It's been a tumultuous couple of weeks.
My depression - that usually spans October/November - February - is continuing into April with a vengeance. It's gotten bad.
Last week, on Thursday, I wanted to kill myself. I wanted to do it. I was going to do it. I could barely stop to catch a thought, my mind was racing. I was hysterical, crying and incoherent. It was when I got home from my CBT group, and it was about 4PM, so my boyfriend was at work. I called him, because I didn't know what to do, and he's the first person I turn to in every situation. In retrospect, I feel incredibly guilty for putting him in that position. He couldn't leave work, and I made him worry he'd come home to me passed out, or a corpse.
So I called a local youth crisis hotline. I'd never called before. I'd always had my boyfriend call and speak for me, because I would get too anxious and I would be crying so hard I couldn't speak properly. Well, that was still the case this time. I don't know how I managed to make the call, but I'm kind of glad that I did. It was a woman who answered, and she was really helpful. We talked for about a half hour, and I felt much more calm, and a little in control by the end of it.
I was going to call a local shelter - more of a safe environment really - to see if I could just go there for a few hours until I felt safe, but I felt like I was okay enough to try to stay safe on my own.
I took a hot shower, used my favorite body wash - strong smells can be grounding - , put on comfortable clothes, made a tea, put a movie - Twilight - on, and got my 3DS and the stuffed Hello Kitty that my boyfriend gave me. I curled up in a blanket writing in my journal, and I tried to be okay. I made it through the night... obviously.
I've been more in control every day since, but every day I still have strong thoughts and urges to hurt and kill myself.
I don't know how to cope. I've been drinking more than I should but I don't care. I woke up for school this morning and went back to sleep for an hour and a half before I finally got up and half-assedly went to school.
I've been trying to write more, because I can turn my blood into ink. I've been listening to music.. a lot. I've been amping up my studies in Wicca, and just today I picked up some more incense for the coming full moon and invoking Hecate, and to dispel the negativity in my life; also picked up a leather bag just the right size for my raw clear quartz point on a string. I burned frankincense earlier today, and cleansed the crystal, and took the opportunity to attune with the Goddess. I'm finding things that.. not work, but help. Improve the moment.
I've been seeing my new therapist - in the DBT program - weekly, and I feel really positive about that. I feel like she can help me. When I saw her on Friday, we talked about Thursday night, and we talked about why I feel like CBT isn't helping me. She made a good point in asking me if exposures are really going to help me get better if I don't have trauma treatment. That my lack of improvement and progress in my attempted exposures is valid, because I have this impediment that the rest of the women in my CBT group don't have.
I get to start group DBT on the fourteenth, and I'm excited about that. It's going to be hard... really hard, but I need to do it. I can't live like this forever. I mean, I would, I absolutely would... but I want to be the kind of girl my boyfriend can love without stress, keep forever, not have to worry about. I know recovery should come from within, but I'm not quite there. I feel like I'm a little closer to being 'there' now than I was a year ago, so that's something. I don't care if I get better, to be honest. However, I care about my boyfriend - I love him more than I hate myself, most of the time - and I want to be better, healthy, recovering and eventually recovered for him. If nothing else, I want a life with him. I also have my goal of becoming a published poet.. so I have little motivators.
I get to - finally - see the psychiatrist on the ninth, which is a great thing, because my medications are in need of some serious tweaking. I know I need my Valium upped. I want to up my Wellbutrin, because now that my purging is almost completely under control I'm much less at risk for seizures, and my depression is at a point where I feel like I need .. more. I love Wellbutrin. I haven't gained at all on it, and I had virtually no side effects, and it just.. works. I just need a little more. .... And I feel like something needs to be done about my psychosis. I'm on Lithium and Saphris - antipsychotics - and I feel like something could be done with that. .... And now that I think of it, I'd like to up my Clonidine - sleep medication - too, because I'm on a very minimal dose, and it doesn't do as much as it could in terms of keeping trauma nightmares at bay.
I don't know what I'm doing. I feel like I'm robotic, just going through the motions and every day is the same, occasionally needing to re-charge and being completely useless for a time.
So I'm still here. Alive. Safe.
I'm not okay, but I'm doing my best.
Monday, 30 March 2015
Monday, 16 March 2015
Post-Birthday Update
My birthday came and passed, and I'm still alive. I'm not sure exactly how I feel about that, but I'm trying to see things in a less (completely) negative light.
My boyfriend bought me this really nice metal travel mug that I know was expensive as hell, and he's giving me a bunch of money to see Andrew Jackson Jihad on the 24th, which is too nice of him.. so it's a good present(s).
I had plans to go out with my mother to get coffee and get our nails done. I really thought about cancelling because I hadn't voluntarily seen her in probably a year or more, but I ended up going. It was... awkward, initially, but we started talking, just casual light catch-up stuff. She gave me a book for my birthday - 9-11 by Noam Chomsky - which was really sweet, because I`m pretty sure I`ve only ever mentioned liking his stuff once or twice, and that was while I was still living with her.
We got our nails done, which was nice. We got to talk but nothing of real weight because, well, very public. Afterward we went to go get another coffee, and ended up talking until around 9:30pm. We caught up on years. It was really good. I feel like it`s safe to have her in my life again. She`s doing really well, and knowing what she`s gone through - and having gone through it myself - I feel rather proud of her. I`m just really glad I can be in regular contact with her again. I really did miss her.. I just didn`t realise the extent until we talked.
I`m alive. I didn`t feel the need to drink heavily, or feel the urge to attempt any more than I usually do. Less so, even.
