“Blood is thicker than water.”

Whoever came up with that saying was a manipulative bastard.

It has taken me a long time to break free from thinking I need my family. I don’t.

I’m feeling empowered by finally being able to accept this – it has held me back from happiness for so long.

What will they think? Will they cut contact with me? Will they hurt me because they disagree with my choices?



So firstly, everything has been going really well with my meds. I’m still on 100mg Sertraline and 25mg Agomelatine (Valdoxan).

I mean, obviously it’s going well, given that I no longer felt I needed to update this blog anymore.

My psychiatrist appointments have been really great. Three months apart for over two years because I only need check ups now… And someone to challenge my thinking so I can grow as a person.

So… If everything is so great, why am I here?

Well… Something from 15 years ago has popped up. More like someONE. I’ll write more another day; for now I just needed to let that little bit of information out.

Mixing Anti-Depressants

After going downhill rapidly, my psychiatrist felt the most sensible option was to add another tablet to the mix. I was suffering some depression and a lot of anxiety. The pressure building up had become unbearable and I sobbed in his office as I tried to explain how I was losing control over everything, becoming disorganised, forgetting things and losing things. I’ve been feeling like a hard cliff face with rocks crumbling off me every day. I’ve been wearing thin.

I’m now on 25mg Agomelatine (Valdoxan) & 100mg Sertraline (Xydep, Zoloft, Sandoz etc.). The effects of this combination are widely unknown so I think it’s important for me to document it.

I really didn’t want to go back on an SSRI. I hate them; I suffer a lot of side effects for little relief.

So far, the result hasn’t been great, but it’s still early days (barely a week). Headache on day 1, nausea and loss of appetite almost constantly, a dry mouth… And worst of all, I’m sleeping 4-5 hours a night. The nightmares are back, too.

While I’m not feeling suicidal, death is creeping into my thoughts often, in a very relaxing way. I can’t seem to detract from my anxiety with any of the usual methods such as building imaginary scenery, interior decorating or floating on the ocean… However day dreaming that I’m a bony corpse gently shimmying my shoulders, hips and heels in a soft, cold, shallow grave is calming me greatly. I think about the insects crawling on me; picking at what’s left on my skeleton. My worries fade. I’m feeding the earth; my death gives life.

I don’t know if this is something to be worried about yet, but I feel safe as long as the feeling I get from imagining it is calming and not depressing. I’m trying harder than usual to be self aware at the moment because I’m apprehensive about the Sertraline.

Over-Thinking & Socially Retarded Realisations

I saw my psychiatrist last week and I’ve been ruminating on something.

The assistant I’m supposed to be getting at work. I thought I had all these anxieties about the new person – but I’ve totally turned them on myself and have become my own worst enemy. When I mentioned the situation to the doctor, he gently told me that I need to be prepared for the person to do things differently to me.

“Great! If someone can walk in and do things better and quicker than me, I’m all for it!” I exclaimed.

“Well… They might not necessarily do things better or quicker. Just differently.”

I sat there, feeling totally stumped. OK, I calmly started talking aloud about that being fine, and I could let go of it… Then I thought about the kitchen at home and realised that it’s not going to be that easy. Flying solo at work has given me control – just like in the kitchen. Everything has its spot, I wash the dishes in a certain order (glasses first, cutlery last and crockery in between) and I hang around impatiently looking over my husband’s shoulder if he offers to cook. Instead of straight out telling him how to do it, I interrupt and add things to the pot while he stirs and tells me to wait because he’s not ready to put that in yet. I know I can be irritating when I do this, but I don’t care.

Wait. Now I care.

I suddenly care because this new person isn’t someone who loves me just the way I am. This person could make my life difficult; but I’d probably be making theirs difficult first.

Shit. This is going to be horrible. I don’t think I’m ready.

Then I start rambling about how terrified I am of making conversation with strangers. On a short term basis, sure, I can totally ace that because it’s shallow. But on a daily basis? No. On a daily basis, I feel forced to over-share because I have nowhere else to go with the conversation. I’m not familiar with much of pop culture. TV shows, movies, music… I basically live under a rock.

The doc half laughed at how I’m so terrified of awkward silence that I feel the need to fill that gap with inappropriate information about myself. I know he was doing this to make me realise how silly I was being, and it worked. He talked me through “prodding” the other person into doing all the work. Asking open questions for them to talk about themselves and things they’re interested in… So I can sit back and relax. And I can offer fairly closed answers if I want to. Ok, that relieved me a little.

But he asked “are you the kind of person that jumps in and speaks when there’s a natural lull in a conversation?”.

Yes. Yes I am. I hate talking, but I hate awkward silences even more. So I panic and I try to fill the empty space with something random.

A few days ago I ran into someone I hadn’t seen for a few years, and she shot questions at me one after the other, barely waiting for a reply from me. And I realised that I’ve done this to people many times because my fear of not having enough conversation has gone into overdrive and I’ve just stood there mouthing off constantly. OHMYGOD. I’m an irritating, interrupting fucker who doesn’t leave space for someone to get a word in or change the topic.

