“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.” Continue reading “Descent into madness: The Matrix come to life”
Since returning to the city I have been full of rage as scorching as wildfire. I struggle to recall the past week and cannot put it into a coherent narrative, so all I’m going to do is go over some of the texts, emails and things I’ve written which I have copies of. Continue reading “Everything good turns to shit”
It’s been another week from hell. My period finally came, which was a relief as I get terrible PMS. I was getting migraines all the time, felt breathless and weak, and had to cancel things I had on. There was one night I kept having shitty, fucked up dreams as well. In one I was being raped. Then in the dream I was left with stroke-like symptoms, slurred speech, a drooped face, and inability to walk. My dad called an ambulance in the dream but the healthcare system was so bloody negligent they wouldn’t send one, which is something I have sadly experienced in my waking life. No one would see how bad I was. In my dream my glasses came off and disintegrated and my mouth was full of metal bits. I tried to spit them out but I swallowed some. I woke up. Then when I finally managed to fall back to sleep again I had another nightmare. This time I dreamt that someone knocked on my front door at night. My dad went to open it but I told him not to. Continue reading “Back in the psych ward: trigger warning, animal cruelty”
Last night at 5am I returned to my house after spending a week away. Moving and change is something I seem to find very distressing. I was shattered to leave. It felt like being torn away from a lover. I folded up the soft navy blanket which the motel left me. The blanket I’d curl up under when I lay on the garden bench at night, having the whole place to myself. Once I cleaned up the place I lay on the bed under the blanket and listened to meditation music with one clear quartz pyramid at my head and two at my feet. I thought I might fall asleep, but I didn’t. Check out was 10am today, but I didn’t want to get up that early so left last night. Whenever I opened the door to carry more bags to the car I thought someone was waiting there ready to murder me. I feel like I’ve been in a bit of a strange headspace lately, which may have come through in my last post. I feel like I’m having all these intense dreams and thoughts which don’t make sense to anyone else. Continue reading “Unsound”
“Oh, angel lost, where do you go? In this cruel world, you feel so low.” AiMusic, “She Was an Angel “
I am not okay, and I have not been okay for a long time. As Alanis Morissette, a fellow HSP, sings in “Diagnosis “, I no longer give a damn about things that used to matter. I don’t give a damn about my life, and I’m beyond giving a damn about what anyone thinks of me. I will take packets of drugs. I will go to the park at 2am in winter and skinny dip in the lake. I will dance without needing alcohol to loosen me up. I will go into public in my PJs. I have found posts written in caps lock I made while having a rage episode on Facebook the other night. As someone commented on a Florence + The Machine music video, the only way to be at peace with death is to live your life without fear and make full use of it. Earn your eternal rest, because death halts for no one. Continue reading “Despair”
I thought I might be better without therapy, but it’s as though therapy has opened a wound in me which will not stop bleeding. I continue to struggle physically and mentally. I was awake all night for months. I think the lack of sleep started to make me paranoid. I also started getting some crazy mood swings, where I’d be up at night dancing and wanting to go to nightclubs, then the next day I felt dreadful, like I was hung over. In 24 hours I’d be manic, depressed, wanting to die, and then having moments where I felt like I really was dying. My brain started doing some trippy things. One morning I fell into a very deep “sleep”. I found myself in a strange realm where everything was set in the future. The landscape looked different, though I still recognised it as my town. There was a tower like in the city. I visited my mum’s house and her room was empty. It’s like the world had moved on and I felt lonely and out of place. I had the sense that if I didn’t come back to my body on the other side I would die. I desperately tried to claw myself back to my present day life but every time I thought I was back I wasn’t. I could see my room but was still stuck behind a veil, still out of my body, and couldn’t interact with it. “Help me, help me” I called out but I knew no body could hear me or reach me. It was like Stranger Things come to life where I was Will stuck in the Upside Down world, an alternate dimension just behind the wall. He could only communicate through the electronics. Finally I managed to claw my way back to the world. It was, hands down, one of the scariest things I have experienced. It was like tripping on drugs. I felt like I was losing all contact with the world. I was for the most part glad to be back but it also sucked having a body again and having to feel my physical discomfort. I went to the emergency department and the staff seemed really concerned about me at first. I was put in a quiet, dark, private area and given Olanzapine. I had to wait all night as the psych people had knocked off for the day. When I was given a bed I had to listen to a noisy air vent above me on the roof, beeping machines and all the problems of the patients next to me as there was only a curtain diving each bed, only to be seen for 10 mins the next day and sent home with no support. The psych person who saw me went to consult his boss, who no doubt read over all the bullshit written about me over the years and decided I was just a difficult, dependent, attention-seeking Borderline Bitch so he’d send me home with nothing. Continue reading “Update: tinnitus and back in hospital”
“I know you have a little life in you yet
I know you have a lot of strength left
I know you have a little life in you yet
I know you have a lot of strength left”
– Kate Bush, This Woman’s Work
Yesterday I had plans to go to Box Hill and see somebody I met in hospital. I was going to catch the train there. It has been a long time since I’ve been on the train. I drove to the train station, staggered up the ramp, and swiped my Myki card, only to be told it had expired. I was furious. Nobody staffed the train station and the train was nearly there. I ran into the supermarket over the road and asked if they sold Myki cards. They didn’t, but told me the milkbar up the road did. I slouched up to the milkbar as the train pulled in, wondering if I should just catch the next train and tell my friend I’d be half an hour late, or call for a taxi, which would be expensive. I bought the new Myki, but to my surprise, when I left the milkbar the train was still there. I decided to make a run for it. I felt like I was going to collapse from the stress, but I actually made it onto the train about a minute before it left. It was waiting for another train to arrive before it could leave. There were some girls from my old high school sitting on the carriage. They decided to make fun of me because of my earmuffs I wear to block noise, and probably my whole attire (I was wearing a rainbow top and baggy, men’s cargo pants). They giggled as I passed. I rarely go out in public and forgot that people target me because I’m different. I had gone to the school these girls were from up until Year Nine when I left due to bullying. Sadly, it looked like the school hadn’t changed one bit. Continue reading “Resilience”
It is almost 3:30am but I am not tired, so thought I’d begin the post I was planning on writing next about my mother. I don’t know if I’ve written much about my family on this blog, mainly therapists. But one might argue that the reason I cling to therapists is because I’m really just looking for the emotionally nurturing, attuned mother figure I don’t have with my biological mother.
A friend recently added me to a group for daughters of narcissistic mothers thinking I might get something out of it. I’m not sure if I’d call my mother narcissistic, but I’d like to explore our relationship in this post. Continue reading “The Mother Wound”
hsphaven 