Tag: mental pain

Parts and Loss

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, chronic physical pain, depression, mood disorders, suicide

Parts and Loss

I was remembering today how crazy I was to my work email. I had it on my phone and of course, my home computer. I had to always be ready to answer questions. Now when I get a notification from my personal email, I am thinking it’s from a friend or my psychiatrist when in actuality it’s the bank wanting an equity loan or some other “junk” mail. I am getting more and more junk mail than I get from actual people. It makes me feel less connected in the world and just fuels my suicidality.

I had my therapy session and she really annoyed me today. We were talking a little of everything, including my suicidality. In an effort to “know” where I was coming, she kept questioning where these “parts” were coming from. She kept on naming Hyde and Jack and then when I answered no, she asked if someone else was in there. I was so pissed off. I felt like I, the ME part, didn’t exist and she was just dividing me up. It was so frustrating. I threatened to hang up on her if she continued with this line of questioning and then I got the “sigh” and I was tempted to hang up right then.

I feel like she just can’t take my suicidality and has to put it on a “part” so that we can deal with it or not. We never, over the course of 15 years, did this before. It wasn’t until Hyde showed up and keeps showing up that she thinks this. I don’t think this. I am in control of my thoughts and selves, if you want to call it that. It just pisses me off when she thinks something more is going on and there isn’t. I don’t know how many “I want to die” statements came out during session today or some variation of it.

I told her what my plan was. I don’t know why I did. It’s not like she can stop me. She doesn’t know the date I picked out. It’s just a mystery to her for now. I need an escape and I am going to get it, dammit. I really just don’t want to live anymore. I am tired of being in pain, physically. Dealing with my father was just the icing on the damn cake. He always makes me feel so worthless. I am nothing to him. Just his “secretary” as he calls me. I was going to make another damn doc appointment for him, but fuck him. I’ll make it next week sometime.

I never usually threaten to hang up on my therapist. But today, she was just so annoying. Maybe I just wasn’t in the mood. I feel like she was playing games with me or something trying to figure out if there were other parts in play, I really do. Or just trying to piss me off so Jack would come out. And the fucking sigh afterwards when I told her I would hang up on her. I could almost see her face as she made it. I wanted time to be over, right then and there. Then the wise ass said I have the floor, meaning I could talk about whatever I wanted. Isn’t that what the hell therapy is about?? I talked more about wanting to die. I just feel like she just wasn’t hearing me today for some reason when I was telling her this. Like it was going in one ear and out the other. I just got no response whatsoever. I felt like my words were empty, which only made me feeling worthless more so.

We talked about my writing and how I wanted to read a psychology book to do research. I know I can go on the web, but I want old school. I need the book and the highlighters. There was a good psychology book that I had when I was studying psych 101 by Zimbardo. If I can’t find my copy (only God knows where it is), maybe I will buy another. I really don’t even remember the name other than having psychology in the title. I think it was co-authored with his wife, but I could be wrong. This is going back almost 20 years ago.

She asked about my writing and that is how the conversation went. I think I talked in greater detail about my ideas in the previous blog so I won’t repeat myself here. She always inquires about my writing. My psychiatrist too. Today I learned from this writing book that people will do that not to annoy the writer but to see where they are in the writing process. I always felt guilty because I feel other than writing this blog, I don’t write anything else, usually. I journal, sure, but that is the same as blogging with the exception of it being on paper rather than the web. They are my outlets. But I haven’t touched a story for my book in months. I might have played around with the technical stuff, like fonts and inserting number pages, but that is all. No writing. The book also says that you should read with a critical eye. I did that with a book I got off Facebook and found myself editing as I was reading it. I couldn’t finish the book or get past the first few pages! There was so much I could change with it, it wasn’t funny. But it wasn’t my book to be changed. It’s the first book that I ever gave up reading.

