Tag: mental illness

Night Rants

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, depression, mood disorders

Night Rants

I am having a hard time sleeping because I am so pissed off. A friend of mine commented on my 😦 profile pic on Facebook, saying that I “should get rid of that shit and put on the other pic” as it wasn’t me. My experiment is a success. People cannot tolerate another’s sadness. It has to go underground in order for people to ignore it. Well, I am keeping the profile pic up. I responded with “if you don’t like my profile pic, unfriend me. I don’t need negativity in my life. This is how I feel on a regular basis so if you can’t deal with it, BYE!” I then got a response saying that they like the “smiling” face better. I am tired of the fake smiles. She obviously didn’t get the point I was/am trying to make. It is so frustrating.

Then I was in a chat where a fella was arguing about suicide training. I really wanted to ask him if he had any training, whatsoever, that made him think he was superior than what my friend was trying to make in her statements. That really, really ticked me off. It’s bad enough that I can’t see my therapist because she is miles and miles away from me because I don’t have a car. I can’t see someone close to me because I don’t have the right “criteria” to be seen. I am too much of a high risk because of my suicidal history. I kid you not. When I found out that my therapist was making her home office 30 miles away from me, I called not one, not two, not three therapists but 10!!! And they ALL said the same thing. They would refer me to another therapist or clinic. One therapist, to be fair, I couldn’t see because she was on the 3rd floor of an apartment building with no elevator and I couldn’t make it up the stairs. So she said happy hunting. I wish I could have seen my Twitter buddy that is in the town over by me. Maybe he would be helpful to me, even though, at the time, we weren’t Twitter buddies. I wasn’t even active in Twitter land. My psychiatrist even tried finding me a therapist and that didn’t work out. You just mention suicide and there is a shut down of communication. Or people go berserk and flip out into hyperdrive. The question on the table that started it all was if a patient was in distress, should a healthcare provider respond to that distress on social media (social media are things like Facebook and Twitter). It was an interesting discussion but after a while, I lost interest. I had nothing to comment on and what I did, it wasn’t being responded to. I left half way through the chat.

I texted my “hubby” about people being jerks and he responded on my FB page about it. I had to laugh. It was so out of context it was funny. I call him my “hubby” because of an old joke I played on a coworker. She didn’t know I was gay and when my friend (hubby) and I started to have dinner together, she thought we were married because I had my claddaugh ring on my 4th finger on my left hand. She thought it was a wedding band. Since then, he became my hubby, though if his ex-wife ever found out, I think I would be dead.

My foot is starting to bother me and maybe I should listen to the voices telling me to take my pain medication. I hate taking the pills because they are so bitter. I have to swallow them quickly or they begin to melt, causing them to further be difficult to swallow. I would take them but I feel sick, probably because I haven’t took my night time meds and I am still not sleep. I sometimes get nauseous if I am sleepy and can’t sleep. But my tummy is doing flip flops for some reason. I don’t think it liked the combination of cole slaw and potato salad. I think I will stop here. I ran out of gas for my rants anyways.

Hospitalizations: Fifteen Minutes of Fame

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, depression, mental disorders, mood disorders, suicidality, suicide

Hospitalizations: Fifteen Minutes of Fame

I had therapy. My therapist read my “Brick Wall” blog. She asked if we could talk about the bricks and we spent most of the session going over them. I also told her about my book problems, that I think it is disorganized. She said that it is her most prized possession, so I think she is biased in my writing abilities. She said my short story was heartbreaking to read. I haven’t gotten too many likes on it. I may have to play with the tags a bit. Anyway, talking about the bricks was difficult because it lead to where I was in my last hospitalization, where I wrote the story. I told her how no one was looking at the bricks, that they were just looking for the cement to dry before sending me home, so to speak. That is all they cared about. Stabilization and discharge were the key focus of what they wanted to do. What brought you in the hospital, they didn’t care about. Or if they did, it was always, “we’ll talk about it tomorrow” but never did. I hated that my needs were ignored and patronized. I flatly told them I was going to kill myself when I left the hospital during my initial few days when they wanted to discharge me. And it was true. I needed help and was going to stay inpatient to get that help. Except the help came back to me looking for help from outside services. The social worker that was working with me didn’t care about my needs. I ended up having to call places to look for outside support. I tried to get it but never had a call back or even an email back, though one place the email came back as undelieverable. It was a trying time. I wanted to kill myself so badly and yet I was supposed to make all these phone calls to show that I wanted to live? To do the work my team was supposed to be doing? I just don’t understand their mentality. Yet it has been nine months since I left the hospital. I am still here because the anti depressant they put me on really help stabilize my depression. Too bad it no longer works. I stopped taking it in December.

