I'm not kidding, this is probably going to be the most important journal I've written. This is going to be an extremely long journal entry, because I have A LOT to say.
I've FINALLY started treatment for my depression/anxiety, but I won't be back online until around November.
: This journal will have topics such as depression, self-harm, and suicide. You have been warned. Proceed at your own risk.
I'm going to be 100% honest with you guys. Unlike this journal here
where I began to lie about halfway through despite promising honesty, just because I didn't want to worry anyone too much.(I'll touch on that journal in a bit) But, I realize now that this is something that could happen to anyone. Just anyone. The circumstances will never be the exact same, but, it's still something that I should stop trying to avoid being direct/honest about.
Okay, so... My life has just taken a very sharp and sudden turn from the path it had been on, for the better. At least, thus far.
If you've read my journals since 2010, you'll have known that it was early that year(January) that things began to go downhill for me. I got allergies that kept me out of school for the rest of the year up until they finally went got under control in May of 2012. My grades fell, I was stuck at home unable to really do much, I went to the doctor so many times - different doctors/clinics/etc - always to have nothing turn up until I got the allergy results - and even then it took around 2 years for the treatment(allergy shots) to actually be effective. Then in 2011(November)
I developed these joint/muscle pains(I'm convinced that it's Fibromyalgia) that I still suffer from to this day(right this moment, actually) that tend to fluctuate in severity.
However, from 2011 to 2012 these pains were seriously severe, as I explained in several journals and even in the descriptions of some of the artworks that I'd submit here on dA. They also kept me stuck at home - and rendered me even more helpless than the allergies had - there were days when I was truly just bedridden and unable to move, thanks to pain rather than exhaustion. Times when I couldn't even feed myself or dress myself or do ANYTHING. Even when I went to school, between the allergies and the joint pains, I usually ended up spending the whole damned day in the Nurse's station. In bed. Not in class.
I even had to be sent from class to the nurse more times than I can count, and even got sent HOME several times(but I usually had to stay at school since typically there wasn't anyone available to come and pick me up). I fell asleep in class sometimes because of lack of sleep and my body being overwhelmed. I could hardly move from class to class(I had to skip a lot of classes that weren't on the ground floor + even classes that weren't upstairs, it was still so damned painful to force myself to walk), and even to sit up and focus was difficult. I usually couldn't even WRITE. I could go on and on about this...
Either way, I managed to successfully graduate from High School and even got into one of the top two colleges back in Jamaica... Only to still have the joint pains keep me out of college(let's not forget that I still had to go to the doctors so many times and have every damned medication given to me either not work at all or work and then stop and/or I ended up having serious side effects - typically the 'rare' and 'serious' ones. Just my luck. It got to the point where even if I was doing terribly I didn't even want to go to the doctor any at all or take ANY medications for ANYTHING... I was just so tired of it all. I almost phobic about both by the time it was 2013).
Unlike High School where I at least already had gotten to learn at least half of what I needed to learn despite being kept out of school, I had to start from scratch here. It didn't help that unlike in 2010-2011, I couldn't even study anymore. I would get a terrible migraine after a progressively shorter amount of time, to the point where I couldn't even finish a few sentences/one paragraph without having to stop. I also found it hard to retain anything in my memory - things I'd have learned prior to getting sick and such were all perfectly memorized, but any new material was lucky to be remembered any at all.
So... I managed to just barely scrape by with the first semester. No failed modules, but the grades really weren't that good at all. Actually, the only class I even did well in was Environmental Studies(aced with an A and the highest average in my class at the end of the semester), and that's solely because most of the course material was things that I already had known due to my own prior research on environmental things. Very little new material. That's truly the only reason why.
