How cruel is....

…when I finally get a job interview with a company that I have been dying to work for, spent all night preparing for it, wake up the next day incredibly excited, do myself all up, arrive on time feeling confident and positive....

only to walk in the door and see the girl that tormented me for three years straight when I was in primary school...who has now worked her little biddy up to be the executive PA to the owners.

I spent three years from Grade 5 to Grade 7 being this girl's punching bag and she relentlessly picked on me for EVERYTHING from the shape of my body to my intelligence to my family. Looking back I realise the bullying was borderline sexual harrassment. I went into puberty very early, I started developing breasts at nine and I got my first period a week before my eleventh birthday. I went to a small private school where there was some hormonal freak show happening: not only was I developing early but the rest of the girls in my grade were late developers. Seriously, by age twelve pretty much every single one of the 22 girls in my grade still had a flat chest and that was like, soooo cool. The way they treated me you would have sworn that I was the only girl in the history of planet earth to sprout a pair of boobs. Never mind that they were all heading the same way in the boob department they were all disgusted (that is the best way I can describe it) by my boobs.

Although the boys took part in some of the teasing it was mostly the girls and it was relentless. When I was eleven I got at most two or three hours of sleep at night because I would lie awake with my stomach full of knots knowing that day after day I would have to go back into the "boxing ring" where I was called endless amounts of names, have songs made up about me, have to deal with being held down while someone would attempt to open the front part of my uniform. I would throw up before swimming lessons because I knew that my swimming costume would show up everything I was trying to hide. And then there was the dilemma of actually changing into said swimming costume. The teachers would not allow me to change in the bathroom stalls, no I had to change in front of everybody else because, "If you don't hide it, they won't tease you about it". What idiots.. That just meant that they would take my tog bag and throw it out the window so I couldn't change back into my clothes, or they would take my bra and throw it to each other in some sadistic game of piggy-in- the- middle. I would get my skirt lifted up to see if I was wearing a sanitary pad and I would get hit and punched in the chest.

If this all wasn't bad enough I had a learning disability, all my life and even now that I am at university I have had to work my butt off just to get a mediocre C aggregate. My family was poor- my parents broke their backs to put us through that school so we didn't have the Mercs or the BMW's or live in big fancy houses. I had very few clothes all cheap and crappy stationary for school.

This girl... let's call "F", she was the school's superstar. She was the class boffin, she was one of the top gymnasts in our province and was in numerous sports teams. She was from a wealthy family who owned an apple farm outside of town. Her parents had nice cars, she had a wardrobe stacked full of the best clothes and she travelled the world with her family. Her mother was also on the board of directors at the school and knew everything about my unstable, dysfunctional family and our financial troubles ( at one point my sister and I had to be given a bursary because our parents could not pay the school fees).

So F was pretty much the ring leader in that whole sordid mess. She treated me like I was a disease. She found joy in describing my body in the most disgusting ways, she mocked me when I struggled to do the same Maths sums that she flew through. And she would inform my classmates of the embarrassing details of my family- her mother was a nice well- meaning lady but a real ditz, as I can only think she let F know those details accidently.

F and I went to different high schools and I would see her occasionally. When I left South Africa in 2004 one of the things I took comfort in is that I would never have to see F again. I last heard she went to university and then became a steward for a private yacht company. Of all the bloody companies in South Africa that she had to work for, she had to choose this one. When I walked into that office and saw her all the air left my lungs and my face became like fire. It's been 15 years, I am 28 now have been through so much, have achieved so much and am a completely different person. But the minute I saw F I felt like an eleven year old little girl again. She gave me a fleeting glance took a look at my C.V/ Resume like it was chewing gum and floated to the back of the office. I stumbled my way through the interview.

Seriously, this is not supposed to happen!. What I have heard happening to everyone else- they get bullied at school by the cheerleader or football captain. They go on and turn out to be beautiful and hot, earn a tone of money and then come across their nemesis 20 years later either a broke divorced mother of three or a used car salesman who had to drop out of university. But F is still coming out tops even to this day. While I am still struggling. Her bullying me was never dealt with directly. I mean come on...her mother was on the board of directors, she was the schools poster child. My mother believed that I needed to fight my own battles and that what was happening to me was a part of growing up ( she now regrets this ) but when she did finally get involved the class was given a talking to by the teacher and told that if anyone else picked on me they would be sent to the principal. F never had to answer for what she did.

And what’s worse is that she probably doesn't remember any of this now. It is not affecting her at all. And I can't hold something against her that happened when she was still a child and didn't know any better.

If I do somehow miraculously get this job I am going to have to once again face her every single day. If I don't get this job, well she'll just continue to think that I am a looser. And right now I really do feel like one.

Hysteria

I am sitting here with my cup of tea waiting for the popcorn. It is one of those golden afternoons on the farm. The house is bathed in warm sunlight and it is quiet except for the sound of the fridge and the birds. Milo is sunbathing. It is at times like these where I think life is good and depression seems like a distant memory. Yet no matter what season there is always this feeling that future is racing toward me and I am in no way prepared for it.

Last week my sister finally decided (or gained enough courage) to introduce us to her new boyfriend. When a male comes into our family it is a big deal. We are a family of women with the exception of my Dad and one lone male cousin (the best guy you could know). All of our men abandoned us years ago- I tell myself it's because they can't handle us. But the introduction of a new guy in our family has always meant one of two things...heartbreak or a new baby somewhere in the future. It happens every time like clockwork. It's like we have a curse on us. I hate it.

My sister's new boyfriend is a lovely guy but already the signs of trouble are there. He is three years younger than her and has a less than perfect past. I have now decided to be positive and supportive of her, but I can't get rid of the niggling feeling of impending doom. When she told us she was bringing him home last week I immediately made plans to be elsewhere. I panicked thinking "Oh no, not again! I won't go through it again!". Childish I know. It upset and hurt my sister and after a huge fight via Blackberry messenger, I agreed to stay.