I`m not sure if being off school for a week will be helpful in terms of mental rest, but at least I have the ability to take time to rest. I have, however, been doing some schoolwork. I got more work for the break, in case I finish the book I`m on and want to do more work.
My dad told me that he and my step-mom are probably coming down to visit next weekend - they were going to come for my birthday, but my dad planned it so last minute that they couldn`t make it. They live about five or six hours north of me. When I do see them, though, it will probably include some sort of family gathering - I don`t have a big family, just grandparents and two sets of aunts and uncles and cousins. It`ll be nice, though, because my dad will probably have my birthday present. He ordered it online and it didn`t come in time. Plus, seeing extended family so soon after my birthday almost guarantees birthday money. That would be infinitely helpful in getting started with Wicca.
This week is going to be okay. I`m going to make it okay. I have CBT group on Thursday, and I have my one-on-one with my new DBT therapist on Friday. I`m going to read a lot, rest my mind, and just try to live.
My boyfriend bought me this really nice metal travel mug that I know was expensive as hell, and he's giving me a bunch of money to see Andrew Jackson Jihad on the 24th, which is too nice of him.. so it's a good present(s).
I had plans to go out with my mother to get coffee and get our nails done. I really thought about cancelling because I hadn't voluntarily seen her in probably a year or more, but I ended up going. It was... awkward, initially, but we started talking, just casual light catch-up stuff. She gave me a book for my birthday - 9-11 by Noam Chomsky - which was really sweet, because I`m pretty sure I`ve only ever mentioned liking his stuff once or twice, and that was while I was still living with her.
We got our nails done, which was nice. We got to talk but nothing of real weight because, well, very public. Afterward we went to go get another coffee, and ended up talking until around 9:30pm. We caught up on years. It was really good. I feel like it`s safe to have her in my life again. She`s doing really well, and knowing what she`s gone through - and having gone through it myself - I feel rather proud of her. I`m just really glad I can be in regular contact with her again. I really did miss her.. I just didn`t realise the extent until we talked.
I`m alive. I didn`t feel the need to drink heavily, or feel the urge to attempt any more than I usually do. Less so, even.
I`m not sure if being off school for a week will be helpful in terms of mental rest, but at least I have the ability to take time to rest. I have, however, been doing some schoolwork. I got more work for the break, in case I finish the book I`m on and want to do more work.
My dad told me that he and my step-mom are probably coming down to visit next weekend - they were going to come for my birthday, but my dad planned it so last minute that they couldn`t make it. They live about five or six hours north of me. When I do see them, though, it will probably include some sort of family gathering - I don`t have a big family, just grandparents and two sets of aunts and uncles and cousins. It`ll be nice, though, because my dad will probably have my birthday present. He ordered it online and it didn`t come in time. Plus, seeing extended family so soon after my birthday almost guarantees birthday money. That would be infinitely helpful in getting started with Wicca.
This week is going to be okay. I`m going to make it okay. I have CBT group on Thursday, and I have my one-on-one with my new DBT therapist on Friday. I`m going to read a lot, rest my mind, and just try to live.
Friday, 13 March 2015
What I Want
My new therapist, today, asked me what it'll look like, when I get into therapy and start learning coping skills and start getting better.
What I want it to look like.
My answers were, in my opinion, lacklustre. Going to college, improving the relationships I have.
What I want in my life that I don't right now, because of my illnesses.
If money weren't an issue, I want to be riding again. I need it. So, a job. If I had a job, I'd have the money to ride again - believe me, it's expensive to take lessons and buy everything necessary.
That part of the conversation reminded me of what I want, what my ultimate life goals are. What I feel I must accomplish before I die.
Become a published poet - even if only 100 copies of my collection is printed.
And, if I get so lucky, buy a horse. I do, technically, have a horse at my grandparents', but as I've said, she's pretty old for a horse and can't do most of the things I want to do. She is a huge sweetheart, though, and will always be up for a hack in the fields - being a mare though, she does have a tendency to be an asshole from time to time. I have the scars on my chin (fell on my face so as to break my fall properly and not break my neck which easily could have happened) to prove it. I used to take lessons, but stopped. I loved it though. It was the highlight of every week. Mucking out a stall actually makes me happy.
I have things to look forward to. I have things I want to do, to have. I have reasons to stay a while longer. I have a great love. I have two best friends whom I can say I actually trust. I have the opportunities to try to get better, through therapies that are completely free to me because I live in Canada. I have so many books I want to read. I have religions to explore. I have places to see. I have tattoos to get.
I will make it to ten minutes from now. I will make it to thirty minutes from now. I will make it to an hour from now. I will make it to safely getting myself to bed. I will make it to the morning, and in the morning, I'll take it as slow as I need to.
I think I just decided to live, for the time being.
What I want it to look like.
My answers were, in my opinion, lacklustre. Going to college, improving the relationships I have.
What I want in my life that I don't right now, because of my illnesses.
If money weren't an issue, I want to be riding again. I need it. So, a job. If I had a job, I'd have the money to ride again - believe me, it's expensive to take lessons and buy everything necessary.
That part of the conversation reminded me of what I want, what my ultimate life goals are. What I feel I must accomplish before I die.
Become a published poet - even if only 100 copies of my collection is printed.
And, if I get so lucky, buy a horse. I do, technically, have a horse at my grandparents', but as I've said, she's pretty old for a horse and can't do most of the things I want to do. She is a huge sweetheart, though, and will always be up for a hack in the fields - being a mare though, she does have a tendency to be an asshole from time to time. I have the scars on my chin (fell on my face so as to break my fall properly and not break my neck which easily could have happened) to prove it. I used to take lessons, but stopped. I loved it though. It was the highlight of every week. Mucking out a stall actually makes me happy.
