Documenting my journey through the mental health system

So sensitive to noise. Every crash and bang startles me. Reminds me of the mental hospital, all the cacophony and slamming of doors.

But I’m getting through it. The meds deaden my response. I’m not cycling so hard. I have short lived mood swings, especially if I miss my meds even one day. That did happen once this week. I felt so out of it. My energy level dropped, and I felt my passive suicidal ideation become more pronounced. I used to think having consistent suicidal ideation meant I wasn’t getting better, that my recovery was a failure and a farce. I’ve learned it’s not so simple – part of bipolar/borderline and especially borderline is the sense of senselessness, the underlying haunted thoughts, the urge to just get off this ride, the wish to die. I had fantasies of tying that noose and going for it. Of swallowing all my pills with a bottle of vodka. Remembered past suicide attempts, attempts that got me locked up.

I wasn’t exactly distressed from these invasive thoughts though. I’ve got enough medication in my system that missing one day isn’t going to knock me flat. I just watched the thoughts and fantasies as best I could, like they taught us in DBT, without judging myself.

I’m getting top marks in my classes. Several papers, a lot of research, writing. Discussion posts, interaction with the others, citations required. I do it all between rounds at both jobs. I work fast but thoroughly. And I work at home when I am alone and have a little peace. I have a desk in my room and made it a good study space. There is a midterm coming up in one class. I haven’t taken a test in years. But it is open note, open book.

It’s a nice distraction from the memories and flashbacks and visions of the future and perseveration and anxiety as a result of all of the above. Especially the flashbacks. I dissociate into them almost every day. I often get so discouraged, worried they will never stop. They probably won’t. Ceila says it’s the PTSD. I know she’s right. I feel like such a pussy about it. A weakling, unable to move on.