Second semester... I don't even want to go too in depth here. Just know that it was even worse than the first semester. I failed my classes, pretty much. Literally failed, and not by my own standards. Not all of them, I mean, but yeah there were courses I'd have to resit either over the Summer, or during the first semester of second year. Also, during this semester my mother was pretty much frantic about my missing college so much(who wouldn't be, after years?) so even when I was feeling absolutely awful and KNEW that I couldn't handle things, she'd force me to go to college anyways. During High School there were days when I'd leave the house in tears or cry on the way to school, and it happened even more now.
One particularly bad day that I remember vividly, it took me over an hour to try to get from one point on the campus to another - something that normally took me only around 5 minutes the maximum - because it was pure agony to move at all. I could only take the smallest steps. I kept feeling like I was about to faint, and so on. No surprise, that was one of the days that I had begged my mother to just let me stay home because I KNEW how bad I was, but, no, I got forced to go and indeed cried on the way there. I couldn't take it and eventually just sat down trying hard not to cry right where other people could see me. I told my mother when I got home, and yeah, that didn't go over too well. Nonetheless, that was just an awful day.
And, for the whole of college, just like High School, I spent more time at the Medical Center than in class. Yup. Typically sent there by whoever noticed just how terribly I was doing despite trying to force things. The nurses there even began to say I wasn't trying hard enough to go to class/that the things weren't as unbearable as I made them out to be because I was there too much (same happened in High School, actually). But, yeah, I was supposed to go to college in the Summer. Luckily, however, my mother finally caved and thought I deserved time off to relax and decided to not push me to do so. And as you know, the Embassy things came through in August and we had to get everything ready within 20 days and yeah we had a 6-month time frame in which to make the big move, so we decided to move in October.
All the time prior to 2010, I was that kid that was always on the honour roll and such. From preschool right up to the end of 8th grade, I never completed a single year of school without at least one award(minus preschool because you only really got a certificate upon graduation, but I still graduated at the top). Whether I topped my entire class or just topped a particular subject, I still got SOMETHING. Even just in 8th grade, I had topped the entire year group. Not just my class, but the whole year group of some 320ish students. I completed the 1st semester of 9th grade just fine, too.
Then all of a sudden, it's all gone. Beyond my own control. To make matters worse, I actually never had high self esteem. I can't remember ever having good self esteem. Even in preschool, it was extremely low. I was what they'd class as the 'imposter' - the person with low self esteem who acts all happy and successful but are absolutely terrified of failure and strive so hard to be 'perfect'. That was definitely me. If I ever, say, scored lower on a test than I expected myself to, I saw it as a failure even if it actually wasn't (example, after a while, anything below an 80% was a failure to me). Even if my own parents/anyone I talked to were all 'Oh, but you still did great!'/'You did your best, that's what matters'/etc, in my head I had FAILED. And I didn't just fail the test, I was automatically a failure on a whole until I managed to achieve something positive.
I was probably stricter with myself than my own parents were when it came to my schoolwork - heck, while I could still manage to study, I would study for even 7 hours straight, not allowing myself to do anything else. I'd get up EARLY on weekends/holidays and made sure I studied. Every single day, I studied at least for 3-4 hours. Even when there weren't any tests or such coming up. I just studied almost any moment I got, once I didn't have something else I wanted to do. It was my top priority, and... Well, I actually enjoyed studying. So it worked out just fine for me. But, yeah, the moment I got a score lower than my own self-set standards, I was a failure to myself. My self esteem was low all-round, not just for this, and no matter what I tried to do to improve it, it just never improved. It only worsened over time...
Pair that low self esteem with what happened from 2010 onwards and it's pretty much a given what happened to me(Not going to go into the other physical health and family stresses that I had going on then and prior). I was already broken by March of 2010
. Just around two months after it begun. I was starting to slip into chronical depression. But I didn't know it at the time - I thought it was just a natural, regular feeling of depression that one would expect after such events. I was able to remain cheerful despite not actually being happy, since I was a lot more optimistic back then. I figured that yeah, someday it'll all be better, someday soon, I'll be okay. This is just a little setback.
