So Make Way, Start the Revolution!

Libor pointed out to me yesterday that I've not blogged in ages, so I've decided to blog again!

And this is entirely random, since I have no idea what I'm going to write about.

So here we go.

So I saw Libor last night! *yay!* We went to see Orange *also yay!* and it was sooo much fun!
I've not been out in....I can't remember how long. I think the last time I went out out was when me and D went to see All Time Low (because I couldn't get tickets for Reel Big Fish and Orange playing at the same venue) and that was January I think...I may have to double check that. I won't. It won't happen. I'm just taking it as January.

As usual, I took about 8 million photos and a few videos (which youtube is taking its time in uploading....for the FOURTH freaking time!) but still, amazing night!

I had not had enough sleep, by far! By the time I'd finished work, I'd been up for 24 hours, and then just got about 4 hours sleep....so by we got let in at 7:30, I was about ready to die! Made it though! I'm pretty sure the guys appreciated the support anyway. Pissed off some fan girls when Joe came and hugged me when he spotted us, but whatever *swoon* I am totally THE Orange fan. I will always be awesome (Y) As usual, I got stuff signed, and I got a third drumstick from Zak (and signed, of course) and I got lots of hugs from all 4 of them! And, of course, pissing off fan girls all round! XD

The support acts were great as well! Well, the first guy was a solo acoustic guitar guy, and he was amazing (video will go on youtube once I find out his name and it starts behaving itself....). Second act, Accidents and Stars. Now, I'm going to be honest about this band. I'm usually like omgz they were so good! Or omg massive fail. This band were really good. The band. Their singer. She was....first of all, thought she was much better than she was, but she wasn't overly confident. She didn't seem to have any confidence in her voice. You know how you have 2 singing voices? A soft one that you can sing quietly, and one that allows you to sing with oomph? She sang with her quiet voice. Which, ok, she could carry a tune with that one....But she kept cracking...We could barely hear what she was singing either, which didn't make it better, since she was singing so softly. I have a theory that she's either dating the bass player (some serious on stage chemistry with him), it was his sister, they've had a fling, or he's badly in the friendzone with her. This is my theory, and if I'm wrong, I'll eat my scrubs. Anyway, the third band, A Story to Tell. Libor and I could not figure out why we recognised this one guy setting up. Then it occurred to us that they supported Orange and New Riot last year. Brain fart. Anyway, they were great. So professional looking and sounding (video has been trying to upload to youtube about a million times, so that'll go up at some point as well), even if the blatant groupies and band moms by the stage (total Mean Girls "I'm not like a regular mom, I'm a cool mom!") which just made us laugh. But they really were great, they've got good chemistry on stage, they can engage the audience. Just a really enjoyable set, and by the end you find yourself bobbing along, and just enjoying it a lot. I really recommend them to anyone who enjoys rock music, fans of Green Day, New Found Glory, Orange (of course!), Bowling for Soup, anyone like that, will enjoy A Story to Tell.
And finally, Orange.

 As always, Orange put on a brilliant performance. Joe, Perry, Alec and Zak are great musicians, and can hold the audience really well. They're not a very well known band, by any stretch of the imagination, but they have the most dedicated fan base of any band I know. I met two women who had driven to Peterborough from Ipswich, and Libor and I came from Leicester and Northampton, respectively, and myself on a few hours sleep! The great thing about the four of them is that they're so down to Earth. For instance, they're a punk band from LA that are on their way to stardom, touring the country a few times a year, and they still have time to appreciate their fans. They hang around after shows, no matter how big or small the venue, to talk to their fans, they'll talk to them on facebook, they really appreciate when fans put effort into making posters, t shirts, drawings etc. Orange do have the best fans, and they deserve the fans that love them. I love, and am still amazed, that of all their fans, and all the people that they meet up and down the country, they still remember me, and Libor, and thank us for coming to shows, no matter what. They even gave me a T shirt because I lost my guestlist spot for a show last year, instead of being all douchey and like welp, sucks to be you.

TL;DR - I freaking love Orange. End of. Support acts were pretty great, 'cept for the female singer (seriously, no disrespect love, but work on it). Joe is so great for providing us with entertainment when he's not exactly in the best of health, Perry and Alec play some amazing guitar and look like their having fun on stage, and Zak just tears it up in the background. He seems to get a little left out back there, but you'd notice if he wasn't there! (and thanks for the drumstick dude!) They're all really great guys.

