Better by bits

Long time no blog and all that. I've not been in the best of mental or physical health and as a consequence have had little to say for myself.

Things get a little better though - the plan to rename this blog Itching in Cardiff is receding as I get to some sort of grips with my eczema.

Nothing much else to say to be honest. I went off on one a little over the last week or so - drinking six days out of seven last week. This week has been better and I haven't had a drink since Sunday now. I won't drink today either as I have to get up early tomorrow to go to the doctors' then to work to make up what I missed in my illness then, hopefully, off to volunteer in the afternoon. It's my birthday and it's likely I will allow myself to celebrate this in the pub - even if I am celebrating on my lonesome, but I've met a couple of nice people in The O of late and will hope they are there to pass the time of day.

Next week I go back to the Therapeutic Day Programme for three days to complete the course.

Hopefully I'll be able to blog more after my blip too.

The main danger is that Mrs CD goes away today, working until Sunday, that's been the worst trigger for me to go off on a bender in the past and a successful few days will be remarkably good for me.

If you spent it thank you for your time.

CD

Love the skin you're in - busy days - fear of despair and the crash

I haven't written for a while - and I'm hugely grateful to those readers who took the trouble to ask, "What's up Cardiff Drunk - normally you're a noisy bastard so why now you are so quiet?"

Things are a little tough in the world of Cardiff Drunk at the moment.

It started simply with doing more. I started on the day therapy programme (DTP) through the Community Addictions Unit (CAU) (we live in a world of acronyms and initials in recovery-land (RL)).

The programme was fine - and its contents confidential - but I managed to get there every day, I managed to speak a little in a group environment, which I find tough. But the chief fly in my ointment is the condition for which I've been prescribed many an ointment.

I don't know what this is any more but I know I want it to go away because it's destroying any improvements in my mood achieved through lower levels of drinking and having a routine of work and therapy. I stopped taking the Trazodone to try and see if that might be the trigger for the rashes and dryness and itchiness and pain. My hands improved slightly and I thought it was getting better, but I've gone back to it over the last two days just to get some undisturbed sleep.

Things got really bad. The eczema on my face - if eczema it is - became infected, redness became scab and self-consciousness spiralled into fear and self-loathing. I went to the doctor as an emergency and the infection has now pretty much cleared up. But the underlying malaise remains and remains a threat to my equanimity.

I'm back at the doctors' tomorrow morning when I'm going to make a fairly desperate plea for a solution. The dryness gets worse by the day and it seems to be spreading, today my thighs flared up with what looked like veins coming through the skin, the skin on my hands is thick and the blood seems to vanish from their surfaces. I can see some of this as an allergic reaction to washing powder - though I didn't change it around the time when the problem started - so today I've got a new brand: I'm terrified of the consequences this change might have. And, why is it on my face and on my hands if this is the case?

Perhaps I'm over-treating the problem and I'm taking a bath a day which is probably just drying things out even more - I'll have to try and get back to showering. I'm washing with aqueous cream and I'm worried this is clogging up my pores and making the redness worse, but I'm terrified of using shower gel or soap.

I'm close to despair to be honest. I've missed two days of work and when I've been there I've been so distracted that I'm not taking much in and I'm terrified I won't be able to cope when I go live on the call centre - it all feels too much. (Do you get the point that I'm terrified yet?) I'm going in today but dreading what I've missed and that I'll have to catch up, possibly at the expense of not completing the two week TDP.

The drinking has gone up too. Nearly disastrously this week with no work or TDP to fill my time. I've found myself drinking for five days solid to yesterday, and drinking too much - I'm determined now to have today, tomorrow and hopefully a couple of more days off it but I know now it'll be a physical struggle and suicide has come into my thoughts again.

Sorry to be so down - things probably aren't as bad as I imagine, I'm not in the disaster zone yet and I'm doing better at helping myself than I have done in the past.

I hope you're OK.

If you spent it, thank you for your time.

CD.

I blame Stoke City.

The last two days saw a bit of a slip in the Cardiff Drunk world, but not as bad as they have been and nothing to send me into the black of my black and white thinking.

I went out on Friday to see D and give him some books; he's a real enthusiast for Welsh history (being a Welsh speaker from the far west) and I had an Owain Glyn Dwr book and a history of Druids for his reading list. Naturally, we met in The C. I stayed longer than I needed and drank more than I should have - five-and-a-half pints I think.

