Bipolar diagnosis and what it means for me

Bipolar diagnosis and what it means for me

Before I was hospitalized, my pdoc had labs drawn to make sure that I was okay. As the diagnosis, she put Bipolar I disorder, most recent episode (or current) depressed, severe, without mention of psychotic behavior. I didn’t think nothing of it. It was just a diagnosis to get my labs submitted for billing.

While I was in the hospital, one of the rounding docs for the weekend again had this diagnosis. Normally, I don’t think of myself as bipolar. For years, I thought I just had major depression, recurrent with psychosis NOS (not otherwise specified). But now that I have the bipolar diagnosis, I feel different about my treatment and what to do about getting better. Granted 98% of the time I am depressed. It is rare that I suffer from hypomania and although the mention of psychotic behavior is controlled by the abilify, I sometimes do have breakthrough psychotic episodes when I am NOT on the medicine. Since taking the drug regularly, I have not experienced psychosis other than my constant voices that I hear every day. These voices have always been with me since I was little. I just never told anyone because I didn’t want my parents to think I was crazy, or my sisters. Even though my youngest sister read my book, she still doesn’t ask me questions about my illness. I also talk about the psychosis in my book because I had a psychotic break in 2008 that forced me to stop going to college. I couldn’t handle the pressure of going to school and working full-time. It took a long time to get the voices under control, at least six months or more. And as soon as I had things under control, I would stop taking the meds. Kind of stupid in retrospect, but I am not psychotic all the time. While most people would have anxiety attacks, I would have paranoid attacks and become delusion and psychotic under tremendous stress. Again, this is when I am not medicated. If I do have symptoms even though I am taking my meds, I have another med that I take to even things out. So far this combination has worked for me.

Prozac is what brought about the hypomania in the first place. I remember being at a train station, feeling on top of the world, and thought I could stop the trains with my bare hands because God gave me that power. Once I came to my senses, I quickly let my doc know and we stopped the Prozac. We thought it was just drug induced mania and I would go back to my major depressive episode. But instead, I was having mood swings and rapid cycling. On to lithium and other mood stabilizers. It took ten years to find the right mood stabilizer for me. But even though I am on it, I still get profoundly depressed. I am chronically suicidal as well. But I think that has more to do with my life’s current circumstances than my mood disorder.

While I was psychotic, I thought I had schizoaffective disorder but I don’t fully meet the criteria for that. I still thought I had major depression. I had no idea Bipolar disorder had this subtype. I had heard there was Bipolar I and II, but I never in a million years thought it would be applied to me. But now that I know what I have, I feel differently. I feel like I have been robbed of something. What exactly, I am not sure.

I plan on discussing this with my therapist on Tuesday. I would love to see what she has been putting on the diagnosis bar. I just hope that I remember and we have time to talk about it because I think it is important. It makes me want to read the textbook about bipolar disorder that Kay Redfield Jamison co-authored. There is also a second edition of one of the bipolar books that I had back when bipolar was still called manic-depressive illness and, obviously, before the I and II distinction. I have no idea what the II would entail. I would have to look it up. I probably will be blogging more about this as bipolar illness has been one that fascinates me. I just wish I didn’t have it.

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Perfectly made coffee, AHHHH

Perfectly made coffee

Today I am at Starbucks again. I am only out of the house because I have an appt with my pdoc. Tomorrow I get to rest, if I am able to. I just plan on staying in and playing my game, to try and catch up on the missions. This is the third day in a row that I have been out of the house. And I am glad because the new guy at Starbucks made my coffee perfectly. I am in coffee heaven. Today’s coffee is from Hawaii called Ka’u. It’s delicious. And reading the cup, I realized why I didn’t get a half cup of it. I goofed and ordered a tall instead of a grande. OOPS. I still was able to make it a venti by putting cream in it. And a lot of ice.

I have been taking my blood pressure since I am on a new medication for that. And I still have high blood pressure. I am not sure what my PCP is going to do other than tell me to restrict salt and lose weight. The weight part is a given and unfortunately, while I was in the hospital, I gained a few pounds. Boredom will do that to anyone, especially when there is food around. My favorite thing to make was graham cracker cereal. I just broke up some graham crackers and poured milk on them. It was good. I plan on buying some crackers next week and making it at home.

