I am falling. Every day I creep towards an edge. It's not a dangerous suicidal edge. It's an implosion. It's a day by day slip into putting my head into the sand and drinking into oblivion.
I'm not at the moment. A bottle of wine a day is nothing by my standards. Not for where I am now. Not for how I feel.
I've not looked after myself properly. Again. My failure is the failure of anyone who carries the burden of self management.
Last year was shit. I should have been more mindful then the winter came and with it life became harder. Not least because of what I got paid to do and what I chose to continue to do.
For a few months I worked intensely. At the start it was very long days and without taking days off. The job was a challenge but the potential rewards were the carrot.
The body and the mind need rest and recuperation. In my spare time, as I am doing now, I write to this blog. I spend a lot of time reading and thinking to come up with these posts. Up until recently I ran a mental health and photography project on Facebook as well.
I left little time for rest or other people. I worked so hard so I could justify my high salary. I was going through...a difficult time too but I slogged through it.
I lived a basic and withdrawn life to achieve a goal then when it came to payment for my work my life and my plans broke down. There were many delays and it looked hopeless. It still does.
Exhausted in every way I had to deal with this. I started having a break down. My usual medication, skunk or herbal cannabis, also stopped being available.
The pressure of debts, students loans,taxes and my own longstanding unhappiness was eased by the prospect of my death but I'm used to it. I admit wanting to hasten proceedings but instead i'd slipped into this empty shell slipping a little bit closer to a pit of existence.
Finally I got a small amount of what I'm owed for my work. Not much changed. I can barely be arsed to do anything but go to the park, drink a bottle of wine then go home to eat and pass out asleep. I stay in bed as long as possible and try to reduce the amount of time I am awake.
This time last week I arranged to see my gp and spoke to a psychiatrist. The appointment with my gp was today but they fucked it up and I cancelled anyway. I might see them tomorrow morning.
I've failed because I need to seek help from services. I need psychiatric drugs. This is some severe shit I'm going through. I need antidepressants but the psych wants me on mood stabilisers too.
I am as worried as he of hypermania. This is aa true psychotic state which is an amazing experience but can damage lives and is a risk of madness I work to never re-experience even though it is a happiness beyond the comprehension of anyone who's never experienced it.
It's a risk I have avoided for the last few years. I've been unmedicated and unassisted by the NHS. Anyone who reads any trial data will know the consistent poor outcomes of no treatment.
The problem is I had no other option. Every contact with a doctor is one where I fear for my liberty and safety. I also had a small sense of pride which came from suriviving and...almost...thriving.
Instead I'm in tatters. It's not surprising I feel like this. Hindsight is fucking insightful but I've failed to acquire it in time...again. and perhaps that last word is the true failure.
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