It's hard to tell from my posts back then since I tried to keep upbeat and happy and thus avoided posting anything negative relating to me(or, rather, I often downplayed the severity by saying 'I'm sick/I'm not much better'), but I was actually 'sad' more and more than I was happy. It was minor depression, if there's such a thing - it was lasting for months, but it wasn't severe. This continued into 2011, though it was worsening at a very slow but gradual pace.
Then in November of 2011, this happened.
Which just pretty much broke that optimism I had been able to keep up until then. The mask of cheerfulness was smashed. This is when the depression was starting to turn from mild into severe, but I still managed to keep happy via whatever I could do, and the support from my friends. I was in a bad state, but I refused to give up,
even if just with my artwork. I was still ready to fight.
But in January of 2012
, on the 20th to be exact, I finally began to realize/admit that, okay, yeah, I was at least STARTING to sink into a pit of depression. I was finally starting to stop being in denial about how I really was,
but, I still refused to think that it was so bad that I'd need medical help or anything at that stage. I didn't think I was that bad, and compared to the next two years and almost-8 months to come, it really wasn't THAT bad. I kept more or less at that stage until September of that year.
I wasn't any better in October
. Even by the year-end,
I was still just awful.
2013... Well, with these journals being almost all the journals for that year:Apparently I'm not supposed to draw.
, Well... It's been a while.
, IMPORTANT: Sorry * infinity
,, What is it like to live?
, lol fml
, super-quick update of the sorts
, help me
, and disillusion
... I don't even have to say it, do I? My journals had usually managed to remain mostly positive/random/etc. And then, suddenly, that's gone too. That just speaks volumes, eh?
Finally, 2014. I started off the new year pretty badly
, and to show just how bad I had gotten, I finally came to terms with the fact that I needed therapy/other medical help.
But, I didn't get that help, so I just continued to spiral downwards. I haven't even mentioned it but I've had anxiety since I was a kid as I've come to realize now - things that were brushed off as general shyness were really due to anxiety. But, yeah, it wasn't bad at all, though apparently when I was 12 I WAS diagnosed with mild anxiety. My mother had asked me if I wanted to go the meetings with other kids thing that the doctor had suggested, but she never told me why, so I of course declined because I didn't have any interest in meeting with random kids. She really should have told me what it was for.
Anyways, back on track, so the anxiety was always passed off as typical shyness/nervousness/etc, nothing to worry about... Until this year. I still never really noticed the rapid deterioration until in late April/early May when I realized how I was starting to feel when talking to ANYONE at all. How I started to feel when coming into ANY contact with anyone. How I felt when someone was so much as in the HOUSE with me, much less right in the same room. It got to the point where up to just early September, the mere sound of anyone's voice just made me cringe. Being addressed made me feel like I'd explode. The sound of the TV being on(and my parents talking not loudly) in the living room while I'm in my bedroom with the door closed was enough to set me off. And so on. It got that bad.
Anxiety aside... Kind of. Screwing up friendships over the years(more like since 2012, earliest late 2011) + my low self esteem(which helped to screw things up majorly) resulted in an intense hatred for myself. I get pissed when anyone at all hurts my friends in any way/form at all, and the worse they're hurt is the more I'll want to lash out at that person for hurting them... Depending on the hurt dealt, I might really want the person to just die. I'm EXTREMELY protective of the people I care the most about. And it's a million times worse when that person who hurts them is no one other than MY OWN SELF. And so, I can get really, really violent towards myself once I've hurt a friend and I know it.
And that's what led to my very first suicide attempt in 2009 and first cutting in 2010. I wasn't even THAT depressed at all as yet in 2010 and none at all in 2009, but I had hurt the person who was most important to me at the time. I was fully at fault. And... Yeah. Anyways, so, that was it for a while. It never happened again until early 2012 when I finally screwed up badly enough to be pushed to attempt suicide. Still no cutting, but there were a few suicide attempts for that year. In 2013, I still didn't cut again since that time in 2010, but I DID get pushed to make several attempts to kill myself. Eventually it got to the point where in the Summer, I just HAD to make a vent Tumblr
to try to keep myself sane.
