I think I scared some people today. It seems that I have this ability to appear okay, then I'm not okay and people are shocked. This surprises me because I am constantly living with the craziness, the mood swings and other sundry "benefits". Perhaps I could be an outsider for a day and see what others see?
Today was particularly bad. My reasoning and ability to cope is severely limited at the moment. This period (the Christmas one) always makes me sad. I guess I've never had what I would call a happy Christmas. I always found it boring. I mean sure, there's presents, but then there was nothing. Just my parental units and me. All my friends were on holidays, with their families or both.
Mind you, being in Tasmania for three years and living in the Anglesea Barracks was fun. I could run around the whole barracks and never bump into anyone! However, even that got boring after a few hours.
Many days I wish I could just wake up and not have so much ridiculous rubbish floating through my grey matter. Although, I know that in my case such a wish is extremely unrealistic. There are very few people who wake up one day and are better.
Tomorrow... Ah well now we're dealing with a whole new kettle of fish. A new day and all that rubbish. Another year since more shit happened! Another year in which I haven't been able to change so everything is better. Another year of failing. Yes it is failing because I haven't been able to fix, help, do anything to make the next day better.
Now I even begin to wonder why I write such horrible things that only make others upset. Maybe it doesn't? But what if it does?
Upon scarring someone you can never take it back. It's burned and etched in their psyche forever. That's a guilty side of life I have trouble dealing with.
Haha, it's all a guilty side of life for me!!
Well 10pm, I have to go to bed. Apparently my GP thinks that if I take my meds early and take a double dose I will miraculously feel better. Ha!
Over it
Basically since my last botched hospital attempt I've been on a tightrope, desperately trying to keep my balance. Lately I've realised that I've been falling for a couple of weeks. Falling hopelessly into yet another black hole.
Then there's the part where I tried to pretend everything is fine. I put on the smile and say "sure you can stay here!" instead of really saying "I'm feeling like shit and can't cope with people here right now". I guess I worry that my friend won't understand. It doesn't matter if I'm not feeling well, as long as they are happy.
Now I wonder if they really are happy if I'm breaking apart?
Do they notice?
There is such a sweetness in escaping reality. If only I could escape it permanently! Oh, right, because that's not allowed. I seem to always forget that little part.
HOT! HOT! HOT!
If you're in the southern hemisphere, predominantly Australia, you will understand me when I say, IT'S BLOODY HOT.
It's only November and already we're reaching temperatures of 40 degrees! And that's not just in Adelaide, SA, where they are known for some serious heat waves. Talk about global warming. I don't think the globe has warmed, I think some smart arse put it in the oven.
As you may, or may not, be able to tell I don't really cope so well in the heat. Not only that, but I'm one of the unfortunates who have to endure the super-hot-spring weather without the comforting aid of an air conditioner. Yes, you read that right. No air conditioner. None. None.
You may wonder how I survive in this insane heat. In fact I'm wondering the same thing...
Perhaps it has something to do with the fan strategically placed in front of me? Maybe the fact that sitting right next to me is my best friend, a water bottle, who helps reduce the heat?
Either way, I'm sitting here, melting. I'm breathing in hot air. Hot air people. It is not pleasant.
Did I mention that it's not even summer yet?
I envy all these summer-going-loving-the-sun-beach-bums that are outside tanning and laughing. I even go near a window in this heat and I find I have sunburn. How I long for gorgeously tanned skin, blonde hair and the summer body to match.. You know, one of those gorgeous girls in the summer commercials or ads in magazines? They are always so pretty, so composed, and never sweat or show signs of extreme discomfort because of the heat. Maybe that's because of all the airbrushing they go through.
Speaking of airbrushing, when will I ever get air brushed in real time? I would love to walk around with a permanent airbrushed look. That's right, no bad hair day or bad skin day for me!
Ah, one can dream...
So how will I spend my summer? That's easy, I plan to hide in the dark recesses of shade. I may even hide out at my local shopping centre where they have air conditioning and pretty things to looking at.
What I won't be doing is spending my time cavorting the stunning sun with all the beautiful people at the beach.
It's only November and already we're reaching temperatures of 40 degrees! And that's not just in Adelaide, SA, where they are known for some serious heat waves. Talk about global warming. I don't think the globe has warmed, I think some smart arse put it in the oven.
As you may, or may not, be able to tell I don't really cope so well in the heat. Not only that, but I'm one of the unfortunates who have to endure the super-hot-spring weather without the comforting aid of an air conditioner. Yes, you read that right. No air conditioner. None. None.
You may wonder how I survive in this insane heat. In fact I'm wondering the same thing...Perhaps it has something to do with the fan strategically placed in front of me? Maybe the fact that sitting right next to me is my best friend, a water bottle, who helps reduce the heat?
Either way, I'm sitting here, melting. I'm breathing in hot air. Hot air people. It is not pleasant.
Did I mention that it's not even summer yet?
I envy all these summer-going-loving-the-sun-beach-bums that are outside tanning and laughing. I even go near a window in this heat and I find I have sunburn. How I long for gorgeously tanned skin, blonde hair and the summer body to match.. You know, one of those gorgeous girls in the summer commercials or ads in magazines? They are always so pretty, so composed, and never sweat or show signs of extreme discomfort because of the heat. Maybe that's because of all the airbrushing they go through.
Speaking of airbrushing, when will I ever get air brushed in real time? I would love to walk around with a permanent airbrushed look. That's right, no bad hair day or bad skin day for me!
Ah, one can dream...
So how will I spend my summer? That's easy, I plan to hide in the dark recesses of shade. I may even hide out at my local shopping centre where they have air conditioning and pretty things to looking at.
What I won't be doing is spending my time cavorting the stunning sun with all the beautiful people at the beach.
Another day, another dye
Today I decided that all those stray grey hairs I have needed to be reminded who is in control. Damn it, I am in control!! I really am. Maybe?
So now I have a sexy blue-black colour in my short hair. Yes, it's short. That doesn't mean I can be denied the joys of colour. Bite me.
The style is like that of Ruby Rose (the chick in the picture). If only I were as pretty as she!
It's remarkable how something so small, so simple, can make a person feel better. Something as simple as dying my hair has lifted my spirits to an almost soaring level. I even feel hot (the good looking hot, not the "I'm melting from the heat") sitting here in my lounge room at 9:48pm in my pj's. Sexy.
Why is it that grey hair is so hated? In fact why do we, as women, hate our hair no matter what colour it is naturally? I mean, people with straight hair wants curls, those with curly hair want straight hair. Why can't we ever just be happy with who and what we have?
Perhaps those are rhetorical questions as they will never be satisfactorily answered, at least not without going into a deep and meaningful debate about the reasons behind the female psyche. I'll leave that debate for another day.
