Misadventures In Medication

Misadventures In Medication

Continuing Tribulations Of A Middle Aged Man Battling Beerbelly, Baldness, BPD And Heart Failure

Looking into mirror I realise the only thing I am doing is depriving a village of their idiot…….

Still shaking as I type and this blog has taken roughly twice as long to write as normal because of a brain still trying to unscramble itself and begin the physiological process of detoxification from the regular nightly large cocktail of prescription medication .

Often wonder if it’s worth writing about my misadventures with medication….. Yet if even one person reads this and it makes them stop and think at that crucial moment before chugging down a fistful of medication or allows them to understand why a loved one has done something similar I think it is worth it.

What even remotely rational thought process can lead me to greedily gorge like a wild boar at 3 in the morning on Diazepam,Quitiepene, Vensir XL , and a healthy selection of non prescription meds? It is an important question not just for me but for society because of the growing issues surrounding prescription medication abuse.

The problem is a huge one. In the United States, drug overdoses are the leading cause of accidental deaths, eclipsing even car accidents. And the UK joins the United States in the grim statistic that overdose deaths from prescription opioids outnumber those from heroin and cocaine combined

So in what parallel universe is it understandable that a human being of reasonable intelligence can even briefly entertain the deeply selfish and potentially lethal notion of playing Russian roulette with an exotic cocktail of medications?

If it was someone new to mental health problems and the dark cul-de-sac world of medication overdosing the intention could be a desperate bid to end it all or a ‘public cry for help’ as Society so dismissively and mistakenly describes that might be one explanation. Yet I am nearly a decade down that line so neither of the above even enters my mind. And yet after a certain point can I hand on heart say I knew exactly how much I had taken?

The answer is obviously no, it will always be a worrying and potentially lethal bloody no.

When you are this far down the line, for me at least, it is all about escape. Even if only for 24 hours. An overwhelming need to just blot out all the struggles and pain for that 24 hours during which you gloriously feel nothing. Your brain is briefly and beautifully numb.

Obviously there is a price to pay. You are a shaking, nervous and guilty excuse for a human being usually for up to 48 hours at least once the medication cocktail has worn off.You are shaking mostly because of the physiological effects, you are nervous because your senses and emotions are coming back up to speed . Mostly though you feel guilty because you have piled on yet more needless worry and concern to the constantly decreasing number of people who actually genuinely care about you.

The disgusting levels of selfishness are staggering and by christ as you sit alone shaking in the aftermath you are painfully aware of that. You remember how such selfish and self destructive behaviour has destroyed so much of what was once your life.

In my case relationships, contact with three of my four children, a home and even a career which was more a way of life than just a job in the ambulance service…All utterly smashed and wantonly destroyed by exactly the same selfish stunt I have just pulled again.

All to get 24 hours escape and release from days spent in the most brutal sort of toe to toe fist throwing street fight with the Black Dog. To give yourself relief from the mental exhaustion. The sheer amounts of emotional and mental energy that is sapped from you when you have gone through what experts call ‘an acute’ episode is completely off the scale in any normal sense of the word. You have to understand that. No I mean you truly have to understand that level of mental exhaustion and desperation when discussing abusing prescription medication.

For myself I have that BPD led constant negative inner narrative scrolling like an auto cue machine through my mind.It tells you with great authority you are lazy, useless, weak, a waste of space ,not worth five minutes of anyone’s time…..and so it goes on.

A pathetic attempt at a brief escape from all of the above is what it boils down to. Doesn’t reflect too well on me but it is the brutal truth behind my motives .

Obviously if you or a loved one has taken an overdose on any scale medical attention should be sought out straight away.