I am nervous about meeting him though. I know I will have to tell him I just got discharged from the hospital, hence why I was on the BP med. I am just afraid that he will be giving me a two week supply of my pain meds to “test” me. That is, making sure that I am not going to overdose on them. He still doesn’t get that I don’t want to go out that way. I have more creative ways to die. I doubt I will be able to lose the pounds I gained in a week, unless I starve myself, which I don’t think is a good idea. I can cut down on my eating but then I get really hungry and if I go to sleep, I dream about food. Trouble is my mother hasn’t gone shopping because one of the main chains we go to is on strike. It’s so stupid. Two brothers are battling over the store chain. One brother fired the other, the good one, and thus, the strike ensued. The other grocery stores are too expensive for my mother (me too, but I shop there for convenience).

I finally solved the mystery of how people have been getting my blog email. I have it in one of my blog comments. Doh. It was curious because I have not given out my blog email to ANYONE so when I started getting a few emails, I was suspicious. But I totally forgot I had left my email in one of my blog comments for attempt survivors to contact me if they needed to talk. Now I got to figure out which blog it is so I can edit it so I don’t get spam.

I haven’t told my writing partner that I am planning on writing a coping book for attempt survivors. I think it will be a good use of my time. Though I have no idea how to write this thing. I am going to have to ask her for some help. I will have to bullet point some of it and I am not sure how the format is going to be once I do. I had problems with this with italics for my book.

I also have begun the process of editing a few of my blogs for my next book. It is a laborious task. I just edited one blog and though I was expecting it to be longer, it only took me a few minutes. 700 words are not that difficult to edit. I don’t have my list with me to edit the others. But I know I have to make this blog longer. I might add the pink pill part 2 blog to it so that it is one blog, or at least one story. If I had a brain today, I would have brought with me the legal pad that has the “Brick Wall” that I wrote while I was in the hospital. I could have typed that up while I am waiting for time to pass. I am such a shithead. Oh well, something to do when I get home today. I am including that story in the new book.

I just finished reading another CES (cauda equina syndrome) story in my CESSG mail. It is so sad that doctors don’t recognize the symptoms of CES right away. This poor guy waited a month before being seen by a neuro surgeon. Now he has permanent nerve damage. I feel horrified every time I hear a story like this.

Meeting with my pdoc went well. I was also nervous about it, which I am sure didn’t help my blood pressure. We talked about all that went on in the hospital. Told her about the anxiety attack that lead to a new bp med. I just took my bp and it is still high. I am worrying about this and I know I shouldn’t because it doesn’t help but I am. I told her how the case manager wanted me to stop my suicide research and stuff and my psychiatrist just shook her head. She knows how much the research means to me. It doesn’t trigger me like the CM thinks. I just want to die to end my pain and suffering, something that no one seems to understand other than my therapist and psychiatrist. I was asked point blank why I wanted to kill myself by this moron (CM). She just couldn’t understand why I wanted to end my life and I just shook my head like really? The past few weeks you have no clue? Everything that could possibly happen to me, happened to me while I was in the hospital. If I wasn’t in the hospital when it happened, I know I would have tried to kill myself. It’s just stupid and the hardest part was that I couldn’t educate these people in treating suicidal patients. They had their own ideas on how best to go about it (all wrong in my opinion as the re-admits will show). I really hope that I don’t get admitted again there. I really hated it because nothing was done to address my issues. They just were put aside every day and nothing was really done to actually help me deal or cope. That was left to the group leader or to the staff. It’s just mind boggling to me. The one place that you are supposed to get help, you don’t get it. Or you just get spurts of it. Just ridiculous!

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Starbucks and Drink Made Wrong

Starbucks and Drink Made Wrong

After I had breakfast this morning, I really wanted to go back to sleep. But instead, I forced myself to catch the next bus and headed to my second home, Starbucks. I ordered my drink to the new guy, which was the same person I had yesterday, a Hazelnut latte with mocha drizzle. Instead I got a hazelnut mocha latte. I just shook my head and drank the drink, which was way too sweet for me. If I do order such a drink, I usually ask for 2 pumps of mocha and 2 of hazelnut to try and cut down on the sugar. I didn’t throw a tizzy like I wanted to. I was already in a sour mood because I read a comment on one of my friend’s posts about anxiety. According to my friend’s friend, “Jesus commands us not to worry or have anxiety”. As someone who suffers from occasional anxiety attacks, I found this preposterous. I was very upset about it and wanted to say something but just continued to scroll through my Facebook feed. I can’t believe such ignorance exists in this day and age.