Sitting with my Mom in the aftermath, I was trying to explain to her my overwhelming desire to get as far away from the family as I could. At some point I made the most ridiculous comparison of my life so far being like window shopping in a mall- there has always been glass between me and the things I want: success, happiness, love, peace. And all I have really done is looked at it but have never had it.

The hilarity and overwhelming sadness of what I was saying engulfed me all at once. Suddenly I began to both laugh and cry at the same time as each feeling inside me battled for control. The convulsions of both laughter and tears were so strong that I could no longer sit upright and so I collapsed into a quivering lump on the couch.

My Mom's face just made me laugh and cry harder. I could literally see her brain ticking away, trying to figure out what she should do. Eventually I couldn't breathe and my stomach was in knots. She came and sat beside me and tried to hold me up. Milo was staring at me like I had gone nuts. I laughed/ cried for about 45 minutes.

I have no idea what that was or whether it was good or not. It's been a while since I was so out of control. Afterwards my face was red and puffy from crying and my asthma had been triggered from laughing. I spoke to my counsellor and she sounded it like hysteria. It might have been the fact that my doctors were meddling with my Amitriptyline Whatever it was it passed quickly and the next day it was like it never happened. I am ashamed of my attitude toward my sister having a boyfriend. You don't need to tell me that I am being unreasonable. But the past still has it's clutches deep inside us and I am still trying to figure out how to break free. I hope that by the end of my time on earth I won't be comparing my life to window shopping.

When the pressure cooker explodes



Breakfast at Tiffany's

 Firstly I would really like everyone to take a look at my last post and maybe pass on the message. I would like to see that lovely kitty get a home. If there was a way I could have her shipped to South Africa, I would take her but I know that is impossible.

My half- sister (from my Dad's previous marriage) is in the country and has decided to grace my parents with her presence for two days starting on Easter Sunday. I'm not going to give the gory details other than to say that both my younger sister and I decided several years ago that it would be best if we had no relationship with her. I'm pretty sure she feels the same. We would have left it at that if my mother was not on a eternal quest to bring us together again citing the "forgive and forget" slogan with some pretty disastrous consequences. This woman has treated my mother atrociously in the past and I have to admit finding my Mom's easy forgiveness of her and forgetting all that happened rather disturbing. It's like my Mom is intimidated by her and feels responsible for the rift between her and my Dad which couldn't be farther from the truth.

Anyway enough about that, this week as been stressful enough mostly because of finances, my up coming exams and my grandmother (again a whole other post). And ( Sorry guys! ) it's been that time of the month. I'm on the pill and for the past few months I have been using the pill to stop my monthly "pal" from dropping by. For about eight days around and during my period my antidepressants stop working my anxiety levels shoot through the roof and I become a shouting, screaming, kick- boxing wench and during the rare periods of calm I experience an overwhelming- unable-to-breath sadness. So I have really been using the pill to stop the awful pms-ing.

Well this month I couldn't do that because I didn't have money to get my pill on time. Yesterday I had a counselling session in which we talked a lot about the past, the abuse and how ****ed up my family is, so I was feeling a little emotionally sore. I then had to spend two hours in a hospital waiting room for my grandmother to see the doctor. And of course my grandmother was yelling and talking utter rubbish as she usually does, irritating everyone there. Eventually we were asked to take her outside. During this time I read the story I posted above about the kitty, Precious and it really upset me. So the stage was set for a rather big explosion. And the one who set it off?. My mother.

I have made it clear that I don't want to see my half- sister and have made plans to go and stay with my younger sister when she is here. After seeing the doctor we bundled my grandmother in the car during which my mom told me my half sister would be coming on Sunday. I replied that I would be going to my younger sister. My Mom said then that she had a "simple request". That was the match that lit the dynamite and knowing what she was asking I exploded.

I just started screaming my lungs out!. We were parked in a disabled parking quite close to the hospital entrance and people actually stopped and stared. A group of nurses walking towards us gave the car a wide berth. I was so furious that I kept on shouting all the way to my Aunt's house.

My Mom knows how bad the relationship is between my half- sister and I. What's worse is that I have told her everything that happened but she always forgets and keeps on asking me over and over again. I have given my reasons for not wanting to see  her but she doesn't respect my decision and keeps on nagging and demanding that we become freaking best friends because we are "sisters". Her coming to stay has really been stressing me out this time and my Mom has been more demanding than usual. This all coupled with everything else that was going on yesterday pushed me over the edge.

Today I'm a little worried because that explosion yesterday definitely caused me to take a mental step backwards. I can't describe it, I feel like a switch has flipped and something is different. I was meant to volunteer at the welfare today but this morning I couldn't get out of bed- I had a nightmare about my half- sister  last night. We were all at some big party and I spent the entire time trying to avoid her until eventually she confronted me and was crying and throwing a tantrum. I remember she had awful teeth. Ugh!. I woke up this morning feeling really disturbed and paranoid. I decided I didn't have it in me today to face those awful welfare ladies once again and stayed home. I failed today.

So I have spent most of today in a anxious state of paranoia and feeling angry and hurt at my mother for putting me there. I told my Mom how I was feeling this morning and her response was to pray for me. She's now acting like everything is hunky- dory. She knows that something is terribly wrong unfortunately before she takes action she goes into a state of denial first.

This might make you laugh. The final slap in the face?. My half sister will having a roast lamb dinner with my Mom and Dad. My grandmother's side of the family owns a sheep farm up in the Northern Cape. Every once and a while the send us lamb, very popular in South Africa and Europe and my favorite. They used to send lamb down a lot but after my beloved great uncle died they now only send it down about twice a year. It's way to expensive to buy in the store. We have had this leg of lamb in the freezer and I have literally been waiting with bated breath until we can have a roast lamb dinner. Well guess who is now getting the damn dinner?. Guess who will be sitting in a flat with her sister eating sandwiches?. Uh- huh.

Prayers/ good wishes for Milo...