I'm going to stop sounding like a massive fan girl doing a hugely bias gig review, but yea, that's my review of last night.

If I can recommend anything to you, it would be to check out all of the acts (once I find out the name of the first guy, I'll edit this article and link to the youtube video)


Well, thanks for reading guys!
If you're still here then..you are more queer than me. You must have some problems, and a lot of time on your hands!

I may post more gig reviews in future. We'll see if I go to any gigs that aren't Orange. #unlikely.

Hell or Glory, I Don't Want Anything in Between

Well people of the blogging homeland, here we are.
I have good news and bad news.

The good news?
I got a new job and am getting the hell out of dodge!

The bad news?
I'm still crazy.
But more on that later.

My new job!
Ok, it means I'm moving to Northampton. Away from all my friends and family, away from everything and everyone that I know, and yet, I feel great about leaving. I'm so excited for it, and I can't wait to get away, set out on my own and really become me. Or at least who I want to be.
And since Northampton is completely new, I'm not in danger of being haunted by memories everywhere I look.
When I'm in Burton, I see the bus stop outside Primark, and remember when me and T had  row in the middle of the night, and the X38 that I used to get every weekend to see him.
When I'm in Derby, walking down the high street, I remember all of the rambles down to Mosh.
When I walk past Subway (and this is any Subway, mind) I remember that every Saturday, without fail, Tebby would fail to come to town with me, and I'd go alone with J or H (sometimes both) and we'd have so much fun. When T was with us, he'd just sit quietly, refusing to talk to anyone.
When I drive through Ashby or Ibstock, I remember A. I remember how she strung me along for more than 2 years, trying to steal my boyfriend in the process and ruining every memory of sixth form that I had. Seriously, cannot remember any good ones (except with S :) he was great).
Every lad with a straight black fringe, square framed glasses and a stupid hat, I'm petrified that it's him. I want to see him again with every morsel of me, but I don't think I could take it (and if you see him, you have mine and my psychotherapist's permission to throw tomatoes at him).
I drive through Chellaston, and I think of R. Every time, without fail. I remember what could have been. Well, what I thought could have been. It's funny, that until you've seen someone getting strung along, and someone has outlined the criteria, if you will, you don't realise that it's happened to you. Whether they've got a girlfriend that they want to break up with, or a ton of baggage from a break up, or simply that you dated their best friend who wants to kill you, it's still so easy to fall for, if it's the right person, and you have the right feelings. And I did. I don't care who wants to dispute it, I did really care for him, when I think I started to love him after he all but told me the same (blah blah blah, it hurt that you went out with D, blah blah blah, just because I lived in Newcastle, blah blah blah, the reason I waited for you for 3 years is because I really liked you - the usual). So the minute he'd successfully got in to my pants, it was "Oh, we can't, I don't want to lose my friend" "We'll just be friends on the side, I don't want to lose you as a friend" "Please don't tell him you've spoken to me, I don't want to pick sides on this. No matter how I feel about you, he's my best friend, I've known him longer" (And since I'm almost 100% sure (maybe 99.99% sure) that he doesn't read this blog, he won't know, right?)
I know that memories are memories for a reason, but I'd really like to make some new ones.
New town.
New job.
New friends.
New memories.

That's why I'm moving.
Not just because I found a job that I'm perfect for.
Because I hate my memories.



P.S. Have a song :)

This Has Been Said so Many Times that I'm not Sure if it Matters.

Whilst reading a site called MyLifeIsAverage (since which, I have discovered I am incredibly average), I came across a post mentioning SixBillionSecrets...so I decided to visit it.
And I was in floods of tears after a few posts. Why? Because a lot of them sound like I wrote them.
This one, especially:
 "I miss who I was.
I miss the girl who laughed. I missed the girl who looked at the upside of everything.
I missed the girl who was happy, and innocent, and free.
I miss the girl who would look in the mirror and not find every flaw.
I miss the girl who didn't let other's words bother her. I miss who I was. I hate who I am."
and:

 "I love all my friends. I secretly pray that I'm not the one they all hate."