Yesterday was work and then I headed out again to watch Stoke V Liverpool in The C. Again, I overdid rather and drank six pints. Encouragingly though, I came home and stopped.

My skin remains a problem. The doctor prescribed an antihistamine and a new moisturiser but it remains very dry and painful - stinging whenever I apply any cream. The most probable cause is still, to my mind, the Trazodone, but to go without it seems too much at the moment. My lovely guaranteed sleep, through all the itchiness and the worrying.

But, if it is to be dealt with then I'm going to have to try going without the Trazodone to see if that has any effect. Maybe tonight. We shall see.

Tomorrow's a big day. Work in the evening and before that the first day of my Therapeutic Day Programme alcohol counselling. I feel a bit of a fraud already - I'm drinking and most of the others on the course will be abstinent and fresh out of what could be a life-saving detox. Will they want to hear from someone who's in a relatively controlled drinking phase.

There's the temptation of another big game this afternoon - Manchester United V Chelsea but I haven't yet decided what to do about that and to drink three days in a row would be a bad thing I think; I'll feel much better tomorrow if I don't.

What I know does me good and what I do though aren't always the same things.

All the best,

CD.

A much better day.

There that's better. Today was a lovely, sharp, fresh out of the box chalk to yesterday's hard, back of the sofa fluff-covered lump of cheddar.

And, it hasn't worn off yet. I still feel damn fine thank you very much, I might even call it an up.

Why's that then. Simple really. Better behaviour, more self regard. Wednesday was a mess. I was down because I feared my skin was running away from me - not literally you understand. Because I didn't eat properly, because I had a bath not a shower - bad for the skin that - and just let myself go a bit.

Today, I kept myself busy, and even stayed off the computer for a decent long time - oh, and despite this being one of the days my 'rules' allow me to drink on, I haven't touched a drop, although there's a bottle of sherry and some cans of Guinness loose aboot this hoose.

I started my volunteer work today as well, which is another little step back towards the life I once had before I ripped it up in a soggy mess of booze and misery.

I only stayed for two hours at Journeys (the depression charity, there's a link on the sidebar if you'd like to look at their work, which is really all about self-help, diet, exercise and the like), but it's great to feel useful.

I wrote some stuff for their newsletter - searching the internet for news about depression and chopping it up into bite-sized chunks. It's the sort of stuff I used to do like falling of a log (is that really that easy? To be perfectly honest I've never tried it) and I'm certainly not as proficient as I used to be, lacking the confidence of continued practice and knowing their house style.

I won't be able to go in next week, which is a shame, but for today that was very valuable for me - I hope it had some use for those on the receiving end.

I kept myself out of the slough of despond for the rest of the day with housework and food shopping and going to the library to make one of my regular donations to Cardiff City Council. Despite being a qualified librarian I am appalling at returning books on time - perhaps it's because of it, perhaps there's some terrible psychological scar.

I'm due at the doctor's tomorrow morning. I'm going to feel a bit foolish I think - the main reason for making the appointment was the skin problem, and, by stopping using Doublebase and going back to aqueous cream it seems to have sorted itself out. Still, I might, if I can pipe up the courage to break out of my 'yes doctor, no doctor, thank you doctor' persona, ask for a referral to a skin specialist as the Community Addictions Unit doctor suggested I should.

Well, it's a reason to get up anyway.

If you spent it, thank you for your time.

CD.

Down Kafka's korridors with a beetroot face.

I'm all of a tizzy now, panicking, fetid and feverish and fearing disaster and the lock-in and the hideaway.

I should be on an up.

I've just got back from assessment for the therapeutic day programme (TDP) I was referred to by the Community Addictions Unit doctor. A drive out to the leafy suburbs to a great rambling pile of a place that acts as Cardiff's psychiatric hospital - corridors straight out of Kafka. But my skin is rebelling and revolting and squats over any positives.

It's on my face and I can't face that. I keep applying the moisturising cream but it makes no difference and a beetroot red is starting to spread across my forehead and like a mask around my eyes; the cream stings horribly when I apply it and the skin on my forehead is starting to get puffy with what I fear will be bursting pustules underneath the surface.