Holy Mary mother of Jesus this has been one hell of a week and after reading this you will be forgiven for thinking that I shouldn't own a pet on account of bad luck. Milo appears to have broken both his tail and his back paw. There is a bad cell in battery of our car which requires either jump starting the car or pushing it to get it going. Today the car was parked on a slight incline on the in our drive way, I was standing in front of the car and my mom was rolling the car back to get it started when I heard the most awful scream. I looked down at the wheel and all I saw was Milo's tail sticking out from under it. I began yelling at my Mom to move forward. My Mom does not handle situations like this well- she couldn't start the car because it was dead. She went into hysterics, got out the car and started running up and down screaming. I started to manually lift the car up and actually got it a little bit off the ground, but not enough for Milo to get out. Two guys who had been working on the garden came running to the back of the car and started to push it back up the incline, meanwhile my Mom had gotten enough of her senses back to get back in the car and lift the handbrake. Once he was free Milo shot like a bullet into the house, ran up the stairs and into the geyser cupboard in my room with me chasing after him. It took me ten minutes to get him out. We raced him to the animal welfare, where they sedated him and will be keeping him over night until the vet comes tomorrow. These were the same people who gave us hell just because I wanted Milo vaccinated but didn't have the money to do it. And they were as snooty as hell to us this time all because we are not "underprivileged" enough.

This all has been the most horrific shock: Milo's screams and the seeing his little tail sticking out of the wheel will be forever be burned into my memory and the guilt is overwhelming. There were tuffs of his fur lying around the car. Not to mention that I think I did some serious damage to myself by trying to lift the car up and then chasing after him. It's been 3 days since my lumbar puncture/spinal tap and when I woke up this morning I still had the headache and I was deaf in one ear. After this little fiasco the pain has become excruciating...I can't cry, laugh, sneeze with out a horrible white hot thunderbolt shooting through my head. But I think it's probably nothing compared to what my poor little Milo went through.

I will only know tomorrow morning what will happen to Milo. The horrible people at the animal welfare have made it clear that we will cost us....a lot, even though I have told them I am unemployed at the moment. The one woman made a catty remark that "this isn't a free service we are giving". I wonder what they would do to Milo if I said I just couldn't pay...would they hold him ransom? put him down? or just leave him the way he was?. The dumb cow could see how upset I was but she was still being such a bitch.

A very sweet little blessing happened while I was there and this just testifies the unconditional love you can receive from a pet. They had just put Milo into his cage on the floor and I put my fingers in to stroke his head so he could go to sleep. I was crying and was in immense pain when I became aware of someone beside. An old black dog had come to sit beside me, he then put his paw on my knee and lent into me. I put my arm around him and he tried to lick me. We sat there for about five minutes just like that, somewhere in between another cat wandered up and began to rub itself against my knee. I hope those people know what a privilege it is to do what they are doing.

I realise most of you are not of a religious nature... I don't care, whatever your creed please pray for my precious fur ball tonight. If  you are not the praying kind make a wish that he will be better soon. I will be going back to hospital on Monday to find out what the hell is going with me....my baby fur ball and I both in the same boat tonight.

Sad news from Rabbit Land.....

We have been experiencing a massive heatwave over the past few days. Temperatures have soared up to 45C (113 F ). Add humidity to the heat and you get...a very unpleasant situation. I am in a very irritable mood. I have got Little B back with me and trying to get this kid caught up so she can start school in time is beginning to feel like pulling teeth. I haven't been feeling well- there is a heaviness on my chest that won't go away. On top of this I have had to listen to my grandmother calling, shouting, screaming mostly my Dad's name ( who she thinks is her husband ) I think it's the mood I've been in that has a lot to do with  what happened.

So....the rabbits. With all the holiday stuff and other important topics coming up I never mentioned that last month both Basil and Buttercup escaped from their pen. Rabbit's cute and cuddly facade makes us forget that they are actually wild creatures and once they have tasted freedom there is no going back. The last time I saw Basil I was looking at him from a window upstairs. He had just come out from the bushes in our garden and was standing up on his haunches. Then suddenly he raced across the garden and behind the house, I had never seen him move so fast.

We found Buttercup later that day and were able to catch her and bring her back, the pen was unreliable so we put her upstairs on the landing. You would have never seen a more miserable bunny, she sat there for hours not moving or reacting to anything. The next day I was really sick and really down, my Mom came to me and went on and on about how sad and lonely Buttercup was and said we should either let her go, outside the farm or find a sanctuary for her. My Mom had the best of intentions but her timing sucked as it REALLY wasn't a good time for me to hear that. Racked with guilt, I took her outside and let her go.

For about two weeks different people saw her here and there. No one could get within ten feet of her. I was grieving. I saw her one day in the grass up by the workshops near our house, sniffing around the grass. But one morning one of the labourers managed to catch her and brought her back to the house. My Mom opened the door to see this guy holding her by the ears and her kicking and struggling for dear life. When my Mom held her she immediately calmed down. She brought her up to my room- I was still in bed- she came to me without a struggle and spent the next half an hour lying on my chest while I stroked her ears.

Buttercup in a weird way seemed to be happy to be back. We set up a place for her on my parents balcony and she the run of the house. She liked to hang out with me when I was either on the computer or watching a movie or reading. She slept with me in my room sometimes- normally she would get a pillow thrown at her for trying to eat my books. And this rabbit would win any staring contest- she would stare at me for ages as though she was figuring out some great mystery about me. Everything told me that, despite episodes here and there of boredom ( come on I couldn't entertain her all the time), she was a very content rabbit.

But then my Dad started to work on me. He never liked either of the rabbits and I think that it was because rabbit was considered to be a Christmas Lunch or something when he was growing on me. Also, while my body was still trying to get used to Amitriptyline I was out of it and my Mom had to do most of the rabbit work ( eg cleaning the balcony, emptying her litter) for me. At first he tried to talk me into giving Buttercup away which I refused- she was my baby and things were going well. Then he demanded that I get rid of her, unfortunately my Mom had also grown attached to Buttercup and ruled him out on that one. So he began to use his secret weapon on me, one that has always worked- guilt. He began to reason with me that she was a wild animal and that I was cruel for keeping her in the house. He said if I really loved her than I would set her free and if she came back to me she was mine, if she didn't then she never was. When he said that to me I almost asked him why he hadn't done the same thing with my Mom. All this over a rabbit?