^ and unfortunately, that one did happen to me :/

Anyway, a while ago, I realised that very same thing as the first post. Three years ago, I was happy. Hell, even amongst the shit I went through I was happy 2 years ago. Then I was happy. I was loved, I was in love, I had just gotten my first job, first car, losing weight...and then I needed space from the man I loved (for 3 years), and I was confused. Then a few months later, when he told me he didn't love me, I broke down. Seriously...And there's probably a post about this already, about the suicides and what not, but shush, this is about the feelings behind it, and not the actual self harm etc etc (so no need to worry mummy).

It was May 30th (ish), a few days after the funeral. My grandma and I had just travelled from Burton down to Cheltenham, straight after the funeral, in the middle of the night, to stay with my mum and her partner for a week or so, just to get away. A few days in, my mum took me to a fancy salon to sort out my hair, which, thanks to a combination of peroxide and stress, was falling out by the handful and turned to straw. The photo was taken in garden, in front of the cottage, while I was sun bathing. By this point, I had had about 2 weeks of 'space' from my ex. Look at the girl in the photo. She's 19. She's beautiful. She's got this fantastic blonde hair and the personality to match. Up to this point, she'd been going to Slimming World and lost nearly a stone in weight! She's getting her head sorted. She's happy.

About a month after this, my mum had convinced me to dye my hair dark again, so, while in Tesco with my sister, I was just browsing the hair dye when she walked up to me and grabbed a nice looking colour. "We are so dying your hair!" she said with a grin. I was a little unsure, since mum had said she wanted to get it done properly, but I was happy and excitable, so we bought the dye and went home. Which lead to this:

The first picture with dark hair in 3 years! At this point, the girl in the photo is still 19. She's still lost the weight. She's still happy. But then her ex-boyfriend tells her that he doesn't love her, and her entire world comes crashing down around her. She starts to self harm again (which she had done a few years previously, when being bullied). When she moves to university, she takes an overdose. She misses class to a point that she can't remember the last one she went to. Still working weekends and going home, she becomes lethargic and stops cooking good food, relying on the Chinese across the street. In that one year, she gains a whopping 2 stone in weight, and goes from a size 16 to almost a 20.

A year after moving out, she hasn't quite realised how much weight she's gained. She looks happy here. Her secret? She's been feverish all week, has barely eaten and is trying to revise for second year exams, whilst fighting off a wanker that she dated for a month (those in the know will know who). Her best friend, Lauren, has dragged her out of her flat for the first time in over a week to come to the park on that beautiful day, and while she was out, and with her friend, the girl was happy. Well, she was cheerful, not quite happy. She had fun. But dissolved under a black cloud the minute she was home. It took her about 6 months to realise that it was her friends that she needed. She was the life and soul while she was with her friends. Alone, though, she had her thoughts. And they hadn't been that kind to her for years. They'd always make her sad.

So now, she's alone, and still missing the man who broke her heart nearly 2 years ago. She's still overweight. Still trying her best to lose it. But then something happens. She gets dressed, thinking she looks great, but then catches herself in a store window, or a mirror in Primark, and she thinks that she looks awful....and immediately wants to go home and curl up in bed. Not just change, like any normal person. Just stay indoors, where nobody could see her, and how awful she looked.

She stands in front of the mirror in her knickers and a vest top, wondering. "Why am I not good enough?" she thinks to herself as she pokes the fat of her stomach. "Why do I fail at dieting?" she mumbles as she prods her thighs. She looks up to her face. That once beautiful face. Those bright blue eyes, shining with happiness. Gone. They're still blue, but they don't shine. The once beautiful girl who stared back was gone. She had been replaced by this unhappy monster. This fat, ugly girl who walked around with a black cloud over her head. Who, as much as she tried, was never truly happy. Until she tried to be someone she's not. Until she went to a gig with back combed, orange sprayed hair, a drawn on, cut up orange T shirt and a phoenix tattoo.

She wasn't the unhappy girl in the mirror. She was the gig whore. The girl who drove up and down the country, just to see her favourite bands play. This one, her absolute favourite, she'd dragged to her friends to 2 gigs in 2 nights. They'd had an amazing time. For a few hours, she was the beautiful girl in the mirror again. She was happy, if only for a few hours.

