Documenting my journey through the mental health system

A man knows not where he is. Drifting through a conscious unawareness, confused at why these people are in his house. Calling out to his long dead wife.

Do we live too long? Have all our medical advances only prolonged the life of our bodies at the cost of our minds?

I don’t know. We do too much, it seems. Tubes and wires, lines and drains. Anything to cling to life.

I can hardly bear life, sometimes. I am often overwhelmed, lost, unsure who I am (a hallmark of borderline) and exhausted. Other times I am elated, energetic, full of foolproof but overly grand plans, and just lost in the sauce.

I’ve taken my meds dutifully, and I see my doctor sometime after Christmas. This is the most stable I’ve been in years, with little in the way of suicidal thoughts or voices. I have feelings of intense grandiosity sometimes, but my mood stabilizer keeps those feelings in check.

When I am at work it’s the strangest thing…this is good for me therapeutically, to have something to do and a reason to get out of bed. But there are constant triggers and attacks on my psyche. I am always reminded of trauma and my time in the system and my PTSD is an ever-present entity in my life. I don’t want this to define me.

Glimmers in life, the opposite of triggers, the little things that keep us going…that’s what I try to focus on, after the pain of a flashback has subsided. My cats, cleaning my house, coffee, chocolate, writing, music, a stiff drink, an evening off…