Yes I began to feel terrible and horribly horribly guilty again. The worst thing someone can do to me is to pull the guilt trip on me about somebody or something I love. I will start to see things that aren't even there. My Mom told me that Buttercup was a happy rabbit and she loved being with me but she had an instinct that took over when she was in the wild. I really began to believe she was unhappy and that I was being cruel. Last night we were having supper outside and I couldn't bear to leave her in our dark sitting room, so I opened the door to see if she would come out and go back inside. She came out and raced around the garden, her eyes alight and she seemed to delight in the fact that she go inside the house and go back outside. Then when it started to get really dark I noticed that she was heading outside the garden and toward the road. I turned quickly to put salad dressing on my salad and (stupid) when I turned back she was gone.

I have no idea where she could have gone- we searched all around the area last night and got up early this morning to look but it's as though she has evaporated into thin air. My Mom has offered a reward for anyone who brings her back. But I just have a feeling that she's gone for good this time. I hope for her sake she headed toward the forest and not toward the orchids or labourer cottages. It was only afterwards that I realised what I did....I let guilt rule my head and listened to my Dad's crap and set a rabbit, who didn't know any better, free during a heatwave, on an apple farm where they spray the orchids daily with pesticide, where there are dogs and people that would see her as a great pot roast. Now it might seem ridiculous that there is all this drama over a rabbit but if you are smart, you might see that the rabbit is just the tip of the iceberg.

Beside feeling like the worlds biggest fool, I feel like I have failed and like I have been rejected all over again. Something as simple as this can re- open old wounds from the past. Not even a damn rabbit wants me. It has also made me realise once again the power that my father still has over me. His words have shaped who I am now and like a fool I let him continue to define who I am. He has an extremely low self esteem and the only way he knows how to deal with it is to strike out and make someone else feel like crap. He is also addicted to the power the parenthood has given him over another person and he has used it cruelly. He was powerless when he was growing up and he is on a lifelong mission to take it back. When will this cycle be broken?

I shall miss my precious bunny. kissing and stroking her silky head and feeling the kiss of her little nose and whiskers on my face. I loved her bunny ears so much and I hope and pray that she will be safe.

I wish I was in a country right now with Arctic weather. It's easier to get warm than it is to get cool

My two days in hospital

I wasn't in hospital per se- I basically went home to sleep- Thank God. But I have had to spend the past two days here:

Tygerberg hospital, the 2nd largest hospital in the world...otherwise known as a big- ass state hospital with passages over a mile long. And we walked up and down these passages from Neurology to Psychiatry and back again "conveniently" located on two opposite ends of the hospital. To give you an idea of the length of said passages:

Note how the lights kinda disappear into oblivion

Stopping for a break halfway through

I've said it before on this blog....whatever sadist designed this hospital- knowing that sick patients would have to walk the length of these passages- should be shot. My mom tells me that when this hospital was being built, in the 1970's there was great excitement as it was to be a "high tech" facility with "breakthrough technology"....as you can see that is no longer the case.

As I have also said before, I am truly grateful for the medical care that I am getting- it isn't fancy or comfortable but it has saved my life. I would be blind if it wasn't for neurology and the employment policy at this hospital has ensured that my Dad doesn't have to fork out half his pension each month for my meds (seriously) I get them for free. Not only that, when I think of the lack of medical care some of my fellow South Africans have and  how hundreds of thousands of people on the African continent die each year because they have no medical care. I am so thankful.

But because I am thankful it doesn't mean I have to just love everything about this hospital and it doesn't mean that certain things don't make me very, very angry.

I saw something yesterday that was the absolute last straw and made me absolutely livid... take a look:

See, I made it extra large. Not very spectacular right? . Looks like some construction going on.

Well here is the story. It was going to be a long wait for the neurologist so the ward secretary suggested that my Mom and I go have some coffee (aka coffee- flavoured water). On our way to the cafeteria we passed the "new" psychiatric ward. Whenever I pass the psychiatric ward I can't help but stop, there is always a whirlwind of emotion that goes through my head. Thoughts like, "Will I ever land up here?" "What has stopped me from becoming like the people in this ward?" "What will push me over the edge" race through my head.

Almost immediately after we stopped my Mom and I were caught up by the most disgusting smell and it seemed to be coming from the ward. I went up to the door and peered through the crack, the passage was deserted, the atmosphere radiating out of that door was eery. When I turned to walk back I saw that the side doors leading into a courtyard were open and there were a whole lot of flies buzzing in and out of the door. The source of the dreadful smell was that pile of rubbish in the picture above.... RIGHT NEXT TO THE PSYCHIATRY WARD!!!!. I walked a little closer...I'm telling you people the smell was putrid. The pile of rubbish was actually a lot bigger than depicted in the picture it consisted of wood, rubble, plastic, paper and then food in various stages of decay and other green, black and grey slimy things that I really didn't care to get any closer to. Basically it was a pile of sewage. You cannot see the flies in the picture but believe me they were having a field day

I was in so much pain in these pictures, both physically and emotionally, seeing this awful mess- a total lack of respect for human beings who are unable to help themselves- blew away the paper thin barrier holding back a total meltdown. That they have placed these people in underground, in the bowels of the hospital where no one has to see or hear them, away from sunlight, is bad enough. Dumping a pile of stinking rubbish outside their window that could possibly cause further distress and disease takes the bullshit cake. My mother reacted as any loving mother would by getting me out of there as soon as possible. I plan to write some newspapers about this and obviously complain to the hospital.

I guess really should give an update on my BIH, depression and GAD. The first day I saw a psychiatrist (aka doctor studying to be a psychiatrist). I knew right from the start that this was going to be a useless appointment. I told her that things did get better for a while, but after the break with my psychologist they are now worse than ever, I didn't get a chance to tell her I had been suicidal again because she cut me off and told me that "We don't really want to put you on more medication (I already knew that), I think you should go see a psychologist". That's what I have been doing you stupid woman... did you even listen?!. The outcome of the appointment was that they will try and get me to see a psychiatrist at a hospital closer to me and I go back in March, no doubt to see a different doctor studying to be a psychiatrist.