So cutting up her clothes and driving across the country is never a waste of money. Because it makes her happy. If only for those few hours that she is singing with her favourite singer, having him hug her when he sees her (because she managed to make herself known to her idol), chatting to him about the gigs and stuff, all the while just loving to be near him because she admires him so much. He's Joe Dexter. He is the lead singer and bass guitarist for the rock band Orange. He has cystic fibrosis. She thinks he is amazing. So when she is with him, either chatting, laughing, singing...it's almost as though, for that moment, she is amazing. And not selfish. Selfish because she is depressed. Why? Because she's fat? Because she's ugly? Because she's stupid? Because she's unloved, heartbroken? Truth is, she doesn't know why she's depressed, most people don't. She just knows that its selfish. Especially next to Joe. He has a genetic disorder which means his lungs are basically fucked. But he's a freaking rock star! That's why she loves him. And why she thinks knows that her mental disorder is selfish.

Some of you might be wondering why this thing is in third person. I am one of these people who talks in third person rather frequently. ("Oh, Kaydie fails at driving...." "Kaydie has to pee...." etc), and when talking about my depression and my feelings, it just seems to be much easier to write about the girl in the photo. Like she isn't me. It's like I'm writing about another person, a fictional one, even. One who suffers exactly like me, but isn't me, so for a while, I'm not suffering.

I'm just a writer.

The thing suicidal here is the door, we had a good run, even I have to admit.

Do you ever have this feeling of emptiness?
Right in your throat telling you that you have to be better.
Whether it's because you're single, or childless, or failing, or jobless, that empty feeling that brings a black cloud over your life.
Sometimes this emptiness manifests itself. Especially if you can't satisfy it.
So, yes, I feel empty. I feel unloved. Oddly, I feel like I want a baby (but that might have something to do with the focus of my studies on obstetrics recently, and the 'Bringing Up Britain' Season on BBC3, that means that I'm bombarded with shows about pregnancy, and babies).
I don't think I want a baby. I want somebody to love (cue Queen playing in the background). I want somebody to love me again. And I don't mean in a familial, best friend loving kind of way, I mean to be loved. And we all want to be loved, I know, so don't think I that I'm of the presumption that I'm alone, that I'm the only person in the world who feels this emptiness, or this craving for love.

I know I've been boring you all lately will the suicidal talk (which is where the title comes from), and you'll be happy to know that my morals have overtaken my desire to take my own life.

For a stupid reason, really.
I've been catching up with Desperate Housewives (sad, I know), and one character (I won't spoil it for you) took her own life after being rejected by her mother and husband, so that she could donate an organ to someone else on the street who is dying from high creatinine levels due to kidney failure.
And, obviously, the aftermath wreaks through the street. And it's then that I realise the effect that suicide has on the people that care about you.
Don't get me wrong, I know how upsetting death is, I do. But the effect of taking your own life, and therefore choosing to inflict the hurt on your family and friends, has a greater effect. And my friends who have lost a family member to suicide, will somewhat want to bitch slap me for my revelation, and to them I apologise.
I suppose after loosing someone, it's hard to watch your best friend hate themselves so much that they want to hurt themselves, or feel like they have no more purpose, and so do stupid things that end them up in a&e.

But, I need to see my doctor. And since she's only in twice a week (well, once at Melbourne and once at Chellaston) meaning it takes me 2 weeks for an appointment...which means I'm going to have to spill all of the beans to a new doctor...which makes me somewhat uncomfortable. It took me nearly a year since my first overdose to go in the first place, and I kept putting it off when I was going. I was then given counselling, which I stopped going to after 2 sessions...

I mean, come on! I spend my nights working, caring for dying people. So why the fuck should I be so sad? I don't have cancer. I don't have heart failure. I'm not dying. I have no real, adequate reason to feel like I want it to be over. And it also means that I hide my scars while I'm at work. Not just from curious clients, but the other Prestige members I work with. And not just scars. I do my best to hide the fresh ones from my grandma, and thankfully, no one has noticed yet. Although since my mother reads this, she may get a little curious. And I beg her not to tell grandma, or Aimie, or dad. Because it will get back to her.
And if anyone else has any beef with it, I'll email you the e learning document on mental disorders. You might get a bit of a look into it. Or look it up on wiki-fucking-pedia! It's not difficult!