My therapist thinks I should write a blog about past hospitalizations and current ones. Thing is, I don’t remember much. I know things are different today than they were back then. For example, there are no longer any outside passes given. If you want outside passes, you are basically discharged. When I was in the hospital in August, they wanted to give me grounds privileges. This meant that I could go out for staff walks. I told them adamantly no because I was scared I was going to run. They gave it to me anyway. Granted that at the time, I was in an AFO so I know I wouldn’t get far, but they still took that chance of letting me go. Stupid, I tell ya. I should have gone away from the group and tried to escape. I don’t know what that would look like but I know it wouldn’t be good on either side. I would most likely get reprimanded like a child, even though I am an adult. But that would be on them. I told them I would run and if I did, it was on them, not me.

I remember a time when I was in the hospital 21 years ago. I was severely depressed and suicidal. I had attempted suicide and was hospitalized against my will, in fact the admitting staff forged my signature on the consent form. I went through my records after discharged. Anyway, back then they had ground privileges, which meant you could leave the unit unaccompanied by a staff person. Just as long as you stayed on hospital grounds. Well, I decided to walk around the block after working hours and got “caught” by off duty staff. My privileges were revoked the next day as I broke the “rules”. I never kept my privileges too long. I always did something to revoke them. One weekend I had to beg for an outside pass just to pay a bill (I was there for more than a month and if I didn’t pay the bill, my phone was going to be turned off). I told them I would be back within an hour and I did. It was the first time they trusted me to do this. It was tough because I was so suicidal and they weren’t going to let me try again, hence why my stay was 2 ½ months. That was my longest time in the hospital. It did help me but the demons were still there. I had major issues that I still don’t talk to anyone about, not even my current therapist. It’s just too scary.

Last night I was looking for former therapists. I came across one, Dr. B. She helped me probably more than all the rest. She was the longest therapist that I have seen till that point, three years. All the rest of the therapists that I have seen were year or less. I am going to send her my book and email address. I wrote about her in my book. It was hard not to include her because the opening introduction has her in it as that was my first serious suicide attempt. I had made other attempts before that one, but this one landed me in the hospital and then I was there for a long time. That is when you had good care and one on one contact with someone. Now they have these “teams” where there are all the staff from the unit meet with you for fifteen minutes or so and then decide what to do with you. Fifteen minutes to decide if you need further stay or discharge. It is nothing like the care I had 21 years ago. You met with your inpatient therapist, then a social worker, and then your contact person who was a staff member for that shift. This no longer happens and it’s sad. No longer do you feel safe in the hospital or cared for. It is the end of the era for hospitals. I will never go back, no matter how suicidal I get. They can just kiss my ass goodbye.

Brick Walls

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, depression, mental disorders, mental illness, mood disorders, psychache, suicidality

7-Aug-14 Brick Walls

I am currently on a psychiatric unit in a hospital. I’ve been here for a week now, with no hope of getting out anytime soon. I am here because I am profoundly suicidal. All I see are brick walls surrounding me and they keep on closing in on me. It’s like a prison that only I can see. I am surrounded by these bricks and no one cares how high they get. And they certainly don’t care how they got there.

I want to take my life because I am stuck, just like these brick walls. The cement has hardened each brick into place so you cannot move it. My thoughts of suicide have also hardened to the point where they don’t budge. I feel very hopeless that this hospitalization will not help detach one of these bricks so that I make break free of the confinement I feel. If enough bricks fall, I may see the light at the end of the tunnel. But I doubt that will happen. I never see the light for long. I am always in a dark place. I am always feeling hopeless. And hopelessness and suicidal thoughts are not a good combination. They seal the cement and lock me in to this confinement that I am in.

The doctor and staff are trying their best to keep hope alive for me, but I just don’t see it. All I see is the brick wall that is impenetrable. Nothing or nobody can get through it or to me. It will take more than a jack hammer or two to get through to me right now. And it seems that no one owns one. The staff is too busy to care about the bricks. They just want the cement to fall to force me to see the light as the bricks become loose. Just so they can discharge me. They don’t care how the bricks were formed. And this hurts because no one takes the time to see how much I am hurting like they used to.

I have been trying to stay in the moment but my moments are just filled with suicidal thoughts and feelings. They are also filled with plans on how to end my life. Each thought makes the brick wall stronger so no one can breakthrough. Each brick has been mounted with feelings of inadequacy, shame, indignity, depression, hopelessness, worthlessness, and unbearable pain. Pain is the biggest brick. It lies in the center surrounded by the other bricks that I just mentioned. It exceeds all others in thickness and size. It is killing me, literally and physically, to be in unbearable pain all the time. The pain stems from just left of the sternum of the chest wall and captivates the entire left side of the chest cavity. It is a pressure felt day in and day out. In essence, it is like a ton of bricks weighing on my heart.

As the cement hardens around the brick, making it so difficult to breathe, the pressure on the chest increases. No medical tests exists to identify this weight. It’s not visibly present. That makes it difficult to explain without the feeling of sounding crazy. Who is going to believe a suicidal person that there is a weight on the chest when no one can see or feel it? It is not measured by tests or electrocardiograms. It is just a heaviness that fills your soul. And the soul cannot be seen or felt. Nor can it be measured. No one’s pain is the same. Each is unique to that individual. And my pain is what is strangling me in this moment of time.