On to Neurology... a lot of time was spent trying to track down my neurologist (aka a doctor studying to be a neurologist)- they close for the Christmas holidays. Eventually my Mom had him paged and spoke to him on the phone where she demanded that he come in to see me. I was told to come in the next day. We were there bright and early the next morning and  waited for four hours to find that my neurologist and palmed me off on his buddy- surprise, surprise the dude that performed or should I say messed up my lumbar- puncture (spinal tap) three weeks ago. How- ahem- happy I was to see him.

This is where it starts to get funny- he refused to see me with my mother, telling her he would chat to her afterwards ( she had wanted to throttle him after my lumbar- puncture). Judging by the look on her face I immediately began to feel sorry....for him. When he asked what had been going on with me I stifled the urge yell, "You f**king mutilated my spine, you dumbass" and calmly told him that I had been extremely ill since the LP and I still had enormously painful headaches accompanied by dizziness, nausea and extreme fatigue. Meanwhile outside...where my Mom was listening through a hole in the door, in came strolling my neurologist. Poor guy... my Mom pounced like a cat on a bird. I could hear her threw the door and immediately fell sorry for whoever was on the other side of her wrath.

Dude checked my eyes- found my optic nerves weren't swollen, although they did appear scared. He asked me a few questions but I already knew what he was thinking: He didn't have a clue what was wrong and that most likely my depression was to blame. We spoke about surgery and it turns out that although my spinal pressure was high, they will not be doing surgery at this stage. I then told him nonchalantly, "So I guess  it's all in my mind then" He didn't really know what to say but eventually said "It's real to you- that's what matters" I told him good luck with my Mom. He told me I was a sweet girl.

We went back out into the passage where Mr. Neurologist had amazingly been able to calm my mother down. We stood talking for a while with him and Dude doctor. The compassionate side of them eventually emerged when Dude doctor said, " I would say now that your BIH is under control but your depression is definitely out of control". It was probably the only thing Dude doctor was able to hit the nail on the head about. Immediately I began tearing up and it was that that put them into action. They called in the psychiatry rotater and for a while there was some finger pointing going on. Neurology were telling Psychiatry that my problem was clearly psychological. Psychiatry were telling Neurology that it was clearly neurological. Somewhere between all of this I began to think about Homer Simpsom...for some reason. Eventually the heads of both departments got involved, seeing them trying to meet each other half way to find a solution was interesting. Eventually it was decided by everyone to put me on Amitriptyline an anti- depressant used a lot by neurology for management of migraines. I have been on it before. Needless to say my Mom was not happy- another pill. I have to go back for another eye test in January and will hopefully have my checkup the same day.

In between all this we found this little guy:

 The pictures don't really do justice to how very tiny this little sweetheart was. His name is Joshua and he was born prematurely. He is a month old and only weighs 2.2kg (4lbs 8oz). He has to wear dolls clothes because he is so tiny. When this picture was taken he was about to have surgery for cataracts on both eyes. His mother was beaming with pride and loved showing him off. We told her that he will be a piano player one day because his miniature hands have such long fingers and he held onto my finger with the most amazing strength.

You see it's this that I am grateful for. Tygerberg with it's stinking rubbish heaps, disintegrating walls, rude staff, toilet paperless bathrooms, looong waits and befuddled student doctors, kept this little boy alive and will give him the ability to see. There will always be things to be thankful for, even in a pile of ashes.

,



OUCH!!

To give y'all an idea of the size of "Mr Pointy"  I've never had the courage to look at the needle so the nurse took a picture for me:)

I will probably regret this picture....

It has been one HELL of a day!. The doc (aka doc studying to be something specific) was a nice guy but he hurt me badly. Dude jabbed me 5 times before he eventually got the fluid to drain from my spine. And I felt  it acutely EACH time he put that needle into my spine and then moved it around and in and out. It feels like a continuous pinched nerve. But I actually think it was worse for my mother and it really didn't help when she started to freak out and get really pissy with the doctor. You really don't want to annoy someone who has a needle in your back. So most of the time I was distracted with trying to calm her down and reassure the doc. What a circus...

However this time I was impressed, the level of pain today was the same as when I had my first lp last year...but I handled it so much better. Last year I was wailing and hyperventilating, today I was very nervous before going in but during the procedure, despite the horrible pain, I was calm and managing quite well. Right now I'm hurting badly, it feels like someone has kicked me in the back and I'm really stiff and achy. In private hospitals they keep you over night when you've had a lumbar puncture and you can't move for six to eight hours. In a state hospital, they make you get up and walk after 15 minutes to make way for the next patient!.

The pressure was high this time- 28 ( normal pressure is 17) but not nearly as high as we thought it would be. I don't know what will happen now and won't until my next appointment.

Anyway I'm sore and my Mom has to help me up the stairs ( I'm a granny for a day!)

x

My day at the hospital: Got some bad news :(

Phew!. What a day this has been. Had an appointment with neurology today, so was up at the crack of dawn this morning for the hour’s drive and then the loooooong wait at the hospital. As I have mentioned before my BIH has just been getting worse and worse over the last 2 months. The headaches, nausea and fatigue have been pushing me to breaking point and it has started to affect my vision and hearing again which is serious.


Unfortunately when I did see a neurologist ( well doctor training to be a neurologist or psychiatrist- state health care!) the news was not was not what I expected and actually far worse than I was wanting to hear.

I was diagnosed with Benign Intercrainial Hypertension last year- this is a fairly uncommon condition in which excess cerebral fluid forms on the brain. No one knows what causes it and there is no cure. I had been sick for most of last year with debilitating headaches, nausea and fatigue. Eventually I started to go deaf and blind in one eye and that’s when I sought help. I was told, very gently that I may have a brain tumor and for 10 days my family and I prepared for the worst. Thankfully an MRI ruled out any tumors or lesions and after a lumbar puncture (spinal tap) I was diagnosed with BIH. I talk more about my diagnosis and treatment here

For the past six months it virtually disappeared and then suddenly decided to rear it’s ugly head again. I had thought when I went in today that the doc would just prescribe a lumbar puncture as usual and then I would go on my merry way. But the doctors were very concerned that my BIH has just come back, out of the blue and even more concerned that my sight is deteriorating. They have booked me for another lumbar puncture on Wednesday – the only way to tell if my intercranial hypertension has increased. If the hypertension is high then they will be referring me to a neurosurgeon for brain surgery. You can imagine how shocked we were.

