twitter, a reference and tea (lots of tea)

To Whom It May Concern


It is with great delight that I recommend @Zoe_Smith for a role in your organisation. Whilst I have only known her for a short period of time she has proved herself as a highly valued Twitterer and it is with great confidence that I can say that she would be an esteemed new member to your organisation.

I first became aware of @Zoe_Smith through her blog, which I read quietly for a few weeks, before deciding to follow her on Twitter, something which I have since realised I should have done a lot sooner. I can distinctly remember one of the first things which @Zoe_Smith said it me on Twitter and it was virtual offerings of plasters with monkeys and giraffes on them; this appealed to my childish side and also made me realise that I’ve always had boring plasters and never patterned ones. Since then @Zoe_Smith has not once let me down and has continued to offer virtual plasters, hugs, pain relief, hot chocolate and most recently tea, after indirectly convincing me to try it and converting me. This proves that @Zoe_Smith has great leadership qualities and is able to assist other people either in real life or virtually. I have not shared with @Zoe_Smith my next opinion and I must apologise in advance if it offends her at all, but in many ways she is a virtual Twitter mother to me, something which I am forever grateful for, even when she makes me cry ridiculous amounts. Should you or anyone else in your organisation ever need help, I believe that she would response immediately with necessary requirements, be that tea, hugs or just a friendly ear. Evidence of this can be seen on Twitter on the evening of Friday 22nd July 2011.

@Zoe_Smith is also highly observant and frequently states what the weather is like in St Andrews, Scotland, which brightens up my Twitter feed each morning (or dulls it down, as the case often is, because it is usually raining.)

As well as being an avid Twitterer, @Zoe_Smith also writes a blog, as previously mentioned. Through this, her creativity is apparent through her #newprojects such as the Lunatics Lexicon and Alternative Mood Scale, both of which should be made available to Mental Health Professionals everywhere as soon as humanly possible. It is through Mental Political Parent that I have learnt how amazing @Zoe_Smith is, as well as how incredibly strong she is. Whilst I have told @Zoe_Smith how much I admire her, I don’t think she realises that she has given me and so many other people the strength to keep going.

Nothing is beyond @Zoe_Smith. Should you be looking for someone to Tweet photos of on-going projects which your organisation is carrying out I would not hesitate to recommend @Zoe_Smith.

Should spam emails ever be an issue within your organisation, @Zoe_Smith would be able to deal with them quickly and fairly, by blocking, reporting and getting a bread knife and hunting them down. This shows that time wasting will not be an issue, although tea/diet coke breaks are an absolute necessity.

taken from here

@Zoe_Smith is an intellectual, funny, compassionate lady and someone I am very glad that I have “met” through Twitter, proving the importance of social networking in the 21st century. It is without any hesitation that I would recommend @Zoe_Smith for a role in your organisation and strongly believe that she will continue to be the remarkable person that she is now.

If I can be of any further assistance or can offer any more information then please do not hesitate to contact me.

Yours faithfully,

Laura

regret

I don't feel very good today. It could be a massive come down from the large quantities of drugs that have been pumped through my system since Monday (finally had surgery, but that requires a whole other blog post and now I'm not in the right place).

Yesterday I cut myself. Before hand it was all I could think about. I knew that it was only a matter of time before I gave into the voices and did as they said. They'd been quiet for a few days, I miss that quiet. So yes, I gave in, And yes, I regretted it instantly. But I didn't regret it enough to not do the same thing again today.

Cry.

Guilt.

Sick.

Panic.


Yesterday the counselling centre rang me. Two and a half weeks I have been waiting for that phonecall. Two and a half weeks ago was when I dragged myself there because I didn't trust myself to be at home by myself. And what do I do? Ignore the call. Just as I have been ignoring the fact that they have been ringing me every 30 minutes sience 2pm this afternoon. I don't want to talk. I don't know what to say. Yes, I have fucked up. I gave in and I hate myself for it. I want my happy bubble back. But most of all, I want to know what the hell is wrong with me. I cannot do this.

Today...

Today has been a good day.

