I have realized that the one place where I feel truly sane is inside the walls of the psych ward.
I’m not sure.
I looked around at the other patients and thought to myself, “I’m not like them.”
I remembered this thought today while I was purging and thinking, “I’m not really bulimic.” (I’ll explain that one on another post.)
I think I have a denial problem.
But seriously, sitting in the hallway yesterday waiting to be released and watching some of the other patients, I felt very, very sane. I don’t know how to describe the feeling.
I’ve also come to realize that, when I want/need to, and I don’t have evidence contradicting me, I’m very good at convincing others that I’m sane, intelligent, wise, collected, a great leader, so on and so forth.
And yet, when I’m home, I feel anything but.
I tried using a potato peeler to cut my skin off earlier in the week. I’ve considered cutting the fat from my body, I’ve tried stabbing myself. I’ve thought of jumping from buildings and bridges, walking in front of moving cars, and tried various ways to kill myself.
I thought repeatedly of putting a sharp knife down my throat last week to prevent myself from eating or binging and purging. I frequently have visions of being mutilated or killed. My mind is filled with horrible images I am afraid to tell others.
I live in chaos.
I hide it well.
I so often feel legitimately insane.
Until I went to the psych ward. Then I felt sane. Oh, so sane.