The pain is always present in times of despair. It ruins any hope one might have and increases the weight of the bricks bearing down on you. Nothing alleviates this pain. There are no pills that can ease the pressure or painful despair. It’s ever present and deepens the despair because no one understands it. All the symptoms of depression and suicidal thinking makes it very difficult to treat. And the longer it lasts, the higher the brick wall is built. Will the doctors and social workers have what it takes to help bring down the brick and mortar? Very unlikely. They don’t have the time to really get to know me, much less help me. I have resigned myself to stay within these brick walls until they envelope me so I can no longer breathe. Each day they move closer, causing me to feel more isolated and the feeling of suffocation grows stronger. Love doesn’t have any effect on these walls that have surrounded my heart. My heart has become stone a long time ago. Only negative feelings are allowed to pass through. I have given up on positive feelings ever passing through my little barricade. It took years for the brick wall to be built. It might take years to be torn down. But the suicide demons won’t allow that. This time the brick walls will win. I no longer have the energy to chisel my way out of my own prison. But then, I am in a psych ward where chisels are not allowed. You just expected to go to groups to cope with the demons rather than allow them to fall.

And because no one knows the depth of my prison, I am here for a long time, in solitary confinement. The walls are dark and gray, just the way that I feel inside. I doubt I would ever get parole from this darkness that fills my soul. If I do, it is only for a short time before I am back in solitary. The light barely has a chance to touch me before everything becomes dark again. That is why I don’t trust happiness or feeling good. I much rather be content about things than feel happiness. Happiness, to me, is a fleeting emotion that is hard to hold onto. It is slippery like silk, never lasting more than a few minutes and devastating when it leaves you.

So I sit here in my room, surrounded by darkness so the sunlight won’t come in, staring at the brick wall and it staring back, trapped in my own prison.

Don’t Start

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, chronic physical pain

I can’t fricken sleep. So I thought I would write about why I can’t sleep. It’s because of pain I can’t sleep. I never took my shower like I wanted to. The pain was too bad. It’s worse now that it’s almost 0130 in the morning. It’s not surprising. I haven’t been keeping on with medicating myself. I just took two pain pills to try and get me to sleep.

I joined a chat tonight and it didn’t go well. I hate it when I say something and then I am “attacked” for what I say or it is taken the wrong way. But other people got my meaning. It just takes one jerk to get me upset. The Sox losing also got me upset. I had taken a break to join the chat after Breslow gave up a three run blast to make it 8-0. What is really funny, and I mean the HAHA kind, is that the starting pitcher, who gave up 5 runs and lost his second outing, thinks he is going to be the Cy Young winner this year. HA, with his ERA, he is seriously smoking something.

I am 100 pages away from finishing the Graveyard Book. It’s getting more interesting but there are still questions left unanswered and I am not sure they are going to be. I fucking hate that. But I am too tired to finish it tonight. I really hope my glasses are done tomorrow, but I doubt it. I really want to see good again. Even as I am typing this, I am having a hard time focusing.

It really sucks when you are in a foul mood. I am playing Terri Clark’s “Don’t Start” to try and calm me down but it’s not working. I am all riled up and I don’t know why. My mother had a hypo attack today. She threw up and her sugar dropped. My sister had to give her OJ and fed her a sandwich. Then she got sick again the other end. I feel bad and now I am watching her to make sure she doesn’t go downhill again. It’s so stressful being on alert all the time for these types of things. I can’t sleep when this happens. Probably one of the reasons why I am still up. Between the pain and worry, I am just not sleepy enough, despite being tired.

I really wished I killed myself the other day. I am so tired of living this life. My therapist’s parting words from our last session was don’t discount her love for me and appreciation for me. There was a third thing (my therapist likes to say things in three’s) but I don’t remember what it was. I hate my therapist. But I don’t know what I would do without her. I love her, too and that complicates things. UGH, it drives me crazy. I really dislike being loved and having it used against me. I wish I could be a heartless person but I’m not.

It’s weird that I can feel the love of my therapist but I can’t of my own family members. I just can’t see to feel anything with my family. I question their love because I am distrustful of it. I know I can’t trust my father when he tells me he loves me because he is a pathological liar. My mother never says the “L” word, at all. My sister do more frequently. I tend to trust them a little but more, but I can never take it in. I am not even sure if I really love them. I just have grown immune to it, jaded even. We exchange words but it’s mostly via text message. Never said out loud. I will tell my nieces and nephew I love them out loud and via text message. I mean it with them. And it’s important that they know. They help keep me here. I know my nephew has the strongest hold on me because he is the oldest.

I have been getting hot flashes at night and tonight is no different. I have the ceiling fan on because I am really hot. I don’t know what is causing these hot flashes. I brought it up to my PCP when I saw him last but he just blew me off. I guess because I wasn’t having any other symptoms, I was fine. It’s just uncomfortable because sometimes I have to remove clothing to get relief. It sucks!