So here I am, sitting in my lounge room in the most sexy pj's ever (hey, they have pink stiletto's on them and glitter) pretending to watch a repeat of NCIS.
My Wednesday night is one hell of a party!
Let's get this party started...
Broken pieces
It started at 7pm. The darkness surrounded me in thick black waves. It enveloped me and smothered me. I couldn't escape it. There was no hope.
The message came through at 7pm. He seems to feel compelled to speak to me. I really wish he wouldn't. He makes me feel guilty. He makes me feel like I need to justify myself and my actions, when they have nothing to do with him. I really wish he would leave me alone, at least for more than a few days.
I tried to escape the darkness, I ran away from it. However, I can't run fast enough to get away from it. No, it's still with me, being insidious and snaking it's way through every pore and cell of my body. It's tearing me apart from the inside.
The feelings are the worst part. The darkness on its own is bearable. Feelings of loss, hopelessness, uselessness, sadness and angryness are not bearable. They fight for pole position, which one will take over?
Each day passes and I feel even more fragile. My life has become one big fractured and tortured existence. What is the point of fighting when no one will help?
The person who said he wanted to help, inevitably wanted me to listen to him and listen to his problems. He wanted me to be his rock, his safety net, while he told me he wanted me to talk with him.
I hope I am not the only one to see how ridiculous this is?
I am alone in this fight. At the end of the day there is no one else.
The message came through at 7pm. He seems to feel compelled to speak to me. I really wish he wouldn't. He makes me feel guilty. He makes me feel like I need to justify myself and my actions, when they have nothing to do with him. I really wish he would leave me alone, at least for more than a few days.
I tried to escape the darkness, I ran away from it. However, I can't run fast enough to get away from it. No, it's still with me, being insidious and snaking it's way through every pore and cell of my body. It's tearing me apart from the inside.
The feelings are the worst part. The darkness on its own is bearable. Feelings of loss, hopelessness, uselessness, sadness and angryness are not bearable. They fight for pole position, which one will take over?
Each day passes and I feel even more fragile. My life has become one big fractured and tortured existence. What is the point of fighting when no one will help?
The person who said he wanted to help, inevitably wanted me to listen to him and listen to his problems. He wanted me to be his rock, his safety net, while he told me he wanted me to talk with him.
I hope I am not the only one to see how ridiculous this is?
I am alone in this fight. At the end of the day there is no one else.
A question of sexuality
I won't be adding this entry on my website. This is kind of private, yet not. I still want to talk about it because it's confusing me lately.
Perhaps I could spend the majority of the entry dancing around the issue and perhaps you'll understand what I'm saying. There are far too many "perhaps" in that sentence. I guess I'll just be blunt and see how that goes.
I just wonder...
Okay lately I have been struggling with a new thought. Oh. My. God. A new thought?! Me?! Never!
I'm 25. I feel old. I have grey hairs, a lot of them and no matter how many times people tell me it's because of stress it never makes me feel any better. I always thought I was "straight", at least I just went along with that. Isn't that what people do?
Now, however, I'm finding that I may not be exactly as I thought. I am still attracted to men. I just find I'm more attracted to women. I think.
For instance, I'm on so many medications, therapies etc that I don't know who, what or where I am. Does this now include my sexuality?
This isn't a big deal for lots of people. I mean some of my friends (yes on Twitter) are gay, lesbian or bi. I love them dearly, no not because of their sexual orientation, I love them because of who they are. They make me laugh and allow me to be part of their lives, if only in 140 characters or less.
So it begs the question, why is this such a big deal for me?
Perhaps it ties in with everything else in my head. I've had this idea of who people want me to be. It seems that I just do what others want. It's part of learning how to please people so they don't actually notice you. Fun stuff right there.
So now I find that having my own thoughts, my own REAL thoughts, is a little scary. Okay, so it's a lot scary. I'm terrified.
Every single day I think something new. I learn something new about me. A realisation may walk up to me and hit me so hard in the face I swear it leaves a hand print. It's very hard to accept, to process, when all these things are coming at you.
How do I cope with this as well as being nucking futs? (fucking nuts to the uninitiated.) This is not just something small. It is, indeed, an entire identity adjustment.
Who the fuck am I and why do I feel like I'm being torn in 50 different directions?
Perhaps I could spend the majority of the entry dancing around the issue and perhaps you'll understand what I'm saying. There are far too many "perhaps" in that sentence. I guess I'll just be blunt and see how that goes.
I just wonder...
Okay lately I have been struggling with a new thought. Oh. My. God. A new thought?! Me?! Never!
I'm 25. I feel old. I have grey hairs, a lot of them and no matter how many times people tell me it's because of stress it never makes me feel any better. I always thought I was "straight", at least I just went along with that. Isn't that what people do?
Now, however, I'm finding that I may not be exactly as I thought. I am still attracted to men. I just find I'm more attracted to women. I think.
For instance, I'm on so many medications, therapies etc that I don't know who, what or where I am. Does this now include my sexuality?
This isn't a big deal for lots of people. I mean some of my friends (yes on Twitter) are gay, lesbian or bi. I love them dearly, no not because of their sexual orientation, I love them because of who they are. They make me laugh and allow me to be part of their lives, if only in 140 characters or less.
So it begs the question, why is this such a big deal for me?
Perhaps it ties in with everything else in my head. I've had this idea of who people want me to be. It seems that I just do what others want. It's part of learning how to please people so they don't actually notice you. Fun stuff right there.
So now I find that having my own thoughts, my own REAL thoughts, is a little scary. Okay, so it's a lot scary. I'm terrified.
Every single day I think something new. I learn something new about me. A realisation may walk up to me and hit me so hard in the face I swear it leaves a hand print. It's very hard to accept, to process, when all these things are coming at you.
How do I cope with this as well as being nucking futs? (fucking nuts to the uninitiated.) This is not just something small. It is, indeed, an entire identity adjustment.
Who the fuck am I and why do I feel like I'm being torn in 50 different directions?
In the Middle of a Dream...
I woke up with a very bitter taste in my mind. Yes, bitterness can be tasted by our brains. How do you think we actually decipher taste?!
Anyway, I had strange dreams again. This in itself is not unusual as my night time medication is known to cause some spaced-out-vivid-dreams. The only time I really pay attentin to these dreams is when they actually seem to have some kind of meaning to a situation in my life.
Instead of my usual angry-blood-everywhere-fake-movie-style-actionesque-dream I had an experience that really hit home. It was a very clear indication that something I had chosen to do in the last week was, in fact, the right thing to do.
Perhaps it might help if I explain a little bit of the dream.