I have things to look forward to. I have things I want to do, to have. I have reasons to stay a while longer. I have a great love. I have two best friends whom I can say I actually trust. I have the opportunities to try to get better, through therapies that are completely free to me because I live in Canada. I have so many books I want to read. I have religions to explore. I have places to see. I have tattoos to get.
I will make it to ten minutes from now. I will make it to thirty minutes from now. I will make it to an hour from now. I will make it to safely getting myself to bed. I will make it to the morning, and in the morning, I'll take it as slow as I need to.
I think I just decided to live, for the time being.
Well, This was Unexpected
It's the night before my birthday. Twenty-second, if anyone's interested.
It's causing... major depression... and suicidal thoughts. Including plans and intent. I just.. I never planned - when I was in my early teens, I made myself a promise that I wouldn't live to nineteen. When I did, however, make it to nineteen, that old promise wasn't on my mind. I celebrated by going out with my grandparents, and later going for drinks with a friend. I had reasons to live. I had a life I felt was worth living. Sure, I was working part-time at a pizza place and I'd dropped out of high school, but I had my boyfriend. I had - still have - this great love, this wonderful, beautiful man who loved me for every good, bad, and `somewhere in between` thing that makes me up.
Well, as time went on, my mental health got worse, and I`ve said before that I got to a point at which I was attempting several times. I did almost everything I could to succeed. My boyfriend had other plans. He has physically restrained me multiple times, stripped me down in an instant and thrown me into the coldest possible shower - dive reflex - taken me and stayed with me in emergency psych, everything. He did his homework on every of my diagnoses, and he loves me harder than I deserve. He`s why I`m alive. Cheesy, I know, but when you think you have no reason to live, any motivation is good motivation.. and I think in time, eventually, I`ll be recovering for myself.
My twentieth and twenty-first birthdays weren`t upsetting. They were nice. Drinking with friends, having a casual gathering of safe people.
This year, for some reason, it`s different. I don`t know if it`s because my mental health just still isn`t getting better, or maybe is getting worse, but the idea of having lived one more year in this consciousness is repellent, abhorrent, terrifying to me.
Like I said before, the notion of dying at twenty-seven is ... intruiging - five more years.. I think I might be able to manage five more years. More intruiging is dying on my birthday.. better still, dying the night before.
I'm working so, so hard, just to stay. To think of reasons why.
I have my boyfriend.. and he loves me, or at least makes a very convincing falsehood. He's told me he would be (his words) a wreck if I died. If I killed myself.
I have small events and things coming up I'm excited about. I'm seeing one of my favorite bands with one of my best friends on the 24th. I'm doing well in school. I'm finally able to start the therapy I've been waiting a year and a half for. I'm reconciling with my mother - tomorrow, we're supposed to go get our nails done together and catch up. My boyfriend spent money he didn't have on a present for me.. and as much as I feel guilty that he spent money on me, I love presents. Little celebrations help me get though things.
What's huge right now is therapy. I just today had my first appointment with my new DBT therapist. She's lovely, an older white woman who seems... relatable.. like I can, eventually, be open with. I'll get to start group therapy in about a month. I know DBT works for me, and this program is a million times more intensive than the one I did in 2013... so that's a reason to stick around. Why not wait a couple of months, see if therapy helps or even does anything? It's worth a shot, right? Maybe I'll even start to get better, or make progress. I want to learn how to cope, and I want to live forever with my boyfriend. Logically, it's easy to see that I shouldn't attempt. I have love in my life, supports in place, goals - I want to get my high school diploma, go to journalism school, and be a published writer/poet. In that order. Those are things I want out of life. I want to be published, and I want a horse. I'm trying my best to focus on things that could happen in the future that would be good enough to make me hold on. Graduating high school. Applying to colleges and universities, and getting an acceptance letter. Maybe even getting married - that 'maybe' was brought to you by commitmentphobia. Buying my first horse. Traveling. Seeing more than this section of the world. Writing for sources I love - Jezebel, Feministing, Bitch Media. Writing poems I'm proud enough of to try to get published, and actually getting published.
Right now, I'm trying to keep myself safe. I've confined myself to the living room - I brought water, snacks, the stuffed Hello Kitty my boyfriend got me (that's really just comforting), I have Netflix, Animal Crossing and Pokemon, music, I have my journal and my poetry notebook, I have a number to call if things start getting out of hand... I'm doing all that I can to make it through the night.
That's all I can do. Go day by day.
But that sickly sweet desire is smelling stronger.
It's causing... major depression... and suicidal thoughts. Including plans and intent. I just.. I never planned - when I was in my early teens, I made myself a promise that I wouldn't live to nineteen. When I did, however, make it to nineteen, that old promise wasn't on my mind. I celebrated by going out with my grandparents, and later going for drinks with a friend. I had reasons to live. I had a life I felt was worth living. Sure, I was working part-time at a pizza place and I'd dropped out of high school, but I had my boyfriend. I had - still have - this great love, this wonderful, beautiful man who loved me for every good, bad, and `somewhere in between` thing that makes me up.
Well, as time went on, my mental health got worse, and I`ve said before that I got to a point at which I was attempting several times. I did almost everything I could to succeed. My boyfriend had other plans. He has physically restrained me multiple times, stripped me down in an instant and thrown me into the coldest possible shower - dive reflex - taken me and stayed with me in emergency psych, everything. He did his homework on every of my diagnoses, and he loves me harder than I deserve. He`s why I`m alive. Cheesy, I know, but when you think you have no reason to live, any motivation is good motivation.. and I think in time, eventually, I`ll be recovering for myself.
My twentieth and twenty-first birthdays weren`t upsetting. They were nice. Drinking with friends, having a casual gathering of safe people.
