hsphaven

“How could Maroondah discharge me like this?” I wrote to my therapist at 5:11AM on Sunday. “I was so depressed I couldn’t even shower or get changed. I wore the same clothes the entire 6 days I was there. I tried to kill myself multiple times on the ward. I was suicidal the day they discharged me. I’ve been mute for a month. Now I’m home I’m trying to medicate the lows with ADD stimulants and now my brain is melting out of my fucking ears. I can’t sleep, I can’t look after myself, I sit on the laptop for 15+ hours straight, day and night and I get headaches all the time. I don’t know what the fuck this is but it’s not just a fucked up personality. But that’s all they see, an annoying bpd bitch who shouldn’t be kept in hospital or else she’ll become dependent. No other patient is treated this way. I feel like maybe there’s something really wrong with me medically. Like my nails break all the time now and I get bruises all over my legs and I have no idea what from. I probably have scarring all over my brain from a lifetime of trauma. They should have organised an MRI for me in the hospital, and they should have made sure I got a quiet room rather than leave me behind a pathetic blue curtain where I was going mental having to listen to everyone else’s conversations. I didn’t get much sleep there either as they were waking me up at 8am every morning to offer me a tablet of olanzapine full of shit like talc and does fuck all for me anyway so I refused it every time and asked them to stop waking me but they kept doing it. So I was kinda glad to go, but I’m not ok.”

At 8:46AM I was still awake so wrote him another email.

“Well I’m totally fucked now,” I wrote. “My eyes are blurry from staring at the laptop for so long and not sleeping. You’d think lack of sleep would make someone tired, but it can actually swing you in the other direction and make you manic. I’m trying to sleep now but have no doubt killed off my melatonin, I’m cranked up and restless as fuck, I was nauseous and I’m in pain. It’s so friggin bad. I consider going to the ED but I know they don’t give a shit about me and there’s a point where you’re actually too sick for hospital even. You have absolutely no energetic boundaries, you can’t hack the noise, you can’t hack all the sickness and people around you, it all just makes you sicker. But I get so stressed here at home too because of the neighbour. It’s distressing to be so sick and in a sleep crisis and when you finally do get to sleep you are then woken by the cunt next door. It’s not fair. This world is killing me. I should make an appointment with a GP and try get some more diazapam, which I’m running out of, or something stronger. Hopefully I’m not red on the system. It’s such a confusing condition, I don’t know whether I need uppers or downers. I seem to have really sporadic and strange reactions to meds as well. There was a point when I was in Maroondah where they gave me so many benzos, they gave me olanzapine, they gave me melatonin and still it did nothing. They were shocked that soon enough I was up again. I was impossible to sedate. I feel like my insides are going to explode. I was born like this, I had an insane amount of energy even as a kid and little need for sleep too apparently. People would tell my mum they’d rather look after 10 kids than one kid like me. But now it has turned into something quite unhealthy and unpleasant as I have depression, rage and all these unpleasant physical symptoms intermingled with it as well. I just want to die, I want it all to be over. Sick of this fucking buzzing on my head. Those evil bullets Effexor destroyed my life. The mental health system has destroyed my life. They were meant to help me. Why do the people and things that are meant to help me just make me worse!”

I finally slept on Sunday night. But sometimes I think I may as well not even sleep, because the next day I just wake up feeling so depressed, nauseous and sick. It’s not restful sleep at all.

I had a dream about Gill, my last psychologist, on Sunday night. She was having an end of year gathering for all her clients, in this dark shadowy place in the forest. I knew she was emotionally dangerous but I still went. I just stayed outside swimming in this pond/pool.

Gill was a psychologist, not even a disability support worker like Damien, and even she gave up on me. She told me I was too “unstable” to work with and should stay in a Community Care Unit with 24/7 staff. She left me in such a bad state that I needed an ambulance after the session. She didn’t even call it herself, it was called by two kind members of the public who found me lying by the side of the road. Gill saw the ambulance arrive but didn’t even bother to stay and speak with my parents and the paramedics. She turned her back on all of us and left.