• I don't have a rare blood disorder. They messed up, twice.
• I can have surgery
• Today I feel happy and unpanicky.
• I was out for most of the day and didn't feel tortured by loud noises which were invading my head
• I coped being around people
• I have an excited, manic feeling and I can't sit still for very long.
• I feel happy.

anti order

I started writing a blog post this morning, but it is saved in my drafts along with a load of other shit, and will gather cyber dust until my brain has the ability to function and do something slightly normal. Until then, you're going to get some spontaneous crap which flies straight out of my head and won't make much sense.

Today I had the privilage of meeting one of the top haemologist consultants in the country (this was repeated on numerous occasions throughout the appointment) to discuss my crazy blood. What has so far been established, as I may have already said a lot, is that my blood isn't clotting. This is bad. What hasn't been established is why my blood isn't clotting. This is also bad. This new consultant decided to draw me a nice picture/list thing detailing his doctoring thoughts. What he concluded is that I may have a rare blood disorder. I was unable to process anymore after that.

After being sat in the cancer and haematology unit at the hospital where my father spent some of his final days, it has been the most enormous slap in the face that potentially something is very wrong with me. Whilst the Big C hasn't been uttered at all (or at least since December when there were mumblings) being in a unit with people so critically ill has given me the biggest reality check ever.

Yes, they could be erring on the side of caution, I fully accept that, but the words "rare" and "disorder" being uttered in the same sentence by some top consultant has scared me more than I can put into words. I am hoping and praying that this is some technical mistake (made twice by some incapable arseholes) or that they will turn round with massive smiles and say "it's okay! You're okay! Stop worrying!" It's been a long time since somone smiled at me in hospital, at least not a real, celebrationary smile symbolising okayness. I miss that. Things are very much passed being okay.

I suppose it's also a shock because this is yet again, another instance of me being linked to a disorder. I already have erratic "disordered" eating. I already have compulsive "disordered" behaviour. I feel like I am a walking disorder, except I can't do the walking bit very well all the time.

A friend asked me this evening "how did it go with the blood posse?" I love her for trying to cheer me up and add a bit of humour to the current situation. I've given up being positive and trying to hold onto what's good. It hurts too much. Just throw me in a wheelchair and leave me be. I'm sick of being prodded and poked by different people and still getting the same answer: nothing.

I feel like I've hit self destruct, yet again. I can't bear being sat in the house, for sheer fear of what I will do to myself. Instead I returned from the hospital and passed the afternoon "seeing my friends". Actually any form of human contact is too much and I sat in the local park for 3 hours, sent a rambling text to L out of sheer desperation. But it's okay, I think I'm seeing her tomorrow. I think. I hope.

The children were too loud, the birds were too high pitched, the dogs were too yappy, the wind was too windy (yes, that does make sense) and all of it hurt my head. I wanted to scream "shut up! Can you not see that I am trying to have a crazy moment?" but I know that is not socially acceptable and the presence of police made me feel that I couldn't outwardly express my feelings. Nice area I live in, with police strolling through a children's park on a weekday afternoon. The walk home wasn't much better: too many old people, too many people full stop actually, dead birds being dead on the path and youths in That Alleyway, meaning I had to walk the longer way home. And the shower is dripping. I can hear it now. It's too loud.

/end selfish rant.

Oh fuck.

Dreams/Reality

I don’t like night time. Just putting that out there.


I don’t like staying in other people’s houses because I find it impossible to promise myself to behave “normally” during the night.

I don’t sleep. Instead I pass the time by watching various DVDs; recent choices have been the Outnumbered boxset, Bridget Jones, Bend It Like Beckham and Friends series one. I’m not particularly fussed about what DVD it is (providing it’s not the Black Swan, still recovering from the last mindfuck that caused). If it passes the time, then it will do. Often I don’t watch it; I just like to have it on in the background because I find the silence too loud. The background noise stops me thinking and keeps me distracted for long enough for sleep to be possible. I do, eventually, end up falling asleep, no matter how hard I try and fight it.