#bloggingformentalhealth2019

#willlunnwriter2019

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Tears Before Bedtime

Tears Before Bedtime

The tears just began rolling down my fluid bloated ginger bearded cheeks. Now don’t get me wrong my little FB Chums for most of my 46 years I was a renowned blubber. The first ten minutes of Pixar Cartoon Film ‘UP’, you know with the couple growing old together, had me in emotional ruins in Lisburn Omniplex. When Lady Cybil died unexpectedly in Downton Abbey the tears were free and forthcoming.

As for the last chapter of ‘Captain Correlli’s Mandolin’ by Louis De Bernier utterly destroyed me , on all three occasions I read it.

Diazepam, quitipene and Venaflaxin are as powerful a trio of drugs designed to make crying virtually impossible for me nowadays but boy did they let me down badly on Sunday as Annie and I hugged each other like we were physically trying to hang on to one another. Tears running freely from us both.

Oddly of all things it was a touching scene between Winston Churchill and his wife Clemmie in the new movie ‘Darkest Hour’ which set us off. Possibly because Winston and Clemmie were such an intimate couple who couldn’t survive without each other.

It was as if we both allowed ourselves to admit what terminal illness really means for the first time. The brain has a scarily powerful way of blocking out what it doesn’t want to or isn’t capable of dealing with.

Terminal illness means I wont be here to snuggle on the sofa with Annie and Rosie the dog. It means when Toby needs his Daddy I won’t be there. That’s the brutal finality which no Doctor or wonder medication can do anything about.

I am sure other couples facing the same situation find it just as difficult to cope with. However to be honest knowing others have gone through or are going through the same situation isn’t bringing me a whole lot of consolation at the present time.

Obviously dealing with the emotional fall out of having a terminal illness isn’t made easier when you have been battling Borderline Personally Disorder for over a decade . Yet they are the cards I have been dealt so with the help of Ann and good friends I better dry my eyes .

#bloggingformentalhealth2019

Continuing Tribulations Of A Middle Aged Man Battling BPD, Beerbelly , Baldness and Chronic Heart Failure

Continuing Tribulations Of A Middle Aged Man Battling BPD, Beerbelly , Baldness and Chronic Heart Failure

‘Fear there is a slightly disreputable, I would go as far as seedy, down at heel 80s style Hotel missing the centrepiece heart shaped waterbed from their optimistically entitled grubby Honeymoon Suite.’

Mostly because I feel like said half full heart shaped waterbed which has escaped from a seedy 1980’s Hotel Bridal Suite. Sloshing awkwardly around place. Very probably why, apart from half hour for those pics last Monday I haven’t left the bolthole in well over a week.

I never thought my 40s would include me swelling up with fluid in such a visually arresting manner that I could feature on a David Attenborough TV Special.

(Famous Attenborough Whisper)

‘Viewers take note especially the amount of fluid build up around the abdominal area. Our experts estimate there is at least two and a half stone of fluid now bloating this particular specimen. Look at how his breathing is becoming more laboured as the pressure from that sheer amount of fluid on his lungs begins to take a toll.

As we have already discovered Brian the half filled waterbed has Chronic Congestive heart failure. Unfortunately for Brian the most common cause of pulmonary edema is congestive heart failure (CHF). Heart failure is when the heart can no longer pump blood properly throughout the body. This creates a backup of pressure in the small blood vessels of the lungs, which causes the vessels to leak fluid.

We would urge well meaning viewers to approach Brian with care and even if you have the best of motives do not, we repeat do not tell him about an Aunty,Granda, Granny or Great Uncle Cedric who had a heart problem, had an operation and is now right as rain. Please bare in mind Chronic Congestive Heart Failure does not have any surgical cure, nor does it have any cure with meds. Yes the meds can slow down the symptoms, but ultimately it is 100% terminal.

You must remember our subject Brian has suffered/suffers from Borderline Personality Disorder, a condition which has validation or perceived validation its very ugly pernicious core. In simple terms that means when you approach Brian and tell him about the miraculous heart surgery your Great Uncle Cedric had he doesn’t hear a friend trying to give hope….no what he hears when filtered through his cruel mischievous BPD is someone belittling his heart condition and telling him he’s not really that ill at all. Or even worse he is deliberately making his illness sound worse than it is.

