DEATH OR WORK :WHATEVER

Feeling utterly dire, struggling to keep head above water. During my counselling session  we got round to POWER   Not my choice but we got there. It’s ABOUT MY FEAR OF MY POWER.

It’s about me being subject to misuse of power as a child, and recently whilst I was incarcerated in a psychiatric hospital. My counsellor is saying I am afraid that I am fearful I am/could misuse my power, my power as a friend, as an employee, as a  colleague.

Let’s face it I’m practically afraid of my own shadow sometimes. It’s one of those “duh” moments, I am so blinking afraid of any power I have, afraid in case I hurt someone, afraid in case I damage someone as a representative of my employer.

IT’S BURNED THROUGH ME.

I feel as something momentous has happened, not sure I can survive it.Struggling to talk about it.Desperate to try and make sense of it,but cant explain it. Tried Sams but all the wrong voices,one right voice ,but I think they they thought I’d lost the plot. OK,maybe correct………?

I guess it is one of those things that make sense,but so very very frightening. If I say things or challenge or exert any pressure on someone I get so scared,. It puts my fear and sometimes terror of work in a place that makes sense,I kind of understand why I get that sinking feeling on Sunday morning, The feeling that turns into,

“I might have to die because I can’t face work tomorrow” It is that strong. OK, it sometimes gets easier as the week goes on. Sounds really over the top doesn’t it, but it’s real.

A bag of rubbish saved me from facing a life or death decision. Came in from first day back at work after holiday break. My mind was still mainly back in the place I was in a year ago. My mind was not on the work a day world. It was one of these days when every internal fear I have was challenged and I was wilting. Quite simple, I couldn’t cope, too much, out over the balcony. Walked in the front door, dropped my bags on a chair, few steps to the balcony door.

Suddenly realised the kitchen held a bag of rubbish I hadn’t put in the chute. Suddenly I had to put the rubbish out, didn’t want anyone seeing the rubbish when they broke in after I had died. How is it that my mind took on such a concern? Was it that simple? If the rubbish wasn’t there would I have finished my life?

I guess I am almost at a point when I don’t know if I can keep going. Since my counselling session I feel physically exhausted and emotional drained no reserves. Wish I just go and hide somewhere for a while.

Dream world would see me in a house, near a beach, with one or two others, talking, drinking wine, swimming, eating well going to noisy pubs and restaurants. No dream world for me.

Next couple of weeks are going to be such a test. I have a family funeral next week. It’s going to be one of the biggest tests of my life.

 

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CRASHED INTO CUCKOO’S NET

Tough week, last week was one year since I tried to end my life. It’s wrong to call it an anniversary. Cant find a word for place or the process. I’m remembering so much more about that period, its really scary and downright weird. I found myself linking up about every five /ten minutes and remembering, at this time I  ……. At 17:30 I was sitting in front of three people who were deciding my fate.

I had been in the psychiatric unit a couple of hours, people were speaking to me, had been brought into a room,searched by a woman police officer,she was perfectly fine, but it was still a shock. I was so cold and shaky having been in the open air for a while. Everyone was ok ish,given tea, so aware I was in a room that I couldn’t get out of. Put in the room next to it. There was a setee  and three chairs, looked as if someone had tried to design it for patients and staff, but from a staff perspective.

No one actually said what was going to happen, apart from ,I wold be seeing a Doctor soon. What felt like ages a man appears,he did shake my hand, top marks,(I’m a succour for a hand shake) introduced himself and the others would be along later,that the social worker was brilliant. BUT NOONE SAID WHAT WAS GOING TO HAPPPEN.

So me sitting there on the settee,a  male psychiatrist , a male  GP and a female social worker. The GP said he was there for me, to help me ,but he didn’t talk to me first. Lots of questions,beginning to feel under siege, realising every   breath,every word,every body movement was being analysed. Each person  was distantly friendly,but so distant,lots and lots of questions and I felt like was losing the battle. WHY WAS THERE NO ONE THERE FOR ME.?

If your arrested your told what is happening,and have access to a lawyer,how come there is no automatic help when it’s being decided your losing your liberty because of actions due to   supposed mental health issues. I guess its legal to kill yourself ,but illegal to fail to kill yourself. If you say you’re not mentally ill,well you would say that anyway,wouln’t you.

I knew I was in extremely serious trouble when the psychiatrist told me I was “  beyond Samaritans”. I had been talking to Samaritans on top of the cliff. Later the  psychiatrist  in response to me saying I felt sick ,said drinking the tea I had my hands cupped round ,would “do me no good”. For me that felt as if he didn’t even think or care what the tea was doing for me. The tea was in a cup, albeit plastic,still was warming up my hands,and giving me something to do with my hands. He didn’t sugeest an alternative,but the words felt as if they were accusatorial. OK tea for me solves. ALL ills and every problem is assisted by a cup of strong milky tea.

Part two to follow, its painful to write this.

It seems so contradictory when the places and people who set themselves up to judge you   create a situation that in its self  and excluding the reason you’re their becomes a trauma of its own,