“Everything you say to me
(Takes me one step closer to the edge)
(And I’m about to break)
I need a little room to breathe
(‘Cause I’m one step closer to the edge)
(I’m about to break)”

– Linkin Park, “One Step Closer“

I don’t know if the world has got louder and more overbearing over the course of my life, or something has changed in me, making me less able to deal with it. I’m now in a constant state of overwhelm. At some point I developed hyperacusis, where a person hears the world ten times louder than most people. There is a great news report on it here. We do get to the point where we have to live our lives inside a padded room.

I tried to buy some dinner the other night as I am not able to cook anything myself. I had left my earmuffs at home, though, as I was flustered trying to get out the door before my dad came home. I attempted to go out in public without them, which was, as the hyperacusis news report described, a “landmine filled anxiety ridden trek”. I wrote the following text to my therapist:

“Fucking trains honking. Fucking cars everywhere that can beep at any moment. Fucking kids having a fucking birthday. Fucking balloons. Fucking metal wind charms attached to the fucking restaurant door which deafen you whenever it opens. Fucking dogs barking. Fucking staff calling out “no 83, no 83” while I have a break down in their fish and chip shop. Fucking people staring at me wondering what the fuck is wrong with me. I’ve fled back to my car. I think I’ll just starve.”

I’m terrified of people. I wish my mind would pick something else to be phobic of. Something I don’t have to encounter every single day. I can’t think clearly around other people. I’m terrified to leave my room and see my own father. I look to the carport to see if his car is there and freak out when it is. I’d prefer to stay in my room and starve than run into another human being in my house. I would go live the crazy cat lady lifestyle but I’m too unwell to do anything, and having severe noise sensitivity it’s so hard to find anywhere quiet enough. It is especially hard as I sleep during the day, which is when everyone else is up making noise. There are no words to explain how overwhelmed and trapped I feel. Trapped in my own body which distresses me with chronic pain, buzzing and tingling sensations, hearing my pulse in my ear, tremors etc. Trapped in a world that distresses me. Trapped with and dependent on the people who hurt me. I cannot deal with this level of dysfunction and endless suffering. I lose things constantly. I had a break down today trying to find my wallet and shoes. I was pushed to my limits. I have so much anxiety that it’s like navigating the world through blurry lens. As I think I’ve described in previous posts, I have times where I don’t even know what’s real or if I’m “awake” or “dreaming”. I felt like that a bit today again. Dizzy, shaking and sort of stuck between realms, or lost in space. Like I was not alive but not quite dead either. I thought my dad must have taken my wallet so I couldn’t go out and act on my suicide urges. I was furious, then finally found it under my PJ pants I had taken off.

My parents invaded my room the other evening and woke me when I had finally managed to fall asleep. I had woken up earlier that day with this sick anxiety feeling and was also being tortured by noises around me. I felt myself regress to a child and lay in bed hugging my jellycat rabbit. It was unbearable to be awake and in the end I took medication to put me to sleep again. There are no words for how distressing it was to have my dad barge into my room and wake me again. I yelled at him. I then got a text from him asking if I was ok.

“Get out of my fucking face!!!!!!!!” I screamed at him over text. “I’m not ok!!!!!!!! I needed to sleep!!!!!!!! I fucking hate living with you just leave me the fuck alone!!!!!!!!! Get out of my face!!!!!!!!! I just want to be alone!!!!!!! Fuck you you give me no space. I was so unwell earlier, the only relief I get is sleep.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Mum came around with food for you. It’s 7:30pm !!! And there is no note to say that you needed to sleep.”

“I shouldn’t have to leave a fucking note,” I said. “Sometimes that is even too much.”

“Yes….. I will leave you alone,” he agreed. “But… if you are all angry and therefore still awake… Would you like to go to the beach? And BTW If you do get into trouble, please can we take you to Box Hill ED – Maroondah staff are fuck-wits!!!!”

I felt like I had been beaten up by the same person who calls the ambulance. I have a friend who is a guy version of me and he told me about the time his toxic mother invaded his room and wrenched open the windows when he was at his most vulnerable. It was deeply traumatic for him, and I understand why. Miraculously I managed to fall asleep again after all this, even when my therapist was threatening to call somebody because my dad barging into my room had made me suicidal again.

“Do not ever call my family when I am having a crisis and I fucking hate them,” I texted him. “They act like my issues stem from being bullied by people at school and the mental health system but they have contributed so much to my poor mental health as well. There is literally NO ONE you can call to help me when I am in crisis. I want so badly to kill myself now.”

On top of all this I found out Leunig, the beloved Australian cartoonist, has just died. Another great soul to go, like my old psychiatrist I wrote about in my previous post. I felt like it was my time too.

I didn’t brush my teeth and I didn’t turn off my phone like I usually do. I’m surprised I slept all night given I had not done anything that previous day and spent it in bed. I slept until 3:30pm today. When I woke up I didn’t know what day it was. Being disoriented in time is happening more and more. I felt like I’d lost a day, but I’m not complaining.

Part of my distress about being woken by my dad was that it broke the non-speaking pledge my “system” had made. After over a month of not speaking, I yelled at my dad with words. My “system” hated me. Speaking is psychologically distressing for us, to the point I even have nightmares that I slip up and speak. I have since forgiven this part of me now. We were in an altered state of consciousness, just coming out of sleep, so our defenses were down. Apparently this is how some therapists get a patient to speak. They use hypnosis. I have returned to my silent world again now. There is a great video about DID here, what I feel is very relevant to what I am going through. The video talks about common co-morbidities or misdiagnoses, such as BPD, substance abuse and eating disorders. This therapist has even done another video about how alters can block a person from communicating in therapy.

I had my last meeting with my therapist on Friday. I nearly cancelled on him. I was spiralling out of control and just about started drinking again. I asked if he wanted to have dinner with me at our favourite restaurant, and he agreed. I ran around like a headless chook getting ready, trimmed one of my nails that had split AGAIN and was sharp (my nails are breaking all the time now), and dragged myself to the restaurant. The staff at this restaurant are so lovely. The man who owns it is autistic as well and I think he recognises the autism in me. We were given a spot away from everyone else. He told me he had spent the previous day mute as well. He gave me a vegan orange poppy seed muffin as a Christmas gift. They restore my faith in humanity. At the end, though, when I knew I wouldn’t be able to see my therapist for a whole month and would be left with no support, I got distressed again. I was shaking and felt like I was going to pass out. My therapist had to pay for me as I couldn’t stand being around the other people. I had to lie in the back of my car for a while before returning home.

“Whose inbox am I going to bomb when you go away?” I had texted him earlier. 

There is no where to go. No escape. No sanctuary. I think about presenting to ED but the way I am discriminated against and not taken seriously by these hospitals anymore only makes me worse.