Anyone who follows my Facebook, my blog, or knows me personally knows that I’ve been through a hellish year with processing the traumas of my life, processing a painful and messy divorce, battling suicidal thoughts and intents, battling self harming tendencies, processing my sexual orientation and what it means to be Christian despite it, dealing with the pain of intense self-shame, self-punishment, self-defeat, as well as experiencing all those feelings as I project them onto others, working two jobs while contributing as a Peer Educator, and struggling with financial issues.
At the end of the day, we’re on the cusp of the beginning of the final month of the year – I’m still here, after all that shit, I’m still fighting.
I’m going to fail all my classes – in retrospect, that shouldn’t add to more shame for me right?
Then why do I still keep feeling like I’ve wasted an entire semester doing nothing? – Even though, I’ve done more in this semester where my mental health is concerned than I’ve ever done in my life.
The critical voices in my head need to stop.
After all the shit, I should get a medal for still being here. What are 3 F’s in a transcript compared to how I’m still alive?
Trigger warning: Talk about self-harm in this post.
So I saw Dr W today, my psychiatrist. I told her how I don’t like being on Strattera and how tired it makes me feel. I also told her that it’s not working all that well anymore because I haven’t been able to focus or concentrate on anything lately. She asked me about my stressors and I revealed to her that I have many.
It’s the first time I’ve ever really been that forthcoming with her. I usually withhold just how badly I feel or how depressed I really am. I don’t tell her how often I have suicidal thoughts. All this because I know that she will prescribe me more medication.
I was right in my assumption because today, she upped my Zoloft dosage to 100mg because of all the things that I’m suffering through lately – with my move, my divorce, my terrifyingly difficult semester (which is only going to get worse as the semesters progress), my abandonment issues, my fears, my hectic schedule, my unstable financial situation, and work. She thinks that my loss of focus and motivation is due to these stressors and she hopes that by fixing my mood and anxiety, that the Strattera will start working again. She told me to give it 3-6 weeks and if nothing changes, then we should reconsider the Strattera.
To be honest, although I hated the heart palpitations, the sweaty and cold hands, the constant sweating, the flushed face, and the anxiety that Ritalin brought on me, I liked the other more positive effects like how it boosts my energy, how it keeps me going strong despite not having had a meal, how it helps me stop my sugar craving, and how I can control my diet better. Strattera makes me exhausted – all. the. time. – and I feel sluggish, my mind gets foggy easily, and my dry mouth symptom is the worst thing to deal with since I have to talk a lot – being a server, you can’t not be talking to your guests.
Anyway, so now I have to give Zoloft another try. It hasn’t really been doing anything for me. I doubt it will do anything even with 100mg.
After the meeting with Dr W, I headed to group therapy in which because the lead facilitator wasn’t able to attend, the co-facilitator was more inclined to let us rant instead of just focusing on how we feel at any given moment. One of the group members was having difficulty letting go of an unhealthy relationship, and the rest of us fervently encouraged her to love and respect herself first. To put herself first. As the session grew, we all started getting more and more “rant-y”. Near the end, the group member who had brought up her issue of unhealthy relationships talked about her career fears and insecurities now that graduation is approaching. She is Asian, like me, and we both share starkly similar backgrounds where our parents were concerned. Her rant about her parents brought me into the fray and before long, the two of us were pretending to be our parents and saying things that Asian parents would say (things that people usually turn into memes). This prompted another member, a Caucasian, to express how angry he was that any parent would do that to their children and how it must be that his lack of cultural understanding is what is making him so angry while the other member and I are just accepting it as a lost cause.
As the group filed out the group therapy room, I said to T, “You totally just let us rant, didn’t you?” while chuckling.
T smirked and gave me a mischievous look.
“Well, it just seemed like Steph (not her real name, obviously) really needed it…”
“Yeah… She did… And I guess we all did…” I said with a smile. Most of the time, T had sat back and just listened, from time to time, he had an amused look on his face. Sometimes I wonder what goes on in therapists’ heads. I know S smirks to himself from time to time as I speak – it always makes me wonder what it was that he was smirking at. I never had the guts to ask him. I’m building up to it. One day, hopefully soon, I’ll ask him why he smirked or why he looks so amused.
When group therapy ended, I felt a great tug in my gut – I wanted to see S so badly. I saw that his door was closed with the “Do not disturb” sign hanging on the doorknob. It meant that he was with a client. I was upset.
And of course, like always, whenever I’m upset, I spiral downwards.
I thought about the rope that I had. I thought about the noose that I had tied last night. I thought about the anguished email I wrote to S. Then I thought about something I read on PaperDoll’s blog about how she realizes that her therapist isn’t her crisis line and that she shouldn’t be messaging her during crisis. I thought about the email that I had sent S this morning at 3.30am when I couldn’t sleep and the suicidal thoughts plagued me. It was a wonder that I didn’t get up from out of bed and hung myself then. I realized that I shouldn’t be sending him emails like that. He can’t answer me through email and technically, I shouldn’t even have his email address.
I want to hear from him constantly. It kills me that I keep thinking about him because I know that I shouldn’t be relying on him all the time. I need to grow up. I need to be the support I need. But of course, it’s easier said than done.
