Super Sanity

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Jul 3

I Got Lucky.

I thought I got lucky.

I hear all these horror stories about the mental health system.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I have my share of horror stories too, but after years of looking for a good therapist, two years ago, I finally got lucky.  

He did my intake and we hit it off right away.  With a long history of social anxiety, I met a therapist that I was able to talk to like if he was an old friend.  Two weeks after the intake, he called me up and told me he was going to be working with me and I was excited.  This man got me to open up to someone for the first time.  He responded to multiple late night texts when I felt like I was losing my mind… He calmed me down.  When I overdosed, he came to visit me in the hospital.  He treated me like I was normal and opened my eyes up to so many things… So many things that i’ve never been able to speak about to anyone else. He told me I wasn’t crazy, that I was a product of my environment and he reminded me of it until I believed it myself and he turned my life around.  He didn’t want me on meds and we had a plan that I would come off them.  We had so many plans.  So many goals that have yet to be accomplished.  

He believed in me and supported me and let me know that I wasn’t alone in this, and I felt it.  It was real. During the worst times, I didn’t feel alone because I knew that he would be there and he would listen and he wouldn’t judge.

Two weeks ago I get the news that he passed away and they can’t even tell me how it happened.  My heart is broken and I want to tell him, because he would be the first person I would go to when I felt this kind of pain, but this time I can’t.  He’s not there anymore and no one seems to get it and I have no one that I feel comfortable enough to talk to about this. So I came here to let it out.  

People are acting like if I could just replace him.  My new therapist acts like he knows me.  Like if opening up about everything to him will be that easy.  I’m mad at this new guy for even trying and I can’t even understand why. 

I just know that this hurts like hell and sometimes I think about all the goals we were going to work on together and I wonder how the hell am I going to do this without him there to help… and who the hell is going to be there to give me hope during those times where all my hope runs out?…

But I know he’s out there, somewhere, in heaven, in the clouds, in space. I don’t know where but he’s out there and he believed in me and he made me believe in myself.

And that’s all I have left now.

That’s what i’ll keep close to my heart.

Now it’s just a memory and I wish I could thank him

But all I can do now is cry.

3rd hospitalization

I don’t know what happened this time, but I was angry. Anger is an emotion that is new to me. That week prior to the hospitalization, all I can remember is that there was anger, everything else is a faded memory, just a story my mother tells me, and each time it brings a tear to my eye.
Mania can go one of two ways they say, I’ve felt a freedom that I’ve yet to be able to explain to anyone else, a confidence that makes me feel like I’m on top of the world, a beauty that I cannot describe and a love that you only see in movies.

That’s what I miss.

But then there’s the anger and it’s scary.
And there’s the depression, and that’s scary too.

4 weeks later and I’m lost. I fell behind in school. I have no energy for school. I want the comfort of my bed. Zyprexa makes me tired. I can sleep up to 16 hours with 5mg. If I double the dose, my vision feels strange and I feel like I’m floating.

I don’t know. I just feel lost.
I feel alone.

What's your story?

My story is a long one. It started when I was a child.  I was diagnosed with selective mutism at the age of 5. It’s like a social phobia which limited my ability to talk to anyone.  Throughout high school, i suffered from blood-injury phobia which triggered a lot of anxiety and panic attacks to the point where I was fainting constantly.  I avoided a lot of environments and situations that could potentially trigger an attack. I just couldn’t breathe.  I was diagnosed with major depression as well.  Throughout my life I was capable of handling my depression on my own.  I wanted to die since I was about 14, but I never acted on it.  I went through my highs and lows without the need for medication.  By the age of approx. 22, I realized I couldn’t do this on my own anymore and for the first time in my life I agreed to take medication.  Then came my first suicide attempt.  I was locked up in a psych ward for 9 days, when I came out it took about a year to get me back on my feet again.  Throughout that year, I was in and out of the hospital emergency room.  At the beginning of 2012 I rose up again, up up to the top.  I was perfect. I thought I was cured. The world was beautiful and I was in love with it and I fell in love with about 6 different people in that same year.  From there, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, which made the most sense. In December I started to drop again for reasons which i’m still unaware of, then last month came my most serious suicide attempt.  I overdosed on a handful of pills and landed in the psych ward for two weeks.  I’ve been out for two weeks now and still struggling to get myself together. I attend school fulltime. I’m a psychology major, pretty much a straight A student.   As you can see, my life pretty much revolves around it.  It fascinates me.  I want to learn and grow from my experiences and give others hope, but i’m still learning to cope.  I want to get better before I can help others.  That’s my goal in life. I’m still finding my way and i’m growing everyday.  

Mar 9

And so I lift my chin as the show goes on. The sky is listening, the stars all sing along.

