Posted in bpd, coping, mental health, stigma

After an Attempt

TRIGGER WARNING This article or section, or pages it links to, contains information about SELF-HARM and SUICIDAL THOUGHTS/ ATTEMPTS which may be triggering to those who struggle with suicidal ideation, cutting and other forms of self-harm.

September 2, 2015. The suicide attempt where I would have been successful without the intervention of the police. There’s a wide variety of topics on suicide that you’ll encounter on the internet: warning signs, what to do when your friend is suicidal, statistics and the impact of suicide, etc. What you don’t often hear about is what it’s like to survive an attempt, and how life changes in the immediate and far futures. And when you do, it’s about how friends and family surround the person with Hollywood like gestures of love and support. I’m here to share my story of life after my big attempt and dispell the misconceptions about life after an attempt.

I’ve dealt with suicidal thoughts for years. I’ve attempted suicide more times than I’m comfortable admitting. On the day before the big attempt, I was caught in a pretty big lie, and my whole support system was pretty upset about it. The night before, I stayed the night at a friend’s parent’s house because I was feeling unsafe after I had been caught. In the morning I woke up with this giant pit in my stomach. After trying to talk with my at-the-time boyfriend, we’ll call him M, I wasn’t feeling any better. While he said he’d still date me, it was going to take a long time to build his trust back. Since I suffer from Borderline Personality Disorder, I struggle with abandonment issues, and took his comments as a way to let me down easy and that he was really going to leave me. So upon hanging up, I drove to the local hardware store, and went to go look at the ropes. An employee came over and asked if I needed any help. I was lost trying to find a rope strong enough to hold my weight, so I disguised it as wanting to buy a rope to tie things to the back of my moped. I rode back to my apartment and… well you can imagine what happened next.

I called M’s mom, sobbing, and telling her that my life was over no matter what: if I lived or died. I then hung myself. I won’t go into detail. M’s mom had called an ambulance and the police. The police forced entry and saved me. They took photos of the scene IMG_20150902_191816989_HDRand then threw away the rope. I was put in a neck brace and rushed to the hospital and went through nearly 24 hours of tests. At the end of it all, I was told there was swelling in my c-spine, and I’d have to wear the cervical collar for a month and a half. It was the most traumatic day of my life, and even 2 years later I haven’t told anyone what it was like, but I still have nightmares. Once I was medically cleared I was taken to the psych ward. I’ve blocked most of the following days out, so it’s all a blur, but in the days following I had a lot of phone calls. The first one was M’s mom checking up on me. She had brought me some toiletries and a journal when I had been transferred up to the psych ward, and wanted to know how things we going. I tried to ask about M and how he was doing, but she declined to answer, saying that he’d call me when he was ready. A few days later he called, and broke up with me. I reacted quite violently out of a place of hurt. I was crying and screaming at him, calling him a liar and saying that he was breaking his promises to me. It got to the point where he had to hang up on me. After talking to a nurse, I called his mom back and asked if he was willing to talk to me again, this time there’d be no screaming, and I’d be using my new skills I had been learning. Thankfully he agreed, and we had a mature conversation. I had now lost M and his family, which made up almost my entire support system back then. All I had left were my friends B and F. That didn’t last long… the next day I got a three-way call from B and F saying that they needed a break from me. The deal was no contact for two weeks – every message, DM or voicemail I tried to send would not be read and promptly deleted. After two weeks, they’d call me again, and we’d discuss if we’d stay friends and if so, what that will look like. So when I released to go home, my support system was gone. If I thought that was hard, I had another thing coming.