There are so many judgemental opinions on self harm and depression, which is why it's a secret. As much as I love my grandma, she is very condescending. She likes to tell me about medical facts (that she has read in the Telegraph (or whatever paper she's reading)) that she obviously thinks I don't know. Me. The medical science (almost) graduate. Like the fact that vitamin C is beneficial to the immune system. I was given vit C when I was younger because I suffered with mouth ulcers a lot. And besides, I study freaking medicine! Oh, and she likes to inform me at pretty much every opportunity that my weight has serious effects on my health. Really? Because the nutrition module, or obesity and cancer presentation that I did did NOT inform me to this! I got in from work this morning with back ache. "well, you know the more weight you're carrying round is going to put more stress on your spine, that's why your back hurts" Really grandma? Fucking really?! I thought it was that metal rod I ran into while I was chasing the dragons out of the kitchen after they embezzled  our trifle!

I'm sorry, I don't mean to moan...It's just so frustrating after a year of it...especially when she then takes Aimie to Morrisons and bring FUCKING cream cake home! Oh yea! "You need to be more active and eat less....let's have some cake after tea!"
I have seriously had enough of it. I love my grandma, but it would be so much easier to be here if I didn't constantly want to get away.

Oh, and, MOTHER.

"So what are the chances of you actually graduating then?"

While I'm working my arse off, making revision cards right next to you before I go off to work (a shift I picked up because you were coming round and were going to steal my bed)! Yea, thanks. Way to kick my self esteem up a notch! Productivity has decreased so much since then. I just think, you know what, doesn't matter how much effort I put in, not even my own mother has enough faith in me to graduate.
I know I've not had the best attendance, but you try going to uni when you've got a mental disorder (and yes, it's a mental disorder) that keeps you in your dark bedroom for days on end, and eventually turns you slightly agoraphobic. I am trying so fucking hard to make you lot proud! I'm the first of your children to go to university, and you even said on the train to Aston when we went to look round that you were so proud of me for going to uni and trying to do something good with my life. I'm still trying. But it's hard. I've never been the brightest person, mum. I've always been an average student. And now I'm bloody crazy as well...it's not easy!

The least that I want is some support. And not financial. When I'm sad, and there is a razor in my hand, I want to be able to call my mummy and have her talk me about of it, instead of thinking that if I let her know I was self harming again she's say it was stupid or silly, and if she didn't say it, she'd certainly think it. I want to know that if my parents noticed that I'd hurt myself, that they'd be good enough not to think it was stupid, and maybe offer me help. Not tell me "you don't want to be on those tablets again, Kit. They're not good". Or to mutter to your mother "I'm glad she's wearing that jumper now" after noticing the cuts at the top of my arm (Wilko heard you talking tyvm). Ok, it was before the Christening and it would have looked bad. But how about supporting your daughter while she's losing her mind? I know that you worry, but it feels like it's more of a "what's she going to do next?" than a "I need to help her" and then posting "loves reading about her daughter's numerous suicide attempts...NOT" on facebook....do you ever stop and wonder why I vent through this blog instead of talking to you or dad or grandma? The only person who sort of understands is Aimie, and that's because she went all bat shit crazy with post natal depression. And when I talk to her she tells one of you because she's 'worried about me'.

Sorry, this has turned into a rant at my mother. And sorry mum. I briefly thought about not posting this, but then I thought fuck that. If I don't then you'll never know, and you need to. My best friends know how badly crazy I've been, but you don't.

And this is giving me a headache. Well, either that or the crying. Yea, in tears while writing a whiney blog....how stereotypically emo of me?

Sincerely,
in need of meds.

I couldn't bring myself to call, except to call it quits

Revision.
Revision.
Revision.
Fucking revision...

It's all I need to do now...Shame I'm rubbish....

Ugh...I have 3 weeks to learn all my pharmacology and therapeutics...and then all the other stuffs the week or so after....Resits inevitable again this year? Maybe...since I have been particularly insane this year...

Anyway, enough revision bollocks...I'll do more tomorrow and then at work....

My grandma's a little drunk...and up emailing her 'boyfriend'...then commenting that she shouldn't be worrying about all this lark and boyfriends, when she should be tucked up in bed with a Horlicks....

