NHS Windsor, Ascot and Maidenhead are saving my life.

I’ve just got home after seeing the Community Psychiatric Nurse: it went terribly. She’s worried about my depression and the way in which my partner reacts to my illness. She’s worried about my sleepwalking and self-harming episode. She’s worried about my appetite and overworking myself. She’s worried about me. My Venlafaxine has been upped to 300mg, the highest possible dose, which means  that this is the final hope for this medication: if I’m still sad, I’ll have to swap it for something else, a prospect which terrifies me. I’ve missed my class on My Antonia, but there’s another class next week so I can catch up. I am seeing the CPN again on Monday 18th which means I’ll miss my Contemporary Fiction class. Sigh. Being ill is such a drag.

Today, I feel ambivalent. I am floating around campus like a ghost, like a girl without a cause. I have work to get on with but I don’t fancy doing it. I just want to go into town and buy some books, but don’t have the energy. I want to cry but I don’t want to let myself down. I feel determined not to relapse again in 2013 but feel that it is inevitable because Christmas makes me sad. I don’t know what to do with myself, I think I just want somebody to talk to, to have a nice distracting conversation with, about books and philosophy and politics. But he won’t have that conversation with me.


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