Things calmed down between August and October, but then November rolled around, and with all the things that I mentioned in the journals from that time, PLUS screwing up with friendships(well, really only one for the most part)... I finally caved and cut myself for the first again since 2010. Just once. On the 9th. Then I made a second cut on the 30th. I had resorted to cutting not as a release, not as a coping skill, not to 'feel alive', or whatever else others say it typically is, but as I said earlier, because I hated myself. I wanted myself to suffer. I wanted to hurt myself for what I'd have messed up with. And I was tired of my suicide attempts always failing. I wanted SOMETHING to actually work, and that did the job.
So yeah, 2014 came with a bad start, and I just kept getting worse and an alarmingly rapid rate compared to the gradual plunge that I'd have had up until 2013. By the 9th of January, I was even going so far as to beat on my left hand and arm(usually with the side of a metal spoon) until it was bruised completely. Until I was unable to use it. And I considered that a SUCCESS. Throughout the rest of the month, I just self-harmed a lot. Hence I had finally admitted that I needed medical help.
In February I messed up badly with another friendship that had nearly cost me the friendship itself(I hadn't even known if the person would have ever spoken to me ever again, I'm lucky to say she's still a best friend), and... I still had suicide ruled out from my options, so I cut myself again. That was the 4th cut, counting from the first one in November. It was also the first one that I actually got to BLEED. (Before then, it was like, because I was too cautious to go to the bathroom with anything sharp/suspicious, I'd cut with non-sharp things like a thin metal nail file. If I wiped the cut after I was done, it'd show red/orange on whatever I used to wipe/touch it, but it never actually BLED. This time and the cut before it were done with scissors, but the 3rd cut/one prior I didn't make it /bleed/ either.)
Either way, after doing that, I... I wasn't satisfied. I had blown a whole friendship, one of the friendships I held with the highest regards. One cut wasn't enough to punish myself. I went back and cut myself another four times as opposed to the one-cut-in-one-go that had been my trend. Even then, I STILL didn't want to stop. I thought I deserved to feel MORE pain, for all the pain I'd have caused. But I stopped anyways because I felt light-headed and ready to faint.
March was a much better month. Not much to say here, just that the only thing I actually recorded was that I cut myself just one more time on the 7th. I was actually happier this month. The happiest I'd have been feeling in years. I actually felt free for once. And it actually LASTED. It wasn't a one-day thing. It wasn't for just a maximum of two weeks. It LASTED. But then by the 3rd of April I was finally starting to sink back, bit by bit. Twenty days later, on the 23rd of April, I was finally back to square zero.
I tried to keep myself going anyways, but by the 1st of May I finally broke back down completely, even worse than I'd have ever been prior, and for the first in so long I went and made a suicide attempt. After days of being plagued by nightmares and insomnia and feeling utterly alone despite talking to people and such, I at last wrote this journal
. See, I told you I'd get back to that journal. Everything was the honest truth, except for when I tried to assure you guys that I wouldn't act on the urges. I was honestly trying to tell myself that I wouldn't, but... I knew that I would. I knew.
After posting that journal, I just withdrew completely. No dA, no Skype, nothing. Just avoiding talking to anyone. My anxiety was too great, and I was also EXTREMELY afraid of hurting anyone and thus screwing up any more friendships. During this time, however, I just... Okay. To give a super-quick idea of exactly how bad it was, my vent Tumblr blog typically had only around 1-10 posts per month since I started it up in 2013(between July 2013 and April 2014 I only even made 31 posts in total). Yet, in May there were 92 posts. In June, there were 77. 214 posts for July. 228 posts for August. And an even more frightening 330 posts for September. But yeah...
