unhelpful day ·
6 June 07

It’s been a shitty day at the “office”. I didn’t feel like getting up today, or getting ready for the next day last night. I stayed up to one o’clock or thereabouts, I think it was closer to two by the time I hit the sack. I didn’t feel good, or feel right, but I managed to sample some previously seen movies to help ebb me to sleep.

The morning after, today, I felt like crap. My head was all over the place, my thoughts were confused and muddled, and I had no desire to attend or take part in therapy today. I was the one that wanted more sessions I think, because I didn’t feel that I could cope without the therapy on my own. I was right at first, and it’s probably still true now. Though, today I felt that I could do without therapy.

Getting ready was a mission, as I labouriously dragged my sorry arse from one room to the next, from upstairs to downstairs. It just didn’t feel right for me to go out today. I had several moments where I was going to call in and say, “I don’t feel right, I don’t feel safe going outside.” Not because I felt I would harm anyone, well actually, I did think that, but it wasn’t the prominent thought. I don’t remember now what my main thought was actually. I know one of them was to do with the therapy not being productive. Actually I don’t think that was it either. Fuck, I forget things so easily with this crappy two-for-one-special brain that I have.

After the boredom of getting ready I then set off on my undesirable journey. The whole thing felt like a monumental headache. Get out of the house, get to the station, by a ticket, get on the tube, switch tubes, get to the station 15 minutes early, kill time in WH Smith and then head for the office. Everything felt like a huge effort, one that I don’t think I could dig out.

There’s a chair or two placed out side the session rooms, next to the entrance door. Two people were already sitting there, not communicating. I stood there, in this confined space digging my nail into my fingers. I felt pressured to keep silent, in the sense that I was quietly screaming and shouting inside, and the voice was making the whole thing more uncomfortable for me.

I didn’t like the awkwardness of the silence and the confined space I stood in and they sat in. One of them broke the silence and talked to the other one. It was like an unfinished conversation, as one asked the other about some relation, probably her daughter. I still stood there like a plank, hearing this and feeling cornered and irritated by the whole experience.

Eventually my psych appeared and the session started. It didn’t feel like it was going to be a good session, I was perhaps already deciding the outcome of the session before the session had began. As I said I didn’t have a motivational morning, so I was a little tired and confused. As always I was asked how I was, and I replied that I was better, seeing how the previous week I had been off medication and didn’t enjoy it.

The therapy didn’t seem forthcoming with any new ideas, or any important discussion. It wasn’t helped by the fact that I was hearing a high pitched buzzing sound. I don’t know if it was real or not, by that I mean that there was some thing wrong with my inner ears, or perhaps it was an auditory “hallucination”. My mind was completely pre-occupied and the question and answer sessions felt lethargic and drawn out. It felt almost like we were clutching at straws to find something to discuss.

We did talk about my medication and my attempts to stop the medication. An appointment will be made with another Dr to attend and talk through perhaps weaning myself off the medication. I don’t even know if stopping the medication was a good idea. I was told that if it was something I wanted to do, that they could help me do it. I’m still unsure, I want to have as much control as I possibly can, and if medication helps me achieve that, then I don’t mind so much. If I can function well without the medication, then that’s fine too – all the better for me I suspect. But going cold turkey with my meds will not happen again, as the experience was far too unpleasant and wild.

There just didn’t feel like any progress was being made. Or if it was it was so minuscule that it was undetectable, or I didn’t detect it. I’m not sure what I wanted from the session. Every time a topic was started it felt like regurgitating the past. I even felt queasy at the idea of treading on old ground. I didn’t want to discuss anything really. I wanted out, because I couldn’t careless what was happening to me.

I wanted to have my head smashed repeatedly against a wall, or for someone to cut my throat and rip out my vocal cords. I didn’t want to be there at all. It was probably as uncomfortable and uneasy a time as when I had the single session of occupational therapy. There simply wasn’t any desire for me to engage in conversation. My every second answer to a question was “I don’t know”. What I meant was “I don’t care because my skull needs to be caved in”.

This makes me wonder whether or not therapy as reached the end of its usefulness. I mean can anything further be explored, are there further coping strategies that could be learnt, or can the therapy help me any more than it has done already? Perhaps it’s been over extended, and it’s usefulness died a few sessions ago. I felt confused and bewildered at the session, unsure of what the point of it all was. I didn’t feel as though I had gained anything by attending.

Now I could request that the remaining sessions be dropped, but I think with only two to three sessions remaining, it may be less useful to cancel them than to attend them. If I can gain something from the next handful of sessions remaining, then that’s obviously a good thing. However, if the sessions are as bad as this last one was, where I feel completely detached and isolated from what’s going on, where the voice is impeding my ability to think straight and to absorb the information, then it’s equally obvious that it’s going to be bad.

This session alone has made me want to turn back to cocaine again. I haven’t touched the snow for quite some time now, I think the last time was back in February. Yeah, it’s not that long ago, but then I was never a avid user of it, although sometimes I did over indulge in it.

Like smoking, however, I’ve decided I don’t need it in my life, it has no real function in it. I’ve enjoyed using it, but I don’t need it any more. Still when I feel this shitty, when I experience something this superficial, if you will, then it brings everything down and I feel I need to go back on it. I admit that if Paul and I meet up before we leave for the parties, then I may possibly buy some.

END