Tag: medication

The Gabapentin Blues (A Poem)

I’m so drowsy from these pills, even on this sunny day
I’m in far too much pain for me to come out to play
I’m doped up to the eyeballs on this awful medication
My attention span is shocking, as is my concentration

It’s affecting my memory, and I can’t grasp my words
My eyesight is blurry, and my speech is all slurred
I’m feeling very shaky, and it’s difficult to write
I can type very slowly, but it takes me half the night

I hate being on these drugs, as they slow down my mind
I’m taking Gabapentin and Co-codamol combined
Thinking is an effort, but it’s harder still to read
I’m sorry for my absence; I have to take the time I need

I wish I could read your blogs; I miss them all so much
We’ve not chatted for ages, and I feel so out of touch
I’ve been typing night and day, and I still have so much pain
I long to be back blogging with my friends once again

I don’t know how I’m writing when I feel so very drunk
Years ago, I gave up weed; it’s also known as skunk
Although I’m twelve years sober, I feel like I’m on the booze
It’s not that at all; I’ve got the *Gabapentin blues.

~~~

*Gabapentin is a powerful painkiller often used to treat nerve pain. It’s also known as Neurontin. I’m taking it to treat the severe nerve pain in my mouth, chin, lip and jaw following a [botched] tooth extraction, where the nerve was badly damaged.

~~~

P.S. I started writing this yesterday evening, and I finally finished it this morning at 10.45am. I had a real job staying awake to enable me to publish the post. I know I didn’t have to write anything on my blog, but although I haven’t been reading many of your blogs, I feel a strong need to write. It’s my only way of coping with what I’m going through right now.


(Image by Freepik)

Oh, Not Another One (A Poem)

Oh, not another poem about her being in the wars!
Can’t she change the subject and get on with her chores?
Is it so essential to talk about her pain?
Could we have another tale before we go insane?

So, let’s talk about the weather; it’s beautiful outside
But what about the dentist and the damage he’s denied
She doesn’t like that surgeon; her doctor’s on the case
The whole *kit and caboodle is an absolute disgrace

But think about the summer with a lovely cool breeze
Look out of the window at the flowers and the trees
Now, she’s got some pills that should offer some relief
Yet, here she is going on about her blooming teeth!

Four days on these pills, and she sleeps, and she shakes
It’s difficult to concentrate; she thinks she needs a break
She wants to carry on her writing; it’s something she enjoys
But she’s drowning in the water, so we need to throw a buoy

So here she is, producing work; will she never rest?
Though everyone on WordPress makes her feel quite blessed
There is a lot of gratitude within this heart and soul
She knows that pushing on will really take its toll

So how about a holiday; where would you like to be?
Ooh, yes, she says, delighted, and chose Southend-on-Sea
We could paddle in the water.  But the sea is full of shit!
Aww, can’t we dip our toes in just a tiny weeny bit?


*kit and boodle (Collins Dictionary)

Informal (often prec. by whole)
The whole lot of persons or things; all of something


Image by wirestock on Freepik







A Few More Hours In The Day, Please

Well, here I am again, finding I can’t keep up with everything I need to do, and my head is spinning! I’ve had to be out all day today; tomorrow, I have some work to do on a project; Saturday, my best friend is coming for lunch; and on Sunday, I said I’d go along to the local Quakers Meeting House to accompany a friend to a service for the first time. It should be interesting, and I am looking forward to it. I also have a lot of coursework to do, as I’m getting behind on that, too. Please, forgive me, once again, for missing some of your blogs for now. I need a few more hours in the day, or perhaps, a few more days in the week. Anyone here got a few to sell, by any chance 😁!?

Add to all that the severe pain 😖I still have following my botched tooth extraction. I’m on stronger medication than morphine to try and get on top of the pain. It does render me a bit incapable sometimes, as I keep nodding off. It’s difficult to be productive when your brain is frequently ‘logging out 😶!’ The medication is making my hands shake, too, so I constantly make mistakes when typing. All I can say is, “Thank goodness for *Grammarly!”

Anyway, I’ll leave it there for now. I humbly apologise for not reading your brilliant work recently. I am in the process of writing a poem, but I think that’s about all I can manage for the moment.

I know you are all kind and understanding, and you may be fed up with me pleading “overload” again, but I’d rather be honest about things than just suddenly disappearing into the ether.

