Last night was rough, and I had hoped that the increased mirtazapine (Remeron) dose would bring it to an end…but no. If anything, it was harder to get to sleep, which was bad timing.
The crisis team phoned this morning to see how I was doing. I’m usually okay in the morning, so I didn’t have much to report. The lady I spoke to asked about my plans for the day, and on hearing that I didn’t have any she urged me to try and meet up with a friend. An hour later Spike and I went for coffee.
Spike is possibly the only friend I can be almost completely open with (he has his own struggles in the world of mental illness), and it was good to tell him about the referral to the day hospital etc, but somehow I came away feeling like my mood was slipping. In no time at all it fell through the floor. That pain is awful. Excruciating. I can’t shake it off.
I don’t know if I can win this battle. There have been some positive signs – last night/this morning I became a bit obsessed with the idea of travelling back to the coastal town where I first decided to end my life, but I knew that it wouldn’t be safe for me to go there a third time, especially in this state, and I managed to stop myself. I haven’t self-harmed in a couple of months, despite some REALLY strong urges (risk taking doesn’t count!). I’m not sure I’ve ever been this safe while feeling so bad.
But my fears over how long I can keep this up reassure me that being admitted to the day hospital is what’s best for me. I keep questioning whether or not I need to go, worrying that I’ve somehow said or done the wrong thing to cause my psychiatrist to make a mistaken referral, but I just went to the appointment and told the truth. I guess my psychiatrist knows as well as I do (or better) that while I might be safe in this exact moment, it could change rapidly, and I am not known for asking for help when I’m on the brink of hurting myself.
Please can tomorrow feel better. Please. I can’t take much more of this.