Medication

It is over a year since I took my anti-psychotic meds. Which means over 10 months ago people found out I had not been taking them. (I just nodded whenever the "And your parents deal with your meds, correct?" question came up in MH settings)

Since late last July, when I had a Care Meeting in which they admitted they couldn't all force me to take medication (I still had been cajoled into take my other meds as they were a different time of day), I haven't had any psych meds. I've had 2 ibuprofen since, and that is all the meds which I have had. Those 2 tablets weren't taken lightly, more suggested strongly as I sat clutching my head - and I gave in, and took them in some vague hope the headache might go.

Life minus medication is better for me. I had got to the point where my thoughts on meds were "I don't know the real me, there have been drugs in my body for too long for me to know the real me." I had been on medication since the age of 13, adding in more and more different types, taking dosages people didn't always agree were right for a child.

Turns out the real me is a more bubbly life. Even with the stuff like I described in my last post, I'm still more bubbly now than I was. I'm several dress sizes smaller, and 4 stone lighter than I was. Not so tired on the whole (even as I feel incredibly tired right now, it is nothing in comparison), not wanting to eat the whole kitchen worth of food (I wanted to eat the contents of those unidentified cans at the back of the cupboards as they might have been the food which would fill me up) and I know this is the un-medicated *real* version of my body.

Side effects are horrible. I put on weight because I was constantly hungry, I was too tired to exercise it off, I was binging because I needed to fill the immense hungriness, then purging (which is a horrible thing to feel you *have* to do, and a horrible thing to do). I was feeling horribly ashamed by this ever expanding body, which meant that the "body image issues" just got worse. The despair at the hideous body meant I didn't want to leave the house, so I did even less exercise... [you see the pattern emerging, I'm sure]

If I had not become so bloody minded and stubborn about it, I'd probably still be taking medication. I'd be even heavier than I was. I'd probably still be feeling rubbish about it all. Instead, I stopped taking them, one by one, without telling anyone. So when I did, I could say "I haven't taken them for X weeks, and you haven't noticed any difference, so I reckon I don't need to take them again."


Since then, I have now got a basic statement in my files along the lines of: "Don't give her medication. We tried most of them [and she point blank refused the lithium/sodium valproate option, which was what we might have gone across to if she accepted] and none worked. So don't bother, and work out what it the current issue before doing the "throw meds at her" option." And I am sooo soo soo so so glad that they have realised that medication isn't for me. Talking is hard, yeah, but giving me meds which don't help and come with the side effects is worse.


I did my college exams being unable to speak due to a swollen tongue, and unable to focus my eyes due to very very slow reactions. I was having a mild allergic reaction to the meds, and they were monitoring it, but not taking me off the medication. (I was in a psych ward) Not exactly the way to get the grades you have worked hard for up until that point.

Anyway, here is to another year med free, a year in which I'll drink more wine, enjoy more music, not fall asleep constantly, lose more of the med-weight, and bounce around. Thus fitting into more of the clothes I left in boxes in my room in the hope I'd fit into them again. And guess what? I am. Pink trousers, bright green tops, more fitted clothes, and less stretchy material! *grins* I've become more of a normal shape, instead of huge in all directions - yep, I'll still have the stretch marks, I'll still have the days in which I wear my "fat clothes", but it is so much easier to live with.




Some people are helped by medication, and I'm happy for them. But I'm aware it is a relatively easy option for MH people to be giving out. I think when you have seen the horrible things it does in the cause of "helping", then you become more sceptical. If there is any place to put you off psych meds, it is a psych ward. Especially a psych ward at medication time.

Which is also something I plan to avoid, just as a matter of fact. Seeing 5 in the space of 13 months was enough. Eating their rubbish foods was enough to send me bonkers - one lunchtime meal choice was available at one place I was at for 10 weeks, so I had that every day when I couldn't persuade them to just not order me a meal/let my parents take me out/let me have some healthy stuff from home.

Hmmm, maybe things aren't OK?

Futile. Life seems futile.

I'm not sad. I'm not happy either, though everyone thinks I am.
I'm not angry. I'm not at peace either.
I'm not scared. I'm certainly not calm though.