So in May(the 19th to be precise) I decided to try a something for suicide that I hadn't as yet - I went on a wild rampage and swallowed anything that said 'for external use only/if swallowed, contact a physician immediately'/etc. Anything I could get my hands on that fit the criteria, I swallowed it. AND I overdosed like never before(overdosing was my go-to method, given that I always have medicine at my disposal). I went to sleep(I tried it at like 1~2 am?) and woke up about an hour later puking my daylights out. And I continued to throw up throughout the day, up until pretty late in the night. The entire time, all I was thinking was 'I wish it had succeeded instead of failing and having me have to go through this'. I could also still taste things at the back of my throat for several days afterwards.
My appetite had also been really bad since the start of the year, but now I was going 30+ hours without eating, and then sometimes after all those hours of not eating, I'd binge eat when I finally ate. I'd just eat and eat and eat, something that was completely new to me. I also still kept wanting to hurt myself and such because of various reasons... Even when I didn't necessarily WANT to inflict harm upon myself, I usually still could only feel the odd urge to do something of that league or just imagined myself committing suicide. Anything I looked at, I'd only be able to instantly imagine committing suicide by use of that thing. By the 23rd of May I was starting to seriously consider drinking bleach because it was one thing I hadn't tried as yet, that I've seen people say that yes it can definitely kill you, and I was tired of everything failing. There wasn't any available to me, however, so that didn't happen.
June... Pretty much the same. Self-harm, nightmares, insomnia, anxiety, suicide attempts, shitty physical health, etc. No need to go in-depth there. I was just trying everything I could to help myself to feel better since I still couldn't get medical help, and still nothing was working. But, yeah, everything was just...still horrible. Even when I opened up Skype to try to reach out to someone, I just couldn't do it. I had to close the program before I even clicked on anyone's name. And if I couldn't reach out via text, my preferred mode of communication, you KNOW I couldn't reach out 'IRL' either. I did say how I was starting to react just to having someone in the house with me. By now I was considering things like smoking, doing drugs, or drinking just because they could help to kill me. No other reason. I'm typically extremely against them, and have always refused to go anywhere near any of them in any way, and yet there I was ready to do them solely if it meant I could DIE.
July, now, is quite something. I started it off with an attempt on the 3rd, followed by everything being the same as the new usual usual. Finally, after midnight on the 8th of July, I made a deal with myself. If this suicide attempt failed, then I'd force myself to start talking to everyone again and draw again and go on dA and such. And, obviously, it failed... And that was literally the only reason why I came back that day
. I wasn't ready to. But I made the deal, so I saw it fulfilled. However, because of how terrible I really was, because I wasn't actually ready to return, I eventually began to still disappear every few days randomly and without warning, for up to days at a time. Because I was forcing myself, however, I got even worse as time went on, and other new external stresses all added to things. Hence the influx of posts. August was pretty much just the same - all of the above as July and June combined, just even worse.
September started off the same still, until I finally withdrew once more from talking to anyone starting from about the second week. I just couldn't force myself anymore. And yeah, I just worse and worse and worse emotionally... I was even starting to self-harm WITHOUT a trigger. I had begun to just inflict pain on myself even when I felt more or less calm. I was even beginning to worry that I had actually become ADDICTED to self harm. And when my emotions were stirred up, I went straight to cutting. I began to make several cuts in one go. On the 25th or so I made well over 30 cuts in just one go.
Late night on the 26th, something happened that had been my biggest fear since years ago, and I just could not take it anymore. Earlier in the day I had been eying the bleach in the kitchen whenever I'd pass it, and I even had myself inhale the fumes for a while. As though I was testing it. I had decided that this particular thing, if it went the way I hoped, I would try to hang on for longer. But if it didn't go the way I hoped -- if it went the way I predicted, EXPECTED -- I knew I wouldn't want to live at all anymore. I'd have always known, ever since it became that biggest fear. But, yeah, it went how I expected.
