To-day is a struggle. More so than yesterday.
I awoke, having slept well through the night, tired and achy. But noted no night sweats again and my mind was clear.
Had to tell myself physically to get up. Walked into the kitchen that still had last nights dishes in the sink and all the cupboards open. I was about to turn and return to the bedroom but I stopped myself. " you are falling back into a depressed pattern, stop, change the chemistry".
So I cleaned up the kitchen and took my morning medications still keeping at the reduced dosage. It would have been so easy to take a Seroquel and allow the sofa to envelope me. But I made the choice not to.
I gathered all the loose coins I could find trying to find enough for a package of cigarettes and milk. I ended up taking my laundry money surmising that I can hand wash my underpinnings but cannot create a cigarette out of thin air. Great justification. Besides going for smokes gets me out of the apartment and into the sunlight.
As I walked from the smoke shop to the gas bar to get milk a sense of despair washed over me and tears sprung to my eyes. I tried to isolate the feeling that was at the root of the tears but could not find any one in particular.
I can only be objective and think the past few days of rending my soul free of the dark fingers that hold it fast in their grip might very well be at the root of the tears.
Or perhaps my current financial situation, or even a combination of both.
A friend has indicated he is sending me one of his famous care packages by UPS tomorrow. I want so very much to tell him not to but this time I won't.
I sold all my gold jewellery to at least cover half a months rent, my landlord was very understanding. Last week I sold my wedding band to pay a bill and get a few groceries.
Back in February my doctor signed a note that indicated I needed time off work for medical reasons. His fear was that if I didn't take the time off work I would go "postal" his word not mine.
It was going to take close to six weeks for my employment insurance to kick in so I went to Welfare and applied for a "hardship loan". I was told that the amount they gave me to cover rent and food (the amount they gave me did not even cover my rent) would be deducted from my insurance benefits until the loan was paid off. They could not provide me with an exact amount of what would be deducted but were sure it would be no more than $45 dollars a cheque.
The paperwork finally filtered down through the system in May.
My insurance cheques for April were enough to cover monthly expenses as long as I was frugal. And I set up a budget that allowed for the $45 loan repayment.
The government in it's infinite wisdom took all of my insurance for May. Phone calls and office visits did nothing to change the fact they had left me with nothing.
One woman I spoke too informed me that no one would have told me it would be only $45 a cheque as repayment. Without getting upset I calmly informed her that I did not like to be called a liar and that it was a defamatory statement to suggest I was indeed lying. I had gone armed with names, dates, times and paperwork.
As I removed myself from her space and went to await a consultation with her manager I pointed out that perhaps she might remember that not all people who go for assistance are scum and the system was supposedly in place to help people, not to further increase the stress that some of us had been removed from for our own mental health.
The case manager I saw was open and receptive to my plight but in the end said really there was nothing they could do at the office level and the changes had to take place at the legislative level. They also could not help me financially make June's rent.
I came home and reached for a bottle of 50 Oxycodone tossing the contents into my mouth without a thought.
Thank God my rational brain kicked in before I reached for the water jug or even swallowed. My rational mind has saved my life a couple of times.
I spat the contents of my mouth into the sink, rinsed my mouth with water and spat again.
Something inside my head had snapped and not negatively because I started questioning why a passively suicidal person would make an unconscious decision to end their life.
For three days I took my medications as prescribed and allowed the comfort of my bed to cradle me before going to see my doctor.
I asked him about the side effects of Manerix, I was familiar with the side effects of Parnate but he had chosen Manerix this time. He didn't answer the question directly and suggested we increase my Seroquel to an astounding amount. Then I told him what I had done. My doctor told me to present myself to the emergency department and tell them what had happened and give them the prescription order he was printing out. (He pointed out that he would not be ordering more pain medications. I had not asked for any.)
I replied in the negative. He told me out of respect for him I should do as he asked. He hugged me and said he would see me in his office in a week or so.
I walked into the parking lot digesting what he had said and going over other parts of our conversation. Something he said just sat in my head " you are smarter than this".
Damn right I am!
I tried to follow the medication schedule but found I was getting more and more lethargic. My mind was getting foggier, my house was getting messier, I would wait three hours after my bladder requested emptying because I didn't want to move from my bed or the couch. The moments of intense rage were still hounding me as was the irritability at inanimate objects. In this state I could not and did not want to think of a way to get June's rent. Going to the food bank un-showered, without my denture and in dirty underwear was the last straw.
I went to the library and poured over their reference material on pharmaceuticals. I decided to decrease my medications. Contacted a very supportive mental health facilitator for support program referrals and sold my the bulk of my jewellery, keeping my wedding band.
Despite today's feelings of despair and fatigue I am not in the same place I was mentally seven days ago. The intense rage episode have ceased, I am no longer screaming at a spoon if it falls on the floor or leaving it there to become part of the decor. My house is clean, I'm showered, in clean clothes and not in bed.