memories are made of this

Memories are made of this

I had therapy today. I asked her if meeting twice a week was just a one time thing this week or if this was how it will be going forward. She said we can talk about it if I felt I needed twice a week. I said I would think about it. I tried to get out of Wed meeting and though she had no objection to me canceling, I said I would keep the appointment. Some memories surfaced over the weekend because it is anniversary time. Around this time 16 years ago, I was raped by the girlfriend I was seeing at the time. It happened three times over the course of a couple months but started the end of Oct. I never really talked about it because I had other fish to fry and I didn’t think it was important. I felt like I would be blamed for letting it happen. The therapist has had other patients who have been raped so I am not the first. I just feel like I should have stopped it and not let it continue. The whole relationship was bad. I haven’t been with anyone since.

I started having a hard time dealing with the memories and feelings. I wanted to self-harm because other stuff happened too to stir up emotions to the point of them being overwhelming. I started to dissociate a bit and wanted to self-harm. I texted the therapist about seeing if talking to a hotline even though I wasn’t in crisis would be helpful and she gave me a rape one. It wasn’t helpful. I am still feeling a little dissociative. I don’t or rather can’t say that I won’t end up doing something. I don’t have sharp things by the bed and I guess it is good that my foot is flared up so I won’t get up trying to find something. I am so exhausted. I never thought someone that I loved could hurt me this way. The thing that bothers me is that this person told me she was raped and you would think they would be more mindful about doing it to someone else because they wouldn’t want someone else to go through that. I was wrong. She just didn’t care and she took out her anger on me in various ways. She was really trying to control me towards the end before I put a stop to the intimacy. Then she started seeing someone else, basically cheating on me and her husband. She was truly a piece of work. She tried to get back together with me but I didn’t fall for it. She is too manipulating and of course she got mad when I said no.

The therapist said we would work on stuff to deal with the memories next session, which will be Wed, if I don’t cancel. I am feeling really hopeless about anything helping me right now and I am trying to give her a chance before totally giving up. Though the way I feel now, it doesn’t seem like anything is going to change and I might as well just give up. Still on the fence on this idea.

frustrated on so many levels

Frustrated on so many levels

I saw the therapist today. I was really nervous about it because I didn’t have a voice. First part was of her reading all that transpired since I last saw her, which was last Monday. In there, I had mentioned I was suicidal and she asked if I was safe. I hate that fucking word when it comes with being suicidal. I never know if I am truly safe. If it was put in the how likely am I going to act or something, the answer might be a little different. Each time I get the urges, the situation is different so I have different levels of coping with it. It might be some grounding, music, distraction, going through social media and getting support there, or just maybe sitting with whatever I am feeling to get through the moment. I have recently just stared at a wall while letting the feelings hit me, one after the other and I try not to think in those moments, which is hard to do. Some times I can write but lately I seemed to have lost my words (mostly due to being reported on my feelings) that I cannot express myself, not even in my journal. The words are there, I just can’t seem to put them in cohesive sentences. This is the MOST frustrating thing because writing used to be my escape and because of vigilantes, my escape has been hindered.

I left aggravated and angry. I was looking for her to offer something to appease the suicidologist in me but nothing was forthcoming. I don’t know if she was looking for me to have some sort of plan (I have many, some good and some not so good) or what. Her biggest thing was for me to be “safe” whatever that meant. While I was home reflecting on this, I basically realized I have four choices: 1) go to ED of some sort; 2) call my psych, no matter what hour as I most likely will be in real danger at this point; 3) stew with the feelings as mentioned above; 4) act on my feelings/thoughts/urges. I have a straight forward plan so as long as I can walk (presuming physical pain isn’t the driver of the suicidal escape), the plan can be executed with no one much the wiser.

The ONE thing no one understands about suicidality is the need to escape from the pain (physical and mental or either/or in my case). It is also true that if I have an angry row with a family member that has me feeling unworthy, useless, lazy, etc., my thoughts of escape increase because I feelings of being trapped are heighted and I will think of suicide as my only choice in the matter. I honestly have no way of conveying this and having a “treatment” for it. Yes, I can bring up CAMS (my preferred way of dealing with my suicidal feelings) but my therapist doesn’t even know what the fuck it is, and from the sound of it, is not up to the latest suicide prevention stuff. Honestly, I don’t know who is as there is a LOT of information out there.

