hsphaven

Everything is so shit. Everything is so broken. Everything is so fucked up. My dad has spent the last few days trying to fix the garage door which the cops broke when they busted into the garage to stop me from killing myself. Thankfully I am ok from the attempt. But I’m still suffering from the overdose all those months ago. I can’t sleep and I can’t lie on my right side as it sounds like someone’s thumping a basket ball in my ear. I found out it’s another form of tinnitus called “pulsatile tinnitus”…. just what I need. How ironic and cruel that I overdosed because I couldn’t cope with my tinnitus, and now it is even worse. Last night I was so distressed I punched myself in the face. I saw a neurologist who suggested a medication called propranolol. He said it might help with a number of my issues. But it takes months to work, and if you want to get off it you have to taper or you will get withdrawals. It sounds like a bit of a gamble. I don’t need even more problems, and so many of my issues were caused by drugs in the first place. I’m not sure it’s going to treat the issue anyway. It’s often given to people with high blood pressure, but I have low blood pressure.

I was discharged from hospital a few days ago. I felt it was a little early. The nurses were actually nice and I would have stayed longer, but it was too noisy. Outside my room was a phone charging station. Some annoying prick would leave their phone in there and it had an alarm or something which would go off at all hours. It would go off at 4am, waking me up. The alarm wouldn’t stop either. I was also outside the laundry which would beep constantly, and the ward was being renovated. I left the hospital in a horrible way, as I usually do. I desperately needed my own space but live with my dad. I snapped at him to leave me alone and spent a lot of time in bed thinking about suicide still and contemplating knocking myself out with pills. The next day I knocked on a neighbour’s door who I heard has drugs. A lady answered. She said they have dope. I told her it was heroin I was looking for. She then looked extremely uncomfortable and told me they don’t sell heroin.

After my discharge from hospital I was followed up by the Crisis Assessment and Treatment Team (CATT). I met with two of them over telehealth, an old man and a younger female. I told them I was expecting two other clinicians. There was no apology, the man just told me that there are lots of them and they were allocated the shift. The man immediately rubbed me up the wrong way. He was unfriendly, had absolutely no empathy, dismissed the things that were troubling me and gave me no hope. I told him about the buzzing sensation on my head which I believe was caused by one of the drugs they gave me years ago.

“There’s nothing we can do about that,” the man told me, and asked me to talk about my mental health.

They asked me how they could help but refused to satisfy my answers. I said perhaps a referral back to my case management team might be helpful. The man told me the hospital had written a referral and the case management service would not take me back.

“I feel like fucking burning down their clinic!” I told him.

“You will go to prison if you do that,” he said. “They have a right not to accept you.”

He said it was because I didn’t engage with them.

“I was engaging with them for years until they took away my case worker who I had a good relationship with!” I told him.

I explained that I was so traumatised I withdrew from them, but I was now willing to accept a new case worker. They all kept using the same lame excuse that I do not engage.

“You’re not looking at the present situation,” I told him.

The old bag then told me I need to prove I will engage with mental health professionals such as psychologists, who he accused me of disengaging with as well. That is when I completely lost it.

“My psychologist was the one who disengaged from ME!!!!!!!” I screamed at him. “I was seeing her every week for years until she told me I was too “unstable” to work with and ended it with me! They’re all cunts!”

I told them I would be ending this session right now, and I logged off. I then just sat there gobsmacked wondering what the fuck was that. How could they just turn it all around on me and accuse me of “disengaging” yet when I go to hospital asking for help I am frequently sent home. When I work with therapists I give it my all and then they terminate the relationship, leaving me with nothing.

I had to cancel everything I had on later that day as I was so upset. I was about to meet with my editor. I wrote a very heated email telling her what just happened and how I couldn’t meet. The next day I got a call from her boss saying my editor is not a therapist and I should talk to someone else about that stuff like a therapist. I feel like I’m being pushed back into the very system which has injured me.

My mood swings and energy levels continue to be a little wild. My rage is like wildfire. The night after speaking with CATT I made 12 posts to Facebook. I posted the song “Fuck You” which captures the sound of cold loathing, an anthem for the mental health system. I told Facebook that I have never hated anyone as much as I hate mental health professionals. I was going to catch a taxi to my friend’s place and swim in the sea like we did recently but then I crashed and went to bed for a bit, though I could not sleep. Then he went to bed. Later that night my posts turned from anger to despair and defeat. I have had moments of productivity this week. I managed to cook dinner two nights in a row. I am usually too depressed to cook dinner. I designed a few new badges as well. I also went through a bit of a “manic urge to purge”, as Julie A. Fast writes about here. It was very unlike me as somebody who is a hoarder and struggles to let go of anything. I now regret selling my cool Emily the Strange black and white striped dress. I sold it for $15. I didn’t realise it has become a collector’s item and someone else on ebay is selling it for hundreds of dollars.

Now, on top of everything else, I’m sick as well, though I can deal with it. I know it will pass, unlike the pounding I hear in my ear and the buzzing sensation on my head. I wish I could crawl out of my fucking skin. Sometimes I wish that overdose I took had of killed me. I have suffered enough.