Which gets me thinking....Stupid boys.

I feel like I should be trying to talk someone I care about into a relationship...
Oh no.
Wait.
I did that enough last year.

So no, I don't want to talk someone into a relationship with me...I want to actually be in one. Pretty please. I'm not fussy, honest! Well, that's also a lie...I am...I'm quite shallow...But apparently I have strange taste in men...so you never know, you might get lucky!
Applications on a postcard please!

I don't know....
I don't give a shite about the sex, or the comfort, or the talking...It's the knowledge that there's someone that loves me like I love them....The knowledge that I can call someone and talk to them without feeling like the annoying friend...The knowledge that I can text someone and get a text back at some point later...The knowledge that I don't have to tiptoe around anyone or feel awkward around someone because of a few things someone says, because if someone tells me that they miss me, or I'm gorgeous, or they "totally would go there again", it's because they would...I wouldn't have to spend days wondering what they meant, whether they meant something they'd said before...Aggghhhhhhh.........stupid brain, occupying my memory and stopping the science going in.........


Never mind.......

I can't be bothered to complain about my pathetic little life


Sincerely,
In need of meds
x

I just want to be better than your head's only medicine

So, the time has come once again...Dissertation is complete, exams are around the corner and I am back at home.
I was quite happy yesterday...Maybe it was the sun...
Lauren and I went swimming with Dj....who (much to my mother's disdain) I have been getting along with again.
After which, we went to the pub with Rik, who I haven't seen since I all but told him to go fuck himself in October (ish).
And it may have been the nicotine rush or seeing/speaking to him for the first time in months after everything that happened. And then giving him a lift home (since it made more sense for me to go back to Burton via Chellaston, than Dj to go to Leicester via Chellaston) and we had a chat...and since I promised, I won't tell you what about...because I promised.
But I got home, and my grandma was watching a film so my cheeriness wasn't quietened as usual...I was a little hyped....and now I'm singing my croaky throat off...which makes no sense.

Given that it's me, he obviously received the obligatory "I've seen you for the first time in months and you were...we'll say nice...so I'm gonna text you half an hour after dropping you off"
And of course, Rik being Rik, didn't reply. But then again, I've come to expect this so I wasn't exactly bothered.

Anyway, enough about my confusing and often failing love life.

I'm doing some e-learning for work. The 2 tests for me to do are 'Oxygen Therapy' and 'Mental Health'. So I thought, ok, mental health, we deal with challenging behaviours and learning difficulties, it'll be about that.
Oh no.
I'm reading about depression, self harm and suicide. I'm reading about my own mental disorder from an professional's perspective, and how to deal with it as a carer. One of the questions was "Which of these can you do to help someone with depression?" there were 5 answers, pretty standard, be informative etc etc, and one of them was to provide hope. Which I didn't select. So I got it wrong.
Now, call me strange, but I would be pissed off if some know it all carer started giving me hope in regards to my depression. They would get a big fat 'fuck off' and be done with it. I know enough about my own illness to know that you don't give hope because it doesn't make a blind bit of difference.
Par exemple.
I have been sitting in a corner for 3 days feeling that nothing is worth moving for (besides using the loo...because that would just be gross) when a woman dressed in a white tunic with a blue ID badge around her neck sits beside me telling me that it's all ok, and that things are worth it.
Do these people honestly think that I've not noticed the sun piercing through my curtains, or my friends trying to get my back up on my feet? It's almost as though she'll say "look, it's nice and sunny outside" (in that condescending way that carers do) "let's get you dressed and looking pretty so we can go to the park and get an ice cream?" and I'll look up and go "Yes! You know what, that is all I needed! Yes! Let's go and get ice cream and we'll all live happily ever after"
I'm gonna go with no...

I'm not entirely sure why I'm getting so agitated about something written by Prestige Nursing to help the carers deal with the clients who have mental disorders. Maybe it's just reading a professional caring prospective after studying the psychological aspect and suffering it first hand (which I know my mother doesn't like, and I'm sorry for rubbing it in your face again...well, sort of...I'm more debating the question on the test than anything else).