I may be able to read a few blogs over my busy weekend, but I’ve learned not to allow myself to get exhausted. I know my health is important, whether physical, mental or emotional. I wish you all really well and I hope that you enjoy your weekend, whatever you are doing. If you’re alone and don’t want to be, I send you kind thoughts, calm and peace ☮.

That’s all for now … Much Love, Ellie Xx 💓

Image by atlascompany on Freepik

Do You Need An Ambulance!? (A Poem)

I called 111 for assistance (a helpline within the UK)
I needed advice about the pain I’d been having every day
They asked me lots of questions to see how I was feeling
I told them it was time that I really should be healing

I told them about the tablets that made me feel all funny
I mentioned that my dentist had charged me lots of money
They asked about my general health and how I felt today
Do you need an ambulance? I replied with a firm “No way”

Had I had a heart attack, or perhaps, I’d had a stroke?
I was puzzled by these questions, but they seemed well-meaning folk
Did I feel a heavy weight sitting on my chest?
I began to doubt myself and started feeling stressed

I confirmed it was those pills that made me feel unwell
My head was very dizzy, like I’d been on a carousel
Had I had an accident within the past few days?
Had I had a migraine with brightly shining rays?

Was my speech quite slurry; my mouth dropped on one side?
I said yes, but it was nerve damage the dentist had denied
I think you need an ambulance; I firmly refused once more
No, I really don’t, and yes, I’m certain, that’s for sure

I thanked them very kindly and said that I had to go
But you might need an ambulance. I really don’t, you know
I thanked them once again; I shouldn’t have a moan
And with that, I stopped abruptly and hung up on the phone.





Image source – Pexels

Back In The Days (Poem and Introduction)

TRIGGER WARNING – mentions alcohol and drug abuse, suicide, eating disorder, self-harm, and emotional abuse.

My kind and excellent blogging friend and reader, Brian, published a post yesterday called ‘A Good Question‘ – it was about how other people cope with their feelings if they’re unable to write them on paper or screen. I’ve not always been able to write; I started after an awful experience working with an emotionally abusive therapist who had no boundaries. I became a wreck while I was with her, and she walked out on me the day my father died in April 2012. I thought I would never recover. From that moment, I began to write and wrote about that experience of what happened to me while I was, supposedly, having therapy with her. I wrote a poem at that time (one of my first posts on my new blog) called, ‘Killing Me Softly.‘ Please, could you take the time to read this, as it will help you make more sense of today’s poem? It’s only short (thank you).

This poem is the story of those years. I’ve never shared this part of my life, so it’s an extremely scary thing to do. I wanted to speak my truth, as I always do. I’m aware that I might be opening myself up for criticism and disgust here, but I now take responsibility and deeply regret my actions at that time and everything I put my family and friends through. Please, know that I’m not in this place anymore.

BACK IN THE DAYS

Back in the days when I couldn’t write
and the pain lived deep down in my soul
I had other methods to help me cope
to fill up that vast, gaping hole

It was when I was seeing that counsellor
when they all told me not to go
I came out of there tearful and broken
I’d never been so depressed and low

Back in the days when seeing her
I found myself drowning in sorrow
I got into debt with the landlord and more
and I needed some money to borrow

I started each day with a bottle of gin
kept it down by the side of my bed
I couldn’t face coffee or breakfast
just lay wanting death instead

Back in the days when I got into drugs
and was out of my head every day
I was literally living on benzos and weed
and had totally lost my way

I stopped eating food; became so unwell
I had anorexia; was all skin and bone
I hated everything about myself
I was down to under five stone

Back in the days, I’d knock back the pills
I’d bought from the chemist as well
and swallowed all my prescription drugs
I thought I was living in hell

I woke up one day in intensive care
all hooked up to tubes and wires
It hadn’t occurred to me before
that I was literally playing with fire

Back in the days when I started to cut
I was trying to bleed out my pain
I got treated like a timewaster
and I tried to jump under a train

Today, I’ve totally moved on from that
I’m grateful that I’m here at all
I confess I caused so much trouble
but now, I can stand straight and tall

Now, these days, I’m fit, happy and well
Have been clean and sober ten years
I’ve made my amends and changed my ways
And I’ll continue to persevere.