This year, for some reason, it`s different. I don`t know if it`s because my mental health just still isn`t getting better, or maybe is getting worse, but the idea of having lived one more year in this consciousness is repellent, abhorrent, terrifying to me.
Like I said before, the notion of dying at twenty-seven is ... intruiging - five more years.. I think I might be able to manage five more years. More intruiging is dying on my birthday.. better still, dying the night before.
I'm working so, so hard, just to stay. To think of reasons why.
I have my boyfriend.. and he loves me, or at least makes a very convincing falsehood. He's told me he would be (his words) a wreck if I died. If I killed myself.
I have small events and things coming up I'm excited about. I'm seeing one of my favorite bands with one of my best friends on the 24th. I'm doing well in school. I'm finally able to start the therapy I've been waiting a year and a half for. I'm reconciling with my mother - tomorrow, we're supposed to go get our nails done together and catch up. My boyfriend spent money he didn't have on a present for me.. and as much as I feel guilty that he spent money on me, I love presents. Little celebrations help me get though things.
What's huge right now is therapy. I just today had my first appointment with my new DBT therapist. She's lovely, an older white woman who seems... relatable.. like I can, eventually, be open with. I'll get to start group therapy in about a month. I know DBT works for me, and this program is a million times more intensive than the one I did in 2013... so that's a reason to stick around. Why not wait a couple of months, see if therapy helps or even does anything? It's worth a shot, right? Maybe I'll even start to get better, or make progress. I want to learn how to cope, and I want to live forever with my boyfriend. Logically, it's easy to see that I shouldn't attempt. I have love in my life, supports in place, goals - I want to get my high school diploma, go to journalism school, and be a published writer/poet. In that order. Those are things I want out of life. I want to be published, and I want a horse. I'm trying my best to focus on things that could happen in the future that would be good enough to make me hold on. Graduating high school. Applying to colleges and universities, and getting an acceptance letter. Maybe even getting married - that 'maybe' was brought to you by commitmentphobia. Buying my first horse. Traveling. Seeing more than this section of the world. Writing for sources I love - Jezebel, Feministing, Bitch Media. Writing poems I'm proud enough of to try to get published, and actually getting published.
Right now, I'm trying to keep myself safe. I've confined myself to the living room - I brought water, snacks, the stuffed Hello Kitty my boyfriend got me (that's really just comforting), I have Netflix, Animal Crossing and Pokemon, music, I have my journal and my poetry notebook, I have a number to call if things start getting out of hand... I'm doing all that I can to make it through the night.
That's all I can do. Go day by day.
But that sickly sweet desire is smelling stronger.
Wednesday, 11 March 2015
Maybe a Kind of Therapy my Therapist Would Disapprove of
So I've been interested in Wicca - rather, learning about it - for probably over six months. A few months ago, I picked up a couple introductory books of sorts (Scott Cunningham's Wicca: A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner and Soraya's The Witch's Companion)
I've just barely made progress reading the former - as in, I started reading it today - and already I feel like it just.. makes sense. Speaking religiously, from what I'm reading, Wicca is the closest thing to my core religious/spiritual beliefs. As a child, I believed in the power of nature, the likelihood of reincarnation and multiple deities.
I love the idea of rituals, and am very excited to (eventually) perform some. I've been into crystal healing since I was about sixteen, I just didn't associate the powers of the crystals with Wiccan beliefs. (I got clean at sixteen, and wearing an amethyst point made me ... feel strong. I'm not quite sure how else to put that.) I've also been reading my own tarot cards since I was about seventeen, but didn't associate that either.
I've found some great-looking starter sets on Etsy, plus some decently-priced crystal balls and cauldrons because those are the only things the sets don't include. I'm just really hoping for birthday money. My birthday is this Saturday, so there is hope.
To get to the point, I'm feeling like Wicca may well be a very positive thing for me... however, I know that most therapists don't relish the thought of a patient who practices magic and believes in what is typically beyond the normal.. who also has frequent psychosis issues. That's not to say I'm letting that stop me from getting into this, though. I think learning Wicca and becoming a witch could actually help me help myself - I already know that the crystals make me feel stronger. I wear a wire-wrapped rose quartz any time I'm dressed, and I wear stone plugs (in my ears). As of late, I've been wearing tiger's eye. I did have a fantastic malachite pair but they're too small now.
I'm just feeling very positive about this... venture. It feels like a light at the end of what might as well be a literal tunnel, with the way I've been doing lately, and especially given that my birthday is only getting closer.
The Wiccan principle that to hurt your own body is to go against the belief system is actually something I feel like I might be able to convince myself is a good enough reason to try a little more - to stay self-harm free, to work on my eating or at least make eating manageable, and maybe even to try to stay alive.
I don't know. I'm just feeling ... well, not positive, but much less negative.
I've just barely made progress reading the former - as in, I started reading it today - and already I feel like it just.. makes sense. Speaking religiously, from what I'm reading, Wicca is the closest thing to my core religious/spiritual beliefs. As a child, I believed in the power of nature, the likelihood of reincarnation and multiple deities.
I love the idea of rituals, and am very excited to (eventually) perform some. I've been into crystal healing since I was about sixteen, I just didn't associate the powers of the crystals with Wiccan beliefs. (I got clean at sixteen, and wearing an amethyst point made me ... feel strong. I'm not quite sure how else to put that.) I've also been reading my own tarot cards since I was about seventeen, but didn't associate that either.
I've found some great-looking starter sets on Etsy, plus some decently-priced crystal balls and cauldrons because those are the only things the sets don't include. I'm just really hoping for birthday money. My birthday is this Saturday, so there is hope.
