Documenting my journey through the mental health system

I’m hearing voices. “No one cares if you live or die.”

They just keep saying that. I’m stressed about it. “You will die alone.”

What would Dr Black say? Don’t fight it, don’t fight them, play therapist.

We all die alone and that’s okay.

They don’t listen to me when I say anything. They tell me I’m going to die, and no one cares.

They’ve said this to me before. I was very agitated at the time, confused and suicidal.

I don’t think I am confused or suicidal right now. I’m not particularly agitated. I am at fucking work.

I’ve become adept at hiding it. People can’t handle it if you tell them you hear voices. They get scared. They don’t know what to say and they back away nervously.

I take meds for nightmares, but I had bad dreams today anyway. It’s not a perfect pill. I dreamed things that happened to me. Things that still, maddeningly, give me flashbacks and daymares. I even dream of the future.

I can see glimpses. I am afraid to say what I see because that might make it actually happen. Might make it come true.

I’m aware I’m a little bit paranoid. I’m not really sure why.

I spent so much time working in therapy to develop insight into my bipolar and PTSD and now that I have it, it is a strange thing to hold. Sometimes I am just not sure what to do with it. I feel like a chameleon, blending into whatever situation I find myself, to hide the ugly mess underneath.