I've been here before you see. When I was a student I was out of control. Completely out of control with both drinking and drug abuse. I drank a bottle of spirits and more a day and took enormous amounts of dope, speed and acid. I didn't give a flying faeces for myself, rarely washed or changed my clothes and eventually horrible things happened to my skin. My face became one big scab - I was Elephant Man repulsive and people stared in the street if I ever got the temptation to go outside, which I didn't. That was impetigo in the end, it started as eczema and just got infected, and it feels like that now.

It feels unfair (life is unfair they say, but I don't care I want it to be gentle to me even if just for a while while I look for some strength). I won't be able to cope with that coming on again and I'm so far from where I was then. I'm coming out of addictive drinking and indeed haven't drunk since Sunday, I smoke dope occasionally and I eat healthily and regularly. I haven't changed anything that might inspire an allergic reaction as far as I can tell and I live more cleanly and healthily than I have done for a long time.

The weather isn't helping I suppose. It's bitterly cold and windy and everywhere you go inside the heating is on full blast and that makes it flare more. God I hope this passes. I've just rung the doctor's to make an appointment for Friday and I'm feeling pretty desperate now. Perhaps I don't drink enough water? I'm drinking water.

I'm self-conscious enough as it is, please don't let this go where I fear it might.

On the slightly sunnier side of the street though, I did, as I say make it my TDP appointment. Just an introductory chat with the nice fella who runs it.

I told him where I was with my drinking and he told me what the programme consisted of. Ten days of talking in groups and I'm due to start on Monday - another reason to get up and out the house for a 10am start. There's also the chance of referrals to outside agencies for help with work and the like and that's something I'm going to have to really try and pick up on.

I told him of my previous negative experiences with group therapy but as I said to him I'm happy to have an open mind and take help wherever I can get it at the moment. The first rule of the programme is confidentiality so I won't be writing too much about what goes on in the group, but I will tell you how it goes, if I'm not cowering in misery under a green skin by then. Another rule is abstinence, monitored by breathalyzer - I just have a zero reading this morning. I had kind of planned to have a drink on Sunday - there's Manchester United (the Red Scum to Leeds fans) v Chelsea (the Chelsea Scum to Leeds fans; we're a lovely bunch) to watch. So I have another spur towards abstinence and control.

God, I want this to go away - if it means coming off the Trazodone that's what I'll do, in fact, I'm not going to take it tonight: I don't need to be up early tomorrow and I've read Trazodone has no withdrawal symptoms and the redness is how it started on my hands before escalating all the way to cracked and bleeding skin and infected patches - I want to crawl into bed and die. I've just looked up Campral and that too has skin rash as a possibly serious side-effect; why can't I just be fucking happy and healthy?

If you spent it thank you for your time.

CD.

On the seventh day God created Brain's bitter.

My six day sober ended today. I am determined not to allow wailing and gnashing of teeth to rule the day however.

I have been to The C, to see D, and once there partook of four pints of Brains Bitter. This started at around 1pm, it is now 8.41pm and I'm pleased to report that's where that particular bout of drinking ended. I'm rather astounded to be honest and, to a degree, proud of what I see as an achievement.

This despite the reflex action that pushed me into the shop to buy four cans of Guinness on the way home. They sit downstairs now, unloved and unquaffed.

I'd be a fool to myself (and when am I not), to see this as much of a good thing however. I really should have stayed off the pop. And, stopping is a chore - at least it feels like it now; and the day is not yet done and those cans are still there.

Nevertheless, I've still drunk substantially less than I have done on previous 'relapses' - less than half the usual in fact, so we'll look at positives here for once.

My skin continues to cause me great concern. I'm using a steroid cream and a simple moisturiser. The steroid thins the skin and, I'm sorry to say, I must have been over applying it to my hands, which are the worst victims of this bloody awful rash/eczema/whatever. They're permanently red and irritated in a self-consciousness inducing way. But last night I could see the blood through the skin, which is not good.

So, with the help of Mrs Cardiff Drunk, I gave myself a damn good moisturising, which calmed down the irritation after an initial bout of horrible stinging pain.

I think I'm going to have to go back to the doctor about this. If it's the Trazodone I'm going to have to stop taking the tablets because this is starting to get me down in quite a serious way.

The sleep too is odd. I've never dreamed much, or, rather as I gather we all dream, I've rarely remembered my dreams. This is something else though. It's out like a light into total darkness, Mrs CD calls it a coma, and I'm undisturbable, unshakable. Then, around eight hours later, pop! I'm awake, straight up and out of utter darkness. Not that there's anything wrong with that, it just seems a bit odd.