To get to the point, I'm feeling like Wicca may well be a very positive thing for me... however, I know that most therapists don't relish the thought of a patient who practices magic and believes in what is typically beyond the normal.. who also has frequent psychosis issues. That's not to say I'm letting that stop me from getting into this, though. I think learning Wicca and becoming a witch could actually help me help myself - I already know that the crystals make me feel stronger. I wear a wire-wrapped rose quartz any time I'm dressed, and I wear stone plugs (in my ears). As of late, I've been wearing tiger's eye. I did have a fantastic malachite pair but they're too small now.
I'm just feeling very positive about this... venture. It feels like a light at the end of what might as well be a literal tunnel, with the way I've been doing lately, and especially given that my birthday is only getting closer.
The Wiccan principle that to hurt your own body is to go against the belief system is actually something I feel like I might be able to convince myself is a good enough reason to try a little more - to stay self-harm free, to work on my eating or at least make eating manageable, and maybe even to try to stay alive.
I don't know. I'm just feeling ... well, not positive, but much less negative.
Thursday, 5 March 2015
I Really Want This to be Positive
So, today is Thurday, which means it's therapy day. More specifically, CBT for mood disorders in group sessions, day.
Every week when we come in, they have us fill out the same questionnaire. Things that evaluate your depression, anxiety, and stress levels. Things like, "I found it hard to wind down this past week," or "I couldn't get excited about anything this past week," or "I felt down-hearted and blue this past week," or "I felt scared for no good reason this past week". Things like that. And then, at the bottom of the page, "Things felt so bad that I had thoughts of killing myself." Every week. If, between 0-3, you score higher than a 1, one of the therapists has to come and at least check in with you.
Every week I'm at least a 2. Sometimes, I add my own '.5' to that 2. Today was a 3.
I feel like the reasons are self-evident, but still.. my depression is getting steadily worse, and quickly. I feel like it has something to do with my birthday coming up, though I can't place why. This past week, I've made suicide plans, thought about my funeral, thought about what to wear and how to do my makeup in preparation for an attempt, whether or not I'd leave a note, whether or not I would attempt at home, all of it. I just haven't started counting out pills, or hoarding a knife, or sneakily buying a fresh pack of blades.
The positive in this is that when I spoke with my therapist as is required, I was honest with her. I told her that there is definite intent, but I feel like I would most likely go to EPT in the event that I was about to attempt. I did tell her that I knew there was a chance that that wouldn't happen.
She told me I need to have a safety plan in place before I need it, so that when I need it, I'll be more likely to actually follow it.
So... my plan is that, if things get to that point, I will
I also feel better, and validated, knowing that my therapist agrees with me that given my depression and suicidal ideation, I should be taking it easy, and not doing any exposures that are too risky.
Every week when we come in, they have us fill out the same questionnaire. Things that evaluate your depression, anxiety, and stress levels. Things like, "I found it hard to wind down this past week," or "I couldn't get excited about anything this past week," or "I felt down-hearted and blue this past week," or "I felt scared for no good reason this past week". Things like that. And then, at the bottom of the page, "Things felt so bad that I had thoughts of killing myself." Every week. If, between 0-3, you score higher than a 1, one of the therapists has to come and at least check in with you.
Every week I'm at least a 2. Sometimes, I add my own '.5' to that 2. Today was a 3.
I feel like the reasons are self-evident, but still.. my depression is getting steadily worse, and quickly. I feel like it has something to do with my birthday coming up, though I can't place why. This past week, I've made suicide plans, thought about my funeral, thought about what to wear and how to do my makeup in preparation for an attempt, whether or not I'd leave a note, whether or not I would attempt at home, all of it. I just haven't started counting out pills, or hoarding a knife, or sneakily buying a fresh pack of blades.
The positive in this is that when I spoke with my therapist as is required, I was honest with her. I told her that there is definite intent, but I feel like I would most likely go to EPT in the event that I was about to attempt. I did tell her that I knew there was a chance that that wouldn't happen.
She told me I need to have a safety plan in place before I need it, so that when I need it, I'll be more likely to actually follow it.
So... my plan is that, if things get to that point, I will
- do the dive reflex (which for me is simply sticking my entire naked body under the coldest shower possible)
- if that doesn't work, reach out to someone trusted (the boyfriend)
- if he's not able to physically help me, go to emergency psych at the hospital.
I also feel better, and validated, knowing that my therapist agrees with me that given my depression and suicidal ideation, I should be taking it easy, and not doing any exposures that are too risky.
Tuesday, 3 March 2015
You'd Think by Now I'd Know How to Cope
Things started getting progressively worse yesterday.
It started off slow, and then hit me all at once. I was crying and incoherent and actively suicidal - though that part I did downplay for the sake of my boyfriend's sanity - and I was feeling. Feeling everything all at once and also not at all.
That carried into today. Once again, the day started off all right... well, less 'all right' than yesterday morning. This morning I started getting ready, putting on makeup, etc. and just found myself wandering back to bed. I sat on the bed beside where he was sleeping, covered him with an extra blanket, and tried to coax a sleepy agreement out of him. Even half-asleep, it didn't work, which is probably for the best. I managed to get myself to school by around 9:20, and got more work done than I'd expected of myself given my current state. As the afternoon rolled around I started feeling worse. At first, I felt like it was manageable. Just a little more depression than usual. No big deal.