The therapist also wondering if being that the institution I was at was good for me as I have so much anger at it right now as it got rid of my psych. I think part of this is mostly likely the grief of her not being there and right now I am in the anger stage of that grief. The frustrating fucking thing right now is that because of my voice being fucked up, crying hurts so I am unable to process it with a good cry. Even as I am typing this and letting some tears out my throat is starting to hurt in a big way. I think once I have this cry, I can possibly moved on. My psych is still there for me; she hasn’t left. I just haven’t been able to see her as she doesn’t have a new home yet. I am still her patient because she has said so and I believe her. If anything, I think she fears me leaving her more than I fear her leaving me. If that makes sense.

I am utterly exhausted right now, mentally and physically. My throat is fatigues and hurts from the twenty minutes or so that I spent talking to the therapist. I honestly don’t want to talk to anyone, unless it is in written form, for the rest of the day. The only thing I have eaten today is a donut and a coffee cake. That seems to be the only thing I want today. I may have the last breakfast burrito (if there is one) that is in the freezer later but chances of that happening are low. I might have to make some more tomorrow after my groceries are delivered. It is nice to have some pre-made food that I like that I can zap in the microwave for a few minutes and have a meal.

I don’t have any plans for tonight. I might read Harry Potter or just be on social media. I would like a nap but that has yet to happen. I just seem to lay down and my pain decides to act up. My foot is already acting up with the ceiling fan going. Airwaves are annoying it. I really shouldn’t have listened to the meditation thing the therapist had me listen to. It started off by thinking of the feet and how they feel and such. Both feet were killing me so it was hard to “let go” of the feelings and shit. Then that was the only thing I could focus on. When they moved up to the abdomen I started feeling hypervigilant of someone barging through the door and had to stop it. At least we tried it. I knew it wasn’t going to work as I have done similar shit while inpatient and it is always a trigger for me.

I had written in the notes I wrote for the therapist to update her that I was thinking of getting ginger gummies and just sitting somewhere to eat them. By the time I came home, the plan was set. I figured out the location and all the how, what, when, where, and why. I have the four choices listed above on which one to choose when those urges arise. I will be left to my own devices and the choice really is mine to make. No one can stop me, no one needs to know, and no one will be there when the decision will be made. I am on a precipice. Question is, do I have a hand (figuratively) to hold me back…

I’ve decided that I won’t tell anyone about my suicidal thoughts. Might mention them here but just the thoughts. No one seems to want to hear them anyway.

Used to…

Used to…

I used to write in my journals all the anxiety and fear and depression that swept through my heart. The pain of living night after night in despair so great I thought I would never see the light of day again. It was cathartic and once the words were on paper (or in a word doc like they are now), I didn’t have to deal with them. The feelings were out, I felt better. I didn’t have to remember anymore.

I used to write blogs that had some purpose, whether in my clinical papers I wrote or my daily struggles with suicide and depression and chronic pain. It opened a portal so I could share myself with others who were going through the same things. It was the last remaining joy in my life before pain took over. I have been struggling since. Where I would used to write sometimes twice a day and the odd three, I barely write twice a week, if that many. I’ve lost hope in things.

I used to go to therapy with the hope that things would get better. Despite going through 10 in a short period of time (8 years), I still held on that the “right” one was out there. Therapist number 12 I thought was that “right” person until 16 years later we ended, on our anniversary date. She no longer wanted to work with me anymore. I had been in a lot grief since that day. Took me two months to try and figure out if I needed therapy and why I needed therapy. So therapist number 14 came along (13 was the interim therapist I saw while 12 was on maternity leave). He was different from all my previous therapists. He frustrated me more than any of them put together. I skipped sessions because of the anger. Then there were sessions where I felt we were making progress but like the other therapists before him, didn’t go anywhere the following week. In Jan of this year (2019) I realized I couldn’t stay with him after he told me to Google some relaxation stuff for my PTSD. That was the last straw. I had sprained my ankle during this time and decided going to therapy and working on my ankle were going to tax me like it did before. I got physically better, telling him I would go back to him when I was done. I never did.