Perhaps on reflection we should advise you to avoid him on the increasingly rare outings he makes from his Bolthole.

#bloggingformentalhealth2019

Coping With Valentines When You Have Emotional Abilities of A 10 Year Old Thanks To BPD

Coping With Valentines When You Have Emotional Abilities of A 10 Year Old Thanks To BPD

‘No matter how insightful verging on the intelligent my writing may seem to the reader inside I am a 10 year old desperately trying to make sense of the wildly complicated emotional world of grown ups.’

Yes I know the whole Valentines claptrap is an emotionally shallow nonsense foisted on society by advertising agencies so we can bulk buy Roses/flowers of your choice, spend spend spend on overpriced cards and other trumphery.

Topped off with going out to a usually decent restaurant ruined by it being rammed to the gills or for the married couples an M&S Dine in for two special.

Intellectually I know all of the above but in DBT training jargon the cold reasoning part of the brain never stands a chance when the hot emotional half of the brain gets fired up. I have talked about the BPD Theories which explain why a person with BPD generally only has the emotional capabilities of a child, usually at the age their childhood trauma was suffered.

In short that means my ability to deal with strong emotions kinda stalled at the age of 10. No matter how insightful verging on the intelligent my writing may seem to the reader inside I am a 10 year old desperately trying to make sense of the wildly complicated emotional world of grown ups.

Valentines is a perfect example because I have lived with at least 5 women and shared Valentines with a number somewhere in double digits. Each and every single one professed undying, world turning on it’s axis love for me…hard to believe I know.

As I sit here still in a dressing gown in the afternoon with my legs elevated to reduce fluid build up because of the heart failure on my own that 10 year olds’s emotional understanding and capabilities is struggling to compute how non of the ex partners mentioned who told me I would be in their lives forever don’t seem to give the slightest f### that I am mainly housebound with a chronic heart failure prognosis on the optimistic side of a year and a half before I switch off.

Now please don’t misunderstand me, the cold rational side of my brain realises this is perfectly understandable adult behaviour as the healthy and convenient thing for humans to do is move on and leave the past where it firmly belongs disappearing in the metaphorical wing mirror of life.

You try explaining that to a 10 year old, in an emotional sense….speaking as that 10 year old all I see is a bunch of people who I thought loved and cared for me not even vaguely bothered that I am now a bloated, housebound grossly prematurely dying minor tragedy.

#bloggingformentalhealth2019

Compassionate Society My Arse

Compassionate Society My Arse

‘Can’t stand feeling I am being manipulated or basically clumsily blackmailed by a multi £Billion Government Department so in this case after due period of cool reflection and consideration I have opted to go down the Fuck Them route.’

Those delightful caring and deeply sympathetic folks at PIP have just told me despite stage 3 Heart Failure and me having to buy my mobility scooter out of my own pocket they can’t award me mobility payment……..

That is unless I gamble on losing everything by making full reapplication. It doesn’t seem to matter what the stress caused will do to both my heart and mental health . Apparently

PIP mode of operation or tactic is sort of blackmail you by saying because this is a new additional medical condition I have to basically reapply for entire PIP benefit and run the risk of losing what have already been awarded.

Been reading few advice sites and according to moneysavingexpert.com , Citizens Advice, turn2usadvice.com among others, this is a recognised tactic PIP employ to put people off from applying for higher rates. They make you fear losing entire award as if you were gambling in a bloody Las Vegas Casino.

Now many of you little FB chums know me fairly well. I generally am an understanding, rational and empathetic individual.

Yet if I believe someone is trying to take advantage/intimidate/blackmail or generally screw with me or my family I become the most stubborn, driven and thick headed Psycho imaginable.

Heart failure or no f###ing heart failure!