Why do I fight sleep? I’m scared. I’m scared about what will go through my mind in the form of evil dreams. Recently my dreams have consisted of me grabbing blades and repeatedly slashing my legs until I have skin literally hanging off and I’m lying in a pool of my own blood. It makes me feel sick just thinking about that dream, mainly because it results in me waking up in a cold sweat, struggling to breathe and actually wanting to do that for real.

There’s an alleyway near my house. This is the setting for another one of my “favourite” dreams. I’m grabbed by Man Who I Had A Bad Experience With and shoved against the wall. It doesn’t take a genius to work out the rest of the dream and I don’t have the ability to type everything out for fear of it being real. This dream has meant that I can’t walk down the alleyway after dusk, and even in daylight I’m aware of my quickened pace and probable erratic behaviour down there. I hope to God the homeowners who overlook said alleyway never look out their windows when I walk through there.

Lately I’ve been trying the whole “Positive Mental Attitude” approach to life, PMA for short. It is often something I’ll scream on Twitter, but in real life I find this incredibly draining and nothing short of a lie. I don’t like who I have become, I am ashamed of who I am. I put that shame aside and got help, but that help has gone into limbo and I don’t know what’s happening: I’m still waiting for New Counsellor to ring me. I don’t do phones and I don’t do waiting. It’s been a week. That’s long enough thank you. I look at the “old” me and I wish that was the me now.

Ironically, “Not Gonna Get Us” just started playing on iTunes. Well I disagree, someone is going to get me and I don’t have the power to stop that.

I wish I could try and put into words what it feels like inside my head. Or draw a picture, but art isn’t my forte and I don’t know who to eloquently write what’s happening. Maybe that will be my next challenge. I don’t know.

I don’t know. I don’t know much at the moment.

suspicious adj. sus·pi·cious

I was meant to be having my operation tomorrow, however this isn't the case anymore. I received the news on Friday that it had to be cancelled because my blood still isn't clotting and I don't have enough red blood cells and that I am anaemic. My nurse was bemused about the fact that I hadn't been feeling ill or had any tell tale signs that my iron levels were so low, I, on the other hand found it amusing.

I don't find it amusing anymore. Pyschology is a bitch: now I know that I should be feeling ill, I really am feeling awful. I don't have any energy, my skin is a really attractive grey/white colour, I keep getting waves of nausea and my hair is still falling out in handfuls (okay, nothing new there). My boyfriend was ever so kind today and said I looked like a "tramp trying to go cold turkey". Thanks, love you too.

On top of that I have been feeling more and more anxious over the past few days, which is turning into utter paranoia. I don't feel very safe and it doesn't seem to matter where I am, that feeling of panic and knowing that someone is watching and following me doesn't go away.

And I'm still waiting for my new counsellor to call me; I've been waiting a week and predict another instance of me turning up there in a mental state needing to speak to someone but ending up legging it again.

Mental. Beware.

5 years time

Five things you like about yourself:
1.I'm loyal
2 I am fairly witty
3.I don't need to be surrounded by people to be happy - I'm independent
4.I will do whatever to help other people
5.I didn't give up

Four long-term goals you want to achieve:
1.Go to university in September and complete my degree
2.Complete a PGCE teaching degree and become a teacher
3.Have my own house
4.Recover

Three short-term goals you want to achieve:
1.Do a skydive for YouthNet next summer
2.Keep talking
3.Get a job when I go to uni

Two people who make you feel good about yourself: I cannot choose just two people, that's impossible, so I will divide it into two groups
1.My amazing friends E and H
2.The people who have really helped me

One realistic change you can make to your life to improve your situation:
1.Keep talking. I have already said that, but it really is the most important thing I can do at the moment.
 

This has reminded me of Noah and the Whale's 5 years time. Have a video-

 

 

 

I stole this from here. A bit of positive reading, which has helped me a lot over the past few weeks.

first steps

What stopped me getting help sooner is often a question I ask myself. I know there are plenty of organisations, such as the Samaritans, which offer support, but it’s always been the first step which I have feared most. To people who aren’t familiar or aware about what it is like to feel that low and a complete danger, it probably seems really simple. In the case of the Samaritans it’s a choice of ringing, texting, emailing, writing a letter or going to a walk in centre. But it isn’t that simple.


