Leaving On A Jet Plane (I'll Be Back)

Tomorrow I am being admitted into a residential treatment facility. I am terrified.

I know (from experience) that all of my "freedom" will be taken away. They will plate my meals for me so I won't be able to act out on my eating disorder. They will check the toilets to see if I am purging. They will weigh me (this petrifies me). But I know the purpose of taking away these "freedoms" is so I leave there free from these eating disordered behaviors. I'm not sure if that is possible.

I'm also afraid of the therapy component of the treatment. Although I see Shrinkiepoo weekly, I haven't seen a proper therapist in almost a year. I really liked my ex-therapist Dave, but each session I would break down hysterically crying and he wouldn't be able to piece me back together again so I ended the relationship. I'm afraid that I will have to reopen wounds and won't be able to close them.

And the problem with these wounds is that they are nondescript; I have no idea what they are. All I know is that I am filled with pain and anxiety and suicidal ideation but I don't know why. I just think I am wired to be this way. Can treatment fix that?

So readers, I will be out of the blogging arena for a while (they don't allow internet access unless it's for school). I don't know when I will be back, but I hope to be back as soon as possible. I want to thank you all for your kind words and for reading, especially Wanda, who has been so supportive and nice to me. For a girl who doesn't have (m)any friends that means the world. Thank you.

Hopefully I will return in a few weeks and have something new and positive to write about. I will miss you.

Another Low Day

I don't really have anything new to report. I'm still feeling very depressed and unstable and I haven't been able to sleep. I have Shrinkiepoo tomorrow, so hopefully he will put me on something that will help. I'm currently not on any medication and that may or may not be adding to the low mood.

For most of my life, evenings have been the hardest part of the day-- for some reason after 6pm my mood would just plummet. However in the past few days the mornings have been incredibly difficult and the evenings less so. I have been speaking to my mom who happens to be a psychiatrist, and she says that that is the usual pattern in depression. I don't really know why my pattern has switched so abruptly. The only thing I can think of to explain this is that my anxiety in the morning has been higher and the day seems too overwhelming to survive. But I'm also anxious in the evening as the night seems too overwhelming to survive. Hm.

I feel that there must be some abnormality in my brain that makes me the way I am. I have been suicidal since I can remember-- my wires are just built for this. I cannot eat normally, I cannot function normally. I cannot feel happy. I feel defective.

Crisis Continues

Things are still pretty bad.

I called Shrinkiepoo on Friday, and we spoke for a little. He offered to listen, but there wasn't much to say. I got through the weekend by crying and talking to my mom-- I actually am not close at all with her but I guess desperate times call for desperate measures. We spoke over the phone a few times; she has been really nice.

Today I went to my uni's counseling center and spoke to a psychologist there. She seemed concerned and mentioned hospitalization (which I staunchly refused). She is making me go back tomorrow to check in, and if I don't show up she is going to send a police officer to my apartment.

I feel like I am reaching out to various places but no one can actually help me. Talking only alleviates the pain temporarily if at all, and I need a more lasting solution. I guess this is where the hopelessness and helplessness are really pronounced; I feel I am doomed to this until I die.

Where Do I Go?

The past two days have been terrible. I have not felt this low since probably early July. I am so stressed and depressed that I barely know what to do with myself. Last night I almost called the suicide hotline but decided against it because I (a) have a slightly negative experience with it, (b) didn't believe they could help me and (c) didn't want them to call the police to take me to the hospital. I called Shrinkiepoo and he didn't say much except that he would be available if I wanted to talk.

All of this makes me think no one can help.

I am afraid of myself. I'm afraid if I try to hurt myself that I will fail again, which I just cannot do. I cannot express how terrible my experience with my past attempts have been, and I know that if I try again I have to be sure it will work. This thought frightens me. A lot. Also hospitalization frightens me-- I would miss class and work and meetings and I feel that I wouldn't be able to show my face in certain places again or catch up.

What do I do? Where do I go?

First Day Of Class

Today was not a terrible day.

In the morning I had my first class of the semester. It looks like a pretty easy course although I am a little unsure about the expectations. Even though this gives me anxiety I have to somehow have faith that everyone else in the class is just as uneasy as I am and that things will be elucidated soon enough.

After class I went home and did a lot of reading for the above mentioned class and actually did a little extra work to get ahead. I have a very busy weekend ahead of me, so I am just trying to cope with some of the anxiety by getting things done in advance. I am a very conscientious and hard-working student, you will come to learn. In fact, my intelligence is the one thing about myself that I actually like.

In other news, I have been Geodon- and Thioridazine-free for about a week and I think I'm feeling the effects, not to mention I haven't slept since Saturday. (Oh, and I had the somewhat expected allergic reaction to the Emsam so I haven't been taking that either.) This always seems to happen-- the drugs never make me feel good but not being on them makes me even worse. I guess they take a slight edge off of my depression, but Shrinkiepoo and I try new combinations in the vain hope that something will do something more. I really hope he puts me on a new antidepressant and not just a sleep medication because I need to feel better. Need.

Given Up

I have been EXTREMELY anxious for the past few days as the first day of classes is looming near (it's tomorrow). This anxiety culminated in several panic attacks today.

I was basically terrified of beginning my pre-med curriculum. And by terrified I mean scared out of my wits. So what did I do to calm the anxiety? I changed my schedule. I avoided taking the courses that scared me and in the process gave up on myself as a pre-med student.

I am happy the anxiety is gone, but I feel terrible about myself. I feel like I am not cut out for anything in life, that I'm disabled. How I wish I were someone else-- someone who can cope with life, as I obviously cannot.

I can't wait until my heart gives up on me too.

Why I Like House, M.D.