To top off the day they sent me to opthomology to do a visual field test- this is to check my blind spots and I was presented with more bad news. I have two massive blind spots on the outside of both eyes and my optic nerves are swollen again. They still have to do more tests but unofficially it appears that I have started to go blind- this is the long term effect of BIH.

Right now none of this has been officially confirmed. I just have to wait until Wednesday. I don’t know what is worse when it comes to a health crisis- knowing the possibilities and letting your imagination run wild. Or being completely ignorant until you are hit with the cold hard truth.

I am calm and I am so thankful for that, but I have a feeling my mother is freaking out. This is mostly thanks to the idiot head of neurology telling her last year that surgery was the final option because of the risks. When she asked him what the risks were he casually said, “Death”. This was the same dumbo that told me I had to be “strong” to be sick in that hospital. And when I was told I couldn’t have children he “sympathized”, “It’s a shame, you’re such a pretty girl”. It’s a shame he has no proper beside manner!

Anyway, like I said none of this is definite and that horrible man was just presenting us with the worst case scenario. I have said before that I am thankful for the health care I get through the state: It's far from fancy, most times it's inconvenient and disorganised, but if you compare it to the health care or lack of that millions of other people face on the African continent, I actually am very lucky and I will continue to have faith in them ( I actually don't have a choice!). I most likely will have a freak out session at some stage but for now whatever the outcome my be- I am going to carry on with my life- continuing to fight my depression, GAD and daily battle with food, looking after my little girl (that's my next post), my mother and my wabbits and preparing for my future by living in the PRESENT.
 
Here are some pics that we took during the long wait. Blackberry + boredom = weird photo's
 
 

The "homely" looking hospital reception: The Cage!

Neurology waiting area, look closely...you might just see how bored everyone one is.

About the 5th time I read this magazine

 Finally home to my sweethearts :)

How dumb can you be?...oh earth PLEASE swallow me!!

Yeeeeah!!! SO confession time. And this is HARD!. And this post will be long- make some coffee!

This happened to me on Friday but I have honestly felt so stupid and so embarrassed and ( probably worried too) that it has taken me until today to finally pluck up the courage to share with you how I @#!%*** up!. Feel free to laugh because it is funny in some ways and feel free to be perplexed because and the other hand it made me realize how bad things are.

I had two appointments with Dr Shaw last week. One on Monday and one on Friday. This was all fine the week passed by quickly. I wrote in a post last week that I was struggling with some pain due to BIH and severe fatigue due to a combination of BIH and depression. So I was really out of it, the days seemed to run into one another. My mother was away concluding the sale of her business, my father was locked up in his office as always and my grandmother....well, you never go near my grandmother when you have a headache. I remember feeling relieved on "Wednesday" night, thankful that my appointment wasn't until the day after next.

BUT when my mom woke me up on Thursday I learned that....it was actually Friday. WTF? I was dumbfounded- what had happened to Thursday? Where had the week gone? HOW COULD IT BE FRIDAY?!!!. The most comical argument started between us ("no it isn't!"..."yes it is!"..."no it isn't!"..)  I had never been so confused in my life! What was worse is that my appointment was at 11:00...and it was 11:16 and a few seconds later my blackberry started ringing with Dr Shaws number on it. My mom told me to answer it,  I handed it to her and told her to answer it (cue next comical argument). Eventually I covered my head with my pillow and let it ring off. After much pleading with my mom she eventually went downstairs and phoned Dr. Shaw  to apologize and see if I could get a later appointment- yes I know I should have done this myself but I was to occupied with wanting to shoot myself.

In the end we couldn't get another appointment and Dr. Shaw landed up having a loooong conversation with my mom- who was mostly silent except for "hmm", "oh", "yes" and one "That's not good". And I knew that this was not going to go down very well. All my mom would tell me is that Dr. Shaw told her I was resisting and retreating.

When I got to the appointment yesterday (10 minutes late as usual). She opened the door for me and I knew that I was in for it. She told me she was very worried by what happened and gave me a stern talking to about what happened and that it showed her that I am not living in my life, that I am loosing touch with reality which meant that neither she or my church counsellors were helping me. The word "no" slipped out before I could stop myself. But then I told her that it wasn't anything that they were doing or weren't doing. It was actually me. I felt like crap! And I realised that I should have told her what I had written on this blog weeks ago when I first started therapy.

Basically I didn't have the strength to fight anymore, I was burnt out. I had gone so far down the road to suicide before I started therapy and had just taken a step back from it. Yet I feel to exhausted,  to crawl my way back along the road to recovery...yet again. There was also doubt about seeing Dr Shaw- originally my godfather hoped that six sessions would wrapped things up nicely. Both he and my mother hadn't realised that some people spend months....years in therapy before the are finally able to see some light. So there is always the threat that it will be discontinued....again- Dr Shaw is one of many psychologists that I have seen in my lifetime. And that threat really does affect how I feel about getting help and what I do with it. At first I felt I had to put everything I said in keywords to save time because I didn't know what session would be my last session. So I just haven't really taken it seriously yet.

I didn't have time to tell her all this (mostly because  we ran out of time). But the main topic of the whole session is what I could do to pull myself out of this- I didn't have a whole lot of ideas on that one, because I just don't know. But one thing that has been on my mind for a while is for me to start working  at a non- stressful job- to get me out of the house and in contact with people again. I entered the corporate world at 19 and worked my way up in London to a managerial position in human resources for a big company. I was working for a grocery distribution company in America when I had my breakdown. Since then I have been studying and doing menial jobs for my mother's company which she has now sold. Last year I was booked off any work because of my BIH and I decided to defer my studies this year because I was so ill.

