My horrible, messed up, insane brain

Possible TW:  suicide ideation, and general crazy thinking

I have been trying to figure out why I haven’t been on here for a long time.  I tried to make excuses (I’m needing to move towards making ‘real’ friends out in the ‘real’ world, I don’t know what’s really going on inside my head so how can I put it into words, etc) but they kept just being excuses.  Maybe the truth is I have learned to care for fellow bloggers and I was 1) afraid of contaminating others 2) wanting to please everyone and try to act healthy, which I am far from right now.

When I read others posts where they say “I had a good day…I wasn’t suicidal” my first thought, for a very long time now, has been “that is not my idea of a good day”.  I wake up every day wanting to be suicidal, searching to be suicidal, pushing myself to be suicidal.  And those are my good days.  My bad days are when I have pushed too far and know that in the next few hours something horrible will happen unless I am able to jump from the freight train driving my thoughts.  That’s when I get scared.

On the good days I research ways to do it.  This is difficult because my husband has activated settings on my phone and computer that prevent it so I spend time trying to cleverly access sites without using certain words that trigger the settings.  I also read books about mental illness in the attempt to trigger myself (sometimes works, sometimes doesn’t).  I spend time planning, re-planning, scheduling and re-scheduling.

My reading has gotten me scared out of my mind about going into the psych ward because of the use of restraints and seclusion.  But, I don’t call the hotlines, my counselor, or tell my husband because I don’t want to be stopped.

At my yearly psychiatrist appointment I had to tell her about the suicide ideation and that is when she suggested a medication change.  She kept saying “You don’t want to be suicidal.  You don’t want to be suicidal.”

I felt like screaming, “uh, you are so wrong.  That is all I want.”

But is it?  Don’t I want a life beyond all this pain?  Don’t I want to think about my three kids and the mess that would be left behind if I make a bad decision.  It just seems hard to live a life without the suicide now.

My counselor told me that he is going on vacation next week.  He goes every year but this is the first year I have admitted to myself and him that I am scared out of my mind for him to not be available through email.  I know he cares.  I know him leaving doesn’t change his caring for me.  But, I feel abandoned.  And I hate myself for that.  I hate that I trusted and am now feeling hurt.  I hate myself that I am feeling abandoned by My Counselor.  I am not a kid.  I KNOW he will be back the following week.  There is no rational reason to feel abandoned.  But, none of that changes the fact that I feel abandoned.  And weak.  And stupid.

So now I have suicide ideation and the feeling of being abandoned by my counselor because he is doing something he has every right to do.

Oh, and did I forget to add that I sent a letter last week to a previous Christian counselor that abused me for two years?  I doubt seriously that she has a healthy bone in her body to be able to respond in a healthy manner so if she does write back it will be filled with evil narcissism.  I told my counselor and husband that I won’t read it if she sends something in return.  But I know I will read it because I want to push myself over the edge.  And what better timing than to do it while my counselor is out of town.

What a mess I am.

 

The dreaded med changes

My annual psychiatrist appointment was last week and I knew I would have to be honest about my suicide ideation.  And I KNEW she would want to change my antidepressant. Six years ago, after I was already on the medication, I researched all the terrible withdrawal effects this medication has.  There have many lawsuits against Eli Lilly because the withdrawals have been so dreadful.  The literature given with Cymbalta states that 1% or more experience withdrawal symptoms.  BUT, in their actual trials the percent is 49%!

So, I am on day four of the decrease of medication, have increased my counseling appointments and warned my husband of things to look out for.  From the forums I learned of people having lost their jobs because of the rages, spending loads of money while experiencing hypomania for over a week, and beating their spouses.  I am prepared for having flu like symptoms, depression, involuntary laughing, seizures, nightmares, and brain zaps.  The two I am most concerned about are the rages and the suicidal thoughts.  I have two small kids at home that I need to be sane for.  So far I have had excessive sweating and nauseousness but that’s it.  I am hoping for the best but trying to prepare for the worst.

