Documenting my journey through the mental health system

T-minus one week and I’m moving. Well, mostly.

The move date is the 19th. I have to call movers in the morning.

My brain is a frantic mess of preparation. I keep imagining problems where there may be none. I think of scenarios that haven’t happened, when it comes to living with my mother, and how I would respond. At least how I SHOULD respond, given all the work I put into DBT.

DEAR MAN was my first day of IOP back in September. Describe, express, assert, reinforce, (stay) mindful, appear confident, negotiate. It’s a skill for more effective communication. Our “communication” often devolves to passive aggression and defensiveness. But I am badly triggered by her need to control and belittle.

Haven’t bothered to buy groceries. Gave away most of my kitchen and bagged up the little I’m keeping, including a stovetop espresso maker, a vintage toaster, and my Nightmare Before Christmas cutting board.

So now that song by Doechii is playing in my head over and over – Anxiety…keeps on tryin me.

I got my Ativan refill and have been needing it a little more just to get some sleep. For the last two days, I’ve only got three hours of sleep each day. It’s fine…I don’t feel terrible about it and am in fact, wired.

I know I need to call Dr Black. I’m going to…after the move.