So that put me in a bad mood already. Then my mother called asking if I had any money, which I guess she wanted me to buy her eggs or something on the way home. I told her I was el broko until next week. I came home and thankfully she didn’t ask me to go back out again. My ankle is hurting despite taking a pain med before leaving the house for my second home.

I wrote in my journal most of the time while at Starbucks. I still am irate at the care that I received at the hospital. I see my psychopharm tomorrow and I am kind of nervous about seeing her. It will be the first time seeing her in almost a month. I wish I could say that I am a changed person, but I still feel the same, minus the heavy depression and suicidality. My mood has lessened to the point where I can function again. I have my interests back. Though I am kind of pissed I have an extra page worth of missions in my game that I play on Facebook. In some respects, I am better, but I can’t say it was because of the care I received. I am not saying I was treated poorly. I just wish that some of my issues were dealt with rather than being put off till tomorrow and not talking about it. I pretty much felt that I was just being babysat and checked on every 15 minutes, 24/7 the whole time I was there. I got more help with the contact person than I did with my case manager and attending psychiatrist. I was lucky though. I was half expecting a psychotic break as what usually happens after a deep depression passes. But I guess the hypomania took care of that. I do take an antipsychotic, so I am guessing that prevented the break.

I didn’t make too many contacts with the other patients on the floor. I did connect with one patient and we text one another. I haven’t heard from her today but she is getting discharged today. I might text her later today to see how she is doing. But if the relationship doesn’t continue, I can understand. I have had many experiences with friendships that form in the unit that don’t continue past discharge.

Next week I will be sending off my books to the AAS for review. I am kind of nervous about it. My book is very personal and intimate and powerful. I wrote about my deep emotions and all that goes into being suicidal. The fear of this being criticize is what keeps holding me back from sending it. But I know that if I don’t send it, I will never know how a professional will view my book. It is important that I put my book out there to a professional organization yet I know the downfall of it. My biggest fear is that the books will be sent back with a rejection. But I never will know unless I try, right?

I still need to email the editor of the AAS blog and see when my piece is going to get posted. It has been months and I still have not seen it posted. I know there are many stories to be told, and the blog is only published weekly, but I still think my piece on chronic pain and suicidal thinking should be posted. It is an important topic that often gets ignored.

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Do I

Do I

“Do I” is a song by Luke Bryan, one of my favorite male artists. Every time I hear the song, I wonder if my therapist and I are still a good fit. I think we are as we have been together for so long, but I often wonder if I am too much for her to bear or that I am a burden to her.

I went to Starbucks for the first time in four weeks. All my baristas were gone from the Davis location. I was so bummed not to see familiar faces. I hope they were off that day or just on vacation. I will be super bummed if I have to deal with new people. I will go there tomorrow and see how they make a clover coffee. I won’t order their reserve, just the Pike. I seem to like that better than their regular iced coffee, probably because it is made fresh.

I am still feeling good. Today on Mental Health chat on Twitter, the discussion was bipolar disorder. I have been diagnosed with bipolar as I have had some hypomanic episodes. I have never been full blown manic. I had one episode while I was in the hospital. I was really jocular and upbeat. I was also really racy and despite taking Ativan regularly, it still didn’t alter my mood. This lasted until I took some pain meds and then I crashed, hard over this past weekend. It was fun while it lasted and I wish I still felt that great. I felt like nothing could touch me. Suicide was furthest from my mind and I felt like I was on top of the world, even though I was in a psych hospital. It was very strange. I was expecting to go down, but I wasn’t expecting to be “that” down. I was really tired and just needed to rest but I was too restless to actually sleep. I took a prn to calm down some and finally was able to get some rest. Everyone was telling me I looked tired and down. With my anticipated discharge on Monday, I was thinking that it was not going to happen. I really didn’t want to leave the hospital feeling the way I did this weekend. It was such a major depressive episode that I didn’t want to chance leaving the hospital and then acting on my thoughts. So I had to practically beg to stay one more day. My case manager asked me why I wanted to die. I told her to end the pain and the indignity that I was feeling with my disability. I really just wanted to say “are you fucking kidding me”? This hospitalization, I experienced everything I do when I am home. I crapped my pants, leaked urine, was suicidal more than a few times, and was overall, severely depressed. The hypomania was a godsend. I just wish it lasted longer than it did. But it never does and the longer it lasts, the worse my depression is. I think I had a total of 12 hours of it. Not long enough to do any financial damage or anything, but enough to let me know I was alive again, that something inside me wants to keep going no matter what the suicidal thoughts might be.