I had become quite attached to Gill. She had two crochet otters creatively called Ginny and Harry Otter. She leant me Ginny when she went on holidays and told me she’d keep Harry in her bag with her wherever she went to keep a connection with me, like friendship charms. I wrote this poem about Gill when our relationship ended. I called it “The White Rabbit” after her Facebook profile picture (when she found out I’d found her on there, she blocked me, changed her profile picture to a white rabbit like in project MK Ultra and changed her name you “Yu Cantfindme”, which I thought was very immature.

Despite waking up feeling like shit, I still managed to go to the lake with a friend and a guy she lives with on Monday which was nice. My friend is an underrated, autistic artist who designs mandalas. I turned her mandalas into badges, and have been looking forward to showing her them. They turned out really well.

“We will sell them and get rich,” I told her.

I am hoping the badges will help give her some publicity and help with her living situation. She has started a campaign to try and get her place connected to the grid. She has lived her entire life in a shack in the bush without water or electricity. But what she does seem to have is social connection. She lives with a number of guys and they are all in a polygamous relationship. The guy she brought along seems lovely, and was happy to give me a massage and some physical, non-sexual touch. At first I felt nothing but then it started to really calm me. But when I returned home I just waned to bawl my eyes out and felt so uncomfortable in my own skin. Seeing people exhausts me. I just need my own space to come home to, but the minute I get in the door my dad pounces on me and tries to talk to me and interact with me. And because I can’t yell at him to fuck off I just try to grab my phone and storm off into my bedroom.

“There is something about my place that just keeps me sick and overwhelmed,” I wrote to my therapist. “Even when I’m tired I can’t get any rest because I feel so agitated and overwhelmed physiologically. Quite honestly I feel attacked here. I wouldn’t be surprised if the police want to know where I’m staying so badly so they can direct all the 5G energy at me.”

I sat up again that evening writing him more emails about how much I wanted to be euthanised or anesthetised. Sometimes I wish I had of let the hospital give me ketamine, as they originally wanted to do, instead of going missing and trying to deal with my distress by myself which eventuated in me trying to suffocate myself with a plastic bin bag.

“But sometimes when you love someone, you have to let them go,” I quoted from this article about a dutch woman my age with similar issues who got approval for euthanasia on the grounds of relentless, untreatable mental suffering.

“People think that when you’re mentally ill, you can’t think straight, which is insulting,” she told the Guardian.

I sent him another article about another young woman who got euthanised.

“Enough is enough”, it said.

“My suffering is not only mental, it is physical too, as is often the case,” I told my therapist. “I have chronic pain. I have chronic nerve issues. People say suicide is selfish but what’s selfish is expecting someone who’s suffering so much to stay here.”

I told him that I didn’t want to have to attempt suicide again as I might survive it even more fucked up, but I was being pushed that way as euthanasia is not legal in our country. I once tried emailing a doctor overseas about getting euthanised but I didn’t hear back and am not sure what the process is.

I felt like a prisoner in my own house. I was hungry but I was scared to leave my bedroom to go to the kitchen as I couldn’t stand being around my dad. There was not much in the kitchen to eat anyway. I don’t have it in me to make a proper meal, or even go to the shops to get groceries like milk. It’s nothing new, it’s been like this my entire adult life and I don’t see it changing. My tolerance for this level of dysfunction and suffering is just growing more and more thin.

I really really hate this time of year. I look back on the year and it’s been another year I’ve barely managed to stagger through. I look ahead to another year that is always exactly the same, if not worse. And meanwhile all around you people are CELEBRATING and wishing you a “merry” fucking Christmas. It’s like waving a red flag in front of a bull. I don’t know what world everyone else lives in, but it’s not mine. Then on top of this I lose all my supports.

“There’s no point sending me to hospital as there is no help there and in fact the way they treat me makes me want to kill myself even more,”  I told my therapist. “I wish it wasn’t like this. I wish help exists, but it doesn’t. And during my darkest hour I feel in fact no one really exists, that I am hallucinating everyone and am ultimately completely alone in the universe. And there is no way to prove that isn’t the case. I guess even if it’s make believe I can still go along with it and derive some deluded sense of enjoyment from it.”

