So Ive really been feeling bad so i tell my therapist like 4 or 5 times Im feeling suicidal, the last time I ask if "I appeared too happy because I do tend to put on a happy face, even when depressed", she says that don't really happen then she says "Well I've been told I can recognize someone suicidal very well". I thought on the way home, dont really happen oh yeah like Robin Williams. Anyway, as she is only 29, I wondered and remembered everytime I bring up Bipolar, Depression, PTSD, Halucinations and voices and especially self-harm she changes subject. And later that night I cut. Now I am wondering although she is a clinical social worker, is she really qualified for mental illnesses beyond basic couseling or not confident in those areas. For the most part I do really like her but, hey, as you can see below I got quite a mess of mental problems, I do need someone competent in those areas.
By Anodyne Oblivion
25 years of doctors tests to figure out why I'm in constant pain, and the results always say I'm totally fine. Everything's in my head. Maybe they'll have an easier time finding what's wrong if I take the contents of my head and paint the wall with them.
Disclaimer: I don't own a gun, nor do any of my friends. Clearly, this dream of mine cannot become a reality.
I have metric tons of suffocating rage in my body and I can't even do anything with it. I've been binge eating for 3 days and deserve to die.
I don't know why I"m posting this. I'll probably delete it. I don't even know why I'm here; I'm clearly beyond help. Nothing has changed in 8 years. I'm still incapable of paying attention to anything for longer than 5 minutes, wholly incapable of focusing on anything that's not interesting to me, incapable of functioning like all the other humans I'm in competition with. I'm a fucking loser by birth. The devil lives in me and I don't even believe in Christianity. All I want to do is clone myself and make the clone take a baseball bat to my head. Everyone wins. I'm dead, and everyone who has concern for me can keep living in their tiny deluded bubble where it appears I'm still alive.
I've been in therapy since 2007. Every avenue I try to explore that the therapist agrees would be a good idea is subsequently shoved under the rug. Nobody gives a fuck. Nobody follows through. Nobody gives a fuck about helping me. They just collect their checks and a headful of terrible stories relayed by their whining patients like me. Every drug I try turns me into a fucking lunatic. I have ONE antidepressant left that I can take and it doesn't work all that great, obviously. I've taken 3x the dose and been equally miserable.
I'm supposed to be working right now. I'm a thief too.
My greatest regret is that they resuscitated me immediately after I was born dead. I was fucking born dead. I AM SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD.
I'm here again because I am free for the umpteenth time from captivity in a psych ward. And my mind won't stop going. Sure, the wizard doctor switched around my meds a bit, but nothing more or less than what I had previously been on. I was saddened that my psychiatrist, who works in the hospital, chose not to attend to me even though I was screaming at everyone who would listen that he was the only one I could talk to and the only one who could save me. The main precipitating factor of my spiral was my relapse on alcohol and subsequent overdose on a bottle of tylenol, bottle of lithium, and bottle of Wellbutrin. I had been off many of my meds for about a month, as well. One intubation, being restrained by security guards in the ICU, and multiple shots of Haldol later, and I was bouncing back and forth between two delusional realities of which both were complete nightmares. I understood, finally, why my friend who had schizophrenia shot himself. I was trapped in a hallucination that only vaguely resembled reality but mostly I knew the only way to make the nightmare of hallucinations stop was for that final release of death. Anyway, I'm getting into heavy morbidity and should probably start trying to make a point.
I've never experienced delirium and hallucinations like this before. To the point where I had to be physically restrained because I knew receiving a shot would throw me into that alternate reality which was terrifying. To the point where I was intubated because I was aspirating on my vomit. The point where I didn't know what was real and what wasn't real, such as when I vomited on the hospital floor and "saw" pieces of plastic come out of the vomit and was convinced the doctors had implanted these plastic devices inside of me. Or how I knew that I had swallowed a razor blade, that I had murdered someone, that I was being tortured and being played mind games with....
And now I have to keep trying, once again, to live. Normally, functionally, with the expectation that I should be strong enough to overcome my mental illness (they say bipolar disorder).
And I keep wondering, why? what is the meaning of life? why am I afflicted with these confusions that wreak havoc on my perception of reality?
As well as I believe I may be doing, I admit I periodically stop taking my medications because I despise the side effects and even more so despise the idea that I may actually need them. I admit that I medicate with alcohol sometimes.... and I spiral and do self destructive things. I'm a cutter - usually without getting stitches, however, the most stitches I've had in one sitting for self-harm was 38. I've had bulimia for the past six years. I seek acceptance through sex because it's how I grew up learning how to be loved and validated, erstwhile hating it regardless.
The positives: I have a job where I help others, I'm in school with a major geared towards serving my community and individuals, and my family is giving me a home to live in while I go through a divorce (with an abusive individual). In a way I'm using this post as a soap box, which perhaps it's better served as one of those journal entries that I need to acquaint myself with. That established, I'd like to turn this post towards those who have experienced psychosis/living within unreality, hospitalization, and the aftermath of acclimating to "normality".
1. What were the precipitating factors?
2. What happened that put you in the hospital (who/where/how/when, etc)
3. What was your hospital experience like?
4. What were your hallucinations/delusions/other psychiatric symptoms?
5. How did you get out of the hospital?
6. What are obstacles you've encountered acclimating to life on the outside?
7. Learning experiences from the whole ordeal?
I haven't given up yet, however I've confused, afraid, directionless, needy, and desperate. Also hopeful, despite it all.
By Anna Least
Okay, trigger warning, and also I'm sorry, but this has been on my mind lately and it's kind of clawing its way out.
The thought- I wish my rape had hurt more. I froze up, and also had taken one of my night meds (seroquel) before, so I didn't fight back in any meaningful way. As a consequence there wasn't much physical damage. I also kind of checked out during, so any sensations were dulled and distant. There was pain and small cuts in the morning, but I barely felt them at the time. That's part of what made it feel so unreal. So I wish I had been more -there-, so it would feel real.
Is that weird? Has anybody else felt this?
So I decided for my health to go gluten free again, and that I needed to log my intake so that I can lose weight again.
on Wednesday of last week I weighed 339.4 lbs
today I weigh 331.6
an almost 8lb loss
I have started logging my calories on myfitnesspal since Saturday
on Saturday I was like 800 below my goal
today so far I am like 2700
my calories are dwindling I've had 226 calories as of 9pm
knowing that I have to write them down and there is a number to try to stay under makes me very crazy
and I feel like I have to stay as far under that number as possible