She's sitting in the car, but at the same time she's reclining in the seat, almost laying down. Her back is to the driver. The window is open and she's playing with the feeling of the air rushing through her fingers.
She won't look at the driver even though he won't shut up. He just keeps talking and talking. She doesn't even know what he's talking about anymore.
He says something that makes her tense her entire body. She's not even sure what exactly he said. Maybe it was just his tone?
She holds onto the handle on the door, gripping it so tightly her hands hurt. She wants to be anywhere but with this man. He makes her uncomfortable. He tells her things she doesn't want to know.
Finally she hears something he says "You're the reason I wake up in the morning"
She shudders. This is not right. Doesn't he know that he's making her uncomfortable? Doesn't he pay any attention at all?
She pulls herself closer to the door, ready to escape.
When will this drive be over?
She just wants to be safe away from him.
The dream was like I was watching it, yet I could feel the emotions of the girl (me). Fear.
Pure and simple, fear. Debilitating fear. It was like being trapped, a caged animal unable to do anything other than what the captor wanted.
The feelings are still with me. It still scares me, but I know that dream is indicative of what I did feel and what I would have felt had I not done what I needed to do.
As cruel as this will sound, I am glad I listened to myself and not did "what was right" for other people.
No, this was about me and where I am in my life. Right now, I don't want someone who needs me more than I need them. Sorry, that's just the way it is.
Independence.
Who would have thought I would ever become Independent?
Anyway, I had strange dreams again. This in itself is not unusual as my night time medication is known to cause some spaced-out-vivid-dreams. The only time I really pay attentin to these dreams is when they actually seem to have some kind of meaning to a situation in my life.
Instead of my usual angry-blood-everywhere-fake-movie-style-actionesque-dream I had an experience that really hit home. It was a very clear indication that something I had chosen to do in the last week was, in fact, the right thing to do.
Perhaps it might help if I explain a little bit of the dream.
She's sitting in the car, but at the same time she's reclining in the seat, almost laying down. Her back is to the driver. The window is open and she's playing with the feeling of the air rushing through her fingers.
She won't look at the driver even though he won't shut up. He just keeps talking and talking. She doesn't even know what he's talking about anymore.
He says something that makes her tense her entire body. She's not even sure what exactly he said. Maybe it was just his tone?
She holds onto the handle on the door, gripping it so tightly her hands hurt. She wants to be anywhere but with this man. He makes her uncomfortable. He tells her things she doesn't want to know.
Finally she hears something he says "You're the reason I wake up in the morning"
She shudders. This is not right. Doesn't he know that he's making her uncomfortable? Doesn't he pay any attention at all?
She pulls herself closer to the door, ready to escape.
When will this drive be over?
She just wants to be safe away from him.
The dream was like I was watching it, yet I could feel the emotions of the girl (me). Fear.
Pure and simple, fear. Debilitating fear. It was like being trapped, a caged animal unable to do anything other than what the captor wanted.
The feelings are still with me. It still scares me, but I know that dream is indicative of what I did feel and what I would have felt had I not done what I needed to do.
As cruel as this will sound, I am glad I listened to myself and not did "what was right" for other people.
No, this was about me and where I am in my life. Right now, I don't want someone who needs me more than I need them. Sorry, that's just the way it is.
Independence.
Who would have thought I would ever become Independent?
When is too much... Too much?
I was just introduced to something on Twitter that I think I would rather forget.
Perhaps I can bleach my mind and somehow forget this horrible thing.
I'm all for hype. Hype is good. Hype means I have some incentive to buy a product. Hype is just another part of the whacky world in which we live.
The hype that I can't stand is (god forbid) Twilight.
Isn't this going too far?
Twilight too much?
Perhaps I can bleach my mind and somehow forget this horrible thing.
I'm all for hype. Hype is good. Hype means I have some incentive to buy a product. Hype is just another part of the whacky world in which we live.
The hype that I can't stand is (god forbid) Twilight.
Isn't this going too far?
Twilight too much?
Sleep, Interrupted
It was a nice night for sleeping. Cool enough to warrant having the blanket over my legs, warm enough to sleep comfortably.
All in all that's some perfect sleeping conditions for me. I was happily sleeping (okay I'm not sure if I was happily sleeping or not, I was asleep.)
Then my night was ruined.
I heard a sound, it wasn't the sound of my cat jumping onto the bed to take his rightful place next to me. No, this was the sound of something technological. It was the sound of someone's imminent death (so they won't actually die, but it makes me feel better to think they'll suffer for disturbing my slumber!)
There it was again. This quiet vibrating and a small "ding" type sound. Suddenly in my sleepy fugue I knew what it was. My phone. Someone was messaging me at.. oh god it's only 5AM!!!!!!!!
Luckily I was tired from not sleeping well the night before. I fell straight back to sleep when I realised what that awful sound was. My phone didn't survive my irritated-at-5am attack as I found it on the floor this morning at 7:30am (a decent time) when I woke up.
Who was the messaging-at-5am-culprit?
I have no idea. I am still too angry to even think about looking at who thought it would be okay to message me at that time of the morning!
It's not usual for people to message one another at strange times. I've been accused of it myself in the past.
What I don't understand is the need someone would have to message me when they know me. I mean, let's break this down.
I'm very private in so far as I don't give people my mobile number. Therefore, if they have my number they know I'm nuts and that I have to take sleeping medication to actually sleep.
So.. having known all this, why would someone feel the need to message me at 5am!?!?!
Yeah yeah, for "normal" people being woken up at 5am is just a mild inconvenience. That's great for them, for me it's kind of a big deal. Yes I did fall back to sleep but my sleep was broken after that 5am intrusion. Thus, my "sleep hygiene" has been compromised by an outside force. It wasn't my own body clock disrupting my sleep.
Next time someone has the bright idea of sending me a message at 5am, I think I'll ring them back and abuse them. Let's see how you like being interrupted.
Trust
My little foray into the idea of Trust.
In my eperience, trust is just another word that people throw around without really thinking about the consequences. Just like "love" and "sorry". They're over used words which are slowly losing their meaning and potency.
Some people expect to be trusted no matter what. I find this an interesting concept, considering it's those people who demand trust from others who are the least likely to trust.
"Hey mate, I'll demand your trust but I won't trust you in return" doesn't really sit well with me. Maybe I'm just old.
Then there are the people who trust everyone and wonder why they get hurt because of it. It's unfortunate that there are people in the world who will use the naievity of those some against them. I feel like it's my responsibility to look after these people who are so easily duped to trust people whom they shouldn't. Yes, yes, I know I can't possibly mother the world, but I'll damn well try.
