Sunday, 25 September 2011


I tried so hard to prevent this from happening. But it did. I had to call in sick from work, because you can't do much doctoring if you're barely capable of getting out of bed and have the attention span and memory of a goldfish.
I do actually feel like a goldfish.

I'm considering taking meds again. Considering my past history. Considering the fact that all my brilliant 'relapse prevention stuff' failed me, and I went down whilst trying my hardest.

But then again. I'm feeling ever so slighlty better after a week and a half at home. Maybe it's simply because I sometimes manage to sleep. But my current level of functioning is nowhere near what I need.
And then there's the relapse risk, which is statistically 90%.

Everything I do is a fight. Getting out of bed is a fight. Getting to sleep is a fight. Eating is a fight.

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