The last few days I’ve been distraught. Inconsolable. I am struggling so hard just to keep from cutting. I’ve been just crying and binging and purging and playing video games and watching the Olympics I missed while I was in California. I don’t see my psychiatrist or therapist until next week. I’m struggling just to get through the days. I keep feeling like I made the wrong decision. Today, I took a nap and I received a text message. It woke me up and at first I thought it was him. My heart leapt with joy, only to crash a moment later when I saw it wasn’t him. He hasn’t tried to reach out to me at all since I left and I feel like it means there must be something wrong with me. Or what if I really hurt him by leaving? Or both.
At random moments throughout the day things will remind me of it, and it hurts so much. My facebook feed is still filled with ads congratulating me on my engagement and offering me money of tuxes or photography packages. It feels weird not to have his ring on my finger, and the noticeable absence makes me cry. I just want it all to end. I want to sleep and not wake up. I wish school would start already so I had something productive to focus on.
The other night I had an ice cream sandwich. I immediately felt the urge to cut. I felt like I deserved to be punished for eating the ice cream sandwich. I felt like I had done something reprehensible and needed to atone for it.
Luckily, I was able to distract myself long enough to keep myself from cutting (partly by doing this picture).
I have jury duty in the morning. I am filled with so much dread. I’m nervous beyond reason. I’ve been using unhealthy coping mechanisms to try to stay somewhat calm.
I also can’t afford to be picked. I have appointments every day this week. Tuesday, I’m finally supposed to meet with a new psychiatrist. I’ve waited since JUNE for this. I’m going to be so frustrated if I miss it because I’m in jury duty.
On a positive note, I went trick-or-treating yesterday with my toddler niece and nephew, sister, and brother-in-law. I really enjoyed that.
A while ago I wrote that I was trying to get into a year-long DBT program through the mental health clinic where I’m seen. Well, I just found out I was accepted into the program! I’m relieved, and a little anxious. But mostly relieved. I really think this will be good for me.
Day #8: Share a scar.
First of all, I’m a day late, sorry about that. Yesterday was hectic. I went to the ENT and had to run errands and pick up prescriptions, and then I went up to the mountains again with my dad for several hours, so I didn’t get a chance to do this one, so you’ll get this one and today’s today. 😀
I don’t know if it means a scar literally or figuratively. I’m going to share an actual, physical scar that I have.
This scar is from the first time I cut deeper then superficially on my arm. It scared me. I should have gotten stitches, but I was afraid to go and tell someone what I’d done. I remember lying to my boss about it, when she saw it. I said I had caught it on a nail in my garage. I have no Idea whether she believed me. Probably not since I had a bunch of other self-harm scars on my arm.
For the longest time, I hated this scar. I thought it was huge and ugly. Well, it kind of still is, but I’ve come to accept it as part of my story. Part of my me, who I am, and where I’ve been. It’s a sign of strength. In that moment I could have given up. I was really struggling, but instead I found a way to cope. It may not have been a healthy way, but it kept me alive, and it kept me going, and it did its job until I could find better ways to cope. And I’m still here, still fighting, learning more and more how to thrive instead of just survive. I’m proud of that moment of strength when I chose not to give up.
“This is why,“ I think to myself as I take another bite of pasta. “This is why you can’t lose any weight despite hours of exercise each day.”
This is how I deal with stress, with disappointment, with not knowing what to do. I eat and I exercise. I used to purge, but I haven’t done much of that since leaving treatment a month ago. Now I just kill myself on my bike. Which I did, right before eating the pasta.
I was supposed to go car shopping today, but due to a series of events, was unable to. That’s the 4th time in a row. I’m beginning to think I will never be able to buy a car. All I want is a little independence. All I want is to be able to get around when my fibromyalgia is acting up. All I want is stability. All I want is freedom.
All I get is disappointment. So, all I do is exercise and eat. It’s better than the alternative, I suppose. I really wanted to cut, but I worked out and ate pasta instead. It’s “safer” at the very least, I’m told. Better to kill myself slowly with bulimia than to slice open my veins, they tell me.
Just once, I want something to go right.
This morning, depression and apathy had set in.
I called the treatment center back after missing a call from them. They want me to come back. Just the thought sent me into a full blown panic attack.
I’m struggling to balance my eating. Everything in me wants to restrict, but I’m trying to not lose all the progress of over a month in PHP, but so much of me just doesn’t care.
I did manage to eat a small bowl of cereal this morning. Not my full meal plan, but something is better than nothing, I suppose.
I’m considering doing “snacks” from my meal plan for my meals, so I’d be having 6 snacks a day. That seems much more attainable. Especially since the snacks are so meal-like anyway.
In good news, it’s been 2 weeks since I last binged and purged, and 55 days since I self-harmed.
In my effort to not self-harm, I arted some more. Neither is finished, but it helped me get through the evening injury free.
I decided to give away my blades. It’s slightly overwhelming, but I know I need to if I’m going to make progress.
Journal entry from my fourth day on the psychiatric wing.
**Self-harm trigger warning**
Today was hard. My depression was high, my self-harm urges were high, my suicidal ideation was high, and my anxiety was high.
Having so many strangers (visitors) all over the place had me on edge, and not having a private place to go had me frantic. I wanted to cut., I wanted to hit walls and cause bruises, I wanted to bang my head against a wall, I wanted to stab myself, I wanted to cut my throat, I wanted to take the knife from dinner and use it to cut.
I was given Ativan. It helped mildly. It took the very edge off, and that’s all. Not what I was hoping from an anxiety medication.
I want to cut. So badly. I’m going to try to sleep instead.