The third kind of people seem to distrust everyone. This is where I fit in. I have had my trust broken, destroyed, abandoned and crushed for 25 years. I've learnt over that time that it's easier not to trust anyone, that way they can't rip out my heart, hand it to me, and go on their merry way. Nope, I don't trust anyone.
Oh, I trust my teddy bear and Titan, but they aren't people so I guess they really don't count in this debate. However, I think Titan thinks he's human... That's another blog though.
Lately I've been bombarded with people asking me to trust them. They have very nearly demanded my trust from me. They couldn't understand why I baulked and ran away after they'd completed their demand.
I shall ask you, would you really trust someone who've only known a relatively short time? Would you trust this person if all you have known is bitter disappointment and crushing blows when people have betrayed your trust?
Would you trust them if they kept saying "I want you to trust me"?
I'm not sure about you, but having someone constantly ask me to trust them is the equivalent of saying Britney doesn't mime in concert, in Perth, in Australia.
It makes me wonder if they are genuine or if they are actually trying to hide something (perhaps Britney fan and secretly miming?) rather than just being honest.
Trust isn't something I hand out like lollies on Halloween or like ice cream on a hot summer's day. My trust can only be earned. It takes... TIME. Yes, that god-awful word that we all hate. Time.
A lot of my friends have to have been with me through a few ups and downs before i'll start to trust them. I mean, if they can't stick out the hard bits why would I trust them? They'll only leave me when I may (or may not) need them the most.
Yes, it's conjecture, a risk, a guess. But it's all of those things I'm not willing to gamble. Not when I have been to easily hurt in the past.
No thank you. You can keep your demands, you can keep your false trust. If you want my trust, you will earn it , just like everyone else.
In my eperience, trust is just another word that people throw around without really thinking about the consequences. Just like "love" and "sorry". They're over used words which are slowly losing their meaning and potency.
Some people expect to be trusted no matter what. I find this an interesting concept, considering it's those people who demand trust from others who are the least likely to trust.
"Hey mate, I'll demand your trust but I won't trust you in return" doesn't really sit well with me. Maybe I'm just old.
Then there are the people who trust everyone and wonder why they get hurt because of it. It's unfortunate that there are people in the world who will use the naievity of those some against them. I feel like it's my responsibility to look after these people who are so easily duped to trust people whom they shouldn't. Yes, yes, I know I can't possibly mother the world, but I'll damn well try.
The third kind of people seem to distrust everyone. This is where I fit in. I have had my trust broken, destroyed, abandoned and crushed for 25 years. I've learnt over that time that it's easier not to trust anyone, that way they can't rip out my heart, hand it to me, and go on their merry way. Nope, I don't trust anyone.
Oh, I trust my teddy bear and Titan, but they aren't people so I guess they really don't count in this debate. However, I think Titan thinks he's human... That's another blog though.
Lately I've been bombarded with people asking me to trust them. They have very nearly demanded my trust from me. They couldn't understand why I baulked and ran away after they'd completed their demand.
I shall ask you, would you really trust someone who've only known a relatively short time? Would you trust this person if all you have known is bitter disappointment and crushing blows when people have betrayed your trust?
Would you trust them if they kept saying "I want you to trust me"?
I'm not sure about you, but having someone constantly ask me to trust them is the equivalent of saying Britney doesn't mime in concert, in Perth, in Australia.
It makes me wonder if they are genuine or if they are actually trying to hide something (perhaps Britney fan and secretly miming?) rather than just being honest.
Trust isn't something I hand out like lollies on Halloween or like ice cream on a hot summer's day. My trust can only be earned. It takes... TIME. Yes, that god-awful word that we all hate. Time.
A lot of my friends have to have been with me through a few ups and downs before i'll start to trust them. I mean, if they can't stick out the hard bits why would I trust them? They'll only leave me when I may (or may not) need them the most.
Yes, it's conjecture, a risk, a guess. But it's all of those things I'm not willing to gamble. Not when I have been to easily hurt in the past.
No thank you. You can keep your demands, you can keep your false trust. If you want my trust, you will earn it , just like everyone else.
Nom Nom Nom
I just had an encounter on Twitter that really struck me deeply.
Why should I care what other people think? Ffs, it's only Twitter.
Yet, amazingly, I do care. Really, who would have figured that?
I found that people saying LOLspeak (you know, the captions on LOLcats) was "gross", really sent a surge of anger through me.
How dare these people openly attack me?
Okay, so maybe they weren't attacking me as such, but in my crazy mind they were.
I mean I love LOLspeak, it's creative and cute. It's inventive and, well, it's just damn cute!
However, I wouldn't use LOLspeak all the time! That's about as bad as walking around using slang 100% of the time, or perhaps thee would prefer a more literary and archaic speech, adorned with jewels of wisdom and other such lovely trinkets that one surely must endeavour to achieve, with utmost respect laced with dignity?
See, every kind of take on the English language has it's time and place. Some of the quirks of our language are that it's so pliable and so easily molded into ways to express how we feel, think and even see things.
Fine, I guess I can understand that some people don't like LOLspeak, but do you have to insist that it's "gross"!?!
For all you LOLspeak haters, I leave you with this.
Nom Nom Nom
kthnxbai
Why should I care what other people think? Ffs, it's only Twitter.
Yet, amazingly, I do care. Really, who would have figured that?
I found that people saying LOLspeak (you know, the captions on LOLcats) was "gross", really sent a surge of anger through me.
How dare these people openly attack me?
Okay, so maybe they weren't attacking me as such, but in my crazy mind they were.
I mean I love LOLspeak, it's creative and cute. It's inventive and, well, it's just damn cute!
However, I wouldn't use LOLspeak all the time! That's about as bad as walking around using slang 100% of the time, or perhaps thee would prefer a more literary and archaic speech, adorned with jewels of wisdom and other such lovely trinkets that one surely must endeavour to achieve, with utmost respect laced with dignity?
See, every kind of take on the English language has it's time and place. Some of the quirks of our language are that it's so pliable and so easily molded into ways to express how we feel, think and even see things.
Fine, I guess I can understand that some people don't like LOLspeak, but do you have to insist that it's "gross"!?!
For all you LOLspeak haters, I leave you with this.
Nom Nom Nom
kthnxbai
The Hospital part 3: Traumatically discharged and discarded
The day is Thursday the 5th of November, 2009.
The time is 5am.
For some reason I woke up at 5am this particularly splendid morning. I didn't even feel that bad at being up an hour and a half earlier than my usual time.
I decided to make the most of it and begin mentally preparing myself for another day in hospital. It was Thursday, so I had to prepare myself for the different group leader-psychologist-lady. I wasn't exactly keen on her "teaching" style.