And that was all I needed. All stalling and hesitation was gone, once I was done crying my eyes out(It was odd, really. I was crying the hardest I'd have ever cried, and then I just suddenly quieted down and just felt numb and empty. Just really suddenly. Even my MIND was absolutely quiet). My parents were asleep and my sister was out with a friend(It was around 1-2 AM now on the 27th)... Perfect opportunity(that's another thing, I only do things when I know I won't be seen). I filled a cup with bleach, headed to the bathroom, and gulped down what was supposed to be the first mouthful. It was horrid(well, of course, but). I was coughing and gagging and yeah, I couldn't handle to drink the rest. I figured that what I swallowed was good enough anyways, since it WAS quite a bit.
So I returned to my bedroom(well, me and my sister share the room like it's been all my life), and just updated my vent blog to pass the time. 10-15 minutes later, my sister finally arrived home. That was enough time for me to really calm down and think about things, and for some reason seeing her just made me think that, okay, I MIGHT just regret this. So I told her what I did. Of course she pretty much broke down, and then rushed to make me drink a big bottle of water. While I struggled to do that, she then began to look up on her phone what to do, and saw that drinking milk would be one thing.
So after I finished the bottle of water, she brought the 9/10 done milk jug to me and ordered me to drink all of it. The water alone made my stomach feel really full since I REALLY hadn't been eating much AT ALL, not even starve-then-binge-eat like earlier in the year, so I had to take my time with the milk. The odd thing is... I was just so CALM the entire time. I scared myself with how calm I was. Even having her there crying and breaking down, I just...felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. She even called her best friend, whom I'm kind of best friends with, to tell her(since that friend has depression herself and therefore supposedly knows what I'm feeling) and the friend was just crying the whole time on the phone, begging me to stay strong and telling me that she knows how it is since shes had it for so long + had almost attempted suicide herself and just things like that, and even then I still just felt nothing.
Either way, I continued to drink the milk little by little - as soon as my stomach didn't feel like it was going to burst, I'd drink just a little more, and then wait again. I continued until a certain familiar sensation hit me - just like in May. When I was throwing up the whole day. Yup. I threw up. What they'd call projectile vomit. It came faster than I could try to stop it. Unlike in May, however, it only happened that one time(well, two times, barely a second in between them though). And it was bloody. So my sister finally went and woke my parents up to get me to the hospital ASAP.
And still I was so calm about it all. Even when I was pretty much having something like a seizure as I took a quick shower to get the puke off me, I didn't feel anything but calm. I guess I had subconsciously decided that hey, I'm either going to live or die for sure this time, no need to worry. Everyone else around me is so alarmed and yet, yeah, I seriously didn't feel anything.
Anyways, I got to the hospital, and I admitted to the nurse what really happened(my parents didn't know anything of my depression despite the telltale signs over the years, and yeah they thought the puke was because of how little I'd have been eating), so yeah I got admitted. Right off the bat, as soon as I was made to lay down on the hospital bed(after putting on the scrubs, that was weird to get used to at first), the very first nurse that came to tend to me let me know that if they didn't find anything wrong with me, I was going to be transferred to another hospital since that hospital didn't have a psych ward. I did a chest x-ray, I did a urine test, and they took FOUR VIALS OF MY BLOOD, GOOD GOSH.
They also put the IV in my RIGHT hand, when I'm freaking right-handed, so that was horrid especially since I HAD THINGS TO SIGN AFTERWARDS. Tch. Either way, by now the calm was gone and I was starting to slip back into depression. I just lay away for A WHILE, I didn't fall asleep until maybe around 5 AM. I got woken up now and then to be checked up on and such... Either way, at around 9:30 AM I got asked if I wanted something to eat, and of course I couldn't eat then even if I wanted to, so I turned that down. With that decided on, it was time to transfer me to the other hospital. The checkout process took a WHILE, since I didn't leave that hospital until a little after 11... It was really weird being strapped to a bed, pft. It was also my first time inside an ambulance. But yeah, the drive was quite long. Though, of course, there's a chance that it felt especially long to me thanks to the state that I was in. By then I had pretty much slipped back fully, wishing that I hadn't told my sister what I did. Wishing it didn't fail for the somewhere-close-to-100th time.