The part I did appreciate though, was the section about self harm that explained that it was a way of gaining control of their emotions and distress...which I have repeatedly explained to my dad, but he doesn't seem to get it. He hated me being on SSRIs, even if it made me better. He said I was stupid and shouted at me for self harming, which may have made it worse since guilt is often a major factor.
The presentation explained that as much as it could be a cry for attention, it is more often than not, hidden, as self harmers will be embarrassed about their scars and having to explain them to family members etc.

I really think that depression is an underrated mental disorder, and those that don't suffer from it and go "Oh, I feel all depressed" just because they feel a bit down in the dumps because, say, they got a low grade on their science paper or whatever...And when they don't understand it, they think that people who suffer from it are over reacting or playing on it.

Like me...I make jokes about it, but last year, I lived literally 5 minutes from campus and I went to only handful of lectures. I went to all of my labs, but very few of the lectures/seminars/tutorials...to a point where I never met some of the lecturers, and I failed 2 modules and am now no longer doing an honours degree.
I've been better this year, I've been to many more lectures (at least one every week, as well as going to work) and I've met all of the lecturers. But it takes me a lot. I even went a bit crazy at one point, and started almost having an anxiety attack when I knew I had to be in a crowd of a lot of people. I've since forced myself to recover from that...I still feel paranoid, but I can handle it (like in the Lamb last night, me and Lauren got there first, and instead of getting the drinks in, I went with her to the loo (ok, I did have to pee but not desperately) because I couldn't handle being in the pub alone)

Ok, so, I'm a little bit mental....and I've started having feelings for my best friend...which complicates matters....Some things happened at my birthday party (the insane one) and while I was like wtf...I wasn't complaining...he's attractive and he's a very good kisser...then I noticed that we hold hands all the time....so much so that it just feels natural and we automatically kiss hello and goodbye....so then my brain goes "you two would be perfect together....you're practically a couple anyway...." which inevitably confuses me somewhat....And he'll more than likely read this.........so.....Generic Super Hero Man, go out with me til you get fed up with me :p


I think that's about it....I should get back to my e-learning....I've been at this for a while.


Sincerely,
In need of meds
x

The best way to make it through with hearts and wrists in tact

Do you ever get those days where you feel absolutely fine, albeit somewhat tired due to night shift and inability to sleep during the day...but then your mood just goes down? So now you feel low and can't work out why.

One of my housemates just came in and asked me if I wanted two for one pizza from Papa Johns tonight....And where I usually would, I'm having a major diet time...But why would I normally take her up on the offer of pizza? I'm supposed to be dieting normally anyway, so the fact that I'm crash dieting shouldn't make it an unusual denial. Although, in fairness, they all know about the dieting (that usually fails tbh), so why did I even get asked? (Aside from politeness etc).

So I hate the fact that I'm dieting, or even the fact that I need to crash diet. Once I popped my bubble in January, I realised that in my depressed state, I inadvertently ate my weight in Chinese take-away. No word of I lie, I put on 2 stone since I started Slimming World in April 2009 (a month before I lost 10lbs, and split up with the infamous Chris Tebbey)....I was ok for a few months, but when I moved into my "digs" (as my grandma calls them - it was actually a flat above a salon) I sort of dove off the deep end (and no Lauren, I didn't dive off the shallow end and hit my head at the bottom of the pool...(private joke))...I lost all my motivation, stopped going to uni, went to work all weekend every weekend, just to get away, I stopped cooking real food and lived on Yumchi, and I pretty much slept my way around uni. Actually, I didn't do too badly in that last one, it was only a couple...just a couple more than I'd rather it had been...I mean, seriously, do I never get the guys I fancy? Just the weird awkward ones who, I'm pretty sure, just couldn't stop staring down my top. And if you're not sure if that's you, it probably is.

So, around 18 months after I initially split up with Chris, something snaps and I'm over him. I'm over everything and I feel great (See: happy blog post). I start going to my lectures regularly (although I did that quite well last semester). And I start thinking that I'm ready for something new.
Although I know that what I really need is someone to keep me stable. As evidence has led us to believe, I am not the strongest of people (mentally or physically). And unfortunately, I've known for some time that without someone to keep me sane, I wouldn't stay so for long. So here we are, 3 months later, and I'm going crazy again.