Thank you so much for reading. Love Ellie Xx 💓




Image by günter from Pixabay





Russian Roulette

There’s nothing clever or even vaguely intelligent about this poem. I wrote it on the spur of the moment. It’s not one of my better pieces, but it expresses how I feel, as does all my poetry. This isn’t a ‘work of art’ by any stretch of the imagination. It’s merely a ditty …

I realise my blog posts
have been sad and sombre of late
I know it’s been hard to bear with me
I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling great

My doctor has given me tablets
Both Valium and Zopiclone
The latter should help me sleep
Plus a crisis number to phone

I’m trying to appear cheerful
but I doubt that I’m kidding you
I’m painting a broad smile on my face
but you can’t see that’s what I do

My poetry is brutally honest
Every word, every space, every line
Perhaps, if I painted landscapes
the results would be more sublime

My dear friends, I want to thank you
for sticking close to my side
And also, I’m eternally grateful
for mopping each tear that I’ve cried

So, I beg for a little more time
And please don’t desert me yet
I’ve really got so much to live for
though I’m playing Russian roulette

A message here to each one of you
from my tender and delicate heart
I’m doing my best, so please hold my hand
I don’t want to blow us all apart.




Image by Steve Buissinne from Pixabay



DEM BONES, DEM BONES, DEM DRY BONES (Song) …

If someone had told me a decade ago that I’d be getting my mobility back after all these years of being in a wheelchair, I would never have believed them. But, here I am, walking with one crutch indoors, but not outside. However, the irony of this situation is that four weeks ago, I was diagnosed with very severe osteoporosis following a DEXA bone scan where my T-score (-4.5) was almost off the radar. My GP said she’s not seen anyone with this level of bone fragility for a very long time. If I fall, bend or twist, I stand a very high rate of fracturing my spine or breaking a hip either of which could result in permanent disability or paralysis. Bad news.

Having said all that, I’m not giving up on life … not at all. I have to learn to do everything differently and safely. Whether it’s getting something out of the fridge, picking up a bit of fluff from the floor, drying my feet after a shower and other tasks I took for granted before. I have to think before every move, and it’s exhausting sometimes, but I’m not complaining. It could be far worse.

I refuse to let this condition beat me. It knocked the stuffing out of me when I first got my diagnosis, and I was very depressed for quite a while, but now, I’m keeping active by moving around my home more and going to the gym at least two to three times a week and working really hard. Exercise is the key. I’m getting stronger, not weaker, and as long as I don’t fall, I’ll continue that way. I daren’t attempt to set foot outdoors without George (my electric chariot!) or my manual wheelchair for fear of falling on the concrete. There’s no way, after all this hard work, that I want to be back in the position where I can’t wash and feed myself again. I’m come too far.

So, I’m following my specialist’s advice, keeping active, taking medication which should help prevent any further bone loss and being extra careful about my diet. No big deal. That coupled with all my work at the gym should keep dem bones of mine ticking over for some time, I think.

 

 

MOVING FORWARD – THE PASSAGE OF TIME AND BIRTHDAY CAKE

Image result for Steampunk Clock

Why an image of a clock to begin this post with? This is because it is actually a good depiction of my feelings and where I’ve been at for some time. Life has felt rather surreal during this last year. The clock face also shows the passage of time I have been through over the last few months.

At last, I’m beginning to feel like I’m getting back to normal after my Mum became ill, had a stroke, and I finally lost her only five months ago (almost to the day). There was the funeral to get through (and all that encompassed) and now, we are dealing with probate, Mum’s will and the sale of our family home after spending my first twenty years of life there.

However, as far as my psychiatric health in concerned, I’m feeling brighter which is good (and about time too). I am now on different and new medication which, in the last week has begun to help improve my state of mind, and I’m sleeping so much better which makes a great difference to how I feel during the day. The severe anxiety attacks have also lessened which is a huge relief.

The many cogs in this clock also represent changes in a more positive way … slowly … as time has ticked by and the wheels have been turning, my relationship with my son has improved, and we have become closer which means I have more contact with my two beautiful grandchildren, Josh and Lily who are a delight to me. I have definitely become closer to my sisters, particularly the one who lives the furthest away from me. We may be separated by many miles but are hearts are inextricably linked and always will be.

The recent passage of time, like each cog, has been whirring, clicking and ticking by slowly but steadily. A lot else has changed in that time too. My eldest granddaughter has now turned eleven and will be going up to senior school in September, and my youngest granddaughter will be starting primary school at the age of four-and-a-half (she seems too young). Where has the time gone? Am I really old enough to have a granddaughter in senior school? Goodness! I must be older than I think! I’m definitely older in years than I feel and I am fortunate enough to be told by several people that I don’t look my age. However, I am reluctantly coming up to ‘a biggy’; a big ‘0’ birthday in three month’s time (which I’m trying to ignore) … ugh! How am I going to get all my candles on one cake?!