- Rise Against “Heaven Knows”

Medication

I’m on two medications right now.  Wellbutrin helps with my depression and Abilify is a mood stabilizer, so that I don’t get too high and then crash. Wellbutrin appears to be working wonderfully.  Abilify on the other hand, makes me jittery.  In class I couldn’t pay attention and I couldn’t sit still.  There is no way of getting comfortable on that drug.  So I stopped taking it.  Not the best idea, but i’ll get on top of that when I see my doctor.  A week on simply Wellbutrin and I feel wonderful.  I have a confession though… I like me when i’m high… That’s when I fly.

Mar 8

Carry On

  • Friend: Not to bring this up, but it's Crazy how, what? 3 weeks ago you tried to kill yourself and today you're dancing to Common Rider like nothing ever happened

Feb 15, 2011

I’m ready to give up on everything.  My body can’t take it anymore and my mind has full control and no control over everything.  I hate myself.  There’s something building up in me and I don’t know how to control it, sometimes I want to cry, other days I want to break everything in my path.  I hate myself.  I hate this person I’ve become, and I hate that everyone who I care about in life just sees me as this angry person. I need help, I want help, but I don’t know how to ask for it.  I can’t deal with this life anymore.  I want to get the fuck away from myself.  I’m starting to lose it. 

Mar 7

I’m going to iron out all of life’s disappointing wrinkles.
Cover them with plastic so when it pours we won’t feel the sprinkles. And of course i want to grow, but brother this is all i know.
I want to live for a living. I want to live for a living…

- Listener

Mar 3

I am trying to forgive myself for being exactly what I am; occasionally brilliant, frequently imperfect, mostly kind, and burdened/blessed with something in my blood that can send me divine inspiration in September along with suicidal plans in November

- Icarus Project

I loved the world and I loved my life.  This world could do me no wrong.  Everything was beautiful to me.  I’d get up almost everyday and hop on my bike.  As fast as I could, I would speed pass everything and everyone never understanding why they were moving so slow.  Sometimes i’d simply be doing laps around the lake in Flushing park to release all that energy.  I was convinced and i’m still convinced that a bicycle saved my life back then… Our relationship was strong.  It was beautiful.  My heart belonged to an object. 
My First Tattoo

I loved the world and I loved my life.  This world could do me no wrong.  Everything was beautiful to me.  I’d get up almost everyday and hop on my bike.  As fast as I could, I would speed pass everything and everyone never understanding why they were moving so slow.  Sometimes i’d simply be doing laps around the lake in Flushing park to release all that energy.  I was convinced and i’m still convinced that a bicycle saved my life back then… Our relationship was strong.  It was beautiful.  My heart belonged to an object. 

My First Tattoo

Mar 2

Feb. 25, 2013. Why am I dysfunctional today?

     What a better question to ask someone whose stuck in a psych ward… Why am I dysfunctional today? Should I start with the short bald lady who smells like shit from never showering?  Who argued with the news anchor on ABC7 news last night on TV and called him “white trash”?  Or should I start with the Jesus nut?  The Jewish dude who turned to christianity in hopes to land himself a spot in heaven.  He says i’m “young and stubborn” for refusing to pray with him.  Says i’m going to hell despite the fact that jesus loves all the little children.  But fuck those two.  My issue is with my roommate and waking up to a circle of milk poured around our bathroom floor.  I gag every time I walk in there.  It smells like old milk… Poor girl, 25 years old and doesn’t shower, never mind the fact that she spends most of the day in the bathroom with the lights off, having conversations with the many voices in her head.  This isn’t a first.  Last week there was cranberry juice splattered all over the bathroom walls.  At least the voices seem to be mostly friendly, or so it seems, considering how much time she spends laughing out loudly to herself.  Today however, today was a bit different.  Today the voices seemed to piss her off.  Today she’s yelling, today she’s pissed.  She’s banging the walls, kicking the trash can, cursing and making loud noises inside that dark, rotten milk infested bathroom all by herself. 

Well, fuck. My whole room smells like a girl who hasn’t showered.  A homeless person, a sweaty person, covered in rotten milk. I’m losing my mind, for real this time.  But hey, at least i’m controlling my urge to throw a desk chair at these fucking people.  It’s one thing to work with them, it’s another thing to have to live with them…

10:33pm "All We Can Do" by Born in a Cent 

on repeat

Feb. 20, 2013

3:50pm

What am I doing here? I’m on like day five? Day six maybe?  I have a roommate who does nothing but lay in bed all day talking to herself.  I overdosed.  14 Lamictals, about 5 or 6 zolofts and 1 effexor.  The outcome? Nothing… A failed attempt to shut down my brain, my thoughts, my actions.  I’m here in this hell alone.  No one calls, no one listens, no one wants to talk.  Nothing Nothing Nothing.  Nothing but TV all day and peanut butter and jellies along with enough disgusting dry food to make your stomach turn.  What. The. Fuck. It’s cold as fuck.