Mission accomplished

So I finally got around to doing some baking this afternoon...

Not exactly how I thought they'd look, but pretty delicious nonetheless. Once again the recipe can be found here.

Feeling slightly down because I am desperate to go back to work but have been advised not to for at least another week. It feels so isolating being at home all of the time with only mental health professionals for company.

I thought I could at least use my brain by doing some studying, but it is still a nightmare concentrating. Perhaps they are right. Perhaps attempting to treat patients when I am in this state would be plain stupid. But I could happily sit at a computer and do desk work. This experience has made me realise that nearly all of my friends are doctors. My social life stems entirely from my work life. Surely the longer I stay off work the more isolated and depressed I will become?

Cupcakes pending

I'm now at the mercy of my local Home Treatment Team. The psychiatrist I saw said this would be a short-term approach, but I can't see my mental health improving with this set up. I managed to have my shower this morning and planned to walk to the corner shop to buy cream cheese for my cupcakes. But now I have to wait for the nurse to visit to reassure her that I am okay today. That I'm not going to harm myself. That I've taken my medication.

How long is it going to take to make these cupcakes? Yesterday was impossible. I took sleeping pills in the morning to slow my mind down which left me drowsy all day. The trip to the psychiatrist felt like a disaster. Now I've got nurses visiting I feel like a prisoner in my own flat. The nurse who rang this morning called me “miss”. I'm a fucking doctor! And yet I'm having to do what nurses tell me to. This is not the natural order of things. I know that must make me sound arrogant. But it is so hard being a patient. I feel so angry.  

Appearances can be deceptive

Failed to get my bake on yesterday. But hey, managed to meet a friend in the evening at My Old Dutch again. Another social encounter with a big fat smile on my face. He must wonder why I'm not working at the moment. Don't exactly appear “unwell” when I leave home and face the world.

My mood is swinging so much right now. I feel depressed, yes. I cannot concentrate, cannot make decisions. I am constantly exhausted and sad. I think of ending it all every single day, or at least harming myself to the point of being in a coma. I don't want to die, but equally being awake can be mental agony at times. I woke up in the early hours of the morning and have been awake since, unable to focus on anything in particular, unsure whether to take a small overdose of sleeping pills to silence my mind. Then a few hours later I bounce back. A few hours later I can manage an evening out, or a trip to the cinema, although it's exhausting.

I am seeing a new psychiatrist in a few hours. Lucky, lucky him. Lucky number six. For that is how many I've got through over the past ten years.

I will survive. I admitted to my partner yesterday that I fully intend to bake and eat my way out of this hell hole. Is that unhealthy? I eat in moderation and my weight has been stable recently. I am a size 8-10. I guess I need to keep an eye on it, but adding a daily muffin or brownie to my normal diet of wholegrains, low-fat dairy products, lean meats and fruit and vegetables isn't exactly going to tip the scales.

Finally concluded an hour ago that my next stab at baking will be black bottomless cupcakes. I've only just become aware of the Joy of Baking website. It's American, so I'm going to have to get myself a cup measurer (why can't the morons use grams and kilograms like the rest of us?)

Talking of American, I've recently got into imported Pop-Tarts. Brings back memories of summers spent in Florida as a child. I've got American blood in me, something as a Brit I've always been strangely proud of. But I'll save that for another post some time...