So I have been out of the workforce for a while. I don't know if returning to work would be the wisest thing for a person who so very depressed. But if you spent one day in my house you would understand that it is probably the best thing to do. My house is a circus. I live with my mother, who has been supportive but is mostly unavailable because I am not her only problem. My grandmother who is 83 is in the advanced stages of Alzheimer's- a fall two months ago fractured her hip and she is now mostly bed ridden needing full time care- the energy she drains out of us all is the biggest problem we face. My Dad is bipolar but refuses treatment and also has heart disease. I need to get away!

One thing I worried about when I was talking about with Dr Shaw about getting a job is 1) my family needs me at home. However she pointed out that what was happening wasn't fair, I had been sick too and had mostly had to take care of myself. There is nothing more I can do for my grandmother. And if my sister and I constantly have to keep making sacrifices in the name of family issues we will never get anywhere, or have our own lives. 2) My family is very image conscious, they will really be concerned about what job I get and where and how it will "look" if someone I know sees me. I am thinking of a simple job in a coffee shop or something but if someone "sees" me the impression will be made that I have bombed out with life and the only success I could make was working in a coffee shop. I went to a well known private school and this makes it worse. Such are the petty circles we move in.

I've gone a little off topic. We also spoke about not letting my parent's attitude and words have any control over me, which is part of what I mention above. That will take a lot of work. Old habits will die hard...

Anyway I've got a huge amount of work to do and it all seems to be overwhelming. By Friday I have to come back to Dr. Shaw with a journal of how I am going to go about getting a job. She has also told me she will give me 15 minutes to be late before calling and rescheduling the appointment- which means a cancellation fee. This is more of a motivation to my mom who drives me to these appointments and has made me late nearly every single time. I guess you can call this a little wake up call even though I still feel like I am sitting in a heavy cloud.

Yesterday wasn't all that bad though, I went to my support group and it had a nice ending which I will post tomorrow.

Still feeling a little sheepish :/ and I'm STILL wondering where Thursday went.... :)

Forsaken

Sadness, loneliness and fear are my companions tonight. It's 2am and I feel so battered and bruised that I just can't give myself up to the mercy of wild dreams that haunt my sleep.

So yes today has been one of those days, where even the tiniest most insignificant things can cause a deep strangling heartache.

Two major things have been on my mind this past week: family and God.

Last Friday I had my 3rd CBT session with Dr. Shaw, I had difficulty making sense of all my worries and feelings so she decided that making a chart would give us more clarity and a goal to work towards. She gave me the chart to take home, this is what it looks like:



Is it just me, or does that look like a HUGE MESS!!. Sure the thing gave me clarity but it also gave me an awful realisation of how much deep crap I'm in. Seriously, when she took it down and gave it to me it looked even more terrifying close up!.

You may not be able to see but at the top of the pile is family- more specifically family worries. Family problems and family worries dominate my every waking moment. Dr. Shaw pointed out that in order to even THINK about getting better I needed to start putting myself first. I just know this would not sit well with anyone in my family.To my mother this would be the greatest act of selfishness. We are like the freaking mafia- family is EVERYTHING, you are meant to sacrifice stuff for the family.

Today I had my counselling session with the church counsellors. My going to see church counsellors is kind of ironic- because 1) I don't really believe in God right now and 2) If my mother, who arranged all this, knew what was coming out in these counselling sessions, she'd want me to stop going.

These counsellors have relentlessly and faithfully prayed that I would be able to have faith in God, but as my counsellor said today it's like praying to a brick wall, so we chatted instead. What they said really resonated with me though.

The one counsellor said that I have never known freedom. And I think he's right. This might be tough for a person to understand, but sometimes the most turbulent and heartbreaking battles in history where fought in a person's own mind and heart. For so long my mind has been encaged by the prison of mental illness and my heart has been scared and chained by my past- the abuse, fear and hurt that I endured that I have never experienced life or seen the world for what it is.

Also during this talk the subject yet again turned to my family and the battlefield that is our lives. Instead of branching out and making a separate life for ourselves we all stuck together, making our problems each others problems and just creating, well, one BIG problem. We don't move forward, we occasionally take two steps backwards but 20 years ago, we were still more or less in the same situation we are now- except the kids are older. Is that any way to live?

Instead of thinking that I needed my family to support me and help me through this, I came away from today's session realising I was weakest link of an old rusted chain. Staying with them is doing neither of us good. And the only solution to my problem is to leave my family, wash my hands of their problems and their business, move away and start building a separate life.

But by doing that I will totally and completely alone. Yeah sure I have friends- all my really good ones live overseas though and going to dump myself on someone else would be besides the point. It's been me against the world before- I lived in London for two years but seriously is that going to be my life?. I cannot see myself getting married in the future and I can't have children. So it looks like I'll be a one man show.

I can't discuss family details in this blog, but believe me when I tell you that things are HORRENDOUSLY messed up and I CANNOT rely on them for ANYTHING any longer.

And then there is God. I have walked through life hand in hand with a mystery, not wanting to let go but unable to comprehend him. I grew up in a non- denominational church and I have been a born again christian since I was 12. I have known and seen enough evidence that He exists but the breakdown and the cursed analytical part of my brain vanquished any faith that I had. I wish I could just go one way or the other- be an atheist or a daughter of God. But each of them has one of my wrists and there is a tug of war going on. I will say that I have been a part time unbeliever for three years and my life is the worst it's ever been.

This brings me a little bit of comfort tonight, maybe because I have been reading this since my childhood- I will end off with this. If it resonates with you or makes your faith stronger I really envy you

ANGRY AS HELL...oh and CBT session 2

My sister is home. Again. I'm not into people- bashing on this blog, it doesn't have any place here, but every time this girl comes home- which thankfully ( for me at least!) is not very often- it is a whirlwind of emotions and I was lying in bed and becoming more and more angry and frustrated that she is sleeping peacefully in the next room while I am seething. Plus it's Friday night...I'm home AGAIN and it's been the most awful day.