By the time I was leaving to catch a bus, I was already a lot worse. I had to stop at a school water fountain to take a Valium - not exactly a confident moment. It took longer than usual to get home, because of the snowstorm we had,
When I did get home, or rather got off the (second) bus that stops on my block, I was already crying. I was completely numb but also hyper-sensitive. This is still the case. When I got in, my boyfriend was in a work call, so I peeled off my wet clothes and put on flannel pyjama pants and my 'sad sweater'.* He had to leave for work almost right after taking calls, so we talked for a few minutes, and he kissed me goodbye a few times, plus one of most comforting hugs known to humankind. (Probably just me, but hey.) I tried to convince him I was okay, but I know he didn't believe it. He's seen me at my worst, and knows what constitutes 'okay'.
When he left, I figured it would be a bad idea to sit around doing nothing, because all that would accomplish would be lingering and possibly worsening negativity. So I made some tea. Harmless. I thought a couple of pieces of shortbread (a comfort food... blame it on my ancestry) might be nice. They sat on the coffee table all of two minutes before my ED shouted "NO" and I had to put them away. That was a moment when things started to really get worse. I couldn't look at them. I felt disgusting just holding them. So, I resolved to simply drink my tea and work on my chords. I tried that, but my hands were so shaky that it took an abnormal amount of time to not get fret buzz or have ... finger issues, for lack of better phrase. I had an 8tracks playlist playing in the background. I don't know why, but I snapped. Every built up negative emotion I'd repressed all day came out. Accordingly, my depression spiraled. My depressive instincts quickly followed suit.
After getting a message on my Tumblr blog from a concerned follower, I decided to take their advice, and do something nice for myself - they suggested a hot bath, but with my ED and PTSD, lying naked in a tub of semi-clear water isn't exactly a good idea. I resolved to do some of the things that work.
Yesterday, I did my nails, and tried to focus on watching movies, but I couldn't shut it all out.
So I thought, amp it up a bit. I was already in my comfy clothes, and I always have my favorite blue blanket on the couch in case I need it (I'm always cold, and a lot of the time, having something soft and warm can be calming or grounding), and I had my tea and a box of tissues (I cry... a lot). I went to the bedroom, grabbed the stuffed Hello Kitty my boyfriend gave me - he also sprayed it with his cologne, which is remarkably comforting - and my kitty ears. The ears (probably seems odd, but as I've said before, I'm a submissive, so this can be comforting to me) pin to my hair and stay put. I went to the kitchen, as quickly as possible, to get a bottle of ice water. As a finishing, and distracting, touch, I decided Disney movies were in order, Horror movies are my favorite, but with my psychosis and paranoia, especially if I'm in a low mood can be a recipe for disaster. I remembered I've never seen any of the Toy Story movies. I found streaming links easily, and that's what I'll be doing upon finishing this post.
What's really prevalent in my mind right now are the very convincing and appealing thoughts, commands, demands, of attempting again.
I texted my boyfriend, who I know is at work, but I know that when I'm feeling this bad it's okay to let him know - and it also forces me to 'promise' to keep myself safe to the best of my ability.
I don't know what the 'message' or the 'take away' from this is, but it's probably close to yesterday's. I'm here. I'm alive because he stopped me more than once, and I've kept it that way because of him, and what I want with him, for us. My writing is a close second. Although I have actually asked close people to publish something I've written in the event that I die before I manage to be a published poet, that's something I want to accomplish. The big something.
So... yes. I'm feeling worse than I have in over a month, and I have 'plans' in mind, but I'm fighting them as hard as I can.
*The 'sad sweater' is a pink and blue Puma hoodie the boy bought from Costco. It's nothing special, but the first time I had to stay a while in emergency pysch at the hospital, I was wearing that sweater. For whatever reason, when I was feeling that badly, that sweater seemed like a good option. So it's oddly comforting.
It started off slow, and then hit me all at once. I was crying and incoherent and actively suicidal - though that part I did downplay for the sake of my boyfriend's sanity - and I was feeling. Feeling everything all at once and also not at all.
That carried into today. Once again, the day started off all right... well, less 'all right' than yesterday morning. This morning I started getting ready, putting on makeup, etc. and just found myself wandering back to bed. I sat on the bed beside where he was sleeping, covered him with an extra blanket, and tried to coax a sleepy agreement out of him. Even half-asleep, it didn't work, which is probably for the best. I managed to get myself to school by around 9:20, and got more work done than I'd expected of myself given my current state. As the afternoon rolled around I started feeling worse. At first, I felt like it was manageable. Just a little more depression than usual. No big deal.
By the time I was leaving to catch a bus, I was already a lot worse. I had to stop at a school water fountain to take a Valium - not exactly a confident moment. It took longer than usual to get home, because of the snowstorm we had,
When I did get home, or rather got off the (second) bus that stops on my block, I was already crying. I was completely numb but also hyper-sensitive. This is still the case. When I got in, my boyfriend was in a work call, so I peeled off my wet clothes and put on flannel pyjama pants and my 'sad sweater'.* He had to leave for work almost right after taking calls, so we talked for a few minutes, and he kissed me goodbye a few times, plus one of most comforting hugs known to humankind. (Probably just me, but hey.) I tried to convince him I was okay, but I know he didn't believe it. He's seen me at my worst, and knows what constitutes 'okay'.
When he left, I figured it would be a bad idea to sit around doing nothing, because all that would accomplish would be lingering and possibly worsening negativity. So I made some tea. Harmless. I thought a couple of pieces of shortbread (a comfort food... blame it on my ancestry) might be nice. They sat on the coffee table all of two minutes before my ED shouted "NO" and I had to put them away. That was a moment when things started to really get worse. I couldn't look at them. I felt disgusting just holding them. So, I resolved to simply drink my tea and work on my chords. I tried that, but my hands were so shaky that it took an abnormal amount of time to not get fret buzz or have ... finger issues, for lack of better phrase. I had an 8tracks playlist playing in the background. I don't know why, but I snapped. Every built up negative emotion I'd repressed all day came out. Accordingly, my depression spiraled. My depressive instincts quickly followed suit.
