(sorry for the long posts, i just needed to get this out of my mind so i can move on)
as listed in the last post, i have been struggling with mental illness. as far back as i can remember, i always knew that there was something off...
my first experience with self-harm (cutting, burning) was at the age of 13. feeling so alone with my thoughts, feeling burdened with this illness, this secret that i couldn't share with anyone. a manic episode resulted in me crying, in a panic, rushing to my room, grabbing scissors and began to cut. it wasn't too deep, and i didn't really permanently harm myself, but the release i had from the physical pain versus having to deal with the emotional pain was the "savior" i was searching for...
so began my self-harming career, for lack of a better term. i can recall being alone so many times, wishing that the feelings and thoughts that plagued me every single day would stop. cutting was my outlet. taking a knife, pressing it to your skin and seeing the blood trickle down your wrists was what i thought would save me from all of the pain and hurt that was consuming me...
this ultimately resulted in my first serious suicide attempt. i was 16. i cut my wrist, got scared that i went too deep, bandaged myself up, no one knew...
i wish people without a mental illness could really grasp how unbelievably painful it is to wake up every morning wishing you were dead. it's unbearable...
a hospital visit in utah at the age of 18 (i tried moving here when i was 18 to run away from a relationship gone horribly wrong). needless to say, my problems followed me. again with the scissors... they stitched me up but didn't send me to an inpatient unit... which, in retrospect, i wish they would have...
my first hospital stay, i was maybe 20. i was living alone. i was so overwhelmed by so many different factors in my life that the first thing i thought was to kill myself, thinking people would be better off without me so i couldn't cause any more hurt in their lives (coming from a daughter who's father shot himself when i was 16, you'd think i would know better). i was terrified, yet again. i called my friend who is an EMT. he came over and informed me to go to the hospital. the ER reeked of latex gloves and piss. the psychiatric unit of this hospital was outrageous. a nurse stitched my wrist up, and i was sent to a psychiatric ward for 72 hours, as per california state law. upon arrival, i immediately knew i did not belong in there. the wire covered windows, door-less rooms, bolted down furniture... it's exactly what you see in a movie... but i was in it...
i swore off cutting, i swore off medication. i was in denial that anything was wrong with me, but how could that be? not sleeping for days on end then crashing into a dark pit that i cannot claw my way out of... crying too much, anorexia, alcoholism... i was masking my pain. i was trying to be "normal." it was impossible.
it had been about 3 years since i cut myself. i was anorexic because in my fucked up head, i thought my boyfriend at the time was disgusted with me (which in the end, he told me he was).
in september 2008, summer was coming to a close. my alcohol consumption and drug use had been out of control. as the days became shorter, mania set in again. i couldn't sleep, i couldn't eat. i vacuumed my apartment for almost 4 days straight until i crashed. it isn't a gradual process most of the time. i got mono, so i couldn't leave my place. this is when it began. i couldn't walk. i couldn't shower. i couldn't eat. i couldn't clean. i had no motivation to get out of bed. the one day i decided to start an art project (which is another symptom of mania), i couldn't stop crying over this relationship i had been in for almost 3 years was rapidly falling apart. there were prescription bottles that i had collected over the summer (falsely saying i was in pain to get pain medication, etc, etc). i took them all. i began to lose feeling in my arms and legs. i could barely hold my head up. my face was puffy and red from the tears. my friend called me. she saved my life. she rushed me up to the ER... i was still alive. i was ordered to go to UNI (Utah Neuropsychological Institute). I was there for 9 days. UNI really changed my outlook on life and for the first time in years, i felt like there was something to live for, myself.
fast forward to 2011... january 4, 2011. i was in manic again. i started to become paranoid. i was at work, crying uncontrollably, barely breathing. i decided that i'd rather die than feel this much pain (which i was making up in my mind, there was no reason to be paranoid). i went to my mom's because i didn't feel safe to be at home. when i got there, i called my friend to ask her to take me to Alcoholics Anonymous, thinking that would cheer me up and make me feel better. when we got to AA, i was listening to the speaker, but i didn't hear a word she said. i was still manic. i look over to my ex-boyfriend's girlfriend. she had a ring on her finger. they were engaged. i couldn't breathe. i went outside and cried. i had no hope of living. when i went back in, i asked my friend to take me to UNI so i would be safe and not do anything dumb (like jump off a bridge, which was my plan at the time). i was admitted. my mania plunged straight into the worst depression i have ever felt. i felt numb, scared, so unhappy, hopeless, helpless, apprehensive... there are too many emotions to list... i did what i was supposed to do. i went to all of the therapeutic groups that were offered. i got my 90 day chip in AA and CA (Cocaine Anonymous). i should have been feeling better, right? i was learning all of these wonderful tools to apply to my life. nothing had changed. the days were too long and the nights were unbearable. i obsessed one day of how to hang myself in the shower. another day, i was trying to figure out how to disassemble the razor they gave me to shave in order to cut. i found pain-release again through self-harm, digging my nails into my skin, the rush and pain were soothing. i am still struggling not to utilize the falsehood of self-harm. it has done nothing but ruin my life. my suicidal ideations came to a quick halt. i felt numb. i don't know if it was the medication, but i had no feelings. i was shaky, still am. my anxiety has been unmanageable. i was released yesterday. i am still terrified. i am without a car, i am too afraid to go back to work because my mind is so cloudy, i don't think i have a place to live right now (but there are alternatives i am looking in to, since i have zero dollars)... all of these things would normally overwhelm me, but with the assistance of my support system, they have calmed me down.
one day at a time. one day at a time. one day at a time... someday i'll be able to manage my illness...
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