By the time I waded through all that it was 6am, "great!" I thought as I slid out of bed and stumbled to my little bathroom to shower. Today was going to be a good day, I was determined.
The time is now 8am.
I am showered, dressed, even did my makeup (that is a big thing when you're in a psych ward, and you're me, and you can be bothered actually doing the make up part of the morning routine.) I was drawing while waiting for my psychiatrist. She usually liked to see me early in the mornings, I think it was because she thought I would be more talkative then!? She soon found out I am talkative all the time! Oops!
I picked up my iPhone, got my little speakers and set them up on my desk, neatly arranging everything into a functional, yet orderly, display. I pressed play and began drifting along the beat and melodies of some of my favourite artists.
NB: I am only verging on OCD when I am in hospital! This neatly arranging stuff isn't a usual "home" thing.
The time is 9am.
I am starving. I need to eat. I mumble some choice swear words under my breath that my shrink made me wait a whole hour without telling me she wouldn't be here this morning. Fine, I'll go eat and she can bite me if she comes to my room now.
I get up from my desk and walk to the door. I nearly run into the nurse on duty. I was about to say something when I looked at her face, I saw fear. I stepped back into my room, next to the door, as it the damn thing would support my weight.
"Renee, would you be able to pack your things on your bed? We need to move you to a shared room."
The nurse is looking at me. Why the fuck is she still looking at me? Didn't I talk? Hadn't I just screamed that I wouldn't be moved?
I clutched my throat, realising I was just staring at her.
"I... I... I can't sleep with someone else in my room. Are you going to drug me at night time so I can sleep?" By now the fear is making me slightly irrational, only slightly mind you. I begin to shake but quickly tell myself to stop being so stupid. I mean, surely they wouldn't make me do something that is clearly causing me so much distress... Would they?
The nurse looked at me again, astonishment crossing her face at my intense reaction. She takes a deep breath and informs me she will talk with the Head Nurse.
"If you move me I will need to be discharged because I can't sleep when there's someone else in my room. I won't stay to prove that I can't sleep" I start rambling, incoherently, barely able to breathe and stunned into near catatonic fear.
A lifetime later...
Okay it was approximately 10 minutes, but in my state it was a lifetime.
The Head Nurse walks into my room and sits down. She is staring at me. I have tears in my eyes and I'm yelling at myself to pull it together and stop being such a bloody sook. She just stares at me. I start to choke on the inside thinking she's going to murder me or something. (Hey, I was highly strung and irrational by this point, do you mind?!)
Finally she speaks. She tells me in her heavily accented voice that under no circumstances can I be an exception. Everyone who arrives at St John of God spends their first few days in a single room and then must move to a shared room. No exceptions.
I explain that I spent my first night in a shared room, that I didn't sleep even after the long and tiring day I had. I explain that I can't sleep in a shared room. I pause, take a breath and look at her, "Will you give me more meds including actual sleeping meds to make me sleep?"
Anger is now crossing her face, oh shit I've done it now, she's going to fucking murder me.
She continues to stare at me. I'm getting angry now too, how dare she try to intimidate me. I'm a fucking mentally ill person and she's trying to intimidate ME?!?!
Finally she speaks, "It's not fair if one person is allowed to stay their entire time here in a single room." She gets up and plans to leave.
My anger gets the better of me, I stand up, look at her and say "Then you will need to organise my discharge papers. I will not stay here if I am so CLEARLY distressed and uncomfortable."
Now fear crosses her face, has she gone too far? She steadies herself, "I will have your nurse contact your psychiatrist and ask to make sure it's okay for you to be discharged." She leaves the room.
I am panicking. I'm going home. I haven't finished the program. There's so much left to learn. Oh no, have I just fucked up... again?
I call my mum. She's no help. She doesn't know what to say. She can only say "Well I can't come and get you". Thanks Mum, I'm not crying here or anything.
She tells me to call my dad. Shit I don't know my dad's number. I'll email him. He gets emails immediately.
I ask him to call me.
My phone rings, shit that was quick, I answer it and burst into tears. I tell my dad that they're discharging me because I can't sleep in a shared room. I'm pretty sure none of this is making sense to him. Either way he listens and asks me if I want him to pick me up now. I tell him to do whatever is best for him. I'm not in any mood to make decisions right now.
The nurse walks back in, papers in hand, looks at me on the phone and then proceeds to tell me that I have to fill out this form, declaring I am leaving against my doctor's wishes. Yep, always out to cover your own arses, yet you're the ones who've put me in this state. Nice.
Dad says somethings I can't really hear over my crying. I mumble something and we hang up.
I fill out the papers.
I begin packing my stuff.
A nurse comes in, again, "You have to pack up your things now, Renee." I can't believe he just said that. "What the fuck do you think I'm doing?" is all I can reply. I cry again. The nurse closes the door. I swear.
20 minutes later...
Everything is packed. My room looks like I was never here. Oh well, these things happen. I am now just waiting for my dad. He called me back to tell me he will pick me up and take me home to Canberra today. Part of me is relieved. Part of me is now guilty that I've disrupted his day. Part of me is angry that I wasn't allowed to keep my car here so I could have gone immediately after packing. They were out to get me the whole time. Hmph.
The time is 10:20am.
The fire alarm is going off. My dad is going to be here any minute and I won't be able to get out of here because some moron set off the fire alarm in the hospital. Great.
Where the fuck is my bag of medication? It's not that hard to get all the meds I brought with me and stick them into a bag. Argh. Angry again.
I go and say goodbye to some friends. I see my dad's car driving down the street while I look out their window. Shit.
The time is 10:30am.
I'm in dad's car. Everything is packed. I have my meds. We're going to his place so he can pack his overnight bag. He'll be coming back to Canberra for the weekend.
I'm traumatised. I am scared. What do I do now?
The time is 5am.
For some reason I woke up at 5am this particularly splendid morning. I didn't even feel that bad at being up an hour and a half earlier than my usual time.
I decided to make the most of it and begin mentally preparing myself for another day in hospital. It was Thursday, so I had to prepare myself for the different group leader-psychologist-lady. I wasn't exactly keen on her "teaching" style.
By the time I waded through all that it was 6am, "great!" I thought as I slid out of bed and stumbled to my little bathroom to shower. Today was going to be a good day, I was determined.
The time is now 8am.
I am showered, dressed, even did my makeup (that is a big thing when you're in a psych ward, and you're me, and you can be bothered actually doing the make up part of the morning routine.) I was drawing while waiting for my psychiatrist. She usually liked to see me early in the mornings, I think it was because she thought I would be more talkative then!? She soon found out I am talkative all the time! Oops!
I picked up my iPhone, got my little speakers and set them up on my desk, neatly arranging everything into a functional, yet orderly, display. I pressed play and began drifting along the beat and melodies of some of my favourite artists.