My writing partner has suggested that I write a book about coping as a suicide attempt survivor. I have been giving it some serious thought and I think I can write it. I don’t know if I am going to write it in blog form or book form yet. Depends on how much I can actually write. But a large part of what works for me is already out there but people don’t utilize it. For example, I gave the crisis response plan (see this blog about it) to one of the patients because it was less confusing than what the hospital was giving out about distress tolerance. The hospital uses DBT type of works, which is fine for some people but may not fit for everyone. And, who the fuck is going to look at a piece of paper when they are in crisis mode?? I know I am not. I have been there too many times. But I have found that the crisis response plan has been helpful to me since David Jobes uses it in his work with suicidal patients.

One of the mental health counselors was interested in my book and the SSF, Suicide Status Form (see my comparisons of psychological pain scales for more information). I wish I could publish it on my blog but it is not available in electronic form and I would be violating copyrights. I use this in my therapy when I am suicidal. It helps because it gives my therapists some way of knowing which areas are causing me to want to die. I think it would be wonderful to use in an inpatient stay but I don’t get to make those types of decisions. Anyway, this MHC and I were talking about it and it was so good to talk about clinical stuff with someone again rather than just stuff about me. It was like being back in academia again where exchanging ideas is so important for learning. I just wish my treatment team was on board with my ideas for my treatment than just saying that I have to stay away from suicide stuff. I told them that I can’t. It is apart of me like breathing. I am always thinking about what is best for me and I am always searching for an answer to end the suicidal thoughts. Just telling me to stop is not going to work. I read clinical stuff as well as blogs because I want to keep abreast of the latest research. Even though I am no longer a member of the AAS, I still keep up with the suicide research. I wish I could afford their membership but I am on such a fixed budget that I can’t. I also would love to have the archives of suicide research journal but again, I can’t afford membership. It totally sucks. I was hoping that the sales of my book would provide me with additional income but it hasn’t taken off the way that I wanted it to. I have not reached my goal of selling 100 books, though I am half way there. While I was in the hospital, I sold two books. Not my personal copies, just through Amazon. I did bring one with me to give away but I never did. I still have it. My book signing has not gone well. It brought extra income just to buy food and the essentials. The struggles of the writer. I just have to find the right audience to get my book sold.

I am planning on getting my book reviewed by the AAS (American Association of Suicidology). It will be sent out next week along with a book for my editor. I have been meaning to send it out but things always seemed to get in the way. I wasn’t planning on being in the hospital for so long. I really thought I was going to stay a few days and that would be it but they had other plans when I told them I was going to kill myself when I got out. Hospitals tend to frown upon that. I put them in a “bind”. Sorry, but that was how I was feeling. I really was in bad shape and all that I was feeling felt normal to me. Looking back, I see that I wasn’t as rational as I thought I was. I guess that small overdose was the wake up call for my outpatient treaters to put me in the hospital.

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I am home from the hospital. I am feeling less suicidal than when I first came in and the case manager said I did a good job in staying an extra day to sort out my feelings. I was apprehensive about leaving but now I am okay and in my bed, which I missed very much. I am writing this on my laptop so it won’t take me five years to crank out a blog and it will be comprehensible as I won’t be using the touch screen on my tablet. God that was good in a pinch but aggravating to type on as it distracted the flow as I had to correct stuff as I was typing it. Like it would correct “three” with “there” when I really wanted to say Three. I supposed I should have used the number but I didn’t think of it at the time. Silly me.

