mental health
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Maybe something is changing. Even if just a little. I have so much pent-up energy and my bones are sizzling. I used ativan, melatonin, vistaril, and gabapentin to force myself to sleep before work. On my way to work, I drove by the mental hospital as I always do and this time, not the panic
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There is a construction zone around 4th avenue, and I must detour on my way to work. The mental hospital is on my route to work, so now instead of driving by it, I drive with it looming in front of me. I don’t know that I will ever get over it. I have a
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I am a man who feels more stable under routine conditions: I develop routines for my day, my week, for grad school and work and I apply these routines to the smallest things like what clothes I wear or how I arrange my house. I have always been into a routine. Or sought to develop
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I don’t feel very good and I feel bad for feeling bad. I’m thinking a lot about my psych meds. The first group I had to attend my very first morning in the mental hospital last year was about “making the most of your psychiatric medications.” How to take them every day without fail no
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I’ve caught up on my meds. I’m feeling rather turbo charged despite a lack of sleep and living on mostly chocolate the last few days. The PTSD symptoms are still ever present. I saw a rust-colored car and immediately felt short of breath and my heart beat faster. Rust is the color of the elopement
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I’ve been reading a book popular in psychology circles and recommended to me by numerous doctors and therapists. The Body Keeps the Score, by Bessel Van Der Kolk. It’s thick and complicated and right up my alley. Triggering, too. He’s talking about the patients in psych wards and hospitals in which he’s worked. Talking about
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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
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I have a manic patient. I am simultaneously triggered and yet in my element. I had so much training. Experience. I was able to calm the patient before sedatives. I told Ceila about the flashbacks. They just don’t stop. Told her about the visions of the future I get, but not in great detail. She
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I am exhausted but buzzing and wired. Work is strangely still. I’ve eaten a sandwich and mashed potatoes over the last couple days. I don’t have much appetite. The Kirk shooting is wild, huh? I can’t help but feel the sick irony of it all. The universe, god, South Park…all have a sense of humor.
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This is so fucked up. The flashbacks won’t stop. Even in my dreams. Surreal nightmares of being locked up, tied down, and screaming in fear and despair. I am spared the horrible task of sitting with a suicidal patient tonight. I am often spared because some of my coworkers know my history. I can’t even
Documenting my journey through the mental health system 