Hopefully, tomorrow, I’m buying a new car! It’ll be my first car. Now I just need to get a license.
Here’s the thing, driving scares the shit out of me. It’s the main reason I haven’t tried very hard to get a car or license before now. However, I really need some more independence. I sincerely think it’s necessary for my mental health.
while doing inpatient over the last 10 days in a local psychiatric ward, I made some journal entries. Here is the first of those entries.
“I need my bag!”
The quote from an episode of Psych flitted through my head in the most terrifying way possible.
Sitting in the stark, barren room in the emergency psychiatric ward, I heard the frantic screams of another patient demanding her purse.
“You threw it out the window on Santa Fe,” a paramedic responded.
The other patient wouldn’t, or couldn’t, accept that, and grew angry, insisting on the return of her bag.
This was the latest in a string of tirades.
She had yelled about not being allowed to go home, over not having feminine pads, over her shoes, the list goes on and on. At one point, she had taken to hitting and throwing things at the staff, and had to be restrained, then proceeded to shout profanities for a good hour.
Here I was, in the next room, just trying to stay alive, feeling like I was being punished for doing the responsible thing and seeking help.
That first afternoon and night were terrifying. I sat alone in the most empty room I had ever seen, just a bed, chair, table, and the security camera. A guard sat outside my door. I had to ask to get water, or use the bathroom. I couldn’t use my phone, and all they gave me to do was a stack of children’s mazes, a crayon to fill them out with. Shortly before I left, they scrounged up a word search book.
Though the bathroom door had an 8″ gap at the bottom, I purged every meal. They either didn’t notice, or didn’t care.
After more than 24 hours in the ER ward, I was admitted to the regular psychiatric ward, or Three West (third floor, west wing).
All I can see are they.
The blue veins of life…of death…
I have the blade in my hand, ready.
But I am scared.
I want to, but I can’t bring myself to.
The finality.
Tonight, I am afraid of the finality of it.
Other times, I long for that.
I crave it. I need it.
But tonight, I am scared.
Last night, I was hanging out with my ex. We’ve maintained our friendship for the last year.
I don’t know what was different about last night, but he called me sweetie and we kissed.
And we kissed.
And we more than kissed.
I was enjoying it. I hadn’t realized how much I missed him, how much I missed being close to him. It felt good to be close to him again.
Then it happened. Before I realized it had happened, we went further than I was comfortable with. I suddenly found myself overwhelmed and scared. I didn’t know how to respond.
As I type this, I can see and hear all the people who tell you to “just say no” but it’s so much harder to do when you’re in the situation and you’re panicked and confused. I didn’t feel capable of stopping it. I felt trapped.
He didn’t know. He thought everything was fine. I disassociated and played the part. Why? I don’t know… I guess because that’s what I’m used to. That’s what I was trained to do.
I hated myself for it. I still hate myself for it. I wish I would have told him. I wish I would have stopped it. I feel dirty. I feel cheap. I feel like a liar. I feel sick.
Afterward, I wanted to die. I wanted to take out blade and cut into the vein on my wrist. Instead I lay there and cried silently into the pillow.
This morning, he was all smiles. He greeted me cheerily and kissed me. I was revolted. I think then he could tell something was wrong. He invited me to come shower with him. I declined. He left shortly after, and I haven’t heard from him since.
I woke up repeating to myself, “I hate you, I hate you.” I keep finding it playing on repeat in the back of my mind. I’ve been near tears all day.
I feel like I have no right to be upset. I am not justified in my despair. I feel guilty for last night, and I feel guilty for feeling guilt.
I don’t know where to go from here.
I find dating to be exhausting.
I’ve mentioned before how casual dating just isn’t for me. I don’t enjoy it and it saps all my energy.
I haven’t exactly been dating lately, but I’ve been spending a lot of my time with someone. We play video games together and just talk. I could see it becoming something.
And yet, part of me hopes it doesn’t.
I’m exhausted. I’ve been off my meds for a few months now and my body is constantly weary and in pain. Add in my new business (which I’m loving) and school (which is overwhelming me merely by existing) and a something-relationship and I just am tired. Mentally, emotionally, and physically.
I’m also scared to be honest. I know he will eventually see my scars and cuts. I know he will eventually discover my neuroses. I know I will eventually be too troubled, too much, too far gone, too hard to handle, too confusing, too needy, too depressed, too…too…too…
Earlier, we were chatting on gtalk (or hangouts, I guess it’s called now) and he send me a youtube video that shows how the special effects department made it look like someone’s fingers had been cut off. The video starts with bloody, severed fingers. I quickly closed it and told him I couldn’t watch it. He explained that he normally doesn’t like things that are gory, but the process was really interesting, and it doesn’t seem gory anymore after you know the process.
I was pretty sure I knew the process (I did) but I thought I’d give him the benefit of the doubt and watch it. I had to stop when they started to cut the fake fingers with scissors. I couldn’t explain to him why it bothered me so much. I couldn’t tell him about having wanted to cut off my own fingers just a few month ago. I can’t tell him how much I loathe this body I am stuck in and how I so often have to fight myself just to NOT mutilate it.
In other mostly unrelated news, I was supposed to do the NEDA walk in my town this morning. Supposed to.
I had worked and worked to raise money and I had looked forward to doing this for months. Then, this morning, I woke up, and I couldn’t do it. I had the most terrible anxiety. Pure panic. I cried, I was so frustrated. I wanted to go, but at the same time, I was terrified. I couldn’t will myself out of bed. I turned my alarm off and cried myself to sleep.
The one bright note of my day, I have nice nails…
I think my cat had a seizure. I was so scared I cried. I’m so worried for her. She’s my life and my baby. I can’t afford to take her to the vet. I feel like sucj a bad pet mother. I’m snuggling her, terrified she’s dying and there’s nothing I can do for her.
a2eternity 