World Mental Health Day 2018

Every day should really be mental health day but I digress.

Today I want to talk about how APPALLING it is to me that people don’t get the level of care they need. That can be due to stigma, lack of services or lack of insurance (etc). It’s appalling because people are suffering and these illnesses can absolutely kill. I stand with everyone out there dealing with mental health issues and I will always speak up for people’s rights.

Pictured: green ribbon I drew on my wrist, excuse the scar. DpJUMNSWkAALy8r

Self-harm (trigger warning)

This is a blog that was spurned by another blog.

I’m a recovered self-harmer and that is pretty hard to admit in itself and even harder to admit is that the last time I SHed I was thirty-four….less than a year ago.

The first time I was about fifteen or sixteen, not that far post suicide attempt. I had no clue how to cope with what I was feeling and no one stepped up to help me. I was at a loss. One day I purposefully broke a CD case and took the sharp edge to my inner forearm, the last time I’d SH in an obvious place. It brought relief but also unwanted concern from my parents so I started going further up my arm to hide it, my upper arms are still mottled with scars mostly stemming from my late teens and early twenties.

It’s only been recently that I’ve started going sleeveless again. I was so ashamed for so long of my poor coping mechanism. Now I know it was that and that has helped.

I am twenty (anthology submission)

“I am twenty” is a poem about a suicide attempt that I made when I was twenty. Prior to the attempt, I had been dealing with undiagnosed bipolar disorder.

 

I am twenty

I am twenty years old

Fresh out of a failed experiment

Of a college career

Slowly I’ve churned my way

Ruining like a tornado

Leaving destruction in my wake

 

I am twenty years old

Reeling from that failure

The pain etched into my skin.

Missing a place I once loved

And a girl I once was

For the first time total loss

 

I am twenty years old

I am giving up

I owe too much and have too little

I have nothing to give

Nothing left to live for

A life of only fear and failure

 

I am twenty years old

Cold metal in my mouth

The taste of it unforgettable

Sitting on the bathroom floor

Towel behind my head

I thought it would help with the mess

 

I am twenty years old

My toe on a trigger

I am giving up

I’ve had enough of this life

I’ve had enough of these lies

I don’t understand

 

I am thirty-five years old

I am alive

Fifteen years past my expiration date

The gun failed to fire

And I’m still here

Now I understand

Tired

I’m tired, no really existentially tired. This goes beyond what my anti-psychotic does to me….this is tired on a deep level. Tired as in nothing much seems worth doing. It’s definitely the depression, there’s no question about that. In what seems like a blessing, as well as a curse, my appetite has tanked too…again, depression. This damn appointment cannot come soon enough…I’m floundering here, it’s a miracle that I’m not fighting suicidality every day as I once would have.

 

Anhedonia (Joy Is Not Always a Choice)

Joy in a choice. Happiness is a choice. We hear it all the time….but for some of us those things are not really under our control. Sure if you’re in a job you hate or with someone you don’t love you can probably change that. There are factors you cannot change though…like having a mental illness. Not saying you can’t change the trajectory, you absolutely can, but it takes time and likely will not be on time frame of your choosing.

 

Depression

For at least the past two months I’ve been dealing with depression again. It’s horrible as it always is, at least I have the insight to see it for what it is. Unfortunately that’s not saving me from the horrible thoughts and feelings.

I’m stuck in the dichotomy of “I think I’m going to be ok, it’s just a depressive episode” and “I just want to end it all, I want to be done with it because I’m feeling done.” I am safe but that is how I feel.

Because I see residents I’m also about half a month off my next psychiatrist’s appointment and it feels like forever. The waiting is very difficult…I feel I might need a med change and that’s not happening until I get in to see her (for the first time in ever it’s a her).

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