After getting a message on my Tumblr blog from a concerned follower, I decided to take their advice, and do something nice for myself - they suggested a hot bath, but with my ED and PTSD, lying naked in a tub of semi-clear water isn't exactly a good idea. I resolved to do some of the things that work.
Yesterday, I did my nails, and tried to focus on watching movies, but I couldn't shut it all out.
So I thought, amp it up a bit. I was already in my comfy clothes, and I always have my favorite blue blanket on the couch in case I need it (I'm always cold, and a lot of the time, having something soft and warm can be calming or grounding), and I had my tea and a box of tissues (I cry... a lot). I went to the bedroom, grabbed the stuffed Hello Kitty my boyfriend gave me - he also sprayed it with his cologne, which is remarkably comforting - and my kitty ears. The ears (probably seems odd, but as I've said before, I'm a submissive, so this can be comforting to me) pin to my hair and stay put. I went to the kitchen, as quickly as possible, to get a bottle of ice water. As a finishing, and distracting, touch, I decided Disney movies were in order, Horror movies are my favorite, but with my psychosis and paranoia, especially if I'm in a low mood can be a recipe for disaster. I remembered I've never seen any of the Toy Story movies. I found streaming links easily, and that's what I'll be doing upon finishing this post.
What's really prevalent in my mind right now are the very convincing and appealing thoughts, commands, demands, of attempting again.
I texted my boyfriend, who I know is at work, but I know that when I'm feeling this bad it's okay to let him know - and it also forces me to 'promise' to keep myself safe to the best of my ability.
I don't know what the 'message' or the 'take away' from this is, but it's probably close to yesterday's. I'm here. I'm alive because he stopped me more than once, and I've kept it that way because of him, and what I want with him, for us. My writing is a close second. Although I have actually asked close people to publish something I've written in the event that I die before I manage to be a published poet, that's something I want to accomplish. The big something.
So... yes. I'm feeling worse than I have in over a month, and I have 'plans' in mind, but I'm fighting them as hard as I can.
*The 'sad sweater' is a pink and blue Puma hoodie the boy bought from Costco. It's nothing special, but the first time I had to stay a while in emergency pysch at the hospital, I was wearing that sweater. For whatever reason, when I was feeling that badly, that sweater seemed like a good option. So it's oddly comforting.
Sunday, 1 March 2015
It's March
Just a heads up, lovelies, this post is pretty bleak. It may be triggering, and it may be disconcerting, but I promise you all that I have more than one safety plan in place in the case that I should need it. And I have people who will force me to be safe when I'm refusing as hard as I can. So please, please don't worry that any of this will likely come to fruition.
It's March 1 and after a couple weeks of starting to feel (just the smallest bit) better, I can feel myself spiraling again.
I'm (more) suicidal. I don't even want to bother with trying to numb the feeling with drugs, or booze, or cutting, or anything self destructive. I just want this to be over. I feel like I'm done.
My birthday is on the fourteenth, and for some reason, that's making me feel worse. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because, when I was fifteen I swore to my closest friends that I wouldn't make it past, or even to, nineteen. I feel like now, now I'm formulating a new plan. A death plan B. I keep entertaining the idea of killing myself on my twenty-seventh birthday. Five years. I can use those five years to write - to get serious and actually write something worthy of publication. That's really the only 'goal' I have in life. To be a published poet. Sure, I want to see the world, and I want to own a horse, but when I think about successfully attempting, those things don't matter. Writing does, to some extent - I have attempted multiple times, with every intention of being successful. I hadn't written anything of consequence then.
I'm crying every day, more than once a day. It's really hard, because for the past couple weeks I've been trying to hold myself together just enough so as to not add any more stress to my boyfriend. (Who is normally fully able and willing to deal with me and help me, but he's having problems in work, with his car, with the people who run our apartment building - and I feel that I'm enough of a burden on him on a good day, so.. I've been trying to at least appear less badly than I am.) But with the advent of the month and the looming birthday, plus this is still in my 'bad' part of the year - usually November to April, maximum - I just can't contain myself anymore.
I don't feel hunger. It doesn't register in my brain until I force myself to eat something that my body was hungry. I'm in a constant state of dizziness, shakes, headaches, stomach distress. My body is reacting to my mental state.
I wish that I could be writing a post about how I'm doing better, how treatment is working wonders, how I'm starting to have the ability to feel positive moods, but I can't. This is where I'm at. Everything feels completely transitory and therefore pointless. Yeah, I'm getting mid-90s in class. Yeah, my family and friends are being incredibly supportive. Yeah, I'm getting back into a hobby I've always loved. Yeah, I'm actually making new friends and trying to socialize. None of that matters. It's not enough.
I wake up every morning and go through the motions all day. It's the same structure every day. The same patterns at the same times and the same constant state of mind.
I'm trying. I'm trying harder than I want to, than I believe is worth it. I do things to try to make myself feel less terrible, even for a short period of time. I've been trying to do as much self-care as possible. All of this therapy, friends, family, boyfriend, trying to write, making myself pretty and playing video games and watching happy animated kids' movies to try to decrease the severity of my mood - it's not working.
