Three years…

It’s been a really tumultuous three years but I’m still here, fighting and whining and bitching and crying and, well, healing. I’ve been with my current therapist for three years! It’s just, well, it’s just unbelievable. First off, you’re not supposed to go past 10-12 sessions at the women’s center where I see her, so three years is unheard of. I don’t know how she’s worked it out, but I’m very grateful. I only pay $15 a session and wouldn’t be able to afford anything more than that. Second, I should have died a few times by now if it weren’t for her help. I almost successfully committed suicide in August and I’ve been hospitalized three subsequent times since. She’s been there for me the whole time, as much as she was able to.

I’m terrified that she will leave the women’s center she’s been at (she’s been getting her hours for license certification) and go elsewhere. If it’s somewhere in Jacksonville and we can work on price, I’ll be fine. The problem is, she live in Amelia Island, and I cannot afford to drive that far for therapy. I’m dreading the day she tells me that she is leaving. I don’t think I can handle it. I guess until then, I will cherish every session with her.

swinging back and forth

This weekend I was devastatingly depressed, until Sunday. Sunday was a good day. And now today, I’m back to laying in bed with the covers pulled up over my head. I missed PHP, again. I don’t feel like dealing with the dog, eating, or finishing laundry.
My psychiatrist will probably say it’s a problem with my meds.
My therapists will know that it’s because I’m alone. Plain and simple. I cannot take being alone. Nothing throws me into a depressive slump quicker. This makes me feel weak and like a burden. I smother those around me. I’m terrified of being alone.

Journal entry 5/10/12

I have to go through therapy because of you. What are you doing right now?!

you lied to my mom and she blamed me. She insisted nothin happened. She said I remembered things wrong. I can visualize that night like a movie, running in my head.

i won’t be sad the day you die. I don’t care about you at all. You’ve made me distrust me because you violated my trust. Who the hell does that to a child?! Sick people do what you did.

dont ever contact me again. I don’t even want to acknowledge your existence.