I've got that "urgh" feeling in my chest/throat. Like someone trying to strangle you, willing you to stop breathing. It feels horrible. Really horrible. Has only come on in the last 8 or so hours, but hasn't left.

I am not going to do anything, but sitting with these feelings hurts. I am coming up to a year out of hospital, a year without purging, a year without crisis team intervention. My 6 month trial period at work has only 6 weeks left, it is bound to made permanent. Spoke to someone this morning about arrangements for a week-long residential course I am doing in the summer - I need to have extra support basically.

It is April. April was when I was first admitted to hospital, it was horrible. Complete disrespect of the poor children on the same unit - being given medications which turned them into dozy bodies (not even dozy people), not reacting to stimuli. Then being forced to stay awake during the day by someone literally poking them and pulling their hair. Horrible.
I was different as I was the oldest, just a few months before I officially turned into an adult. I was studying for my A levels, and had a conditional place to do a 4 year course resulting in a Masters, and big exams only weeks away. Most people in there hadn't had any formal education for years, if ever. One boy just needed someone to accept him, listen to him talk about his chosen subject - mostly a cartoon about cars. He was lovely when I took an interest in that. Turned into an angry 11 year old when he felt ignored, which happened often, as he was ignored. The psychiatrist that admitted me was horrible, and my care team who took me there made a formal complaint about his unprofessional manner. I was shown a horrible existence in there, one which I never want another child to ever go through.

I'm feeling shit today. Walked across town to get a Railcard for my new found freedom on trains to cost less. Applied for student ID, so my new found freedom for solo concert trips costs less.
New found freedom scares me. Freedom means I could go backwards very quickly. I could end up being found at a station looking at the rails. Or in a pharmacy. Or on the busy dual-carriageway. Or walking down the street with vomit down my front. In the back of an ambulance. On 24 hour watch...

Maybe this is what finishing psychological therapy is about? Been nearly a month since I saw my psychologist, seeing her next week, then an even longer stretch between appointments. At other points in the past, feeling this bad would result in my care team being involved, maybe crisis team if care team couldn't cope with it. But today, not even my Mum knows I'm feeling shit. I've got to the stage where inside I'm feeling like a bit of rusty barbed wire, but outside I'm smiling. People are so happy for me to be happy. For me to be getting back to a normal shape (medication changed that, but I have lost nearly 4 stone since July last year when I took myself off them all). For me to be "flourishing" or "giddily happy" or "just smiling" means others feel my life is back on track.

"If I make others happy, I feel bit better about myself" was always a motto. So I did just that, I tried to make others happy. Now it seems I have succeeded in making others happy, but I'm feeling worse about me. Seems futile.
Life is chaotic. People come and go. I work hard to make a difference, and people are indifferent about it. Not realising what a difference the lack of this work would have. Everyone seems to have become complacent. Somehow I have become part of the furniture. Just an accepted being in the scheme of things.

When I was on the edge - flitting from crisis team to general hospital to psych ward to a few weeks at home, to crisis point again - people seemed grateful of me just *being*. They could see I was hurting, they could see I was vacant, but if I turned up to something, people seemed glad to see me. See me trying to be in normal society.
Now, I'm just here. Not on the edge, not actively running at the metaphorical cliff trying to jump off, everyone has just gone "yeah, great, you are so happy, I am so happy to see you blossom into a person" and they think I am suddenly not affected like I was.

Doesn't feel so bad, but people having hope and faith in me sends me into complete panic. I'm going to let them down. At some point. Whether it be another hospital stay. Or even just moving away to start a new stage in this life of mayhem - they'll think I have abandoned them. I'm going to let them down. They will see how horrible my head is, and be disappointed in themselves for ever believing I was good.

My chest and throat hurt. My mouth feels like I have been purging daily for weeks. My stomach feels like I have taken several overdoses. My feet feel like I have hurt them too. I have bits of unexplained raw skin, unexplained bruises, mouth ulcers. Sometimes my head causes the rest of me to fall to pieces. Today that has made me feel rubbish.

Smiling on the outside. I'm not smiling on the inside. I'm not crying either. Devoid of emotions, devoid of meaning. Existing. Lacking anything, apart from too many memories and a few too many ounces of insight. This is shit. Horrible.