I have my prescriptions being filled. The bad part is that I won’t be getting them tonight as the pharmacy is backed up. I am going to try and pick them up around 8 before they close as I will need the new blood pressure pill they put me on. My blood pressure has been high and so has been my pulse. I know it’s most likely because I am stressed and overweight, but one thing at a time. I am going to try and lose some more weight but it’s hard. I really am hungry right now and want to munch on things. Worst part is that there are cheese doodles that are calling my name. But I am going to be a good boy and not think about it. I know I gained a few pounds while I was in the hospital because I ate out of boredom. I just hope I didn’t gain too much or my PCP is going to have my head! And it is going to be harder to lose the weight than gaining it. I wish losing it was as easy as gaining. It sucks.

I forgot that I spent my last twenty bucks so I am fucking screwed in paying for my pills. I might have to borrow money from my sister, again. I hate doing so because she has her daughter’s college tuition to pay for. I just feel bad asking her for money. I don’t get paid till next week and I can’t go a week without my meds. That will not be good.

My mother is making stuffed chicken so I will have my first home cooked meal in a month. I can’t believe that I spent almost four weeks in the hospital. But I needed to be there. I really had no idea how sick I was. I just hope it stays this way, least for a while. I really don’t want to go back and I doubt that I will. I just miss my therapist and can’t wait till she is back next week. We have a lot to catch up on.

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Struggling just to stay

Met with team this morning. All my meetings with my treaters were done by 10 am. Which left the day wide open To boredom. I told the treatment team I needed an extra day to sort myself out. I think pulling teeth was easier. They gave me a hard time and I had to tell them exactly how unsafe I felt going home because I had a rough weekend and wasn’t sure I could be safe enough at home. It is now the early evening and I am ready to blow this joint. Not that things have changed much, but I know that I will feel better when I am in my own environment.

I really wanted to talk to someone after the meeting because I was so frustrated. I mean what is one more day? Now I have the confidence I didn’t have before.

I have an RN contact person tonight. I hope that we talk quickly or not at all. I just am not in a talking mood right now. I feel like everyone is against me. I never felt like this before in any of my many hospitalizations.

I have been talking about the SSF tonight with one of the mental health workers. It is great to talk academia with someone. I really miss it.

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What to do

I just read a fellow bloggers blog. You could here the desperation in her words. I am pretty much in the same boat. I am debating on staying in the hospital a little longer because the last two days, I have been severely depressed. People can look at me and see how depressed I am. I don’t like it. But it is what it is. I can’t pretend anymore. I haven’t felt suicidal but that is only one step away from where I am right now.

I don’t have any clue what I’ll be doing when I get home. Being home doesn’t scare me, my thoughts do. I haven’t met with my contact person yet. Maybe he has some ideas. But then he doesn’t know me. We’ll just have to see.

I talked with a family member last might who read my book. She said she had no clue there was a dark side to me. We are going for lunch on Thursday.

I have been thinking about my writing partner’s silly ideas of writing a coping handbook about dealing with suicidal thoughts. It is not a bad idea. It might help because what works for me, might work for some one. I have to think about it some. Otherwise it will be two paragraphs and that won’t help anyone.

I am very tired. I hit my head on a chair, not on purpose. Something fell and when I went to pick it up, my head found the chair instead of the dropped object. OUCH!! I told staff. They just told me to take Tylenol. It might be a bruise tomorrow. I don’t care.

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Saturday night inpatient

I was feeling emotionally and physically drained today. I couldn’t think or concentrate. It has been a rough day.

I will be getting discharged on Monday. I cannot wait to leave this place and be on my own again. I so miss the confines of my room. I miss my laptop. But I miss my home more. I know my mother missed me and I wish I felt the same but I don’t. 

like I said, I feel drained today. It is off because I was feeling so upbeat yesterday. I was a little hypomanic. Then I took my pain meds and I have been depressed since. I feel worse than what I came in with. My brain is slow moving so this blog may not be too long. I am having difficulty putting thoughts to my words, if that makes sense. I don’t think it is a side effect of medication. Definitely one of depression.