By March of this year, I was having serious mood shifts of suicidality. In Jan because pain had been really bad, I planned a date to end it. It was the end of March. I had some of my ducks in a row to end it. But the month came and I didn’t have so many ducks as I thought I did. I fell into despair. Pain was keeping me up. The insomnia that I had infrequently, started to become more chronic. I was spending more and more time awake than I was sleeping. Add in not having a therapeutic relationship and I was barely above water. I kept writing my psych of 26 years how bad I felt nearly every day. We were in frequent contact as she was the only person in my team. The day I was to end it, it was raining. I had wanted to end it outside in a desolate place. The rain spoiled it and I had an appointment with my psych that day. I saw my psych as I have never skipped an appointment with her and wasn’t going to start.

April was torturous. By the middle, my psych wanted me to go in the hospital and I said no. I asked her why she wanted me still alive because at that point, I felt so worthless, I had no idea why she wanted me alive other than she “had to.” She told me some good reasons that I still remember. I tried to hold on to those. I starting thinking about writing another book that would be so outside my realm of mental health but would take a lot of research to do it. It would be a challenge and I hoped I was up for it. That lasted a few days. Then I was back in the despair and this time, it wasn’t letting me go.

I used to think that the hospital was a safe haven, a place to recover and get well, learn new coping skills and then be able to face the challenges outside better. With insurances no longer covering long stays, this is nearly impossible. Some people are lucky to stay past three days. Others stay just 24 hours like that has any benefit. I was hesitant to go back in. I was just about as suicidal you could be without actually attempting and I was getting close. There were a few nights where I didn’t think I would make it through the night. I honestly have no clue what kept me here or how I did it. I stayed for three weeks and then my whole world went to smithereens.

I was supposed to see my psych the following week but she changed it to the following Monday. She said she had some news to tell me and I listened. The institution she had been apart of for 30 years was letting her go. She didn’t go into the reasons and I asked her if writing a letter would help and she said no. I have been seeing her for 26 years. My heart broke in a million pieces but I didn’t know it yet. I still had one week left of seeing her and it would be the last until she was some place else, though she didn’t know where yet. She wanted to stay in academia and Boston is the academia capital. All the while I was to see a new therapist, number 15. The first visit didn’t go well. She hammered me with questions, took my history (I tried to stay away from suicide as that freaks mental health professionals out), and who I was seeing for psych. She asked me about my hospital stay and I thought oh shit here we go. She asked what I was to do with crisis. I said call my psych. But according to her, my psych had “terminated” me. I couldn’t comprehend that. I knew my psych didn’t, she said so and she doesn’t lie. She still wanted to be in my care, to take care of me. I didn’t know if I would see this therapist again. She was nonchalant about setting up another appointment with me. I said I give new therapists at least three sessions before deciding if they would work. She agreed on that point.

I don’t know what will happen the next few weeks. I am back to being highly suicidal without a voice. My one or two places where I catharized my feelings are blank, and have been since the day my psych said she was temporarily leaving me. Wed I got a call to see a new psych and I nearly had a meltdown in the lobby of the building where I first started seeing my psych. But I had to see my pcp so had to keep things together. I have had some medical problems this past week that are still unresolved. I never thought my body would be broken down so much at 43, but then, I never thought I would live to see this age.

I used to believe I would always write in some way, shape, or form. I never thought my words would be hard to reach for. Between the physical and emotional pain, the medications I take, and the pressure of trying to stay some what alive for whatever reason when I just want to fucking die, I am at a loss of words. Some times they breakthrough the constriction I am in, the blinders that say that I should die and nothing else matters. My psych asked me if I would be alright for next week, and she said Monday. I told her I didn’t know. I still don’t know. I want to find that desolate place and end it so fucking much. The thought of dealing with CRPS (complex regional pain syndrome) without pain meds is freaking me out, especially as they don’t work as they once did. It is no fault of the medication, just the disease process. Eventually, there will be nothing that will work for it and I cannot cope with that. I cannot imagine spending my life in so much pain when I already spent 28+ years of it managing the mental illness part of me. I used to believe there was hope out there. Now I am not so sure anymore.

heartbreaking day

Heartbreaking day

I left my house a half hour earlier than I wanted to because I just couldn’t sit around waiting for the bus after I shaved and brushed my teeth. I won’t be shaving the sides and back of my head anymore as I fucked up the back and sides top hair. The razor got too close. So now I will let it grow out. I might let my facial hair grow to, though my mustache is taking forever right now. I wanted to get my eyeglasses today.