I was returning to an empty apartment. I had no central support. How do you return to a life you thought you were never supposed to live? I had heard stories about friends IMG_20150911_184413463waiting at the patient’s home with letters about how much they love them or the patient gets a fresh and renewed outlook on life and everything is magically easy. NOT TRUE! Not only was I still in an unstable state of mind, but I had a cervical collar that screamed: “LOOK I WAS IN SOMETHING TRAUMATIC, PLEASE ASK ME ABOUT IT SO I CAN BLUSH, CRY AND RUN AWAY!” Furthermore, I when I did open up and tell someone what happened, many people had the audacity to tell me that I didn’t really try to kill myself and it was all fake. Those really got me. What was the cervical collar THAT THE HOSPITAL GAVE ME for then, huh? Just a prop I stole for my big lie? REALLY?  I know my credibility wasn’t the best at that moment in time, but still. Whenever someone told me my suicide attempt was faked, it drove me to want to kill myself even more. I was so hurt and mad that I’d want to prove them wrong, to show them that I was capable of ending my life.

The whole time I had my cervical collar on, I just wanted to hide. I returned to work during that period, and was flooded with questions from coworkers and clients. Because of the collar, it was difficult for me to do the back work, so I spent most of my time at the front desk, checking in and out clients and managing emails and phone calls. Believe me when I say that you don’t realize how much you use your neck until you can’t use it at all. Especially when it comes to riding a moped. Talking on the phone was rough too, so I felt like I was pretty useless during work. Which didn’t help my mental health. For our September monthly work meeting, we went rock climbing as a team building exercise. Everyone doubted my ability to actually climb the wall, but I made it to the top! It was the first time I felt good about something since my attempt.

Returning to life after an attempt is difficult. It’s hard to know what to say to people who know what happened, but even harder to come up with excuses when you don’t want people to know what happened. Because I attempted in my home, it was hard to walk past the spot every time I had to walk past it. It was hard to restart without any sufficient support. I had to learn my triggers, and if you think about it, to learn your triggers, you have to be triggered (more often than not) and dealing with those triggers can be a challenge. It’s more than tempting to relapse into self-harm, or to attempt suicide again. In my case, I had attempted suicide WITH my support system around me, so when I was triggered after my attempt I felt like there was nothing emotionally keeping me here anymore. My self-harm increased during this time. On social media, I came out as having Borderline Personality Disorder, but I mostly tried to portray having a perfect life and that I was entirely happy. I overcompensated for my “failure” by faking happiness. There’s no magical change where things get better, there’s no party where everyone in your life tells you how much you are loved and then you suddenly are healed.

If you were wondering, I was given a clean bill of health. IMG_20150922_162921780_HDR

What’s important in life after an attempt is that you DO continue to seek professional support once you are released from the hospital – a therapist, psychiatrist, even your primary care doctor works in a pinch. It’s also important that you increase your self-care, and give yourself leeway in your recovery because things will not go perfectly. If you have a support system, give them space to process how they need, but don’t be afraid to ask for help if they’re in a headspace to do so. You’re not alone, and you’ve got this.

If you or someone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts:
Call the Suicide Hotline at 1-800-273-8255
or text  HELP to the Crisis Text Line at 741741

Posted in bpd, diagnosis, mental health, stigma

Disclosing for the First Time

Disclosing you have a mental illness, whether it be to family or friends, to an employer, even on social media, it’s scary and carries a lot of unknowns. With such a stigma hanging around, I’ve seen it be very discouraging to make your mental illness public. It took a long time for me to open up online about my mental illnesses. My first big diagnosis was Borderline Personality Disorder. It wasn’t until 4 months after the diagnosis and 4 psychiatric hospitalizations that I was comfortable posting on Instagram about my illness. It took me days to figure out what I was going to say and how I was going to approach the issue. I decided that education was key. People would be less likely to judge or be stigmatizing if they we operating with a knowledge of where I was coming from… right? While the response wasn’t completely accepting, it was overwhelming better than what I was expecting. Days before I opened up online, I had lost my at-the-time boyfriend, his entire family, and temporarily lost my best friends. I needed support. I was genuinely trying to navigate life after a suicide attempt on my own, and while I didn’t disclose this particular information, my motivation was definitely hoping to find support. If you haven’t opened up about your mental illnesses, do not worry. There’s no rush. There’s no timeline you’re expected to follow. You never have to if you don’t want to. But if you’re looking for inspiration or even just a place to start thinking about it, here’s what I wrote when I first came out.

