Tag Archives: suicidal

Update: I’m home!

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So, Wednesday morning I went to the ER feeling suicidal. Wednesday was terrible and long. Their response was to put a guard by my room and then ignore me for 12 hours.

Leaving a suicidal person alone for 12 hours with absolutely nothing to do is not helpful.

I got really anxious and almost tried walking out several times.

Around 7pm, they brought me dinner. I ate a small portion of it, then went to the bathroom and purged.

Still feeling very anxious, I broke the plastic fork and started cutting.

At 7:45pm, my nurse (who I hadn’t seen all day) came and saw that I had cut and took everything out of the room.

Four hours before that, I had taken my IV out because it was hurting me and I couldn’t get anyone to come and check it.

I stayed in the ER until nearly midnight, then I was transferred to a hospital with a psych ward. Oh, excuse me, I meant Behavioral Health Wing.

When I arrived, they checked all my belongings in and gave me scrubs to wear. They did a skin check, which meant standing naked in front of two nurses while they checked for injuries, rashes, etc.

After paperwork and vitals, I was shown my room. I tossed and turned for a couple hours until the night nurse offered me some ambien.

Yesterday, I woke up with a migraine. I saw the doctor, psychiatrist, occupational therapist, nutritionist, etc, etc. Between these meetings, I slept and tried to rid myself of the migraine.

The program has seven groups throughout the day, 3 meals, and 2 snacks. I didn’t participate in any of those. I tried one group yesterday afternoon, but it was stupid and triggering.

I didn’t eat at all while I was there, and it didn’t seem to be a big deal. I was offered Ensure several times, but it wasn’t forced.

The staff also seemed like they had no idea how to handle someone with an eating disorder. For example, the medication nurse said to me, after asking whether I’d eaten yet, “I wishI didn’t want to eat. I sometimes throw away food so I don’t eat it. Like ice cream and brownies and stuff. And I run 5 miles a day.”

That’s nice, lady. Please just give me my meds and stop talking.

The woman who ran the one group I tried kept talking about weight loss and how she needed/wanted to lose weight.

All the staff were like that.

I didn’t really interact with any of the other patients. I spent most of my time avoiding meals and avoiding the staff and patients. There was one lady with short, red hair. The color was gorgeous. One guy was anorexic, and he was beautiful.

One patient had bipolar, but I have no idea what most of them were there for.

Not much exiting happened while I was there, but I did determine I am too fat to recover (thank you, staff, for that) and that next time I’m suicidal, I’m not telling anyone because I am NOT doing that again.

I did get diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder by the psychiatrist. I’m still not sure how I feel about that.

Well, I think that’s all.

I have an appointment with a county behavioral health specialist on Monday. We’ll see how that goes. At the moment, I’m just not planning to continue recovery for my bulimia.

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Suffocating

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Today has been terrible.

I binged and purged so many times, and tonight I cut. A lot. I want to take all my pills and just not wake up. The only thing keeping me from this is remembering the pain and heartache after my sister died and not wanting to inflict that on my family.

I by no means believe they would feel as much grief, but the thought of causing them any, especially after losing my sister just 2 years ago, I just can’t do it. Yet.

I really am scared that if things continue as they are, I will get to a place where I don’t care anymore. Where my need for escape is stronger than my need to protect my family.

The need to destroy myself

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I wrote this in my journal last night in bed.

I keep finding myself wondering if I can recover.

When I am living with my disorder, I am “stable”. When I try to recover, I lose all semblance of stability. I start feeling the all-encompassing self-hatred. I start having thoughts about jumping off buildings. I start trying to stab myself.

I can’t handle the level of all out hatred and loathing I have for myself. I don’t know what to do with it, other than to destroy myself.

The other day I wanted to slash my face and throat. I can’t stand to see myself in the mirror. The sight of myself makes me nauseous. I wish I could destroy the mirror.

I want to cut the fat off my body. Some days I don’t even care if I wouldn’t have any skin left after. I can’t possibly be more hideous than I am now. I can’t possibly hate myself more.

If I had a sharper knife, I could probably succeed at stabbing myself.

Luckily, just after that, I started talking to a friend and that helped me a lot. Sometimes what I need is just the opportunity to get outside of my own mind and connect with another person.