Wednesday, 4 February 2015


I'm tired. BabyF is almost sitting on her own - in any 5 minutes my emotions regarding this range from pride - you go girl - to sadness that she is a) growing up so fast (I'm sure I'll lament this forever) and b) growing up so fast on a psych ward. 

Today's meeting with the pdoc was ok-ish. I cried, didn't mean to, because I feel so useless and so scared. My thoughts and feelings scare me; they're huge and ugly and dark and when I'm at my lowest it's a real struggle to control myself.

That was yesterday. Today I am also tired, mainly because something in the corridor was beeping all night. Apparently it will be fixed today. 

I can no longer go outside alone so the past couple of days my lovely nurses have taken BabyF and I for walks and juices and coffees. Today I couldn't go for a walk because my baby was asleep and there weren't enough staff to leave her in the nursery. I feel trapped, both physically and metaphysically - not a great place to be.

The handful of pills I swallow each morning don't seem to be doing much yet. I want to cry. I want to leave. I wonder if my life will be like this forever, if these feelings aren't anything to do with severe depression, but are just my actual feelings. That would make me a monster and a terrible person and awful mother. These thoughts (and more) in turn make me so distressed that I can't cope or do anything. It's at the bottom of this pit that my worthless self  wants to die. 

Right now I should be looking after my baby but I feel incapable of movement. I haven't even showered. She's been changed and fed and dressed (by me) all on autopilot. Autopilot is no way to raise a child. Things HAVE to get better. They have to.

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