I’m still young and new to this world. And maybe this is the borderline talking. But I’m going to shed my two cents on mental health awareness and share my personal story.
I have borderline personality disorder. I feel the same emotions you do. But I feel them on a more extreme scale. When I first got diagnosed it was explained to me as such: let’s take a range. 0-100. 0 being no emotion, like a Psychopath. 100 is an emotion, so extreme no one has felt it. People without borderline, well, their feelings typically lie at a 20 on this scale. Now take someone with BPD. Our everyday emotions, on the same scale, are an 80. Having borderline has been compared to having 3rd-degree burns on 90% of your body. Brain studies have shown the emotional centers of our brain overpower our logical centers. People with BPD struggle to maintain relationships due to the intensity of the emotions. It’s hard for us to keep a job. Sometimes it’s a miracle if we can muster up the mental energy to even get dressed in the morning. I’ve spent nearly a month working on this post because I over-analyze everything. We’re trapped in our brain. Some days it feels like an eternal hell. I never know what emotion I’m going to feel from one minute to the next. It’s agony to look at all the people I’ve hurt. I constantly struggle with fear of abandonment. My brain can only think in black and white. I can say from personal experience: it’s exhausting. 1 in 10 people suffering from BPD successfully commit suicide. Mood disorders have a 6% suicide rating. I don’t share any of this for pity, or for attention. in fact, I ask that there are no “oh my gosh I’m so sorry” or “you’re so strong” comments (or the like) added to this post. I’m choosing to share my story to bring awareness to the fact that mental illness is a very real thing. And it’s very present in our society. It’s not something we can just “get over.” there have been days where I have called into work sick, crying on the phone because I mentally was feeling particularly unstable. I’m very blessed to have a job that understands and has graciously worked with my disorder. But I’m one of the lucky few. Mental illnesses are very real. I once watched someone struggle with the idea of taking a shower or simply go to the grocery store, due to anxiety. Things that most people can do without thinking. The world is starting to shift its view on mental illness, and it’s up to us to keep that change going. I know I’m only one voice. I know most people will not take the time to read all of this. So I want to say thank you to those who did. Borderline personality disorder is only one of a myriad of mental illnesses that people struggle with every day. 1 in 4 adults has some sort of mental illness. Please educate yourself. We thank you for it. I proudly wear green for mental health awareness and gray for BPD awareness. And I thank you again for taking the time to read this.

Posted in Anxiety, bpd, coping, Medication, mental health

When it Rains, It Pours

TRIGGER WARNING This article or section, or pages it links to, contains information about SELF-HARM and SUICIDAL THOUGHTS/ ATTEMPTS which may be triggering to those who struggle with suicidal ideation, cutting and other forms of self-harm.

If you follow me on Instagram, some of this will sound familiar. A few mornings ago, I had an unfortunately realistic dream that left me convinced that I wasn’t a real person, and that I was engineered to have everything go wrong in my life.

Ever since my junior year of high school, I’ve been a believer that I had bad luck or essentially the notion that everything in my life went wrong. This started when I got involved in my old church by having a mentor, but because of the extent of my suffering, she felt the need to share my story with the staff members of the church. Every week when I went to youth group, my mentor or a staff member would deliver me some form of bad news from the development of the staff knowing my sufferings. My friends at the time agreed with me when I compared my life to a TV show, where every week’s “episode” brought a new curveball that I, the main character, had to deal with.

My first psychiatric hospitalization was an acute stay of a few days on my hospital’s psych ward. It was after a suicide attempt where I tried to drown myself in a bathtub with a back of rocks on my head. My emotions leading up to the attempt were rooted in the belief that everything in my life is bound to go wrong. That I have terrible luck and therefore I needed to protect myself and those around me by escaping the bad luck via death. My bad luck seemed to continue even in the hospital when I accidentally seemed to break two computers and was ignored by the ward’s head doctor. My Borderline self played into this belief with my abandonment issues, telling me that my friends and boyfriend were going to leave me as another effect of my bad luck. So I SHOULD try to leave them via suicide before they have a chance to leave me. I ended up discharging myself before I was ready to return home, with the hope to escape reality once again by suicide. Obviously, I was unsuccessful, seeing as how I’m still here.