There have been so many occasions when I’ve picked up the phone and tried to ring them, but what actually happens when you pick up the phone? What do you say? What do they say? What happens if I panic and hang up before I am able to talk? What if they think I’m just time wasting and they hang up?

Going to a walk in centre was never really an option for me. There is a Samaritans centre in the city closest to where I live, but I was so ashamed of who I had become I wasn’t able to go there. I was ashamed that I had resorted to cutting and damaging myself because I couldn’t get through the day in any other way. I felt like a freak; everyone else seemed so normal and could cope with things that were thrown at them. And then there was me, falling apart and feeling so low. That was terrifying.

Eventually the first step I took was texting the Samaritans. I can still remember the exact text I sent “I need help. Please.” Within half an hour someone has replied and that one text started a dialogue which lasted a few months and was the kick I needed to get “proper” help.

Lack of belief and confidence in myself was probably the single biggest thing that stopped me getting medical help sooner. The simple truth is I didn’t think that I was worth having help. My GP is lovely; I have so much respect for her. But actually seeing my GP meant overcoming more hurdles. The receptionists scared me. I thought they could see right through me and they were plotting against me and would be calling in the mental health services who would then lock me up. When I made the decision on the morning of one of my appointments that today was the day that I would be honest and admit to what was going on in my head and what I had been doing, I then panicked all day about whether I was making the right decision. I was fortunate in some ways, because I had already been seeing my GP regularly about my hip, so I didn’t need to make the initial appointment and speak to the receptionist on the phone. That wait in the waiting room was agonizing. It was one of the longest waits of my life – I’m not a patient person in normal circumstances and I was so tempted to say “fuck it” and leave. But I didn’t. I sat and waited. I can remember feeling dizzy and thinking my heart was beating abnormally fast. Looking back, as much as I regretted it at the time, I did the right thing in staying and waiting to be seen by my GP.

It isn’t as simple as making a GP appointment and willingly sitting down and telling them everything. It is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. It’s been small steps: sending that opening text, admitting everything via text and then realising that I do need help. Sometimes I have moments of thinking that I’ve made a mistake in telling my GP how I feel. But then I remind myself that I’m cutting myself less, yes, I still have days, like Monday when I feel a complete danger to myself, but I was able to do something about it and try and make myself feel safe. At the time, it didn’t feel like a positive step, but sitting here now, I know that had I not touched base with the counseling centre on Monday, I would have cut myself. And as pointed out to me, that could have been fatal. It’s small steps. At times it feels like one step forward and two steps back, but there have been positive steps forward and I’m hoping to keep making those positive steps forward, even if they are tiny.

it's not goodbye

Last night was my school leavers ball. It was very different in comparison to the ball I went to on Saturday; it might not have had dodgems hired out, a massive marquee or a posh four course meal, but actually, in my eyes in was perfect in every single way. I suppose it highlighted the major differences between my school - an average mixed state school and my boyfriend's school.

No expense was spared in making my boyfriend's ball a really spectacular evening, but in all honesty, as amazing as the whole event was, it all seemed very staged and it marked some very big contrasts between the "rich kids" and the "nerds" who gained some form of scholarship. There wasn't a sense of community. When I look at my ball, it was an average evening, people still looked beautiful, but what was evident was how much people cared about each other. Students mixed with the teachers, laughed with them, drank (too much) with them and although it is a standing joke in the school, there was a real sense of community. One of the boys did a brilliant speech, highlighting the best parts of the 6th form, the head boy and girl gave out awards and our year head made a speech which had a number of people in tears by the end.

Like in any school, there have been ups and downs, but looking back, my seven years at secondary school couldn't have been better. I am incredibly proud to have been part of such an amazing school and I am so glad I chose to go there. But I am even more glad that I was able to meet the people I have. They are the people who picked me up on my worst days, the ones who made me smile when I thought I'd never smile again, the ones who knew when I needed a hug and the ones I had the laughs with, the tears with and the drunken parties with.