It's been happening for weeks. But I'm not as bad as I was 6 months ago. About 5/6 months ago, I moved back to the house in Leicester and I drank about 1/3 bottle of sambuca, and I overdosed for the third time in 12 months. The first time was just a fuck load of co-codamol. The second was a combination of co-codamol, paracetamol and citalopram (the anti-depressants, for those of you not in the know). And the third time (sambuca times) it was Sertraline (another anti-depressant) and more paracetamol. Luckily, I managed to throw everything back up that time, so another trip to A & E was not warranted. Thankfully, I am not that bad....
After the second time, though, Lauren and DJ both took me to A & E and, to his credit, stayed with me all day. DJ told Rik that it was his fault (the previously mentioned Newcastle person that led me on and doesn't want me anymore) (although I can't remember why it was his fault) anyway, I got a text from my dad a day or so later saying "Did you know that Lauren had to take her to a&e because she took an overdose?" and I'm still wondering whether he meant to send that to me or my mother...either way, I'd rather not have it out with him, since I don't particularly want to tell him that his daughter wanted to die, and his bitch of a wife doing everything in her power to get her to move out did not help one bit. Being made to feel like a stranger in your own house by someone your dad has brought into your life? Not very therapeutic.

I've not quite dived (dove?) into the pool again yet...I think stress is a huge factor here. I've got so much work to do for uni, and I'm just getting a lot of shifts with work when I really can't handle it...Sod's law isn't it really?
And the best part is, my doctor, who is brilliant, and the reason I've not transferred to the DMU health centre,  is only at my surgery on a Wednesday, and at the other on a Tuesday. So I have 2 days and 2 surgery's worth of patients to wait through to get to see my doctor. So I've had to wait for 2 weeks for this appointment (which is in a week, and the day after my birthday (21st, bitches)), and, unfortunately, I'm worried she'll put me back on the meds. Now, my mum hates the idea of medications, and I'm not about to sit and have a debate about the benefits of anti-depressants/anti-psychotics/anti-anxiety medication, because it would be somewhat retarded, as I'm well aware of the negatives, but unfortunately, both of my parents are convinced that I'll become addicted to them. In fact, my dad was worried I'd become addicted to pain killers while I was on them for a broken ankle....-_-' I wonder sometimes, I really do.

So as well as feeling low, and worthless and generally depressed, I've also been hit with some anxiety. In crowds. As soon as I'm aware that a situation will require me entering a public space in which there will be a large crowd of people, I panic. And I'm not talking worried. I feel drowsy and breathless. Not quite panic attack, but it's something to warrant concern. And it doesn't go away while I'm out. It gets worse on the journey there, and calms once I'm sat in a corner, but it's there. There's this panic that there are so many people. We had another Demon TV social for St Patrick's Day, so we all got dressed up in green and went to Kinky. Now this was fine, because I got a bit tipsy before we left, so I didn't care (which wasn't that difficult, given how tired I was). But when I returned from the toilet, I was suddenly alone. My friends were gone. I couldn't see them anywhere. I was alone in a huge crowd of drunk, dancing students. And that freaked me out! Fortunately though, after searching, I found them all again...But I went home about half an hour later. That was all I could stand.
We went to the union for DMU does Comic Relief on Friday as well (making up for the fact that night shifts had been cancelled), and the aforementioned panicky feeling happened, so Lauren and I sat in the corner at the back with Kev and Kirsty, and we were alright for a bit, but at one point, the girl sitting next to me stood up to watch, and this just breached my personal space a little bit too much....Fortunately, I had the excuse of an early shift on Saturday morning to get me home.

Luckily, I've worked out a possible reason for my recent insanity. I'm usually either at work or asleep these days, or at least alone. At work, there's usually just me and my client (unless I'm at a home, in  which case, there's the person I'm working with and the old people...who aren't even paying attention to themselves, let alone me)...So, naturally, I'm no longer used to crowded environments. And they scare me.

Fingers crossed, I'll get so drugged up next Tuesday that I won't even remember that I'm sad. I won't remember who Chris is, I won't remember that I've felt worthless and empty. And hopefully they won't make me worse like they did last time and I won't have the urge to OD again (which I twice thanks to anti-depressants)




So I've just realised that this is without a doubt, the most depressing blogpost ever...So I'm gonna go now....


Sincerely, in need of meds...