Think just shocked the PIP Phone Monkey ,who incidentally actually used the Nazi excuse ‘sorry I am only following regulations’ by saying to him you know what I’ve in and around a year left and you recently carried out a reassessment without me knowing about it three months ago which I passed. So just send me out the form..he kept emphasising I may lose all PIP but I told him to let me worry about that and just send me the form.

Can’t stand feeling I am being manipulated so in this case after due period of cool reflection and consideration I have opted to go down the Fuck Them route. And the best thing is most people who know me at all will realise it’s got nothing, or very little to do with the money…far more important than that now . It’s the principle.

Have paid into the system whole working life. Spent 14 years helping those less fortunate who have mobility or mental health problems with NIAS and helped lot more individuals than most would expect off my own back outside of work hours.

Willlunnwriter2018

Bloggingformentalhealth2018

One Day More

Tribulations Of A Middle Aged Man Battling Baldness, Beer Belly, BPD And Heart Failure

One Day More

‘Tomorrow we’ll discover

What our God in Heaven has in store!

One more dawn

One more day

One day more!’

When you have a terminal illness you become aware of ‘being on the meter.’ With it running worryingly quickly through the time you have left like those old versions which took 50p pieces we had in Thornhill with the actual wee metal wheel. Except the wheel is spinning so fast it could cut diamonds.

There are very few positives in this whole haemorrhoid cluster of this early death mess. So I am clinging to any said positives I can find with knuckles white with the weary but steely determination of a Liverpool Fan (of which I am one) holding on to the hope and belief that at last the title is ours this season.

One of those positives I am enjoying most is the heady sense of complete liberation from normal social expectations, norms and even self imposed rules which have governed my entire adult life. It’s a little bit like the last day at a job or last few days at school.

A good example that will unfortunately leave those friends with more discerning musical and theatrical taste cringing is how I start each day now.

For past few weeks I have changed my morning routine and, obviously after the first life giving ration of bean to cup fresh coffee , I start first few hours of the day listening to West End musical numbers booming out from Bluetooth Speaker system completely unapologetically.

For no other reason than they cheer me up.

They make me think about the joy those tunes give Toby and Annie so in a weird way feel little bit of them are here with me every morning, instead of away to school and work respectively, with the huge smiles on their faces just like they have every time we walk into a theatre to watch a show.

As I write Hugh Jackman as Jean Valjean and the rest of the Les Miserables cast are lustily belting out ‘One Day More’

VALJEAN

Tomorrow we’ll be far away,

Tomorrow is the judgement day

ALL

Tomorrow we’ll discover

What our God in Heaven has in store!

One more dawn

One more day

One day more!

I mentioned there are surprisingly more positives to this omnishambles of Heart Failure causing me to exit stage left even before when the intermission should be. Yet I think will save telling you about them until another day. Not so much for the benefit of you my little FB Chums but because on my lower mornings describing said positives to you will help me remember them.

Bloggingformentalhealth2018

Willlunnwriter2018

‘Tomorrow we’ll discover

What our God in Heaven has in store!

One more dawn

One more day

One day more!’

When you have a terminal illness you become aware of ‘being on the meter.’ With it running worryingly quickly through the time you have left like those old versions which took 50p pieces we had in Thornhill with the actual wee metal wheel. Except the wheel is spinning so fast it could cut diamonds.

There are very few positives in this whole haemorrhoid cluster of this early death mess. So I am clinging to any said positives I can find with knuckles white with the weary but steely determination of a Liverpool Fan (of which I am one) holding on to the hope and belief that at last the title is ours this season.

One of those positives I am enjoying most is the heady sense of complete liberation from normal social expectations, norms and even self imposed rules which have governed my entire adult life. It’s a little bit like the last day at a job or last few days at school.

A good example that will unfortunately leave those friends with more discerning musical and theatrical taste cringing is how I start each day now.

