Saturday, September 23, 2017

Hopeless? Worthless?

I am really struggling with being out of the hospital. I am back to wondering if I am really capable of living. I remember times where I was able to go to school or work and be good at things. I don't know what happened. I don't know if I just reached a certain age and ran out of that ability, or somehow alcohol fucked it all up. Except before alcohol, I had bulimia and self harm, and I managed ok.

I am pretty suicidal again. I keep thinking of my family. Is it worse for them to lose me or to live with a daughter who cannot live outside of the hospital? My dad is out of town for work. My mom was supposed to go with him, but now she is here keeping an eye on me. My birthday was yesterday, and we haven't really celebrated. They are spending money to feed me and take care of me. I can't possibly ask for gifts because I feel too guilty about being the 31 year old daughter that can't take care of herself. Except, I still believe that there is something inherently wrong with me that makes me unable to live. I think I was born defective.

I am still suicidal. I hate the question about having a plan because to me it is normal to have a plan. I am trying to just give ECT a shot. I am trying not to think about the future. I still honestly feel like escape is better. So I am drinking.. except that may lead to the need for detox.

I want to plan for the apartment. I want to think about working. I need to be focused on no more than tomorrow.

I am bothered by something small. I went on facebook because I knew people wished me happy birthday. One friend said happy birthday and she hopes I am doing ok. It just made me wonder what everyone thinks. How obvious is it that I am going crazy?

I don't do this often, but if you read this I could use some comments. I don't know what. I just want someone to tell me to keep fighting. I want to believe that I have a future. I want to believe that I am not just a mistake that is inconveniencing my family. I don't know how to turn all this into something positive. I just keep thinking that it would hurt less to end it now. It would hurt me and everyone else less.

Tonight I drink to avoid doing anything worse. I know that I could do worse. Instead I will try for now to stay alive.

Friday, September 22, 2017

Home again

I think I last updated before being transferred to the psych ward. It took most of Monday for them to arrange the transfer. The issue was that I had mentioned ECT, and only a handful of hospitals around here do it. Originally, the one I have been to had no beds, so she mentioned 2 others. I started crying and said I didn't care because by Monday I was exhausted and had been without meds for days, so I couldn't process anything. I texted my mom something about the options, and she mentioned that my dad wanted me to call my apartment complex and ask to stay another month. I then ended up curled up crying uncontrollably with my poor sitter asking if I was ok. I somehow managed to get my shit together and call. Then the social worker said that the hospital now had a bed. I just waited for transport.

My first day 2 days at the psych ward are a blur. I transferred and did all the assessments and tried to negotiate with the nurse to get my Seroquel. I ended up getting something else and crashing at 8:30. The next day I slept through breakfast. I stumbled out of bed for vitals and to see the doctor. I had a breakdown over lunch because they didn't tell me I had to order vegetarian in advance. This happened after I went for an X-RAY and returned to find my roommate locked out of our room. I ended up just insisting I didn't want lunch and just wanted to go back to bed. They let me in my room. I cried and then slept until dinner. I went to bed by 9 again.

I started ECT Wednesday. I then ate lunch and slept until dinner. Thursday I finally went to a few groups, which was as pointless as I expected. The doctor started me back on wellbutrin. The first sign I was feeling better is that I had enough energy to read. Wednesday after ECT I just sat and stared into space because I couldn't focus on a book.

Today I had ECT again. The doctor had said I would be discharged today or Monday. I pleaded for today. Groups don't help, so I just want to be back with my parents. So I was discharged. My parents are locking up my meds. I gave them the meds in my room that they hadn't taken. They didn't touch the vodka in the bathroom.. I haven't mentioned it. I did drink a bit.

I am still having passing suicidal thoughts, but they are getting better. I just want to be out of the hospital. I have to go back Monday for ECT. I have 6 more treatments before I get a break. That also means I am not supposed to drive, so I am relying on my parents. I am safer than I was. I hope things continue to improve.

