Documenting my journey through the mental health system

I went to IOP yesterday and we talked about Radical Acceptance – the concept that you can take back your mental and emotional health by accepting the pain and accepting the things you can’t control. This frees one from the distress of resistance and fighting. It does not mean giving up, giving in, or tolerating injustice. It’s just that fighting and getting worked up over our pain and distress doesn’t help.

We talked about purpose. What is my purpose? We tried to figure out the things we loved doing, the things we are good at, does it make money, and things the world needs. I found I am very grateful to not work for Amazon or anything that makes someone else money. I am good at singing and writing but I don’t know that I could ever make money from that. I have done some lounge singing but that was for experience. I have this blog and may format it into a book. There is an interested publisher. I make my money in healthcare and work two healthcare jobs now, one at the VA and one at Sacred Heart. I don’t know what my true purpose is supposed to be and in fact, this has fed my past suicidality.

I’m not sure anyone can have a true purpose. I think we get good at fooling ourselves, finding meaning where there is none, and only because that’s how our brains are wired to work. Since caveman days, we find the mundane mystical and the ordinary cosmic. Maybe it is. I’ve never believed in much – god, angels (my namesake notwithstanding) devils and demons, ghosts and goblins, or esoteric concepts like fate, purpose, and meaning. The absurdists say it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter if there is no inherent meaning or purpose to each being, you just find what makes you happy or fulfilled, stick to it, the rest is nonsense. The nihilists say essentially the same thing but they’re a lot more depressed about it. I find myself in their camp quite often, stricken with a sense of all-consuming despair at the thought they’re right – it doesn’t matter what I do, there is no worth or meaning to my life no matter how hard I tried to find some.

Right now, I look at it like this – at least in the healthcare profession, literally providing patient care in its most basic sense, I can have a clean conscience. I’ve been the patient and while that is so triggering especially in my new role, it is a useful if painful ammo. I have so far proven myself and according to my unit manager, I am high performing. My new coworkers sang my praises. So far I have had five shifts and exceeded expectations, so much so that they put another orientee under me on Thursday night. I was really surprised by this.

“We know you know the work and can show her around and that’s all we can ask for right now,” my charge nurse said. This was true, it was only my 5th night, but I had a routine down already. And the night did go well.

I tried to make my time off count. I got my laundry done. I slept a lot. Off and on, over and over every hour, but sleep nonetheless. I went to my house today to receive a new armchair into the house in which I have to move back. I’ve got my mother living there now and she is unhappy with all the changes I’m going to be making to the house in anticipation of my return. Of course she didn’t mind the new TV!

In the next month I’ll repaint my room and then replace the carpets. I’m also replacing the couch and coffee table, and adding a new electric fireplace. It’s all already happening. She has a way of being pissed about it though, which is curious. She felt she couldn’t handle it all by herself and I agree, so I want to come back and make a fresh start, down to the flooring. But she is still finding a way to be weird and bitter about it. She also refuses to use the bathroom, use her room, or otherwise agree to any solutions whatsoever to perceived problems. I’m at a point where I don’t care. I used to in a way – I used to wonder what I could do to make her happy, but I don’t care anymore. I’m not going to kick her out or anything like that, but I also don’t care what she does. I’m moving back in which means a lot of changes. For both of us. I want to look forward to it, I miss my house, but I don’t miss her.

Everyone says it’s a bad idea. My brother says move thousands of miles away, hahaha. My psychologists asks simply, am I sure about this? My friend Ceila says no way, you’re happy in your awesome downtown apartment and she’s safe in your house.

But I don’t want to pay for a sweet downtown apartment anymore (it is awesome). I have a wonderful house. It’s very small and very cute. I can replace so much through the convenience of not being in it right now and mentally prepare for living with my mom in my house. It’s not like I can delay this forever. She’s just going to get older, and my brothers aren’t going to take responsibility for any of it. This falls on me since my father had to go and DIE.

Still pissed about that.