I waited until S was done with his session with his client. When I saw that his door was open, I took the bundle of paracord rope and marched to his office. I was going to ask the receptionist, K, if I could go talk to S but there was a line at the reception counter. I figured that if I didn’t go see S then, I probably wouldn’t. Besides, I am at CAPS so much that I didn’t think that anyone would stop me if I went down the hallway towards S’ office.
I was right because although T was walking down the hallway towards me, he didn’t make any moves to stop me. Neither did P, another psychologist that I had seen before for a crisis intervention session. In fact, she smiled at me. I think both T and P, who were both S’ office neighbors, knew that I was headed to S’ office.
My hands shook as I lightly knocked on his ajar door. S was at his desk. He looked up from his work and smiled at me.
“Hey…” He said.
“Hey… Um…” I started, not sure if I should explain what I was doing there standing at his door. I decided not to because I already felt quite awkward to stand there. My hand shook as I showed him the bundle of rope. “Can you… Can you please take this from me?”
His eyes widened a little when he realized what it was that I was holding. He quickly sat up in his chair and leaned over to reach for the rope. I had half a mind to pull my hand back as he reached. I didn’t want to be out of that option – if I were to die, I wanted it to be my choice.
“Yeah!” He said, as he took the rope from me. He then looked a little concerned. I clenched my jaw. My hands continued to shake. “Were you waiting? I just finished with a client…”
I wanted to say that I knew that but I didn’t want to come across as a stalker. Yes, S. I know. I’ve been watching you from outside of your window. Eee heee heee heeee heeeeee….
“Um, no… Yeah, I know. I saw that your door was open. So I thought… I could try to see if you were here…”
He hesitated and looked like he was going to say something else, but he didn’t and I could tell that he was gauging my facial expression and body language. Probably trying to figure out what it was that I wanted from him. I wanted to say more but I realized that I was standing outside of his office which is inappropriate. So awkwardly, I said, “Yeah… Okay… See you”
“I’ll see you next week, Jules…” He said.
“Yeah… Yeah you too… Take care…” I said as I wandered away, my hands still shaking. As I left CAPS, I wanted to punch things and scream in anger. I think I didn’t want my autonomy taken away – despite the fact that technically, I was the one who decided to give up that autonomy. I knew I had to do it. I’ve been toying with the suicidal thoughts too much lately. So much so that I learned how to tie a noose.
My week has been terribly hectic and when I pulled into my parking space last night, I had promptly burst into tears because thoughts of my ex crossed my mind, and thoughts of me being so lonely crossed my mind. They triggered an outflow of tears that were uncontrollable. A friend said that I am stressed. I feel like I’m at the brink of a mental breakdown. It feels like it’ll happen soon and when it does, I’m sure people around me will be surprised.
If you Google, “How to tie a noose”, the first result that comes up is a message assuring you that help is available and to call a crisis line number.
I told S that today and he responded with an enthusiastic, “That’s cool!”
While I do agree with him wholeheartedly that it is cool, I also noted that what I’d said piqued his attention. He sat up a little straighter and leaned forward a little more.
How would I know this if I hadn’t done this search?
Well, the fact is, I have. I did this search sometime earlier this week…. Or maybe it was late last week. I don’t remember anymore. My days are melding together…
Last night, I was in the deepest part of the pit. I’d fallen back. S noted that whenever I fall, I fall hard and I fall steep. I go from any slight frustration to full blown hopelessness and despair at the drop of a hat. It’s insane.
My friend noted that by doing so, repeating negative patterns in my life, I will keep getting attention from people which is a good feeling to have and is therefore very addicting. She might be right about that… I do recognize a child-like need for attention. And I can’t deny that I do like attention.
I was angry earlier. I was angry at a lot of things. I was grocery shopping and while I was angry, the anger turned inward and I marched straight to the hunting aisle to look for hunting knives. By my count, now S has a collection of my knives – I’m fast becoming a knife collector. He already has 4 of them. I wanted to hurt myself. I was angry at others but instead of allowing myself to feel that anger and to tell myself that it’s ok to be angry, I wanted to cut. Such an automatic response.
It’s habit. I’ve been doing that for so long that it’s second nature to me now. I know it’s going to be hard to change that automated response but I’m going to have to try. The adult needs to stop feeling sorry for herself. She and the child are now a little more united than they used to be so now the adult is throwing rage tantrums.
Anyway… I have a bundle of rope in front of me. It’s 50 feet long. Probably more than enough for me to do something stupid with. S asked me if I could bring that in to him. I said I would…. But I won’t see him for another week… In the meantime, I have this rope. I did the search.
I know I’m smarter than this. So why do I keep throwing myself a pity party and wanting to do silly things like this to gain attention? How real is my suicidal threat?
To be honest, I don’t know.
I have found from today’s session with S that when I’m sleep drunk, I’m actually very effective and productive in therapy because it lets the child take over and talk more freely than when I’m fully awake.
I had woken up this morning in the middle of REM sleep which caused me to experience a moderately severe disorientation that lasted hours. I was so disoriented, I almost walked into walls and things like that. It was a wonder that I was able to drive. I thought for sure that I would’ve ruined today’s therapy session because of it. In fact, I had woken up 10 minutes to 10am and freaked out because despite now living closer to school, I would never have been able to make it to CAPS on time. Thankfully, S had an opening at 11am so I was able to push my appointment back.