Image result for Birthday Cake with Many Candles

In addition, I would like to say thank you to my dearest friends here at WordPress who have stuck by me through thick and thin over the last year or so – it can’t have been easy at times. Their blogs have kept my head above water some of that time by distracting me with their diversity, interest, humour and compassion. So, shout out to Bun at https://bunkaryudo.wordpress.com/ and Mick at https://mickcanning.co/ and Carol anne of https://therapybits.com/. Also, thank you to any of you who may have called in or dropped by my blog and hung around with support and kind words too. Love to you all, Ellie xxx

THE TOXIC THERAPIST

On discussing my relationship with my two children (yet again) with my therapist, T, yesterday, I realised that the reason they dislike/mistrust me so much is because of my past reckless behaviours during the time I was seeing the therapist, J, referred to in my last post, ‘Killing Me Softly’. They are blind to the fact that my mental health was so poor then but is now much improved and that I do not indulge or need to take up these behaviours again (those being my drinking, anorexia, all the self-harm I did to my body both by cutting and by abusing medication and all the risky overdoses I took, some of which were very nearly fatal). I do also recognize that she didn’t literally force me to drink, cut or OD, and that we all have our own free will. It was the influence she had over me when I was very vulnerable and the abusive responses during that eight-year period which made me react in such a dangerous way. Having said that, there was one occasion when she did literally say to me at the end of a session, “Why don’t you go home and kill yourself then?” Unbelievable, I know but I state that in all honesty which I then proceeded to attempt.

This, amongst other reasons such as my disability, I think may be at the core of why my children do not want anything to do with me. After all, how awful of me to put such young, vulnerable minds through such experiences of nearly losing their mother so many times etc. You see, the toxin within J was being transmitted as toxin to me which I absorbed like a sponge which then became the sting that hurt my innocent children so much (and I think still does to this day). So, basically, in summing up, J’s inner toxin was transferred to me which then acted like a cuttlefish or jellyfish sting to *Tom and *Clare, thereby poisoning their minds.

I wish I could put this past experience (along with others) in a box, leave it there and move on from it but however hard I try there are always the tentacles of the cuttlefish or the entrails of the contents of the box climbing through the gaps or hanging out of the lid that won’t quite shut. I have not, however, yet given up on hope:

I need to shut you tight into a box
with all the hatred I have for you.
It is a sturdy box, high sided,
but still the viscera ooze
through its seams and corners.

I long to seal the lid
but it is too late
for you have contaminated my world.
How on earth do I contain this filth
when you have sullied so much of my life?

The toxin within, still seeps out
like cuttlefish tentacles
that strike out upon contact.
Your viciousness intended
unlike the sea creature’s act of survival.

And will one day, the damage you have caused
be healed by some miracle or other?
Can so many negatives be transformed
into even one miniscule positive?
Well, I tell you, I will fight.

I will fight tooth and nail
to right the wrongs you created.
There is simply too much at stake
for me to allow you the victory
of trampling me to the ground.

jellyfish1

FEELING WHOLE :)

Just for once, i feel whole and complete today rather than fragmented as usual, although there are always broken fragments inside. Today, I feel content which makes a nice change from my usual highly stressed out self. Some of you who know me well will understand when is say ‘my real Baby Emily has come home at long last’ and that has made a huge difference.

Image

I’ve got through the whole day without a single panic attack and i’ve been pretty good with my eating too (ate most of the small meals my carers gave me), haven’t needed any extra, emergency medication and the pain i get with my disability is bearable today too (I just wish my legs worked!!). Well, i count myself lucky really…I have a good wheelchair which gets me about and I always think they’re are a hell of a lot of people who are worse off than me (and that is so true).

Yay! I even had my favourite carer come to me this evening – she’s lovely and is called Kim. We always have a hug…we’re both ‘huggy’ people. I’m not supposed to hug my carers but she is special. We are just, really on the same wavelength! When she leaves this care agency, we’re going to keep in touch (yes…I know were not supposed too!) and we’ll make the best of friends. I showed her my favourite song on here…’Brave’, sung by Sara Bareilles which means so very much to me as a survivor (and I am a survivor; I no longer choose to be a victim). I’m going to take this opportunity (and I hope you don’t mind), of reblogging this video which i put on an earlier post. I just love it. It took me best part of forty years for me to be able to ‘let the words fall out’, as the song says. I can stand up and speak my truth and I’m not ashamed of that today.