the truth, really?

They tell you to be truthful because they want to help. They say it will only help you, in the end. I partially believe them and then I tell the truth. What happens? They send me to these awful hospitals that never help.
Just because I say I feel hopeless. Just because I harm myself, doesn’t mean I need to be hospitalized. Just because death is an everyday thought, doesn’t mean I plan on acting on those thoughts.
Who can I talk to without fear? No one understands.

Here we go again…

I just burned myself for the first time in a long time. So long, I’d stopped counting. I would be beating myself up over it but it felt so good.

I feel lower than low, right now. I have so much self hate right now, I’m running through ways to make myself even more ugly, more invisible, and basically make my physical appearance mimic how I feel inside. I want to shave my head and dye it black. I want to burn my arms all over and never shower, get dressed, or brush my teeth.

I feel like nothing. I am nothing but a burden. The world would be better off without me, but I can’t even manage to properly kill myself. I’m lost.

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.

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.

I feel like a monster.

I feel like there’s this, monster inside of me that’s trying really hard to make me do bad things. It’s trying to make me hurt myself. It’s trying to make me not go to work. It’s trying to make me not do my homework and take too many pills or lay in bed all day. So far, it’s succeeded on several occasions and I’m finding it harder to tell this monster to fuck off. These past couple weeks have been brutal. I have been fighting and pushing and trying to hard to stave off this depressive episode, but it’s here and baby it’s strong. I feel like I’m wrapped safely, if you’d like to call it that, in it’s dark, dank, humid blanket of misery and crying and suicidal thoughts.

Texts to friends at all hours of the night. Sitting on the edge of the bed wondering whether or not tonight you’ll be sitting in the ER about to go inpatient. Wondering how you’ll explain to your job and to school that you’ll be missing several days, possibly a week, and you can’t really tell them why. Laying in bed and not bathing for three days. Bowls and plates piling up until you have nowhere left to put them and you end up tripping over them. Running out of laundry and deciding to hand wash a few pairs of underwear in the sink. The litter box stinks. The cats need some loving. Your house smells.

Yep, depression had made itself right at home. If you’re lucky enough to have a roommate, like me, it doesn’t get near this bad. The cats get fed, I get fed, etc. He even kicks my ass and makes me go to work and will even do my laundry from time to time. He even knows the appropriate times to force me to get out of bed and go lay on the couch.  Tonight he made me go, GASP, grocery shopping! It took half a Klonopin but I did it and it felt okay.

I’m trying so hard, I really am. This monster is just trying harder and I can feel the tug and pull. Everyone around me is tugging and pulling too. They are trying to keep me from sinking into the pit of my bed but I don’t know if it’s too late.

I keep getting these horrible visions in my head. I like to blame them on the monster because I really don’t have them any other time. I keep seeing myself committing violent acts against myself that I normally wouldn’t do otherwise. Slicing my wrists, hanging myself, jumping of bridges, etc. etc. The usual, except they’re all extremely vivid visualizations and extremely disturbing. My preferred “method” (we all have one, us suicidal people) is to OD, so all of these particularly violent ways are just not my style.  The issue I’m having with the visualizations the most is the extreme feeling of relief I get when I have them. It’s not shock or horror, it’s relief. I think that’s what scares me the most.

I was also riding in the car tonight and out of nowhere a thought occurred to me, a very disturbing one: I am going to die young. I will not live very long at all.  Again, I felt extreme peace and relief when I thought this, almost like weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I then realized that maybe that wasn’t normal. People aren’t supposed to feel that way when they think something like that. Shit, they aren’t supposed to think thoughts like that to begin with.

Well, we know I’m not “normal”, right?

I can’t be alone in this, can I? Has anyone else felt extreme relief or peace when thinking these types of thoughts?