Monday, September 18, 2017


I'm still alive. After the overdose, I was in the ER, then ICU, then a regular room. I was declared medically stable Friday but spent the weekend waiting for insurance to approve transfer to a psych ward. I haven't been given my meds since Thursday, so I am an emotional mess. They only gave me ambien and Ativan. I now can't even get Ativan because my brilliant destructive self pulled out my IV yesterday. I have had a sitter the whole time, so I am never alone. The nurses are nice, but this has all been humiliating and depressing. I am transferring today, so I will try a proper update when I get out.

Thursday, September 14, 2017

Awful night and awful day

Last night I drank a bottle of vodka, and I took 12 60mg duloxetine and a few extra butter. I fell asleep. Sadly, I woke up. I felt off.. blurry vision, tremors. I went php. I debated talking to the nurse.

Then my therapist pulls me out to work on my treatment plan. But I couldn't walk. My entire body was shaking. She and another therapist helped me into a chair. The nurse came and got the details of what I took. They had me call my dad to come get me, but then they decided to call an ambulance. Everyone has been kind. Well my parents... my dad looked overwhelmed and my mom looked angry. I didn't expect them not to be angry. I just also expected some love and gratitude that I failed

I honestly had hoped the tremors would get better, and I could have gone home. Then I would have done it again. I am seriously considering refusing to go inpatient. Then I will a hotel room and a lot of vodka and pills

But for tonight, I am chilling in the ICU. Getting fluids and benzos (for the shaking)

I will update when there's more to say

Wednesday, September 13, 2017


Things are quite bad. After the minor overdose Sunday, I have been obsessing over doing it again. I've also had tremors and muscle twitches that I think are related to that. I only told one friend about it.

PHP has been upsetting today. The doctor asked if I thought it was helping and how long I wanted to continue. Then she saw that my insurance has only approved through today. She talked to the person dealing with them and was basically told that because my suicidal thoughts are chronic and not getting better, they may not give me any more days. So basically I feel like help just isn't possible for me. I should just give up because even insurance has given up.

I tried to call my psychiatrist. They claim I have multiple no shows, so the psychiatrist wants to talk to me before deciding to schedule anything. I only remember cancelling the last appointment at the last minute. I've spent most of the past 3 months in treatment, so I couldn't make another appointment. It's not my fault nobody contacted him while I was in treatment. So I may not have a psychiatrist anymore.

After finding all that out, I go back to group and everyone is talking about suicide.. a patient's husband's suicide, their attempts, their thoughts. I sat there silently thinking of my own plans but seeing no point in telling them. The therapist asked toward the end for people to say someone who was quiet in group they wanted to hear from. They mentioned me and another man. The therapist called on him and spent the rest of process group on him. I never spoke, and this may be my last day.

So I may be beyond all help now.

**Edit** I was extended until Friday for php. I made a psychiatrist appointment for next week after the awkwardness of him saying how I owed $40 for the appointment I cancelled at 3am the day of. I did this. I acted normal. I pulled a ton of weeds from my parents garden.

I also finished a 375ml bottle of vodka. Then I bought more. I took a lot of pills (duloxetine, buspar, and my usual Seroquel). I went to AA. I called my ex sponsor to say how well I am doing. I guess I will see what happens. I truly appreciate everyone who reads this. I am so much more able to write if someone cares. Whatever happens, thank you.

Monday, September 11, 2017

Staying alive

I am mainly writing to say I am still around. If anyone has read my recent posts, I didn't want to worry anyone by not writing.

Things are still pretty rough. Yesterday I went back to my apartment. I went to AA first, and I cried pretty uncontrollably. I was still very much in my head and not sure what I could say. I didn't want to say I am suicidal. I haven't really told anyone that. But yeah.. uncontrollable crying.