I descended into a terrible place last night. About a year ago I got a massage from a Chinese medicine practitioner as my GP thought the buzzing sensation on my head might be caused by muscle tension. The massage is what left me with chronic pain. It feels like what I imagine arthritis feels like, and has been distressing me a lot lately. I took some nurofen but it did nothing. So last night I decided to take something stronger containing codeine. I thought it might help with a number of things- my physical pain (I also had a headache), my emotional pain and my sleep, as it often relaxes me. It did seem to help at first. I felt a sense of calm I have not felt in a very long time. I still struggled to fall asleep. But what did happen at one point was I went out of my body for a bit. It doesn’t usually do that to me. But it was a relief, I liked it. I wondered if I was dying. I wasn’t scared. It didn’t last long sadly. Then I felt like the drug was wearing off and I started getting restless and upset again. So I got up and made a cup of peppermint tea.

I then got a second wind with the good feeling of relaxation, and started drifting off. But then I had this scary as fuck thing happen which I don’t even know what to call. It was sort of like a dream, but not like a normal dream. I was at my old house I grew up in. I needed help. I was dying, and I was calling out for my mum. But I couldn’t reach her. It then turned into sort of like another scary episode of sleep paralysis. I was trying to feel for my phone next to my bed to contact someone and call an ambulance but I couldn’t as I was out of my body and stuck in this other realm where I couldn’t interact with this one. I could hear what sounded like hammering, and I was thinking it’s awfully early for someone to start hammering as it’s still dark. I had sort of been hearing things earlier in the night too after I took the codeine, like random voices in my head, the sound of a young child playing and laughing. Nothing particularly sinister or loud. I was pretty blissed out and didn’t think much of it. But it all took this horrifying turn. I then finally snapped out of it and woke up. I think I had stopped breathing in my sleep. I thought I was having a stroke or something. Or maybe it was some kind of flashback. All I know is my death wish almost came true, and it was not peaceful like I had imagined.

I felt like both my parents had failed me in their own ways. I hated my family. I hated pretty much everyone. There are no words for how much I hated coming to in Box Hill hospital’s behavioural assessment room (after Delmont gave me the boot) and seeing my dad sitting there on the other side of the glass. I felt like an animal in an aquarium. I feel estranged from everyone and everything. I have species dysphoria and don’t even feel human, even on a physical level. I don’t know who I can trust and I will not speak to anyone now. I have had to endure the worst times of my life alone.

I fell asleep again and then had an even worse experience where I couldn’t wake up. I was calling out for help but I don’t think any sound came through. All I could hear was this whipper snipper which was driving me demented. I was having all these false awakenings where just when I thought I’d woken up I realised something was off and I was still stuck in a dream. It was another one of my imposter dreams where everyone was lying to me/gaslighting me. My mum would say it’s real, that she was real, but it wasn’t the person I knew. There were different cars in the driveway, and my mum would be fucking around with some stranger in one of the cars. I didn’t even recognise her. Finally I managed to claw my way back to this present day reality. I was shaking and panicking and wondering whether even this was real.

“Is this real? Is this fucking real? Are you fucking real?” I texted my therapist. “What is the date? What is this? Please tell me this is real. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. I’m terrified to sleep now. Everyone’s lying to me. Everyone’s fucking with my head. I can’t wake up. What the fuck is this like the fucking matrix or something!!!!!!!!”

“It is real and there is a matrix too,” my therapist replied. “The date is December 17.”

“Omg “ was all I said back, with a crying emoji. 

My dream told me my current place of residence was “toxic” and there were only two places that were safe. I don’t know if I can stand to spend another night here, and am thinking of spending tonight at one of these places, though I don’t think I’d get much sleep there either. I have no idea where to go tonight. I have considered going back to the ED, but I don’t even know how to begin to explain all of this to them. What am I meant to say when the receptionist asks what’s wrong. “Hey, I feel like I’m a humanoid living in the Matrix, nothing is real and everyone’s an imposter out to deceive me including you?”