I strongly believe that distance doesn't matter in a friendship. Whilst I may not see these people everyday, I know it's not the end, it's not goodbye. The friendships will change, but they will remain. From the bottom of my heart, I thank these people, they are incredible and I love them more than words can say.

“True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings” William Shakespeare

Just another manic Monday

I've been slipping in terms of writing this blog.

Saturday
It was my boyfriend's leavers ball and I am still in awe of how posh and formal it was. He goes to one of the best independent schools in England and money certainly didn't seem to be an issue during the evening. There was a champagne reception, served by the school's events team, which in itself was on a completely different level to previous balls I've been to at my own school. Four course meal? Check. Casino? Check. Raffle, with actual decent prizes? Check. Professional photography? Check. Bottle of wine costing £38? Check. Oh, and dodgems hired out? Check. Brilliant.

Sunday
There isn't much for me to say here, I'll leave it as a six year old's birthday party with a hangover is not fun. Forty screaming children is enough to give anyone a headache, without it being the morning after the night before.

Monday
I had my "urgent" blood tests yesterday. I don't know what was wrong with me, usually I'm fine having blood taken, I'm used to them so having a dramatic reaction to it is never something that has been an issue. However, yesterday proved to be one of those times when my body was doing its own thing. The vein in my left arm has been butchered a fair amount recently, meaning the phlebotomist eventually decided that she wasn't going to get any blood from that arm. Cue the butchering of my right arm. It was the most painful blood test I've ever had and I am ashamed to say that it reduced me to tears. And I promptly passed out after.

I had a GP appointment straight ater my blood test and Dr N (who is the only doctor I am willing to see) was, as usual, running fashionably late. One of those things, but having to wait an extra 40 minutes does nothing for my nerves and I would have been running (in a metaphorical sense) if I hadn't had 5 tubes of blood in a biohazard bag with me. I never really know what to make of my GP appointments. Being able to touch base with her is useful but I'm very aware that each time I leave that room she is looking more and more concerned. She won't give me any more pain relief, which I am glad about due to my irrational medication fear, but her reasoning for this has left me feeling uneasy: she isn't convinced that I can be trusted with monitoring my own medication without having the temptation to not take the required dose. I've never admitted to her that there is a crazy part of me wanting to listen to the voices telling me to overdose, so covering my shock with a neutral expression proved to be fairly difficult. There's also the fact that because I've reacted so severely to previous medications, there is too much of a risk for me to take anything else. Thank you body.

Yesterday was just one of those days I think. After I left the GP surgery I freaked out. I didn't feel safe and I couldn't think straight. I can't remember all of the day, but around 3pm I left the house and saw, H, a close friend for an hour before going down to the counselling centre because I was so scared that I was going to harm myself. I spoke to the manager, G, there and tried to explain what was going on in my head. I'm not sure whether I made any sense and if I'm honest, the whole thing has blurred into a very surreal experience. G had that concerned look; this seems to be a trend, I walk into a room, people look concerned about me. I can remember him begging me not to cut myself, because it could be fatal as my blood isn't clotting at the moment. He made me go and sit in one of the private meeting rooms to calm down, although this had the opposite result and I freaked out more and left.

In a sort of daze I went to the youth centre in the hope that L, my Connexions advisor would be there. She wasn't, and the centre was shut. I rang her and was greeted by a voicemail message saying that she was out the office until Monday 11th July, which is probably just as well because I have no idea what I would have said if she had answered.

Like I said, yesterday afternoon is very blurry and only certain things stand out. I can remember thinking that I need to go home, but also that I needed to buy an onion, although why I thought that I don't know. I don't even like onions. I can remember almost getting run over and someone hurling abuse at me. It was my right of way as it was a zebra crossing. I can remember that when I was stood outside the supermarket G rang me in a frantic state asking where I was, to which I replied "I'm buying an onion" and then he kept asking me if I was safe and did I need someone to come and find me. I found that funny, because of course I was safe if I was buying an onion. Aftter saying that to him in a fit of manic giggles I hung up and decided that it would be in everyone's interests if I ignored all his calls for the rest of the evening.