NB: I am only verging on OCD when I am in hospital! This neatly arranging stuff isn't a usual "home" thing.
The time is 9am.
I am starving. I need to eat. I mumble some choice swear words under my breath that my shrink made me wait a whole hour without telling me she wouldn't be here this morning. Fine, I'll go eat and she can bite me if she comes to my room now.
I get up from my desk and walk to the door. I nearly run into the nurse on duty. I was about to say something when I looked at her face, I saw fear. I stepped back into my room, next to the door, as it the damn thing would support my weight.
"Renee, would you be able to pack your things on your bed? We need to move you to a shared room."
The nurse is looking at me. Why the fuck is she still looking at me? Didn't I talk? Hadn't I just screamed that I wouldn't be moved?
I clutched my throat, realising I was just staring at her.
"I... I... I can't sleep with someone else in my room. Are you going to drug me at night time so I can sleep?" By now the fear is making me slightly irrational, only slightly mind you. I begin to shake but quickly tell myself to stop being so stupid. I mean, surely they wouldn't make me do something that is clearly causing me so much distress... Would they?
The nurse looked at me again, astonishment crossing her face at my intense reaction. She takes a deep breath and informs me she will talk with the Head Nurse.
"If you move me I will need to be discharged because I can't sleep when there's someone else in my room. I won't stay to prove that I can't sleep" I start rambling, incoherently, barely able to breathe and stunned into near catatonic fear.
A lifetime later...
Okay it was approximately 10 minutes, but in my state it was a lifetime.
The Head Nurse walks into my room and sits down. She is staring at me. I have tears in my eyes and I'm yelling at myself to pull it together and stop being such a bloody sook. She just stares at me. I start to choke on the inside thinking she's going to murder me or something. (Hey, I was highly strung and irrational by this point, do you mind?!)
Finally she speaks. She tells me in her heavily accented voice that under no circumstances can I be an exception. Everyone who arrives at St John of God spends their first few days in a single room and then must move to a shared room. No exceptions.
I explain that I spent my first night in a shared room, that I didn't sleep even after the long and tiring day I had. I explain that I can't sleep in a shared room. I pause, take a breath and look at her, "Will you give me more meds including actual sleeping meds to make me sleep?"
Anger is now crossing her face, oh shit I've done it now, she's going to fucking murder me.
She continues to stare at me. I'm getting angry now too, how dare she try to intimidate me. I'm a fucking mentally ill person and she's trying to intimidate ME?!?!
Finally she speaks, "It's not fair if one person is allowed to stay their entire time here in a single room." She gets up and plans to leave.
My anger gets the better of me, I stand up, look at her and say "Then you will need to organise my discharge papers. I will not stay here if I am so CLEARLY distressed and uncomfortable."
Now fear crosses her face, has she gone too far? She steadies herself, "I will have your nurse contact your psychiatrist and ask to make sure it's okay for you to be discharged." She leaves the room.
I am panicking. I'm going home. I haven't finished the program. There's so much left to learn. Oh no, have I just fucked up... again?
I call my mum. She's no help. She doesn't know what to say. She can only say "Well I can't come and get you". Thanks Mum, I'm not crying here or anything.
She tells me to call my dad. Shit I don't know my dad's number. I'll email him. He gets emails immediately.
I ask him to call me.
My phone rings, shit that was quick, I answer it and burst into tears. I tell my dad that they're discharging me because I can't sleep in a shared room. I'm pretty sure none of this is making sense to him. Either way he listens and asks me if I want him to pick me up now. I tell him to do whatever is best for him. I'm not in any mood to make decisions right now.
The nurse walks back in, papers in hand, looks at me on the phone and then proceeds to tell me that I have to fill out this form, declaring I am leaving against my doctor's wishes. Yep, always out to cover your own arses, yet you're the ones who've put me in this state. Nice.
Dad says somethings I can't really hear over my crying. I mumble something and we hang up.
I fill out the papers.
I begin packing my stuff.
A nurse comes in, again, "You have to pack up your things now, Renee." I can't believe he just said that. "What the fuck do you think I'm doing?" is all I can reply. I cry again. The nurse closes the door. I swear.
20 minutes later...
Everything is packed. My room looks like I was never here. Oh well, these things happen. I am now just waiting for my dad. He called me back to tell me he will pick me up and take me home to Canberra today. Part of me is relieved. Part of me is now guilty that I've disrupted his day. Part of me is angry that I wasn't allowed to keep my car here so I could have gone immediately after packing. They were out to get me the whole time. Hmph.
The time is 10:20am.
The fire alarm is going off. My dad is going to be here any minute and I won't be able to get out of here because some moron set off the fire alarm in the hospital. Great.
Where the fuck is my bag of medication? It's not that hard to get all the meds I brought with me and stick them into a bag. Argh. Angry again.
I go and say goodbye to some friends. I see my dad's car driving down the street while I look out their window. Shit.
The time is 10:30am.
I'm in dad's car. Everything is packed. I have my meds. We're going to his place so he can pack his overnight bag. He'll be coming back to Canberra for the weekend.
I'm traumatised. I am scared. What do I do now?
The Hospital part 2: Before the worst
I'm in hospital. St John of God, Burwood.
The nurses put me into a shared room. I panic about it and explain that unless they're going to drug me I won't be able to sleep.
I was told there's nothing they could do, I would need to deal with it. Nice, my first night in hospital and I was already getting special treatment.
I figured there wasn't point arguing with them that night. I mean it was a big day, emotionally draining and I was sincerely hoping I would sleep, even if it was just from pure exhaustion.
I didn't sleep that night.
The nurses put me into a shared room. I panic about it and explain that unless they're going to drug me I won't be able to sleep.
I was told there's nothing they could do, I would need to deal with it. Nice, my first night in hospital and I was already getting special treatment.
I figured there wasn't point arguing with them that night. I mean it was a big day, emotionally draining and I was sincerely hoping I would sleep, even if it was just from pure exhaustion.
I didn't sleep that night.
Luckily I was moved into a single room the following day. I got to stay in that room for 16 days. Wow. A whole 16 long days. How very exciting!!
The food:
I was in hospital so the food was never going to be great, or even decent. I, at least, was used to this particular part of hospital. It doesn't matter which hospital, in any state or territory, the food is always a step up from eating cardboard.
At St John of God the food even had fancy names, and different cuisine each day. La di da. *Insert eye rolling here*
The ward:
St Francis Unit.
It was clean. I can't say it was comfortable, I would've much preferred to stay at the Hilton or some other fancy new chic motel. I don't want much. Really.
Oh, I even had my own bathroom. Score!