Darkness

all reason is lost

i’ll never get back

past and present merge

pain locks with hopelessness

 

the costs are high

secrets accumulate

closing in on me

condemnations, accusations, judgements whisper

 

death envelopes darkness

swirling flight takes place

giving in easier than the fight

Update on stress and where I am mentally

I don’t know why all of a sudden I’m no longer able to blog what is going on with me.  The words just aren’t there or the fear to be vulnerable is too great. Here’s a few updates.

* I quit my job about six weeks ago.  Things had gotten so bad for me mentally that I couldn’t even give him two weeks notice.  I quit over the phone because he wasn’t in the office that day.  I had stressful nightmares every night for two weeks afterwards.

* I decided not to try to sue my dad or even ask for money from him.  It would have opened me up to a lot more pain because he wouldn’t have paid because he truly doesn’t care.

* I have been obsessively reading autobiographies of people with mental illness.  This sounds on the surface an okay thing but actually it has been very triggering.  Maybe it’s a way to punish myself? I’m not sure.

* I got the mistaken idea that I was close to being completely integrated which in my head meant no more memories.   Well, after several more new memories and a frank conversation with my counselor I realize now how far I am from that goal.

* Staying home from work has greatly reduced the stress but now I’ve become a depressed hermit that sleeps all day.

Will life ever get better?  Is there anything else out there that life can offer me? Do I even want to see it if it were put in front of me?

 

 

 

Buried

**possible TW

My counselor says that there are two ropes I can choose to cling; one, my Dad’s rope of destructive lies and the other, God’s rope of truth.

“I’m still clinging to my Dad’s truth even though I know it’s lowering me down.  With that rope, I know my place, I know where I belong and I know to keep quiet.”

He inquires, “And where IS your place?”

Immediately I fill with shame and look down at the floor and away from him.  I try repeatedly to get two words out but I cannot.  The words feel like two large tennis balls in rolling around in my mouth.  He hands me a pad and pen to see if I can write it.  I write two words….the ground.

He asks “Where in the ground?”  “Like in a basement?”  “Is there a room under the ground?”

All I can do is shake my head no.

“Can you draw it?”

I draw what looks like a small grave with myself laying in it.  Staring at what I just drew, I get lost in the past and cannot move or talk for some time.

I am lying, paralyzed by fear in a freshly dug shallow grave.  The small puffy blue sleeves with white lace trim on the ends brush dirt on each side of me.  My legs stick straight out of my shorts and my shoes point upwards towards the clouds blowing by.  I see a pile of dirt to the left of the grave but I am unable to see if there is anyone else there.  Fear bears down on my chest and keeps me muzzled.

After bringing me back to the present he tries to help me process this memory but I am silent.  How do you talk about being buried?  I still don’t know how to write about it.  Except that this is one of the reasons that the 14 year old is so hell bent on killing herself.  This is where she belongs.

My “others”, suicide, and compassion

Sunday morning it took all my concentration to keep my butt in the chair.  The pastor had just asked for congregants to share what God had done in their lives in the last couple of months.  I wanted to stand and shout at the top of my lungs “I WANT TO DIE”.  After talking with my therapist today I realized that it was one of my “others,” the one that carries all the shame, pain, and sadness from the abuse that was wanting to shout of her pain.

It gets so confusing because I have evidently always been co-conscience so I never knew I had others until after I had been in counseling for two years.  I just thought it was myself that was playing like a four year old.  I thought everyone else in the world did the same things behind closed doors.  They just were able to hide it better than I could.

Over a month ago my 14 year old insider attempted suicide by swallowing pills.  When I awoke a full two days later I was furious!  How can she take MY life in her hands?  I was sick of having DID.  I was tired of not having control of my life.  I wanted OUT.

But, I don’t have that option.  Instead, I need to learn to show the 14 year old compassion and understanding. Usually I am easily dismissive of her and her pain but that drives the pain further inside where it eats at me until I explode in intense self-harm.

This week I am going to make room for her and her pain.  This is how I can take care of myself.