I got to Boston around 1 and by 130 I was done. I only bought sunglasses as that was a priority. I was then told my insurance only covered one pair of glasses per year. Fuck. That would mean my glasses would be out of pocket and run at least $300 minimum. I might have to use the online sites to get them. I can usually get them for around $80 or so. I think I am going to try another place than the one I used before, only because the glasses need to be adjusted, though I don’t know what my pupil distance is. I don’t know if I still have the measurements from the last time I ordered. Will have to look.

I then went to the hospital and had something to eat at the café. I already had my Starbucks and didn’t need more caffeine. After eating, I pulled out my journal to write as I had an hour to kill before my pcp appointment. About twenty minutes later I get a phone call with the hospital number. I answer and it’s the psych department wanting to schedule an appointment with the new psych. I swear my heart took a dive and stayed there the rest of the afternoon. I almost lost it after setting up the appointment. I had to see my pcp in like twenty minutes and I couldn’t have an ugly cry breakdown. I stuffed the feelings and then got anxiety really bad. I think my heart rate dropped because after walking to the office and going up some stairs by heartrate was only 65. It should have been higher. My pcp and I talked about pain meds and he wanted to change it to something else, but he didn’t know how to do it. He is going to send me to a pain clinic west of Boston where I see my neurologist. He asked if this was okay and at the time I agreed. I got my meds refilled and then set up another appointment to see him in a few months.

As I was walking to the train station, the anxiety got worse. I didn’t have my meds on me as I didn’t wear the jeans shorts. It was too hot out. I listened to music, I didn’t care what kind at that point; nothing was going to calm me down. I got to the Square to wait for the bus home when it grew dark. T-storms were going to happen and I was going to get caught in it. Sure enough by the time the bus got to the main road where I get off at my stop, the skies opened up. The downpour was sort of refreshing but freaking cold. It came down so hard and fast streets were flooded. I must have walk into at least half a foot of water as my street is at the end of a hill. It was fun walking in the rain but at the same time, not so great for my ankle as it was kind of unsteady with water in my shoe with the AFO and the other’s laces untied. I was completely soaked by the time I got home. I was glad my niece was home as I asked her for a towel to dry off some before heading upstairs. We have ceramic tile floors and I didn’t want to go flying. I am glad my sister was home to get me a change of clothes. I dried off and then put my wet clothes in the dryer. I then got to my room to turn the AC on because even though I dried off, I was sweating a lot. The temp dropped 20 degrees but the humidity went up to 83%. After I cooled a little, I went back downstairs to put my sneakers in the dryer and get my portable charger out of the bag so the wetness didn’t ruin it. I had to charge it anyway.

With all the ruckus of the storm, my anxiety went away but it came back like an hour later. My heart rate was in the 70s so that was good. I thought it might be because I was hungry so had a protein bar. My ankle acted up so I didn’t want to go downstairs. I was kind of hungry but didn’t know what to eat. I didn’t want to cook anything. I still had the breakfast burritos but didn’t feel like having one. Those were for my really bad days. I had some pita chips and called it a meal. By the time I came back to my room, the pain had gone up considerably. I became suicidal instantly and finally made up my mind about it. I had always given myself dates that were a long time away and I had enough. So I may or may not go through with it soon. Guess it will all depend on how I feel that day and where I do want to end it. I am trying to stay so I can see my psych again but I just can’t anymore. The pain is too great and from what I read about the medication my pcp wants to try me on, I just can’t deal with both physical and mental pain at the same time. My heart is broken since I said a temporary goodbye with my psych and I hate having to continue my care at the place she was forced out of. I met her when I was a teen so she is a child psychiatrist. The new psych specializes in geriatric psychiatry. I have gone from one end of the spectrum to the other. I emailed my psych this but didn’t get a response. Also emailed her about what my pcp wants to do with my pain management, which isn’t going to be anytime soon. After 28 years of dealing with my mental illness, I have to call it quits. Monday I had to go to the ER to rule out cauda equina again because of my bladder issues and severe back pain. My degenerative disc disease has gone from mild to moderate and nothing can be done about it. So in addition to being in pain in one shape or other, what the fuck do I have to live for and why?