Miss Marple strikes again

There is an appointment on Tuesday with a CPN.  Do I tell her how much I have been struggling with everything, do I open myself up and be completely honest, lay myself open and bare to either help, or making myself too vulnerable to another blow from the mental health system?

Today was a hard one. I came round at about 2pm/3pm dressed like a 2 bit tramp.  Skirt so colourful it would give a blind man vertigo, short enough to display ridiculous matching knickers.  Top you could see a bra (denim and pink, balconette affair) through and a dodgy teeny bopper jacket.  In short, Marie was out.  And she had been shopping, leaving me with very little in my account and a belly full of ice cream (thankfully one of the easier purged foods).  The flat was a bomb site, and I just sat looking at it with a stonking headache and started to cry.  I hate when this happens.  When you take the effort to have a place spotless, plan a day out, try to do "positive" crap for yourself, and all that gets stolen from you.  My head was really loud, so I was getting no peace in sitting down, so I got up and went to go to the kitchen to make a hot drink and chuck back some meds.  I opened the door to find jam all over the floor, a teddy lying there with a spoon of jam up to its mouth and the name "lucy" drawn on the floor with jam.  At that point, I just about lost it.  I went straight to the fridge, took a bottle of wine, grabbed a glass and came out of the kitchen, closing the door behind me.
I haven't went back in since.
Now I am sitting here, really agitated and wanting to self harm, and having tried every distraction techniue out there, then some, I am here, writing, trying to make sense of what is going on up there and to see if I can hold back from seriously injuring myself.
I feel completely out of control, of every aspect of my life.  Not that there are many aspects to it.  It's just 'the part I have' and 'the part I dont'.  I wish I could even remember some of what happens, so I am able to piece together some of what happens in my absence, without having to play Miss Marple every time I come to.

Wine...more wine.