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Today we have a post from Kall, as posted on our website Anxious Accessories!

So let us wind the clock back to “pre disabled” and “pre full mental breakdown” days. Let’s go back to what happened once they realised that there was a decent bit of overhauling required on my psychology.

My earliest memory of my experience with the mental health service in regional New South Wales was of sitting in a room with my Sam (now my carer and dedicated keeper of the “beating the stove in his underpants” chronicles) and two gruff looking counsellors who rank right up there with some of the loveliest women I have ever met in my life.

They sat there and asked about my childhood, my home life growing up, as a teenager, how my mental was handled as I was growing up, how my parents behaved etc.

It took them roughly 5 seconds to reduce me to tears, but at the same time they explained so much in my life. They managed to explain why I have such a difficult time with the night, why my anxiety and a lot of my other mental health issues are so linked to my gut that I can only stop myself from being sick with Ondansetron (hardcore anti nausea med usually only prescribed to chemo patients, which makes it non PBS in my case $7.69 a wafer).

So many different things were explained and discussed, meetings with psychiatrists and therapists were booked and we walked away with a prescription for mirtazapine and fresh hope that boosting my seroquel back up from 6.25mg to 25mg at night was going to help.

Shortly thereafter I had another appointment with a psychiatrist, who was told my medication wasn’t really working all that well and something needed to be done, who then responded with “This is the last appointment you’ll have with me, I’m just here on locum and I don’t want to mess with your medication if he has different ideas when he assesses you.

So we waited and met the new psychiatrist who kept my seroquel where it was ditto with the mirtazapine with the hope that it would build up over time and help. It didn’t.
Upon calling to confirm my next appointment I was told I was no longer being carried by that service and my therapist would have tot have a couple of sessions with me to assess whether I needed public funded psychiatric help or not. Luckily my GP at this point had been taking care of me for a while now and was having none of this, a stern phone call later and the appointment was back.
He then bumped my mirtazapine up to 45mg. We quickly sought a referral to private psychiatric, which didn’t help much more either than upping my mirtazapine to 60mg. All this was causing more panic attacks we later discovered. If I wasn’t self medicating with the Valium my neighbour was prescribed (Something I DO NOT RECOMMEND TO ANYONE, THIS KEPT ME ALIVE BUT NEARLY KILLED ME AS WELL, ALWAYS TAKE YOUR MEDICATION AS PRESCRIBED) I have no idea where I would have wound up.

The final straw that broke the camels back though was sitting down one day to therapy and having my therapist ask for Sam to come in too, for the first time ever. He then proceeded to inform me he’d had a conversation with my mother and repeated verbatim everything she had to say about my life and Sam. This obviously caused a bit of a conflict of interest issue for me since my mother is nearly the entire driving factor for a lot of my issues.

It was decided then and there we needed to leave our home in Byron Bay.

This kicked off a hasty police escorted retreat, followed by more mental health issues, homelessness and family warfare. But that’s still all yet to come. I wouldn’t want to give everything away right at the start would I. 🙂

Talk soon,

Kall. With a K, because he still doesn’t get that I’m subtly giving him shit for dealing coke in front of his family.