 (the patient may receive treatment to reduce the risk
of further episodes).

Erk!

Waiting for Rose

Waitrose is coming to Crouch End. Finally! Somewhere to go and piss our hard-earned cash into a chiming register on racks of lamb and Yeo Valley milk products. Oh, but hang on... we already have an M&S. And a Budgens with an 'Epicurean Deli'. And an 'Artisan Bakery'. And an Italian deli.

There goes the neighbourhood.

Recovery

Day 8, and I'm back in the game!

Okay, so it took six days to get my body used to the reduction of Venlafaxine but I feel fine now, so am very pleased that I stuck with it through all the unpleasant sweating, shitting and shivering. It has also given me hope that one day I might be able to be free of this drug entirely, and emerge relatively unscathed out of the other side.

Now I'm not naive enough to believe that there is a cure for my... condition (but wouldn't it be wonderful if I could erase it with some sort of Victorian wonder-tonic?!) but I do feel that I have recovered quite well over the last few years. I am certainly better than I was.

Years ago I was so desperate to be better that I made myself sicker. I woke up every day with the dogged optimism of a child on Christmas morning. Oh please, let today be the day I feel better, I said to myself. I don't know what I was expecting, rainbows and fairy dust, perhaps? All I know now if that this unrealistic expectation of my own ability to let my mind heal itself at it's own pace was preventing me from making any progress with the recovery I so craved. There is no sudden cure. There is no quick fix. It's long and it's tough and it gets worse before it gets better. The day I stopped expecting to feel better IMMEDIATELY was the day I started to recover.

The future looms large, promising unknown ups and downs. There's a very good chance I could relapse and become unwell again. I have just had to accept this as fact and try to carve myself a life that can deal with these issues as they occur.

But it is the confidence of a mental health recovery veteran that I can say that I feel better right now than I have in years.

Day 5

Okay, good news. I slept for a full 7 hours last night and didn't wake up groggy from nightmares about demon children or inescapable cinemas. Nausea is all gone, and seems to have taken my appetite with it. No brain zaps - yet!

*fingers crossed* It is getting better.

Day 4

Nausea. Nausea. Nausea.

I feel SO sick. I am also having nightmare brain zaps.

Not giving up though, oh no.