My friend B was there, and she asked me to hang out afterwards. She pretty much insisted I get in her car. We did an errand she needed to do, and we went to my apartment. I picked up my tablet and some more clothes. We discussed what to do with the apartment.. what I am keeping and what I am getting rid of. We didn't actually clean anything. Then I spent a few hours hanging out at a house she is petsitting at. I think the plan is to work on the apartment Tuesday.

I don't remember if I mentioned the conversation with my parents last week. It was basically that they talked to my counselor from rehab about wishing there were more resources to help people with severe depression. I made a comment about how having insurance means that I might not get much assistance. My mom said that I will lose my insurance. I don't know if they are assuming that I am not going to get a job or that I am not able to work.. or I am just overreacting. In my mind, it made me feel lazy. Like I should be looking for work, which I planned to start soon. I wanted a week to focus on treatment and getting used to being home. But of course my reaction was to apply for a bunch of jobs. I assumed that I wouldn't hear back right away, but I received an email from one company asking me to come do a typing test Monday morning. That would mean skipping php. I ended up deciding to reply that I couldn't come Monday and see if they respond. Then I got an email about a cashier job I applied for. They want to schedule an interview for Monday. I panicked and cried while debating if I should go. Honestly, I don't think I am well enough to work retail. I don't think I can handle php, cleaning my apartment, and that. I called B and she agreed that it was ok not to respond. It feels selfish but what I did afterwards is further evidence that I am not well.

I swear if my parents looked at my recent Google searches, that would be a bad conversation. Basically, I have searched repeatedly about the effects of overdoses on each of my meds. After the conversation with B, I decided to go ahead and take 4 or 5 extra wellbutrin. I am not sure how many and 3 buspar. Nothing happened. So I later took 3 duloxetine. Still no problems.. although I am sure my liver isn't happy with me. I didn't expect to die. I think I did it on the off chance that I would have a seizure and end up in the hospital.

I know I should be in the hospital. I spend too much time thinking about self destructive things, and it was far too easy to convince myself to take the pills. Still, I don't want to go. I don't want to seem like this is about attention or avoiding responsibilities. I also know that I do have things I should be doing. I do wonder if I feel more comfortable inpatient than out in the real world. There is something really appealing about it. I get to be surrounded by crazy people, so I don't feel different. The world becomes tiny and controlled. I don't have hope or dreams for the future, so it is easier to focus on the present when I am locked away. I don't know if I am going to tell anyone what I did.

I am probably going to take a break from job hunting. I probably should ask my doctor if I should be working. I need to only apply for jobs that I am interested in. Cashier at an electronics store sounds miserable. I am also considering trying ECT again because I don't think my meds are helping. I can't really work and do that. I am trying to not get overwhelmed by everything I need to do. So for now I am just going to sleep.

Tuesday, September 5, 2017

Why bother?

I went to my assessment for PHP today. I was about 90% honest, and so I just barely managed to convince them to give me a shot. I knew from the beginning that I was taking a risk when the form asked if I had a plan to harm myself, and I checked yes. I met with a doctor and social worker. The doctor asked what the plan was and how I could be sure that I would stay safe. I pretty much just said that I wouldn't do it. The social worker talked to me longer and asked the same thing. I told her that I doubted that the plan would kill me, and I would have to face my parents after. I did say that I was trying to come up with ways to make it work (so at least I end up in the hospital). I was honest about feeling totally hopeless. She agreed to let me try day program. She said if I hadn't just gotten out of treatment, she would say I need to be in the hospital. I could tell both her and the doctor weren't very comfortable with the suicidal thoughts. I can't say I blame them. I really can't promise that I won't do something stupid. I just don't think that going inpatient will help. I don't think outpatient will either, but at least it leaves me with the ability to deal with the apartment. I honestly don't know why I am bothering with anything. No matter how hard I try, I cannot see things getting better. I see myself relapsing. I see myself in and out of treatment. I see my family being angry. I see myself dying young.

I hate this. I hate being different. I hate being fucked up. I hate the very real possibility that I will always be depressed. I hate not feeling like I have any way to fix this.