A few nights ago, my brain attempted to convince me of another possible reason as to why everything in my life seemed to go wrong. I am still desperate to find an explanation for all the trials in my life. Here’s what I woke up believing:

“I’m not human. I’m an experimentation. I was designed to have everything go wrong eventually in my life so my creators could observe. They wanted to see how someone could respond to abuse in various situations. They wanted to know what would happen if you kept kicking someone while they’re down. I’m worthless. No one cares about me, it’s all fake, it’s all a ruse to see how I respond. That’s why I cut myself. So that I would see blood and pretend that I’m real. That’s why I want to kill myself so much. That’s why I take medication. They give it to me to make me different kinds of sick. To experiment. That’s why everything’s going wrong right now. That’s why everything always goes wrong. ‘When it rains it pours’ is my life motto. It’s always pouring. The PCOS, abuse, lack of friends, self-harm, mental illness, all my lung problems, my skeletal issues, being ignored by the world, etc. It’s all just someone’s idea of a sick and twisted reality and I’m just something to play with and leave behind.”

My brain decided this was my new reality. I’ve been fighting it off for days and I’m still not 100% sure which “reality” is the real one. I don’t want to take my meds because part of me is convinced “they’re what’s making me sick.” I know that’s only perpetuating the problem if I don’t. I’m grounding myself but nothing’s working. Even a freezing cold shower left me thinking I was still being watched and laughed at by my creators because I was trying to erase that reality. The concoction of PTSD and psychosis can do weird things…

My life seems to embody the saying “If it rains, it pours.” And I’m still trying to find answers to my question of “why?”

Posted in Anxiety, bpd, coping, Depression, ED, mental health, PTSD

Self-Therapy: How I Had the Best Monday Morning I’ve Had in Years

I started writing this earlier this morning and am proud to bring you the best self-therapy I think I’ve ever had:

My mental illnesses are taking over. It’s taking all the energy I have to keep myself from attempting suicide, and I don’t even want to die!! My nightmares/ dreams are so bad I can’t even tell if I’m awake or dreaming. My eating disorder and self-image is at nearly an all-time low and I’m starting more intense therapy.  My knees ache in the springtime because of the cool, damp air. My back is getting worse and I’m scared wearing an occasional brace and electrotherapy won’t be enough in the near future. My blog traffic is down so low it’s worse than the first month is was live. I’m stressed all the time. My financial situation is dire. My bipolar is temporarily stable, but the fear or losing control again makes it even harder for me to trust my mood. I’ve had life-altering pain in my side for 7 months with no answers, and more my digestive system is revolting against me and doctor’s don’t know why yet. I’m a mess. I need a vacation. I’m curled around a puke bowl crying and browsing Facebook. I don’t even remember what inspired the thought, but something made me realize I need to do my best to live life despite the blows that knock me down. Lake Monona is my backyard. I got a bigger boost of inspiration than I’ve had in months.

IMG_20170522_080844949It’s 7:30 am on a Monday morning and I just got home from the ER about an hour ago. I’m struggling with my Bipolar Depression and thoughts of suicide while struggling with the scary and unknown thoughts of digestive failure or kidney disease. Every fiber of my being screams to just curl up in a ball under blankets and just watch a movie I’ve seen a hundred times over. Something on Facebook inspires me to just make a positive memory for myself and live a happy life, at least for the morning. I needed to just let go of all of the anxiety over unknowns in my life and enjoy myself. I wasn’t going to let anxiety win. I got up, threw my phone, a waterproof speaker and an Ensure in a bag, grabbed my favorite canoe, Pea Pod, and dragged it all down to the shoreline. I was so excited, but also nervous, because I had this gut feeling it was a bad idea to go canoeing in my current physical condition. Somehow my persnickety brain allowed me to throw caution to the wind and go canoeing anyways.