The "WiseMind" program:
This was the challenging part. A new way of dealing with all my strangeness and incredibly annoying behaviour. Oh please, you know what I'm talking about!
I learnt a lot. I learned a little. I learned that when I feel like crap, I already start the process of DBT.
All this could be airy-fairy rubbish to you. I guess it doesn't help that I won't go I to the boring details (they really are that boring), so you know...
Well that about covers the three weeks. Coming up next, the traumatic discharge.
The Hospital part 1: Arrival
Some of you may be aware that I went to Sydney to go to a psych ward at St John of God in Burwood. Wow, that was a mouthful and I wasn't even saying it out loud.
Anyway, I was there for some awesome program they call "Wise Mind" which is, in reality, nothing more than DBT (Dialectic Behavioural Therapy.)
So I've been wanting to do this program since my last hospital visit in Canberra (July, 2009.) I even roped my psychiatrist into writing my referral and checking out the program himself. Yes, I do have some special powers when I want to convince myself something is worth doing.
My shrink made the referral and the phone calls and then we waited... and waited... and waited. I finally get a call at the end of October that I've finally been admitted (or will be upon providing my private health fund details.) Woot! I'm finally going to see what DBT is all about since Canberra doesn't actually have a DBT program.
I square away all the private health fund details and am then told that I need to be admitted BEFORE 2:30pm that day! Now, let me paint you a picture..
Here I am, in Canberra, on the phone to someone in reception at St John of God in Sydney. Door, to door, that's roughly a 3 hour trip. I look at my watch. Oh. My. God. It's already 11:30am and I haven't finished packing! There is no way I would make it to the hospital by 2:30pm, Sydney (unlike Canberra) has traffic!
The first of many panic attacks for the day, begins to take hold and I ramble in a voice so high pitched I'm sure I could hear windows shattering. The lovely person in reception said it would be okay to arrive at 3pm, they'll make an exception as I have to drive there.
Suddenly I am able to breathe again, kind of.
The next ten minutes is a blur of me packing the last bits and pieces, throwing it into the boot of my car and making sure I've locked the house, have my phone and purse and other essentials. Then I left.
It took me exactly 2.5 hours to reach St John of God, Burwood. I passed three cop cars (only one stationed at Goulburn) doing 120 - 130 and not one of them stopped me. Perhaps they thought they were seeing things as little cars like mine aren't meant to go that fast... Either way I wasn't booked! Points for me!! (Not that I condone speeding in any way.)
The parking in Sydney is always crap, EVERYONE knows this. Thus the reason most people either leave 30 - 40 minutes earlier than they need to, or they attempt to use public transport and still leave 30 - 40 minutes earlier.
I cruised, in a rushed kind of way, up and down the tiny street looking for a space big enough to fit my teeny tiny car. After driving up and down the road for 10 minutes I decided I didn't care if I cut off half of someone's driveway I was going to park my car no matter what!
The car is parked, I unplugged my iPhone from the speakers in my car, grabbed my bag, hid my charger and attempted other assorted hidings to maintain the facade of "there's nothing in my care worth stealing", then ran (okay I walked, but ran sounds much more dramatic) to the reception area of St John of God.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I looked at the statues and other religious paraphernalia and I suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to say "I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore."
I had arrived.
Anyway, I was there for some awesome program they call "Wise Mind" which is, in reality, nothing more than DBT (Dialectic Behavioural Therapy.)
So I've been wanting to do this program since my last hospital visit in Canberra (July, 2009.) I even roped my psychiatrist into writing my referral and checking out the program himself. Yes, I do have some special powers when I want to convince myself something is worth doing.
My shrink made the referral and the phone calls and then we waited... and waited... and waited. I finally get a call at the end of October that I've finally been admitted (or will be upon providing my private health fund details.) Woot! I'm finally going to see what DBT is all about since Canberra doesn't actually have a DBT program.
I square away all the private health fund details and am then told that I need to be admitted BEFORE 2:30pm that day! Now, let me paint you a picture..
Here I am, in Canberra, on the phone to someone in reception at St John of God in Sydney. Door, to door, that's roughly a 3 hour trip. I look at my watch. Oh. My. God. It's already 11:30am and I haven't finished packing! There is no way I would make it to the hospital by 2:30pm, Sydney (unlike Canberra) has traffic!
The first of many panic attacks for the day, begins to take hold and I ramble in a voice so high pitched I'm sure I could hear windows shattering. The lovely person in reception said it would be okay to arrive at 3pm, they'll make an exception as I have to drive there.
Suddenly I am able to breathe again, kind of.
The next ten minutes is a blur of me packing the last bits and pieces, throwing it into the boot of my car and making sure I've locked the house, have my phone and purse and other essentials. Then I left.
It took me exactly 2.5 hours to reach St John of God, Burwood. I passed three cop cars (only one stationed at Goulburn) doing 120 - 130 and not one of them stopped me. Perhaps they thought they were seeing things as little cars like mine aren't meant to go that fast... Either way I wasn't booked! Points for me!! (Not that I condone speeding in any way.)
The parking in Sydney is always crap, EVERYONE knows this. Thus the reason most people either leave 30 - 40 minutes earlier than they need to, or they attempt to use public transport and still leave 30 - 40 minutes earlier.
I cruised, in a rushed kind of way, up and down the tiny street looking for a space big enough to fit my teeny tiny car. After driving up and down the road for 10 minutes I decided I didn't care if I cut off half of someone's driveway I was going to park my car no matter what!
The car is parked, I unplugged my iPhone from the speakers in my car, grabbed my bag, hid my charger and attempted other assorted hidings to maintain the facade of "there's nothing in my care worth stealing", then ran (okay I walked, but ran sounds much more dramatic) to the reception area of St John of God.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I looked at the statues and other religious paraphernalia and I suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to say "I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore."
I had arrived.
Get It
People who aren't stuck with an illness like mine just don't get it. I think I'm more angry that it's so easy for them. I mean they don't get it, don't understand it. They don't live with it or think about it like I do. They get a break from it!!
Where the fuck is my break? Oh and don't for one minute say hospital is a break. The amount of work I have to do in here is more than some people will ever do in their lives. No I'm not fucking kidding either.
I'm so sick of all of it. Let me put this simply, without sugar coating it... I fucking hate my life, I fucking well hate me and I absolutely fucking hate that I'm sick. Short version = I wish I were dead. Don't give me that look or that bullshit about how we did stuff and I had fun. Yeah sure, I've enjoyed myself but those are one offs.
You still don't get it?
Let me break it down for you.
When I'm on my own I am sad, I remember all the shit about me, life and the world that I hate. This means I'm almost always in a low state of being.
