THANK GOD I finally stopped throwing up shortly after the last blog post. My energy levels have rather bizzarly returned to normal (if you remember I was getting tired all the time) and so has my TS. I am investing some money in an old wheelchair to get me from A to B because it is becoming nearly impossible to walk or hold in my leg tics all day. I hate the idea of using a wheelchair because I love walking everywhere (it keeps me thin!) but c'est la vie... I won't be using it all the time anyway because I only get the severe leg tics about once a week then can hold them the rest of the time. It means I walk really strangely because I have to tense all the muscles up in my legs to stop them collapsing.
I've once again got the 'hugging tic' and it is not only M who is getting it now but several million lamp posts in Bedford... M was not too impressed when I told him my TS must think he is a lamp post! He is tall and very skinny though! The vocals are starting to get louder and more agressive sounding again which is always an issue, especially when you live in the real life version of Jeremy Kyle show every time you go outside your house!
I have come to the conclusion that living in any kind of care is rubbish. My bathroom light has been broken for over a week now and I have just now walked right into the side of the shower because I couldn't see. The company is also really corrupt and isn't paying the staff properly which means I end up losing out because one of the staff can't afford business insurance on his car. I was supposed to be doing a sponsered walk tomorrow but it looks like I have wasted £7.50 on the ticket. I was actually looking forward to it and let all my leg tics out today so that I would be able to manage the three miles tomorrow, but as it always seems to be with my life, it went wrong. I have been using some very colourful language over the past hour and it is NOT coprolalia, trust me...
My depression is getting worse and worse too. I have been... well decorating my body, with a shard of glass. I haven't told anyone yet but I probably will soon. The trouble is I self harm out of frustration rather than with the urge to kill myself, but obviously the staff can't take a risk and I could end up back in hospital. That's the thing though, I am not at all suicidal. I don't want to kill myself. It would be nice though to have some ACTUAL therapy instead of the doctors constantly upping my prozac (which seems to have gone on a holiday the past three weeks) because most of my problems relate to my low self-esteem/self-image, problems which happened in my past and mainly the fact that I am a 12 year old girl inside an adult's body (albeit a small one) being forced to live like a 24 year old. I don't feel 24. I don't get about 3/4 of what it means to be an adult (apart from that it is mainly crud). I didn't get to live my teenage years thanks to the bullying, poor education, random attacks in the street and lack of acceptance of my conditions from my own father. The last time I was GENUINELY happy was when I was 11.
Moving on though, I was diagnosed with dyspraxia when I was 15 (but as it was a paediatrician it wasn't written down). I found a book about it (I definitely have it). In the section about kids it says that this that and the other can help. In teenagers the amount of help significantly drops. The adult section might as well just say 'you're screwed' in giant capital letters. I hate having poor coordination because it is embarassing. I actually trip over my own feet when I walk. I can't walk in a straight line (heaven help me if a cop ever thinks I am drunk!), do up buttons on my clothes, tie shoe laces, live a single day without hurting myself or damaging something. I am sometimes so bad with my coordination that I do actually look kind of drunk! I hate having so much wrong with my brain 