I started out quite clumsily, it was hard to find a way to paddle that compensated for my current right flank pain. It was so early in the morning that the sun was either directly in my eyes or so low that I was in the shade and chilly. After a period of wrestling with the canoe and the sun, I realized I had forgotten to turn my music on! That improved the entire situation 1000%.  I was singing at the top of my lungs, laughing, talking to the wildlife and enjoying the view. I went down this channel that has a great balance of interesting houses, and wildlife, to look at while paddling. img_20170522_082707328.jpgI drank an Ensure, which is a nutritional drink I was prescribed when I was diagnosed with my eating disorder. I’ve been struggling a lot with my eating recently because I’m about to start meeting with a new professional about it, so I’ve been avoiding drinking the Ensures so that I appear “sick enough” for this new doctor (PRIME EXAMPLE OF WHY THE EATING DISORDER STIGMA IS DANGEROUS). It made me feel really good about myself, but there was still this hesitation inside of me that I didn’t like. My thoughts immediately jumped to pushing myself really hard paddling so I’d burn off the calories and not get fat because I drank it. Instead of acting on that thought, I practiced a DBT skill where you imagine your thoughts and urges as leaves on a river, and picture them flowing past you without judging them or acting on them… only I did it in real life on the lake with some leaves from a nearby tree and watched my urges to over-exert myself and self-image issues drift away from my canoe. Then I “took matters into my own hands” and paddled away from them. I decided to make a conscious choice to leave those issues behind me and “paddle towards recovery”. I think my phone heard my thoughts because the next song that played was a song from my library that dealt with physical appearance and learning to accept yourself (as long as you promise not to judge me for being a Gleek, you can listen to the song here).

There were many times I started to turn around. My depression was screaming at me to go back into my bed and just spend the next few hours mindlessly on my phone. Even now, I don’t completely know how I was able to fight those thoughts off and keep going on my planned route. I would mutter a little pep talk (“you got this, remember you’re having a good time?” or “oh no you silly brain. this is my morning and you aren’t taking it from me” or something of the like) and paddle on. At one point my foot fell asleep so bad that I had no feeling in my foot. If you know me, you know I’m ridiculously ticklish

IMG_20170522_083159379
Accidentally wore the perfect shirt…

on the bottoms of my feet. I can even tickle myself! I ran my finger across my foot and couldn’t feel it AT ALL. It was a weird out-of-body experience, and also kinda scary. Needless to say, the rest of the ride I was always wiggling my feet and knees so they didn’t fall asleep. I paddled along, quacking at ducks and then laughing at myself… that’s a really powerful gift, to be able to have enough empathy towards yourself that you can laugh at the silly quirks you have, instead of tearing them down. That thought was another positive thought that I noted to use in the future when I begin hating my childish quirks. I seized the moment and sat cheering myself on for the distance I’ve already run in the marathon to self-acceptance.

 

At this point, I’m about 2/3 of the way through my planned trail to blaze in Pea Pod. Once again, as if on cue, a string of my self-empowering songs played. Pure positive energy seemed to burst from my chest. It was surreal. I paddled with renewed life in me. My cheeks hurt I was smiling so much. I paused long enough to capture a quick video of the moment:

I paddled home in the best mood I can remember ever being in, in recent history anyway. There are a gazillion more thoughts I had and experiences I will treasure from my paddle, but I will leave you with this, recovery is not a straight line. Things had been going well for me these past two weeks, and then everything came crashing down. Even with this paddle to lift me up, I’m still in a funk and overwhelmed. This wasn’t a wand-waving experience that made me feel all better. In fact, I’m still a little low-key passively suicidal. But the opportunity to suspend reality, if only for a moment of relief, was well worth the effort. I’m depressed but rejuvenated. The self-discovery journey I went on today was one I will never forget. I hope this post encourages you to stretch yourself this week, and allow yourself the freedom to take things as they come, and go on a journey with your closest friend… you ❤

Want to hear “My Paddle Playlist”? Check it out here.

