Psychiatrist-ing...

Finally had my psych referral appointment today. I had had one with the same team two years ago where they told me I wasn't serious enough to be under their care. I was petrified that that would happen again. It didn't, but I did have to go into detail about my story, which I was expecting. Normally doing this makes me quite emotional. Today was no exception. I didn't help that the consultant I saw is one who I've spoken to before in a medical-student-teacher capacity, and it was snowing so I was wet, and the appointment was part way through my first day at a new placement at the same hospital the appointment was in. Plus I think the doctor was Muslim and I had to explain some of the religious issues I've been having recently. He's got those eyes though, the ones where you can't tell if he's judging or not. Good eyes for a doctor to have. He was nice though.

The treatment plan isn't exactly what I wanted but at least I wasn't turned away this time, so that's something. To be honest, I'll try anything at the moment. I just don't want to feel like this any more. I can't remember what it's like to feel normal. What is normal? That's a whole other post.

Toodles,
Lexie

Completeness through art...

I went to the theatre today, spontaneously. I left my flat around 2ish with a heavy heart to go to the Post Office. I'm been feeling low recently and I didn't want to leave my room but when I did I didn't want to go back. I wanted an adventure. I wanted to drive until I ran out of road. Not for the first time I contemplated just disappearing, taking the ferry and driving on through Europe. I settled for spontaneity instead. I rang to RSC, confirmed they had tickets for tonight and drove down to Stratford Upon Avon where I saw Boris Gudonov. 

I feel wonderful now, better than I have all week. 

I love the theatre. It makes me feel…happy isn’t the right word, although I do feel happy after. Very happy. Theatre makes me feel satisfied, whole. Complete. It’s similar to when I come out of a good film at the cinema but with the theatre the feeling is more mellow, more rounded. Like a matured wine, I suppose. It’s different again with books. With books I feel higher. The same emotions as with theatre or film but I feel like I’m airborne, singing soprano. 

Books lift me, theatre holds me.

All three make me want to write. To create worlds I can get lost in, worlds I can help others escape into by escaping into them myself. 

They make me feel like I belong. 

Complete. 

Whole. 

Happy. 

There's nothing else in my life that makes me feel like that. I think that's why I'm so reluctant to give up that part of myself, why I'm so eager to make them my whole life. 

Sleep Anxiety...

It's 3:20 in the morning and I'm awake and writing this. I wish this was insomnia but it isn't. I even wish it was a childish tantrum, a five-more-minutes-please-mum kind of situation, like when you were younger and there was something on the telly that you wanted to watch but it was way past your bedtime.

I don't want to sleep because then it will be tomorrow, and I don't want it to be tomorrow. Term starts tomorrow and I've spend today in a state of perpetual, inexplicable dread. I don't want to go back. I don't want to see people. I just want to stay here, in my room, in bed. This isn't laziness. This is fear.

This is all ridiculous and yet...



I wish it would stop. All of this. Everything.