Anyways, so I made it to the other hospital and got admitted into the psych ward. Still took quite a process, during which I mostly just slept or withdrew into my mind. I finally made it to the ward itself at around maybe 12:30 PM. I pretty much didn't do anything but follow what the doctors/nurses told me to to do. Once I knew which room I was assigned to(though at the time I didn't know I was actually going to be there overnight, so I was confused about having a room), though, I had to go there to withdraw from everyone else because I was finally breaking back into tears again for the first since before making the attempt. I cried. And then when I quieted down, I just slept. And... that's how I spent the rest of the day, pretty much. Crying, sleeping, being checked up on doctors, signing papers.
However, it wasn't long before I began to self harm again. While alone in the room, I'd sit on the floor with my back to the wall and bash the back of my skull against the wall, always stopping once someone was coming. I even swallowed some of the liquid soap in the bathroom(each room has its own bathroom). I just wanted to die. I didn't want to live. I DID NOT WANT TO LIVE. And I didn't like being there, thanks to my anxiety. I just wanted to be left alone. I didn't even care about getting help, I just wanted to get out of there, and to die. It didn't help that yeah I got asked several times 'what brought you here?/do you know why you're here?' etc, meaning that I HAD to speak and say that yeah I tried to kill myself, I drank bleach, etc. It was really difficult to talk... After the very first time I cried at the hospital, I was prone to bursting into tears for the rest of the day. I couldn't talk for a few seconds without almost breaking down crying - I had to hold back until I was alone.
But yeah when I actually grew more aware of my suicidal/self-destructive state, I'd force myself to go to a doctor and pretty much plead for help. Say I really wasn't okay. But there wasn't much they could do just yet because they still had to fully evaluate me. So... This first day was just awful. Oh yeah, my family came in at 2ish PM because a nurse called them to have them come and drop off some clothes for me. I managed to be okay in front of them though it was more reflexive than anything else... My parents still didn't really know what was going on, but, yeah. Nothing noteworthy. I forced myself to eat some lunch(really just a few bites) while they were there just because they wanted me to, but I didn't eat anything else for the rest of the day. I couldn't. So yeah that's pretty much it for the first day.Second day, the 28th.
I woke up before dawn, but a nurse came to check up on me soon enough afterwards anyways. I still felt suicidal and just horrid... I mean, I woke up crying. Just crying. I went for breakfast as instructed to, but I only managed one bite of the food. Afterwards I had to do a CT/MRI scan (my first) because I reported that I felt a pain in my chest and yeah my stomach's still bad and such, they wanted to make sure that no damage was done. Then I had my first group meeting with the other people in the ward(I was the youngest person there during my whole stay, what the heck), and I nearly cried right there just because it reminded me of the support group in RENT(which currently is painful to me -- RENT, I mean) since we're there in a circle sitting on the chairs and talking and just yeah. I spent the rest of the day similarly to the day before - sleeping, being checked up on, crying, etc - until at about 2 PM when I was finally given an SSRI(That's Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitor; Serotonin is the brain chemical responsible for happiness, self-acceptance, etc) antidepressant to take.
About an hour or two after, I actually noticed that my self-harm and suicidal thoughts/urges were...gone. I still felt really, well, depressed and such because what happened seriously hurt me beyond words, but... yeah. The self-destructive part was gone. And I was feeling better overall. I was calmer, and 'happier'. I have to use that word loosely here since I wasn't actually /happy/, but you get it. I wasn't at that level of depression anymore in the least. I already felt improvement. What massively improved was my anxiety! I was starting to find it easier to talk to others now, and I could make eye contact, I didn't feel bad being in the same room as others, etc. Massive improvement there. I still couldn't really eat, though, and I even had to be put on a soft diet.Third day, the 29th.