Need to Escape

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, chronic physical pain, depression, mood disorders, suicide

Need to escape

I had another difficult therapy session today. It will be in another blog as it’s percolating right now and I am not sure if I should continue to type or handwrite it. She asked me today what number my need to escape was and I said a 9 on a scale of 1-10. So she said that I should make today all about me, whatever that means. I still feel the need to runaway and not return. Trouble is I have no means, other than killing myself, to get away. We talked a lot about me killing myself today. To my surprise, she was tolerating it despite me knowing how much anxiety it gives her. I threw a question out to her about if she would go to my funeral. That stopped her in her tracks. I actually don’t know if I will have a funeral. I haven’t made my will out yet and that is one thing I have been contemplating. Her grief sometimes stops me from going through with my plans, but sometimes I just say fuck it because I want to do what *I* want to do, and that is end this miserable fucking life.

We talked a lot, more than I wanted to, about my bastard father. He is the only person that I know that has at least three 8×10 pictures of himself in his house. He is the very definition of narcissism. Yet he calls me selfish and a liar.

I wanted to go out today but my ankle is being a bitch. I have been up since 0500. I am tired and might take a nap before dinner, if I can write out the therapy session that is bugging me. I really wanted to go to Starbucks to get some more coffee for the house. I had the last of the Pike this morning. I don’t know which kind I want to get. My choices are Pike, House Blend, or Breakfast Blend. I usually rotate between the three. I think I might get Breakfast Blend as I haven’t had that in a long while. I am still good with my Kati Kati and Brazil coffees.

The 22nd can’t come soon enough. I really need to talk about my damn nasal congestion. I know I am almost always congested but it’s been worse the last few months. It clears up on it’s own but then gets clogged up again and now my sinuses are starting to feel affected. They really hurt and I have a constant slight headache from the pressure. My discharge is still clear so I know there isn’t an infection but damn, I am just miserable. And I hate breathing through my mouth most of the time. It’s wearing me out.

I am almost done with the writing book that I am reading. I should be done with it today. I read this morning about keeping a day journal to store ideas and other thoughts about writing. So now that I got some stuff percolating about my book and my therapist’s session, I pulled out a composition book and placed it on my bed for easy access. The book also suggested making a box of ideas, but I am not that advanced as a writer. I told my therapist that I was going to look for my psychology book to do some research for my book. It’s been a while since I learned about the different psych disorders. It might be a little outdated as far as the DSM goes but most of the criteria for the major disorders have stayed the same. I really want to write a chapter about narcissism but other than being vain and an asshole, I don’t know what other types of characteristics there are.
Another nice thing about this book was that it has short chapters, which is what I want my book to be. I really don’t want the chapters to be drawn out, about 2000 words or less. The only big story is the Darkness piece, but that can be trimmed down. I don’t want to edit right now while I am still trying to work on writing. It will just be confusing. The author of the book actually wrote another book based on about 850 words per chapter. That is when I got excited because my writing is about that length and is doable. If something really needs to be longer, than so be it but 850 seems like a good goal.

Self-Harm Recovery

by Midnight Demon, posted in depression, mood disorders

This is a story I wrote for a website.

Self-Harm Recovery

I started self-harm (cutting) when I was 15. It happened after a traumatic night in my house. I snapped and was looking for a way to channel the pain that I was feeling. I really wanted to die but didn’t know how to. So I decided to “dig” for a vein hoping it would kill me. I never got that far.

Over the years I changed methods, from scissors to razors. I found that razors worked best to alleviate my pain that I was feeling. I remember when I was 17 that I dissociated while I was cutting. It was the only time I lost time while doing self-harm.

During one distressing December, my therapist was on vacation and I cut to the point of needing stitches. I was a trained medical assistant at the time so soon after I got home from the hospital (which was my shortest hospital stay ever), I took the stitches out. I kept the wound open for a good month or so, cutting it every day. This was in 1997. By the time the New Year rolled around, I was getting tired of leaving the wound opened so I made new cuts. This went on for another month or so. I had changed therapists. The new social worker that I met was a DBT therapist and we talked about cutting in detail, such as why I did it, and the like. She told me something that no one had told me before: You can feel but not act on your feelings. That stayed with me.

Around this time, cutting lost its appeal to me. It no longer was the “drug” I was craving. Since then, I haven’t cut, though the urges are sometimes there when I am having a difficult time. I still have my “kit” but I hardly know it’s there. I suppose I could get rid of it as I no longer need it.