When you SI, make sure to wear cute bandaids to cheer you up

I carved “dirty” into my leg last night and I didn’t even want to. I got halfway in and it hurt. I wanted to stop, but my obsessive, impulsivity (OCD) wouldn’t allow me to not finish. I’ve got to get this shit under control. I sign contract after contract stating I won’t harm myself, yet when I’m under duress, I am apathetic to everything else.

i think i may need help soon *trigger warning for self injury*

I think I’m falling apart and quickly. I am currently surviving hour by hour, which feels awful. I want to sleep and take pills all day and not do anything.
I was rejected by someone I liked and it’s because I’m fucking crazy.
I want to die.

Validation exists just…

Validation exists just outside the reach of my fingertips and yet, ah!
Overwhelming agitation at everyone and most of all myself.
This leads me to punish and beat myself up every night. This is a never-ending cycle, as of late, and I can’t seem to break free. The more friends and colleagues I make, both online and in real life, the harder it becomes to cope.

My social skills seem okay from the outside but really, truly, I am one sick pup.

Validation, please. Por favor! Anyone? I’m truly sick of being ignored. I feel like I’m screaming from the rooftops of my skull but everyone is deaf, even my therapist.
What the fuck, man?

Medication is a necessity for me. *UPDATE*

I am lost right now. My medications have been reduced to almost nothing, and for those of you who live with mental illness and require them, you understand how this feels.

I was to undergo a sleep study last week for narcolepsy, finally.Apparently you’re not allowed to be on certain medications while you undergo sleep studies because they can give false results. Whatever. So, I had to begin the fun task of titrating down off of my anti-D and Vyvanse. I say titrate, but really, it wasn’t very slow. They cut me in half for a week, then cut me off. I crashed and I crashed hard. I don’t believe it was a result of just the meds, but a combination of the medications plus, my shit life.

I began burning again, I missed work, slept all day, stayed up all night, and now I’m back to splitting again in my relationships. A lot of black and white thinking occurring over here! Some serious depression happening, which is bringing out my my BPD symptoms. I feel isolated, alone, and like no one cares. I’m picking fights with Chris. I’m abandoning my few acquaintances I do have on Facebook, just because I don’t think they’re reaching out to me. I even began abusing my Klonopin again.  Spiral down wardssssss.

I found out a few days after visiting the doctor that they did not accept the clinic I went to, so my appointment would be pushed to April 30th. Yep, I am now going to have to wait. So, what about my medications? Well, the nurses couldn’t answer that question. I made several calls to find out and it took 4 days to finally get an answer: I was to take 50mg of my anti-D (I normally take 150mg) and do not resume the Vyvanse. 4 days prior to the study, stop taking the anti-D. YAY!

Today is the 19th and I missed work, I haven’t showered in two days, and I’m crying over everything. I have zero motivation, I’m apathetic, and I’m pretty much pissy. I just want a hug, but I want it from the people who aren’t here to give one to me. I want, I want, I want what I cannot and will not get/have.

I feel so utterly shitty and alone. I want someone to pet my hair and treat me like a sick 7 year old. I want a caring mother. I want to lay in bed and be loved and listen to music and eat junk and whine and do what I WANT.

No stress. No worry on my mind.

Instead, I have to act like I’m not mentally fucked. I have to act like I’m not disappointed that people aren’t acting concerned. I have to pretend, like always. I’m tired of it.

 

My scars are fading…

I just found my quarter from last year. It’s what they give you when you graduate intensive outpatient at Baptist hospital. This would have been around the time I was getting out too, I believe. I had painted it with glitter nail polish and then super-glued it to a necklace piece that I searched every craft store around for, I cared that much about it. I cared deeply about the woman running the IO course. I was so attached to being inpatient, I didn’t want to let go. I still kind of fantasize about it. I think I’m going to bring my quarter to therapy on Thursday and show my therapist. I can’t believe it’s been a year.

It’s also been so long since I’ve burned, I don’t have any real noticeable scars, except to myself and to those who know where they are. When I’ve shown those who didn’t know me when I burned, they were surprised. I even got lazy and stopped using the oil and they still faded away, it’s been that long!
Temptation hovers every time I’m triggered but I am managing, somehow.

My Inner Critic Is Bein’ a Bitch Right Now

I think I may journal later though about this “guilt shaming/paranoia” thing I’ve got going on lately. It’s odd and I don’t quite know how to describe it correctly right now but, it’s uncomfortable and unpleasant and negative. I guess you could say that it’s a very intense critic inside myself that has been too harsh and has basically been shaming myself for having certain feelings, like guilt, paranoia, etc. and also for not doing things I should be doing like calling my Dad or doing the dishes. It’s my inner critic being really, really, REALLY nasty lately and I don’t know why.

Tight spaces, hard places

A new, and somewhat troubling, symptom I’m having is a need and desire to retreat to uncomfortable small enclosures when triggered. I want to bring my tweezers, lighter, journal, and music into my closet, or the bathtub, or between the wall and my bed. I want to pull my legs up to my body as tight as I can and then I want to disappear. I’ve never experienced this desire before and it’s starting to worry me. While the action is not dangerous, it makes me feel psychotic. I feel like I’m quite close to being locked up because I refuse to speak and won’t stop rocking back and forth.

In her book, Loud in the House of Myself, Stacy Pershall describes how she would retreat to her closet as a child. She would purposely position herself on top of her shoes so that she was uncomfortable and “suffering”. She would then take out all of her negative emotions and the hurtful things school mates said and write them on her body with marker.

What about this brings comfort? Does it help or hurt? I’d be interested in finding out how many others experience the urge to hide and squeeze themselves into tight spaces. Why do they do it? What do they feel afterward?

Does this feeling have anything to do with regression? Am I flashing back to childhood emotion? Is it because I want to hide so I can inflict pain and punishment on myself, in peace?