Now, when I do manage to see friends or whatever I feel good. In fact compared to what I usually feel, it's almost a kind of manic high.
So what happens when I find myself alone again and the high subsides?
Oh. My. God.
You get it now?
No?
Okay, I'm on my own, left to my own devices, and I'm coming down off a high from seeing people. All of a sudden everything seems a million times worse than before. It's bigger, darker and more painful than before.
Why do you think I try to avoid seeing people? The after effects are too much. Yeah it's great seeing you, but you have to go at some stage!! That's when the bullshit has free reign. By then I'm too tired to fight it, I've been fighting it the whole time I've been with you.
Haha you kid yourself if you truly believe it's not plaguing me even when I'm with you.
Anyway, I'm finding it too hard being around or talking to non-fucked-up-people right now.
All I want is to be dead.
Oh right, apparently that's not an option. Fine, I'll deal with being in bed cuddling Titan. Least then I don't need to explain myself to people, or have to do anything. Titan just accepts without question. Humans can't do that.
Where the fuck is my break? Oh and don't for one minute say hospital is a break. The amount of work I have to do in here is more than some people will ever do in their lives. No I'm not fucking kidding either.
I'm so sick of all of it. Let me put this simply, without sugar coating it... I fucking hate my life, I fucking well hate me and I absolutely fucking hate that I'm sick. Short version = I wish I were dead. Don't give me that look or that bullshit about how we did stuff and I had fun. Yeah sure, I've enjoyed myself but those are one offs.
You still don't get it?
Let me break it down for you.
When I'm on my own I am sad, I remember all the shit about me, life and the world that I hate. This means I'm almost always in a low state of being.
Now, when I do manage to see friends or whatever I feel good. In fact compared to what I usually feel, it's almost a kind of manic high.
So what happens when I find myself alone again and the high subsides?
Oh. My. God.
You get it now?
No?
Okay, I'm on my own, left to my own devices, and I'm coming down off a high from seeing people. All of a sudden everything seems a million times worse than before. It's bigger, darker and more painful than before.
Why do you think I try to avoid seeing people? The after effects are too much. Yeah it's great seeing you, but you have to go at some stage!! That's when the bullshit has free reign. By then I'm too tired to fight it, I've been fighting it the whole time I've been with you.
Haha you kid yourself if you truly believe it's not plaguing me even when I'm with you.
Anyway, I'm finding it too hard being around or talking to non-fucked-up-people right now.
All I want is to be dead.
Oh right, apparently that's not an option. Fine, I'll deal with being in bed cuddling Titan. Least then I don't need to explain myself to people, or have to do anything. Titan just accepts without question. Humans can't do that.
The Short Straw
I can't write on my website because it's not phone friendly so instead I will write here while I'm in hospital. I'll probably transfer this to my site when I'm out, but I may be too lazy by then.
I just want to put it out there, that having a mental illness sucks. Really. Everything is so much harder. Sometimes I think even breathing is harder for me. Maybe it is and no one really pays attention. It wouldn't be the first time!!
So I mentioned in a status message earlier that I might write here. I was writing in my journal (best way to help process everything!) when I started to write about something I wasn't aware of being affected by.
Some of you know I used to play Second Life (SL) and some of you are aware that prior to my leaving SL I was in a relationship with someone from the game. In game, he and I were partnered (don't ask if you don't play SL, it's too hard to explain!!) on both our main accounts and as our alts. When I left SL and deleted my avatars I didn't end the partnership. I figured Linden Labs would do that automatically. Turns out they don't.
The other day I received two emails from Linden Labs telling me I was dumped.
I need to say here that he and I split in late May or early June, so it's taken him a few months to end the partnership. It's not like it happened instantly in a callous way. So why did it hurt me so badly? I very nearly crumbled into a weak, useless heap when I saw the emails.
That has got to be pathetic. I mean it's been months since I've even spoken to him or thought about him!! Now, well, I wonder if I hurt him. I wonder if I was so horrible he was upset. I feel guilty for not being better and being able to have a stable relationship. My memory could be totally crap but I remember a lot of good things he did for me. He did teach ne how to begin to trust people. That's something. In fact it's huge!
Still, it hurts. I feel guilty. I feel inadequate. I feel useless.
I wonder why I bother trying to get help. What if it doesn't work and I end up crashing straight away instead of getting better? Yeah, yeah I shouldn't play the "what if" game. Sometimes I think about things too much and the "what if" game just sort of starts.
Anyway, I've had that on my mind all day, well after writing in my journal. I know it will upset some people to read this. I'm not sure I can truly apologise for that right now, but rest assured when I have room for more guilt I will apologise profusely.
Well that's it. It's 8pm and I can have medication now. I might ask for a good dose so I can be knocked out and can sleep off my useless mood.
I just want to put it out there, that having a mental illness sucks. Really. Everything is so much harder. Sometimes I think even breathing is harder for me. Maybe it is and no one really pays attention. It wouldn't be the first time!!
So I mentioned in a status message earlier that I might write here. I was writing in my journal (best way to help process everything!) when I started to write about something I wasn't aware of being affected by.
Some of you know I used to play Second Life (SL) and some of you are aware that prior to my leaving SL I was in a relationship with someone from the game. In game, he and I were partnered (don't ask if you don't play SL, it's too hard to explain!!) on both our main accounts and as our alts. When I left SL and deleted my avatars I didn't end the partnership. I figured Linden Labs would do that automatically. Turns out they don't.
The other day I received two emails from Linden Labs telling me I was dumped.
I need to say here that he and I split in late May or early June, so it's taken him a few months to end the partnership. It's not like it happened instantly in a callous way. So why did it hurt me so badly? I very nearly crumbled into a weak, useless heap when I saw the emails.
That has got to be pathetic. I mean it's been months since I've even spoken to him or thought about him!! Now, well, I wonder if I hurt him. I wonder if I was so horrible he was upset. I feel guilty for not being better and being able to have a stable relationship. My memory could be totally crap but I remember a lot of good things he did for me. He did teach ne how to begin to trust people. That's something. In fact it's huge!
Still, it hurts. I feel guilty. I feel inadequate. I feel useless.
I wonder why I bother trying to get help. What if it doesn't work and I end up crashing straight away instead of getting better? Yeah, yeah I shouldn't play the "what if" game. Sometimes I think about things too much and the "what if" game just sort of starts.
Anyway, I've had that on my mind all day, well after writing in my journal. I know it will upset some people to read this. I'm not sure I can truly apologise for that right now, but rest assured when I have room for more guilt I will apologise profusely.
Well that's it. It's 8pm and I can have medication now. I might ask for a good dose so I can be knocked out and can sleep off my useless mood.