writing
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It’s Monday and feels so strange because it’s the first Monday in three months I don’t have IOP or an appointment with Dr Black. I’ve been working on – at least in my mind – my house. In my mind I plan all kinds of plans and on my phone I do all kinds of
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On Friday morning last week, I finally had to demonstrate my competency so they could check me off and fill the hospital and legal requirement to be competent in quick release knots for restraints. I had a couple days to mentally prepare. I came to the office of the unit manager, and there she was,
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I am so upset and frustrated with myself. I finally got some sleep…and slept right on through IOP Thursday morning. I was just going to take a nap… It was an important day too. The final wrap up for distress tolerance and and all the skills therein. The most important module and day of IOP,
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My weekend was rough. I did not sleep much before work Saturday but I made it to work. It is very surreal, this new job. I’ll get into that in a bit. My mother came back Sunday morning and I picked her up from the airport. I had been at my house, giving it a
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Tomorrow is Veterans Day, and though I have IOP and work, I’m going to spend a little time at the VA after IOP for the Veterans Drive Thru Stand Down. It’s a yearly event. There’s sometimes speakers, depending on the weather. They give out food, lunch, resources, and just spend the few hours hanging out.
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There is a kind of sadness that comes from knowing too much, from seeing the world as it truly is. It is the sadness of understanding that life is not a grand adventure, but a series of small, insignificant moments; that love is not a fairy tale, but a fragile, fleeting emotion; that happiness is
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I am in recovery. That is what the doctors say, the IOP therapist. They say it can take time to recover from a mental health crisis. I should know this, I’ve had severe crises in the past and barely survived some of them. But sometimes I’m not sure what recovery even means. Does it mean
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I could not sleep today. I take the meds, I make a bedtime ritual, I try hot showers and meditation and even masturbation but today I could not sleep. When I finally did, I had terrible dreams. I take a medication, prazosin, for bad dreams but it can only do so much. Pills only pack
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“How are you doing?” “I’m good, I’m good. I called my brother; I need his help. I can’t do it alone anymore. I don’t know what I’m going to do about my living situation. I want to move out. I think I’ll move out.” “How about the meds, any side effects?” “Just from that artane
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My first few days in the hospital passed in a blur, a fog of medication adjustments, sluggish pacing, and intermittent crying. I felt most suicidal, yet safe. At least that’s what I reported in my daily nursing assessments. It’s a strange juxtaposition of feeling – that given the chance, I would kill myself, yet in
Documenting my journey through the mental health system 