We had group therapy today. I was so foggy, I don’t remember too much of what was going on. The time seemed to go on forever. I just wanted to go back to bed. I struggles with that all day. The other patients kept asking me why I was so depressed. I didn’t have an answer for them. I just was really down and not talkative. If I wasn’t moving, I could have been in a vegetative state. But after I had my check in, I tried to sleep. It’s not easy because of checks and people walking in the hallway. My room is a single. Don’t know how I managed that but I am grateful. It’s nice because I’m not bothering anyone and no one is bothering me. My room is opposite a double and triple so there is constant foot shuffling in the hallway, which makes it hard to sleep. I leave my door open so that the checks person isn’t opening and closing it all the time, which further makes sleep difficult. This is the first hospitalization that I have ever left my door open. I don’t know why I can sleep with it open. Usually, I need a pitch dark room to sleep. But not on this occasion. Weird.

When I get out, I have to email my pdoc every day until I see her on Friday, no exceptions. Dammit. I have no clue what I will write. “I’m alive” comes to mind or “I’m still here”. I  might alternate between the two. I don’t think the email has to be very long.

I miss my therapist terribly. It’s been more than a month since we had a session. Well almost a month as I have been in the hospital for three weeks now. I won’t talk to her until the 26th.  :-(

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Runaway Train

“Can you help me remember how to smile
make it somehow all seem worthwhile
how on earth did I get so jaded
life’s mysteries seem so faded”

These are the lyrics to Soul Asylum’s Runaway Train. These lyrics have been resonating with me over the past few days. The meaning is quite clear. I feel I don’t remember how to smile. Life seems jaded, far away from me. Another line is “somehow I’m neither here nor there” I ave been struggling with my alter Mr. Hyde the past few days. Last night he really wanted to come out and play. So I let him write yesterday’s blog and the lyrics to this song for my therapist. He seemed satisfied.

Runaway Train has been my favorite song since it came out in the early 90’s. The lyrics touch me very deeply. It’s a song about abuse, neglect, and the need to escape these things. Yet not matter where we go, they always follow us. Like the lyrics state “Runaway train never going back, wrong way on a one way track, seems like I should be getting somewhere, somehow I’m neither here nor there”

Every time hear the song my heart aches because I can never escape the pain. One of the tracks is “bought a ticket for a runaway train, like a madman laughing at the rain, a little out of touch, little insane, Just easier than dealing with the pain.

I interpret the ticket with suicide and how pain is dealt with. Suicide, for me, has always been my ticket out of this world. I read about it to understand it better. I write about it to feel better. Yet I know one day I will lose the battle, like Robin Williams, and take my own life. There is no way I can educate my family for my loss. For they refuse to acknowledge that I have mental illness. According to my sister “there is no mental illness on her side of the family”. This was said three weeks after my last hospitalization for depression. It’s tough to deal with. Yet I have no strength to educate them after all these years. I am surprised my brother in law hasn’t called me. But then, he, too, is in denial about things.

The last line of the song always gets me. It says “I runaway but it always seems the same” And it’s true. No matter how many times I have a depressive episode, it’s like my first and aways feels like it’s never going to end. Then I remember, usually by the scars on my wrist, that things were worst. Things always seem the same with depression but they never really are. Each episode takes a piece of you that cannot be replaced or taken back. Each episode tears you apart ad brings you to the edge of suicide nearly every time. And it hurts in ways you cannot describe. So I am on the one way track, trying never to go back, but I’m neither here nor there.

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Still here

I am not getting discharged tomorrow, though I still want to be. I just can’t get the suicidal thoughts out of my head. Mr. Hyde wants to come out and play. I am having a hard time holding him back. All he wants is an outlet to write suicide goodbye letters. So maybe this blog will be an outlet for him. He needs to be in control or else bad things happen.

There is a patient snoring where I am at the nurse’s station. It is annoying me. But it is better than her legs jumping. I haven’t met many people on the unit the I can really talk to. I am glad because then I don’t have to keep up the relationship when I get discharged. It is hard staying friends with people when you get out of the hospital. People just go on with their lives.

I still feel pretty hopeless. My case manager wants me to work on short and long term goals. I can work on the short, the longer ones I don’t think I can because I feel i don’t have a future.

I wish I brought my laptop so typing this would be easier. Plus I could edit my works for my short story. I actually write a short story while I was in here. I’m not going to publish it in blog form but will in my book. I am hoping my second book is more successful than my first. But I know what to do the second time around, if there is one.

I got guilt tripped into staying alive. I fucking hate that

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