My sister is not a bad person- she works hard and is studying for her Masters- she left home at 18 and rarely asked for help from my parents or anyone. She is a good friend, caring to those less fortunate and is supportive of my parents- bosses them around!.

But as a sister she is crap. It's not like I haven't done stuff in the past to deserve it but she seems to be on some sort of relentless campaign. Every time she is home she reflects back the self- disgust, disrespect and anger that I feel towards myself. She knows all about my depression, breakdown, anxiety and being suicidal. But she thinks it's bullshit. I don't know how, but she has gotten into her head that I am doing it for attention. She has even implied that I FAKED my breakdown in America.

You may think this is a textbook case and you know the reasons why she is like this. But here is the kicker. Her flatmate and friend suffers from depression- she's not suicidal- but she's had her ups and downs with meds. My sister has been there for this girl every step of the way. Suffered through her mood swings, stayed up till the crack of dawn talking to her, cooked for her, did her washing etc, etc. My sister searched high and low for a support for this girl that they could go to together- this is after having scoffed at me going to a support group. And now for the real cherry- my sister applied to be a Sadag (South African depression & Anxiety Group) counsellor. Yes! she wants to COUNSEL people with depression and anxiety- some of them probably worse off than me.

I used to think the reason she was like this was because she didn't understand mental illness. That maybe it frightened her. But now I know that she is the way she is because of me, not my depression. On the upside I guess that is one less prejudiced person I have to deal with. How I am handling this is keeping her well away from me. Someone in the support group- the one she thought was so funny- said that I am not responsible for her forgiveness towards me. I have asked her to forgive me. I have tried to be her friend. Turned myself upside- down to make up for being such a brat as a kid. But I am done with it. And I can't be bothered to be around a person who's mission is to show me again and again that she doesn't respect me.

I had my second session of CBT today. For some reason it feels like a month and not a week since I last saw Dr Shaw. She didn't really do any CBT, we spoke about my current situation and then I started talking about my the events that lead up yo my breakdown in America, I got as far as my arrival in America. She gave me homework to write a list, no matter how outlandish, of things I want to do with my life. It was a very pleasant session, until the end, When she told me my godfather had agreed to pay for only six sessions. I really don't want to sound ungrateful- I am tremendously grateful for his kindness in trying to help me. But judging by the fact that we are already on session 2 and I haven't even gotten off talking about my past, I knew 6 sessions just wasn't going to cut it.

I immediately became so worried. I would not be able to afford this therapy by myself, which means going back to the state hospital six month waiting list (therapy there consists of going through a workbook and seeing a therapist once a month) There's no way I can ask my godfather for anymore, which leaves me right back where I started. And I just CANNOT go through this again, of starting with a therapist, going through the emotional trauma of having to bring up everything from my past and pick through it. It's just too painful and I'm to tired. So I've told my Mom to give the four remaining sessions to my cousin, who is a single mom of three girls and is about to "throw in the towel" - her words exactly. My Mom is adamant I should continue but I really don't see how or why.

The advice I have for anyone about to seek treatment,is to make sure there is the means to see it through until the end and that there is not threat of it being taken away from you. I think it's actually worse to start something and not finish it then to not start it at all.

The wolf is at my door

What a dark night this is. All around me there is an enveloping blackness. It feels like it is going to consume this small room of light I am sitting in. I hate moments like this- where it seem doom is standing in front of me and fear is at my back. I hardly saw the sun today. I woke up...and just knew...it was going to be one of those days. I crawled out of bed, slid downstairs to get some cereal and tea. I briefly met my mother in the kitchen who is always oblivious to how I'm feeling (probably just as well). She hugged me and told me to come and sit outside in the sun. I probably should have listened to her maybe things would have gotten better. Instead I hobbled back upstairs ate my cereal and crawled back into bed where I stayed, undisturbed for the rest of the day.

I have found in my house if this happens no one misses me until I am needed to do some sort of chore. Which is exactly what happened at 6pm when I heard my mother's voice through the floorboards asking me to come and do the dishes. To me the worst thing that anyone can do when I am having an off day is to yell at me to come and do the one chore that I hate most in the world. They all sounded like a circus act down there: "Stephanie!" "Stephanie!" "Stephanie must come do dishes!" "Did you call Stephanie?!" "Where is STEPHANIE?!!!!". Imagine three grown adults yelling all that at once. My pounding serotonin- deprived brain was wishing I had duct tape, a hammer ANYTHING to get them to shut the hell up.

It's really not their fault, they don't know how to handle my depression not many people do anyway. My Dad tries to ignore it, but thinks I'm not "trying hard enough"- whatever that means, my sister is in between thinking I made it up for attention or it's not that big of a deal and I must just "be more positive". Yep. Try telling that to someone whose only thoughts are of slitting their wrists to try and stop the crushing sadness that has plagued them for days- "just be more positive". Only my mother has truly made an effort to understand and I can say she really does try, she defends me when the others want to jump all over me. But her understanding only goes so far and I feel there is this block with her. She is a born- again Christan and believes prayer is my only answer, that and er, herbs. Problem is I am struggling everyday just to keep faith that God actually does exist.

The greatest challenge I had to overcome when I was first diagnosed is the stigma surrounding mental illness. The conclusion that I have reached is that just because someone doesn't understand my illness does not mean they are bad people- some people have the capacity to understand and accept while others don't. I can't hold it against my friends and family who can't stand with me in this fight. We can still have a relationship it just means that there will always be a part of me I can't share and they will never know.

Still when that group consists of most of your family it can really hurt and it makes trying to conquer this disease so much more lonely. Right now they are all in bed dreaming while I sit up alone to fight off the evil thoughts that seem to be swirling in the darkness surrounding this room, waiting to pierce my brain. I can't wait for dawn. Tomorrow I won't make the same mistake I made today I WILL get up out of this bed and face the day. That is FIGHTING. Unfortunately those damn dishes still await me tomorrow morning.

I always find identification to how I'm feeling in art in every form. I really liked this song and the video when it came out. It represented best some of the swirling, outlandish thoughts that I would have late at night.