For past few weeks I have changed my morning routine and, obviously after the first life giving ration of bean to cup fresh coffee , I start first few hours of the day listening to West End musical numbers booming out from Bluetooth Speaker system completely unapologetically.

For no other reason than they cheer me up.

They make me think about the joy those tunes give Toby and Annie so in a weird way feel little bit of them are here with me every morning, instead of away to school and work respectively, with the huge smiles on their faces just like they have every time we walk into a theatre to watch a show.

As I write Hugh Jackman as Jean Valjean and the rest of the Les Miserables cast are lustily belting out ‘One Day More’

VALJEAN

Tomorrow we’ll be far away,

Tomorrow is the judgement day

ALL

Tomorrow we’ll discover

What our God in Heaven has in store!

One more dawn

One more day

One day more!

I mentioned there are surprisingly more positives to this omnishambles of Heart Failure causing me to exit stage left even before when the intermission should be. Yet I think will save telling you about them until another day. Not so much for the benefit of you my little FB Chums but because on my lower mornings describing said positives to you will help me remember them.

Bloggingformentalhealth2018

Willlunnwriter2018

Continuing Tribulations Of A Middle Aged Man Battling Baldness A Beer Belly And BPD

Continuing Tribulations Of A Middle Aged Man Battling Baldness A Beer Belly And BPD

Try and fail to remember PIN number at cash machine twice. Standing outside Tesco at the Outlet or ‘Boulevard ‘ if you’re willing to swallow the dumb ass marketing horse shit dreamed up by some vastly over paid under talented creatives called Tarquin or Porsche in a glass walled office…which needless to say I am not.

Hear tuts from behind me as I struggle with ATM. Anxiety and panic levels spike so give up even trying to remember PIN . Exasperated sighs fill my ears as turn away from ATM . All the attitude coming from a young woman. Tight top, great tits, terrible attitude so element of the universal Yin and Yang. Even at most mentally vulnerable and confused can still appreciate magnificent mammaries.

On short drive between Railway View and Outlet/Boulevard/ Soulless Retail Park have kerbed lovely black alloys on Winston the Jag three times. Few quid in wallet so still head into Tesco. Two different elderly people come up and start talking to me, calling me Brian and mentioning family so they clearly know me well. Haven’t first clue who they are, not great at names although never forget a face but brain blank when it comes to any recognition of either person.

Fresh from two days recovery housebound or to be more honest mostly bed bound . Determined not to let it slide into three days shut away from life because experience tells me that will become four days and then a week lost. I shove myself out the door but sometimes determination/bloody minded thrawness just ain’t enough when dealing with clinical psychiatric symptoms. Emotional tank empty after what cold clinical Psychiatric BPD terminology describes as ‘an acute episode.’ The delayed reaction to whole heart nonsense and mini breakdown with tears described in Saturday blog as finally admitted to myself wasn’t going to be around to see my boy Toby make it on stage or whatever else he puts his mind to.

Been thinking how to describe what it feels like when in midst of BPD lead breakdown as every drop of emotion is voided from me. Unfortunately can only think of grizzly parallel of a pig hung upside down having throat cut and left for every drop of warm blood to drip put.

Duchess tells me not to be so hard on myself, it would be difficult for anyone to get their head around finding out there’s a 75% chance they won’t be here in next couple of years never mind someone with a mental condition which specifically screws with your emotions on a daily basis.

When BPD at its worse that phenomenon known as Dream Reality Confusion I have talked about before wheedles its malevolent way into my wide open vulnerable excuse for a brain. Can only describe it as a heavy fog of confusion descending over every aspect of brain activity which even I find frightening beyond words.

Make it home from Tesco miraculously then a quick afternoon nap turns into a six hour dead to the world sleep.

As usual feel ridiculous need to defend myself by saying this isn’t an invitation to a pity party but just matter of fact description of how life is for me and many others suffering from similar mental health problems.

Willlunnwriter2018