I keep telling myself that I have things to look forward to. My first appointment with my new therapist the day before my birthday. Going to see Andrew Jackson Jihad ten days after my birthday with one of my best friends. Getting birthday money and presents, and being able to buy myself nice things online, or get another tattoo. Finally starting the DBT program I've been waiting to get into since December of 2013. Summer break, when I'm out of school and my boyfriend isn't teaching, and we can go to the beach, or the zoo, or just go on 2AM drives to drink Tim Hortons tea and talk for hours under the stars. Those things help, temporarily. They remind me that I do care about some things, that some things are exciting enough to make me consider sticking around. That's the positive. I try so hard to focus on those little things. I have so many people rooting for me, but I feel completely alone. Because no one can make my head stop. No one can silence the voices or stop the memories or convince me with certainty that everything really is okay.
But I'm here. I'm trying to stay. I want to want to. For my boyfriend, the one person I'm not afraid to commit to, the first person I've had a healthy romantic relationship with, my rock, my gentle giant, my almost everything. For the poems I haven't written, that haven't been published yet. When it comes down to it, those are my only reasons - but honestly, it's an improvement. Not even six months ago, my boyfriend was my only reason, and the foundation for him being that only reason wasn't as great as it is today.
I suppose a message I can take away from this... public musing... is that... things.. can take what feels like a very long time to get minutely better.. but those tiny additions are important. I wouldn't have realised that writing is one of my reasons to live if I weren't alive. I wouldn't have realised how much I love my boyfriend, how much I want with him, how much a heart can mend and grow, if I weren't alive.
So maybe that's all I've got. I can accept the truly abhorrent nature of my mind at present as the beast that it is. I can try to do that, and try to, every hour, convince myself to make it through to the next hour.
It's March 1 and after a couple weeks of starting to feel (just the smallest bit) better, I can feel myself spiraling again.
I'm (more) suicidal. I don't even want to bother with trying to numb the feeling with drugs, or booze, or cutting, or anything self destructive. I just want this to be over. I feel like I'm done.
My birthday is on the fourteenth, and for some reason, that's making me feel worse. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because, when I was fifteen I swore to my closest friends that I wouldn't make it past, or even to, nineteen. I feel like now, now I'm formulating a new plan. A death plan B. I keep entertaining the idea of killing myself on my twenty-seventh birthday. Five years. I can use those five years to write - to get serious and actually write something worthy of publication. That's really the only 'goal' I have in life. To be a published poet. Sure, I want to see the world, and I want to own a horse, but when I think about successfully attempting, those things don't matter. Writing does, to some extent - I have attempted multiple times, with every intention of being successful. I hadn't written anything of consequence then.
I'm crying every day, more than once a day. It's really hard, because for the past couple weeks I've been trying to hold myself together just enough so as to not add any more stress to my boyfriend. (Who is normally fully able and willing to deal with me and help me, but he's having problems in work, with his car, with the people who run our apartment building - and I feel that I'm enough of a burden on him on a good day, so.. I've been trying to at least appear less badly than I am.) But with the advent of the month and the looming birthday, plus this is still in my 'bad' part of the year - usually November to April, maximum - I just can't contain myself anymore.
I don't feel hunger. It doesn't register in my brain until I force myself to eat something that my body was hungry. I'm in a constant state of dizziness, shakes, headaches, stomach distress. My body is reacting to my mental state.
I wish that I could be writing a post about how I'm doing better, how treatment is working wonders, how I'm starting to have the ability to feel positive moods, but I can't. This is where I'm at. Everything feels completely transitory and therefore pointless. Yeah, I'm getting mid-90s in class. Yeah, my family and friends are being incredibly supportive. Yeah, I'm getting back into a hobby I've always loved. Yeah, I'm actually making new friends and trying to socialize. None of that matters. It's not enough.
I wake up every morning and go through the motions all day. It's the same structure every day. The same patterns at the same times and the same constant state of mind.
I'm trying. I'm trying harder than I want to, than I believe is worth it. I do things to try to make myself feel less terrible, even for a short period of time. I've been trying to do as much self-care as possible. All of this therapy, friends, family, boyfriend, trying to write, making myself pretty and playing video games and watching happy animated kids' movies to try to decrease the severity of my mood - it's not working.
I keep telling myself that I have things to look forward to. My first appointment with my new therapist the day before my birthday. Going to see Andrew Jackson Jihad ten days after my birthday with one of my best friends. Getting birthday money and presents, and being able to buy myself nice things online, or get another tattoo. Finally starting the DBT program I've been waiting to get into since December of 2013. Summer break, when I'm out of school and my boyfriend isn't teaching, and we can go to the beach, or the zoo, or just go on 2AM drives to drink Tim Hortons tea and talk for hours under the stars. Those things help, temporarily. They remind me that I do care about some things, that some things are exciting enough to make me consider sticking around. That's the positive. I try so hard to focus on those little things. I have so many people rooting for me, but I feel completely alone. Because no one can make my head stop. No one can silence the voices or stop the memories or convince me with certainty that everything really is okay.
But I'm here. I'm trying to stay. I want to want to. For my boyfriend, the one person I'm not afraid to commit to, the first person I've had a healthy romantic relationship with, my rock, my gentle giant, my almost everything. For the poems I haven't written, that haven't been published yet. When it comes down to it, those are my only reasons - but honestly, it's an improvement. Not even six months ago, my boyfriend was my only reason, and the foundation for him being that only reason wasn't as great as it is today.
I suppose a message I can take away from this... public musing... is that... things.. can take what feels like a very long time to get minutely better.. but those tiny additions are important. I wouldn't have realised that writing is one of my reasons to live if I weren't alive. I wouldn't have realised how much I love my boyfriend, how much I want with him, how much a heart can mend and grow, if I weren't alive.
So maybe that's all I've got. I can accept the truly abhorrent nature of my mind at present as the beast that it is. I can try to do that, and try to, every hour, convince myself to make it through to the next hour.
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