I want to say here that me being able to articulate my mental health issues, even when I'm in the throes of them, has sometimes been a hindrance to me receiving help in the past. I would go to the "clearinghouse" near where I used to live years ago and because I wasn't drooling or slobbering, mumbling (or God forbid, holding a gun to my head) they thought I surely must be a rational and sane person, and would not send me to be admitted to a local psychiatric hospital.
Thankfully a few times I was able to convince them without doing those drooling and slobbering things and I was admitted for help. But here's another part of the problem..
I have been in and out of therapy so much in my life than I can practically run the group sessions as well as the counselors. I know about naming my support people, setting reasonable goals, making contracts with myself. I know how to list my "tools." I know the importance of taking my meds regularly and consistently.
If I were to seek out care from a psychiatric hospital now it would only be for them to experiment with my medications and of course to keep me safe from myself. So far, I'm not willing to do that although hubby suggested it again last night.
Sure my thoughts still spiral downward so fast it scares me (and him). I'm still having long LONG jags of crying spells. I sit on my bed, hugging myself, rocking back and forth. Then quick as a snap of the fingers I will go flatline and emotionless. The bouts with anger seem to have tapered off. Last night I was again expressing thoughts of death and suicide.
It may come as no surprise to anyone who has been through this that death is not really what I want. I just want this to stop.
Anyone who saw the post below this one knows I was able to go with hubby to spend Christmas Eve with my family. We were almost late getting there because I wasn't sure I was fit to go. I medicated myself and we DID go. I didn't break out into tears or anger or anything. Looking back I can see I was in a manic phase while we were there.
If you look at my eyes in the picture of me with my two year old granddaughter, you might see some weariness there. You might see a smile that is a bit strained. Not to say I wasn't glad to be there because I was. It was the uncertainty of whether or not I could hold it together long enough. I didn't want to freak out or break down and ruin the evening for everyone.
Hubby asks me if I want to play WoW. No I don't. How about Pogo games? No I don't. (Although I did play one Pogo game earlier.) Do I want to watch a movie? No. I know he's just trying to help. He's so lost when I feel like this. He can build an engine starting from scratch. He can fix almost anything.. except me.
I sit and rock back and forth on my bed and I think. But I can think of no purpose I serve. I can think of no importance I have in this world. (Yeah, I know people love me.) What kind of life do I have? I spend hours every day at my computer. I keep the house clean and (usually) cook a nice dinner every day. Whoopty-do.
Maybe the one thing I CAN do is to be able to put down into words what this is like for me. To share my struggles. And to try my hardest not to drool and slobber all over myself.
The nice thing about roller coasters is, that although they are scary to ride on, it's usually a short ride. It may feel like forever, but the ride DOES end. In the meantime I just hope I'm strapped in good enough. It's a long way down.