Fed up but not Depressed

I am fed up at the moment, fed up of medication that has side effects which mean I have to alter my usual routine. I am fed up of weight gained when on medication which means I am dreading our family holiday in 7 weeks which I should be excited for. I am fed up with my mindset that means I volunteer for too much because I am so afraid that people view my illness and my competence with a level of codependency meaning they see me as less able than if I didn’t have an illness; I should say I am on the waiting list for psychology to explore this issue though.

I am fed up with the small things like having to fight with my GP surgery for repeat prescriptions when they make a mistake and their response suggesting they see my mental health diagnosis and assume a co-morbid stupidity. “No I can’t wait an extra couple of days for the medication to relax my muscles I can barely walk.”

Fed up but I’m not depressed.

I want to be very clear about this as I am so afraid of expressing any sort of emotion in case those around me make assumptions of my wellness or indeed illness at any given time. I want to throw my head back and laugh until I cry tears of joy, I want to share my anger with a friend when circumstances leaving me feel cross, I want to let those around me know when I feel disenchanted with events. I want to feel normal and express normally whatever that is.

I changed my nail colour to something bright a couple of weeks ago and coupled with a colourful summer top a work friend told me, in a kind, caring way, that they were watching me in case this was a sign I was becoming poorly. I feel like I can’t do anything as I am being watched. I want to be like everyone else; I want to have good days and bad days without assumption of illness. I know this comes from kindness and I feel touched that they noticed I guess but it still makes me feel like I can’t leave my illness at the door. Ever.

Right now I am fed up, fed up too the point where if you ask me about it then I am likely to end up in tears but I am still not depressed. My muscles ache from the extra pyramidal side effects of one of my medications but the medication I have to relieve this is limited so I can only be pain free for part of the day. I want to use the gym more but some days literally climbing the stairs to my office leave me near to tears.

The weight I am carrying is like a visual representation of the traumas of this illness, each time I look in the mirror I am reminded of the very public manic episode I had earlier this year and the deep horrors of the depression which consumed me in 2016. My reflection reminds me of the ECT I had and of the psychosis I endured. It reminds me of the babies I will never hold because of the medication despite getting to the top of the list at the fertility clinic. You see overweight yet I see so much more.

I am fed up but I’m not depressed, I know this because I know depression intimately.

I have gone from medication which left me overly sedated to medication which keeps me awake for far longer than I wish, I am hoping like Goldilocks the next one may be just right. Both work well on my mental state but both in very different ways leave fed up.

I am on a waiting list for psychology to consider the idea that my competency and my illness are not interlinked following how public my most recent episode of mania was but I wonder whether this will be the safe place I need to admit, in there manner of an introduction at a recovery meeting that I am fed up?

Is it ok to be fed up when folk are watching? Can someone with Bipolar allow themselves to express any extreme of emotion without this being seen through pathological eyes?

Please don’t see my laughter or my tears through a DSM, see me.

An ode to Jeremy Hunt from a tired Mental Health Nurse….

Here’s to our nurses who go the extra mile

Who want to do more but are stopped by exhaustion

Exhaustion which roars like a fast moving train

Only slowed by a love which helps them plough through the pain.

The pain isn’t physical, sometimes it is

The pain is saying no when we want to say yes

The pain is toeing the party line when we want to express

Express that we also don’t think it fair that their wait is so long when they are ready to share.

The pain IS exhaustion itself, missing family meals from staying to listen,

We want to listen we want to hear we want to make your pain disappear.

Your pain is in your heart and in your soul deep.

We want to stand with you a comfort as you weep.

We want to wipe away your tears and tell you all will be ok

To walk with you on a recovery journey but we are stifled by fear.

Our fear is about that fast moving train, the roar of exhaustion taking the blame.

The real blame lies with those in Westminster.

Blame is easy to portion and hard to shift but those saying speak out, talk, are not delivering the gift.

The gift of funding we need to unwrap to help us to nurse with our hearts and not simply shift.

Shift the blame to exhaustion and you blame the nurse

The nurse hears the roar of the train and tries to work harder the only thing helping being their NHS armour.