Posted in bpd, coping, Depression, ED, mental health, stigma

Abuse and the Stigma

The stigma surrounding mental health is still really bad, despite the efforts of thousands if not millions of people standing up and speaking out against it. We (the mentally ill) still fear getting help, talking about their mental illness, face bullying, are told we are faking, or that we are lying, or worst of all are told to go hurt/ kill ourselves.

I myself have been told some pretty awful things. One time an old friend texted me words of hate and shame, she told me I was lying and that she hated me. That night I tried to drown myself in the bathtub with weights. She pursued me over text, Facebook, Google Hangouts and Instagram. I blocked her on all platforms and changed my number. But she didn’t rest there.  It took a huge toll on my mental health. But I didn’t say anything to anyone besides telling a friend about a message here or there. Finally, during my partial hospitalization program with Rogers, I opened up to my therapist and she called the police and the police informed this girl that if she ever got into contact with me again she would be pressed with criminal charges and a restraining order would be filled. Her mom called back and began saying at him that I had just gotten released from a mental hospital and I was unstable. Thankfully the officer had seen my evidence and told the mom that if that was her first defense that there was probably some guilt on their side of things, and he ended the call. Later this was found on her Instagram:

These comments were made the morning after the Orlando murders took place. I was distraught for weeks after reading this. To this day, thinking about me sick to my stomach. These users used to be friends of mine. And in the weight of the Orlando aftermath, I was being compared to mass murderers by people who used to know me! And it was on display for anyone to see. I couldn’t eat and cried for days. I hated myself more than I ever had in my whole life. This and other bullying I’ve faced has made me very scared to open up about any of my mental health issues or the bullies that were telling my support system that I’m a liar. Instead of getting help, I was letting my illnesses get the best of me. I was scared that if I told someone that they’d treat my like I was a crazy person and I’d lose them from my support system. Instead I watched nights turn into days, tossing and turning until I could lay awake no longer. One of my best friends and I went nearly a whole semester not talking because I couldn’t risk being judged – which was compounded by the fact that borderline patients have severe abandonment issues. 

I wish I could say my story is unique or an uncommon occurrence, but I see people with mental health issues receive just as bad or ever worse hate on a daily basis. I see someone post something about their battle against anorexia and read a handful of atrocious comments. Later the same user posts a picture of some hate on a forum about her and it’s nothing but negativity. This user then tried to commit suicide three times and only by flukes are they still alive. When your mental illness is already lying to you, and you’re struggling to hold the tidal waves of depression and dissociativeness at bay, you can barely keep your head above water. Bullying takes down any and all efforts we’re making to stay afloat.

We already have a stigma to battle. If you Google “Borderline Personality Disorder”, you can find websites that tell you we’re “evil” and “liars” and “manipulative.” If someone were to read those, and then hear I have BPD, they would immediately be scared of me and distrust everything I say. But that’s not true. I’ve been called a liar all my life, but the truth is, people who know me can usually tell when I’m lying because I’m so bad at it. And after one lie I got caught up in led to me hitting rock bottom, I strive to always be truthful, even when it means something bad for me. As for calling us manipulative, well… as children, Borderlines often do not receive adequate affection and attention from the people who are supposed to give exactly that. Because of this, we crave it when we get older and feel like we have to overachieve and perform more in order to “earn” it because doing “enough” as kids didn’t have an end result of proper validation. However, we are also often put down, endlessly criticized and even bullied or neglected as children. We feel we don’t deserve the attention we end up getting so we “split” ourselves and succumb to self-hate. And remember, Borderlines feel emotions roughly FOUR TIMES as intense and extreme than normal. With all that being said, hopefully, you can understand me when I say we are not manipulative. This is just one example of a thousand comments I wish I could make to combat the stigma.