Well, I shall report how the rest of the day passes tomorrow. I'm nicely tired, but craving oblivion from the black stuff too - perhaps the best plan is to go to bed and take the blackout pills. I won't drink tomorrow because of work and the same on Tuesday and Wednesday.

Oh yeah. And the reason I HAD to go out today was to pick up some dope. Another piece of foolishness arranged in my cups.

Could be worse.

How be you?

If you spent it, thank you for your time.

CD.

My skin is revolting and I blame the drugs (although they do work)

The antidepressant I take is called Trazodone and lurking away in the side effects list is Skin Rash. And, it works for me.

It's getting to be a pain in the neck - well, in the arms, hands and legs, and yes, the arse mostly - to be honest. I had to stop taking Mirtazapine because the skin inflammation was so severe but so far I've stuck with Trazodone - it guarantees me a good night's sleep at the very least.

But, as anyone who's suffered from serious skin problems will tell you, it gets you down. Which is not a good thing for an antidepressant to do.

I'm not allowed to wash with soap, I have to use my moisturising cream which is called double base, then, I have to apply a strong steroid to the actually inflamed parts of my skin. I have to use the double base to moisturise but at a different time of day because it's a barrier cream so would interfere with the action of the steroid.

All fine and dandy. But the inflammation is spreading and I'm struggling to keep on top of it. I take a bath most days, which I shouldn't, I know it's worse for the skin and I think it's just a matter of comfort and habit. We've got a problem with our shower too, it's sending water through the bathroom into the kitchen. But, to properly treat myself after each wash is starting to take up to half-an-hour. I'm supposed to do the same at the end of the day, but I never remember to and once the Trazodone kicks in I'm in no fit state to.

I shall have to work at that. And Mrs Cardiff Drunk takes a positive delight in rubbing cream into me.

But it's making me self-conscious. The worst area is on my hands, which are a bright crimson red all the time and, if I forget to, or don't apply the steroid possibly I have an ugly looking rash to go with it.

Don't get me wrong. I'm still getting better. Tonight, I really will have a proper moisturising session, and tomorrow I'll get up early and have a shower rather than a bath. At what point though do I decide that the pain caused by the Trazodone isn't worth the pleasure of proper sleep and a levelling out of my mood - I'm not exactly singing and dancing all day long but I've stopped going into real deep downs now I'm on the higher dose and I'd say I didn't have any suicidal thoughts last week.

We'll see I guess.

I haven't had a very good history with antidepressant side effects. Prozac was the first one - it made me permanently nauseous. Then there was Dothiapin, that gave me a heart murmur.

Effexor I stayed on for years. One of the joys for me was that I could use it to feed my appetite for an altered consciousness. The withdrawal symptoms are legendary and generally described as being like electric shocks to the brain - which, loon that I am, I loved. That electric shock description isn't accurate entirely but it's the closest I can get to an absolutely extraordinary sensation.

Now, I mentioned on another blog (which I abandoned because it was associated with my name and I wanted to blog about this anonymously) that I was taking Effexor and another problem drinker told me it had a history of causing increased alcohol consumption.

I've just looked this up, and here are a couple of posts from a forum on antidepressants:

Wow this is the first time I have heard of this. I took effexor for 6 years and pretty much became an alcoholic (was teetotaler before). I drank everyday and ended up being unable to quit (just to add to my misery) on my own, so slunk with tail between legs to AA. I am too scared to test wether or not I could drink now though. Best stay away from the alcohol I think, giving up was quite honestly the hardest thing I have ever done.

I have been on 75 mgs of Effexor for 4 months. I have always been a social drinker, but never have I had such strong compulsions to drink than my time on this drug. I was very worried that I was turning into an alcoholic until a friend in the medical field told me there was a strong link between Effexor and alcoholism. I went to my doctor immediately, and he told me to quit the Effexor altoghether, and he put me on Prozac for two weeks to ease the withdrawal symptoms. I would just like to hear from anyone who has had a similar experience and if it will go away once I am off all the chemicals.

In fact, I've seen enough anecdotal evidence of this to be convinced. This means, of course I have another excuse for my boozery - the drugs made me do it your honour. Well, maybe not, but it is interesting that I took Effexor for much of my drinking life and I know if I'm offered it again, I'm a gonna be a saying, no thank you very much.