I’ve been sitting on this for a few days now. Am I over reacting? If that’s who I am, why hasn’t anyone pointed it out before? I don’t do it all the time… But I definitely do it. I’d never been on the receiving end of it before; it was really overwhelming. I couldn’t wait to get away from it.

Needless to say, I’ve been very quiet these past few days. I’ve been internalising a lot. I really hope this doesn’t develop into too much self loathing. I don’t really want to open my mouth around other people now, which is frustrating because I’m already fairly introverted and I don’t “drive” conversations most of the time.

I know that I need to work on not always speaking during a silence because it’s not necessarily awkward for the other person – it might just be awkward for me. But I also have to work on coping with/working through those moments. Because they are ALWAYS awkward for me, unless they’re with my husband.

I feel like a social retard.

It’s been over three months since I had any weed. Over the past year or so, this has been my pattern – I can go for months without thinking about it or wanting it… Then the going gets tough, and I fantasise about releasing all of my anxiety with one sweet joint.

Which would be fine if one joint was all I had, but it never is. I try to smoke only every second day when I have it because I can handle it better, but it will inevitably trigger my depression.

I keep falling into this loop of weed being the answer. The answer to relieving my worries… The answer to having a good birthday in a few weeks… The answer to happiness… The answer to this horrendous stomach pain (smoking would most definitely be a bad choice, but some brownies would be nice).

At one point, weed was all of those things for me (although back then the stomach issue was period pain), so I guess that’s part of the reason I struggle so much to break away from that mentality. There was a time when it was just FUN and USEFUL. It helped create some fond and funny memories of share housing.

But… then it started triggering my depression. Then years layer, when mixed with medication, it meant struggling to get high. But still having my depression triggered. It became a lose-lose situation… Yet I still cling to this silly hope that maybe my body will react differently this time. It still does help with my anxiety, but the issue of depression outweighs that little perk.

I’m glad that it’s weed I pine for and not something harsher like heroin. Don’t get me wrong – it’s still bad for me, but it could be worse. Right..?

I still want some.

It’s been a while…

It’s been over a month since I last wrote here. Things in my life have just been really hectic. I’ve been powering forward with pursuing my other blog, which I hope will be the foundation of a small business in the distant future. The momentum is strong and my readership has doubled this year – so I’m afraid that if I take any sort of breather from it, it’ll fall to pieces and fail.

My full time job has been wearing me thin; I finally received some good news last week. I’ll be getting an assistant. Then… A whirlwind of anxiety swept me up. What if we don’t get along? What if the other staff like her more than they like me? What if she eats smelly food for lunch? I don’t always work well with others. I’ve been flying [mostly] solo for a few years now and I’m afraid that being in close proximity of another person on a daily basis is a sure way for my crazy to start leaking out/be exposed. The logical part of my brain is telling me that this is ridiculous but every other ounce of my being is genuinely concerned about all these things and more.

My physical health is still in limbo. I saw a specialist last week who gave me a referral. I’ll be getting an ultra sound in two weeks and if that comes up clear, the radiologist has instructions to book me in for a CT scan. After 5 months of feeling like my stomach is being squeezed almost all the time (and even worse at night), it’s hard not to convince myself that the findings will be inflamed organs and/or cancer. The first thing they’re looking for is gall stones and I hope to God that’s it because it’s easy to fix. Just take the fucking thing out, already.

I’ve lost about 5-6kg since Christmas as a result of my mystery stomach issue. I’ve hardly had an appetite and when I think I do, I also sort of have nausea at the same time. It’s frustrating. For a long time, I was buying my regular amount of groceries and throwing stuff out because my brain wasn’t equipped to shop for a stomach ache. Or maybe I just kept hoping I’d be fine.

Mental health-wise, I never look forward to Easter. Family events always = stress, anxiety and depression. As you might recall, my grandmother made me cry at Christmas. We haven’t spoken since and I don’t particularly want to face that demon. There’s nothing I can do, other than COMPLETELY changing who I am to be accepted by her. Not an option for me. In addition, there’s the issue of being in the same room as my BPD mother. I know that skipping Easter will bring up a plethora of issues surrounding respect, loyalty and love between me and my family, but I’m done with the guilt. If being a selfish cunt means I avoid having an episode, then it’s what I need to do. I’m not getting any younger, and pleasing others becomes tiresome when it’s all you ever do.

Thinking about anything family related triggers my depression. The ongoing physical health stuff has also taken its toll on my mental health and my relationship with my husband. I’m just going to come out and say it: I’ve been a cranky bitch. I’ve admitted to this and apologised for it several times, but it never feels like enough. I can definitely feel myself being cold and unemotional on the outside and angry and self-pitying on the inside, simply because I have no other way to cope with this pain. My only other option is to burden my husband with constant complaining, which would be draining and horrible for both of us.

This feels unfinished, but I’m short on time so this’ll have to be it for now.