The stigma stands in the way of us mentally ill, by discouraging us to go to therapy/ talk about/ get help for our illnesses. It scares us into silence. It causes others to wrongfully jump to conclusions or make assumptions about us, driving a wedge into compassion and community. It causes us to get blamed for things we have no control over and makes us hate ourselves even more. It can cause us to hurt ourselves or even attempt suicide. When you add bullying and negative comments on top of the stigma, it can compound these negative effects. Please, not only make an effort to end the stigma surrounding mental health but help combat the bullying and abuse we receive from less educated folks. And if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

Posted in Anxiety, Bipolar, bpd, coping, Depression, ED, mental health, OCD

I’m Not Okay – An Explicit Truth

TRIGGER WARNING This article or section, or pages it links to, contains profanity and VIVID IMAGERY about SELF-HARM and SUICIDAL THOUGHTS which may be triggering to those who struggle with suicidal ideation, cutting and other forms of self-harm.

This was written a few days ago. 

“I’ll be okay” …is that what you want me to say? Because I don’t know if I’ll be okay. This morning I was in a really good place and now I want to fucking die.

I have healthcare now but I might lose it in the next year or two and with the ACA possibly being revoked I might not get health insurance back. And without insurance, I can’t afford my medication. And without my medication, I will destabilize and probably kill myself. I don’t cut anymore, but I sure as hell want to. I can’t go to Walgreens without walking past the razors and staring at them, trying to somehow convince myself that I can get by another week without cutting. I’ve tried many alternatives to cutting, like meds, sleep, being with someone, coloring, solitaire, word searches, stuff like that. But nothing comes even close to what cutting did for me. I went to Rogers Memorial Hospital for a two and a half month residential stay and after that, I felt like I just couldn’t cut on principle. I cut because it made my anxiety go away, I wouldn’t shake as much, it gave me lots of endorphins which helped a ton, it was a tangible thing because my sickness is “all in my head” (I use that ironically). Plus it’s hard to worry about anything else when you’re covered in blood. I feel physically sick almost every day from stress. I throw up if I eat too much cuz my stomach hasn’t eaten three meals a day consistently for almost 4 years. I throw up if I’m stressed. I throw up randomly. I’ll start shaking in terror while watching a kids movie. I’ll start shaking when I’m relaxing. I’ll start shaking doing a puzzle. I still exit the freeway and then get back on so I don’t have to cross a bridge. I still cry passing a semi truck. I still can’t drive if it’s windy. My blankets have to be with the tag by my feet or I can’t sleep. My car has to beep twice saying it’s locked or I can’t walk away. My mental health kit items have to be organized exactly right or I can’t move on to another task. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about suicide. I think about it whenever there’s a tree by the road, and I wonder if it’s close enough for me to crash into. I think about it whenever I’m off the ground, even if it’s just the top of the stairs, and I calculate my odds of death if I fell/ jumped. I think about it when I see any sort of rope, belt or other stringy things, and I think about how I could hang myself with it. I think about it when I take my medication at night, and I know exactly what to take to hurt/ kill myself. I don’t always have a specific plan, and I usually have no intent to carry through, but I think about it and I crave it. I still get so depressed that I miss appointments and don’t even bother explaining why. It takes me up to two hours just to get out of bed in the morning because my sleep and nightmares are so bad. I can’t work because of my rapid cycling bipolar and unpredictability as an employee. I’m scared to talk about this with my loved ones out of fear that they’ve had enough and will leave me (THANKS, borderline…). I’m scared to talk about it with my treatment team out of fear that they’ll say “but you have skills and lived at Rogers Memorial Hospital and went through DBT” or judge me for relapsing. I’m scared to talk to strangers because they don’t know me or my story. I get lunch dates to celebrate being X days cut free. I get hugs and Facebook likes for being in recovery. But are there “Get Well Soon” cards or hot meals brought over when I’m depressed? No. If I had a physical illness there would be. But with a mental illness? “Shhhh don’t talk about it like that!” I can’t talk openly about my illness without people giving me weird looks. Well FUCK the stigma, I’m saying it like it is. Having a mental illness is hell. I don’t know if I’ll be okay.

“I’ll be okay…” I can’t say it.