Tomorrow there is a House marathon on TV airing on the USA Network. I was speaking to a friend about this show, and she absolutely hates it but I really like it. Here's why:

Dr. House is able to foster relationships (albeit brief ones) with the outcasts/odd people that come to see him. People that others just write off-- like an autistic boy, a savant and a suicide attempt survivor-- he somehow is able to put his abrasive self aside and really connect with them.

I have mentioned before on this blog that I have attempted suicide four times. Each time landed me in the hospital with a tube down my throat, electrodes on my chest and an IV in my arm. I was usually presented with a new hospital psychiatrist each time I was admitted, but I have encountered one doctor several times. None of them gave a crap about me. They were anything but sensitive-- all they did was threaten me with restraints and extended stays and force me to sign "contracts" that I inevitably broke the next day (silly them, don't they know my name means nothing to me?).

The only people that treated me well were the nurses who were assigned to monitor me one-to-one. These girls were about my age and instead of treating me like a leper they spoke to me about their boyfriends, their plans for the weekend, their hair care regime. They treated me like a person, like a friend. They saw past the tubes and diagnoses and interacted with me. I couldn't have asked for more.

So I guess the reason why I like Dr. House so much is because I see myself in the dejected, despairing patients that he is able to relate to and I wish that I could have someone as understanding as that in my life.

Objectified

Today started out poorly but got a little better. In the morning I had training for one of my extracurricular activities. I met some nice girls and I even think I may have made some acquaintances. But as I was listening to one of the lectures given I found myself plotting my death as I tend to do when I'm depressed. This episode may have been triggered my the headline of my uni's newspaper: "Friends, sisters mourn Nursing junior." I read the article, and apparently a student died of complications from a liver transplant. I began to think, will I get an article? Will anyone mourn?

But after training and running a few errands I went to Shrinkiepoo for my weekly appointment. I am finally of the Geodon and Thioridazine because the EKG that he ordered (which I had done yesterday) turned out abnormal. I was glad to have an excuse to come off of these drugs because I did not have as much faith in them as Shrinkiepoo did. I'm now on Emsam, an MAOI that I've been on before but that Shrinkiepoo wants to try again. Last time I had an allergic reaction, so I didn't stay on it long; we're hoping that I don't have one again.

I also spoke to Shrinkiepoo about my weekend with S. He asked how we "maintain our physical boundaries" when we're having a sleep-over, and I told him that we don't. When I told him that we have been having sex the conversation became slightly uncomfortable. He asked me about what kind of contraception I used (condom), whether I welcomed the advances ("I don't care") and whether I enjoyed it or have ever enjoyed sex (no). He then said that he couldn't imagine being in my shoes-- I took that to mean that he can't imagine being, as he said, "accepting yet uninterested" in sex-- but that he expected me to give the responses I did given my, er, "experiences" (the secret).

Then he said the most uncomfortable sentence: "You're willing to sacrifice your body for some man's pleasure..." When he said this I felt extremely objectified-- not by him, but by myself. He basically highlighted the fact that I have been treating myself as just some sort of receptacle, not as a person. And I'll just put it this way-- I am not the first one to treat my body this way.

I guess he gave me something to think about. I don't want to be a blow-up doll for boys to use. But the reason I act that way is because I don't believe that I am worth anything more and I want to be a "normal" twenty-something girl. But is it worth it?

I apologize for such a long post. If you have made it to the end I truly thank you. You readers mean so much to me. Loving you.

Stream-Of-Consciousness Mood Swing

I am currently in the midst of one of my mood swings. If I could describe it with one word, I'd have to use "unpleasant." I figure I'd make this a stream-of-consciousness post so you can follow me as I swing. Enjoy.

I noticed the mood change about 5 minutes ago. I was watching NCIS and I looked at the clock, saw it said 5:09 PM then began to imagine hanging myself from my belt from my door frame. Lovely, I know.

So who would find my body? I have somewhere to be tomorrow morning and tomorrow evening, but no one would come looking for me. They would probably think I flaked out on them. And the next day. And the next. I would miss Shrinkiepoo's appointment on Thursday-- would he call the police? Probably not. Maybe. But besides him, I can't think of anyone in my life who would take the initiative to call the police. I guess one side-effect of no one knowing you're depressed is that no one thinks you killed yourself.

I am now picturing my funeral. I often imagine it-- what it would look like, how many people would be there, who would be there. I think one of my biggest fears is that no one will show up. When I broke up with my last therapist Dave, I asked him if he would come to my funeral. He said no because he would be ashamed to be around my parents. So who would come? My parents, my sisters, my aunt and uncle and their family, maybe my other aunt and uncle (their children probably couldn't be bothered to come). Who else? Probably no one.

I also wonder what my uni will do in the event of my death. Last year we had a student die of meningitis-- the university sent out an email to all students and held a service on the campus green. Do they grant the same courtesy to suicides? Or would I be swept under the rug like a bad memory?

I wonder how many more of these I can live through.

Weekend Away

I just came back from spending the weekend at S's apartment. I didn't have a terrible time, but I also didn't have much fun. On Saturday he showed me around his school and then took me back to his apartment to watch movies. I fell asleep at around 8:30 PM while he (apparently) had friends over and went out to a bar. He came back at 2 AM to wake me up to have sex. As predicted, I didn't say no even though I wish I had done so. Oh well.

Then on Sunday he was going to take me to his city's famous aquarium, but the lines were out of control so we just walked around the town. We saw Inglourious Basterds which I actually enjoyed. Then he drove me home and I slept all Monday long.

Today is my last day of an empty schedule. Tomorrow I begin two of my activities and then I will be relatively occupied until classes start next Wednesday. I'm looking forward to having things start-- not because I like them per se, but I find myself going crazy in my apartment with nothing to do but run.