Somehow I calmed down before I arrived home, gave my mum the gift of an onion, for which I think she was very grateful and was informed that I was having surgery on Monday. Short of being punched in the stomach out of the blue, I don't think I could be any more shocked. The first and only thought that I've had regarding surgery since then has been "no, I can't have surgery then, I need to see and speak to L on Monday." Although obviously that is not a valid reason to not have surgery which is why today is going to be spent going shopping to buy new PJs, slippers and a dressing gown for the big event next week, once I find the energy and motivation to get out of bed and try and look presentable.

Oh.

Keep calm. Carry on living.

I had my pre-operation assessment appointment on Wednesday. It went as well as can be expected (it didn't go well...that was expected). I am very grateful for the NHS, without it I would be living in poverty or have crippling debts and I definitely wouldn't have started to accept the fact that I need help. But despite that, my levels of frustration are increasing rapidly.

Upon arrival I was told what would be happening during the course of the 4 hours that I would be there. All seemed to be going well; I was medically checked by a juniour doctor and was still fairly calm considering I was in my least favourite place. Then I saw my consultant. This is where it started to go downhill a bit. One would assume that having been given a pre-op appointment, a date for my operation had been given. No. Of course not. I have been waiting to have this operation since January, but it's been over a year since I first started having problems with my hip. I was told that if I was to have the operation on the NHS I would have to wait until October. Bearing in mind, I am meant to be going to university in York, in September, that is not the best news. There is a government set 18 week wait target for any treatment on the NHS; I have done the Maths, I have gone over 18 weeks by a long stretch.

After that piece of news an agreement was reached between my mum, my consultant and I, meaning I would be going private, hopefully having surgery by the end of July - I'm yet to hear whether this will be possible, but I'm pretty much given up hope.

I'm now facing the decision of accepting having surgery in October, meaning I can't go to university, or having the operation privately. Either way, because of the increase of tuition fees, it would cost the same amount. I can honestly say I do not know what to do, it's one of the hardest choices I think I'm ever going to have to make, and by far the hardest I've faced thus far in my life.

On Friday (yesterday, at the time of writing this) my contact nurse rang me to say that there's been a slight problem with my blood test results. Now read "slight" as "major" and then add in the tone of panic in her voice. In the lab tests, my blood hasn't been clotting, which is potentially serious considering I am having major surgery - I don't fancy bleeding to death on the operating table. I am now having an urgent blood test on Monday to ensure that this is the case, and not a mistake in the lab. This is when my little brain started doing what is does best and put two and two toegther and came up with five. I reread the instruction leaflet which came with some of my medication which I have been taking for my hip. Rare but serious side effects include blood disorders. Other side effects include random bruising, hair loss and the feeling that you're going to have a nose bleed, all of which I have been experiencing. It would also explain why, when I have cut myself (either by mistake of intentionally) that I have literally poured blood and the healing process has been incredibly slow.

Needless to say, I have stopped taking said medication and will be raising it with my GP on Monday, after I've had my blood test.

In a previous post, I said that I promised myself that I would ring the counselling place and arrange to see a different counsellor and make some attempt to talk through everything which has been happening. I didn't stick to that promise, but yesterday I went to the place, spoke to the manager, freaked out, but was told that someone would ring me as an urgent case on Monday. I'm not sure how I feel about this, I'm proud of myself for actually doing it, but I suppose the evident level of worry that the manager had has left me feeling slightly uneasy. He said that there had been a great deal of concern when I cancelled my previous appointment and then ignored numerous phonecalls, but he was also openly concerned by how panicked I was yesterday. I was repeatedly asked to sit still, which I couldn't do, I had to be reminded to breathe and I appeared agitated.

I feel exhausted. I am terrified about the hip situation and any further possible complications. I fear myself and what I could do next, more so now because cutting myself could have potentially very dangerous consequences, which is not ever my intention. The wall of protection I've built over the past however many months seems to have falling down, and I am scared about what that will expose.