Once again, I woke up before dawn, but within less time of getting checked up on as opposed to the day before. I was put on a tablet to help my stomach, so when I went for breakfast, I was finally able to eat! I actually ate all of my food. Finally!! (I actually ate ALL my food for the whole day!) My CT/MRI scan results came back and no damage had been done. And then the antidepressant really helped my mood to improve even more than the day before. I actually felt rather happy -- I was finally getting the help I needed. My heart was still aching extremely badly and I still got really sad once I thought about what had pushed me, but overall I was SO MUCH BETTER. I even drew. I FREAKING DREW. And the amazing thing is, I ACTUALLY LIKED WHAT I DREW. All the little drawings I did, I ACTUALLY LIKED THEM.
This is HUGE, because I pretty much haven't been able to feel proud of anything I draw/write/otherwise create since 2012. Especially my drawings -- You've seen how I tend to say that they're shitty, or that I could have done so much better, or whatever else no matter how much others might praise it. But, no, I liked them and I was PROUD. I could see my flaws and...it didn't get me down. I didn't automatically go 'omg all these flaws, this is shit, i can't draw i'm a shit artist i should just stop im a failure', like I had been these past years. No. I saw the flaws, recognized them, and STILL felt good about my drawings. Something I didn't think I'd ever be able to do again. That was so good... Even better, I didn't feel nervous drawing in front of others! Aaaah, I'm so happy about this!
I was also speaking a lot more readily/easily now upon being addressed, and I had no problems being around anyone though I still preferred to keep inside my room and watch what was going on outside my window(hey, I'm an introvert). I didn't go back to sleep during the day though, unlike the days before. At this point I almost didn't even want to go home! Here I was treated with respect by everyone, I didn't have anyone yelling, I didn't have anyone arguing, it was just nice and quiet with a great view outside my window, I didn't have to find insects/spiders in random places and be all 'HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE?!?/WHERE DID YOU COME FROM?!!?'(trust me, my apartment is shit), I didn't have anyone trying to control me, I was surrounded by people who understood what I was going through and could help me, I was surrounded by people I could open up to without (fear of) being judged, etc. I strongly think I had really needed this. Not just the help, but actually being away from home.
HOWEVER, despite all of this good stuff, my fibromyalgia finally acted up that night after being on the low. My whole right shoulder blade going straight down my right arm. PAIN. SO MUCH PAIN. I couldn't even sleep at first during the night because the pain kept me awake. But yeah, this brought to light the true extent to which the fibromyalgia stuff actually affected me. I was feeling pretty much happy the whole day minus my heartache, free of negative thoughts, and then about an hour or two after the pains started, I began to have depressing/suicidal thoughts again. THE DIFFERENCE THOUGH is that the thoughts weren't in the 'I want to die/I want to kill myself'/etc ways, but rather I would just see myself dying somehow - not by my own hands. I would also see myself breaking down and stuff like that. So yeah this really highlighted the just HOW MUCH my pain actually affects me. I always knew it did, obviously, but since when it started up and until now I was always feeling terrible anyways, I really didn't think it was THIS much.Fourth day, September 30th
Woke up in pain, and noticed the consequential mood shift right away. But overall, I was feeling even better yet. Because of my rapid improvement, I got discharged! Literally everyone kept commenting on just how much better I was, especially compared to when I just came. Group meeting today was significant for me -- we were doing the topic of self esteem. Like I said quite a ways back up in this journal, I've never had good self esteem. I read the handout and I just got so depressed because yes, so much was so damned true for me. Right down to the fact that low self esteem can ruin relationships. I just... I felt so damned awful. I almost cried, but I held it in.
Anyways so eventually it was my turn to talk(I was the second-to-last person to talk), and the therapist had asked yeah what we think our self esteem is like. So I said that yeah, I've always said that I've had pretty much none. So she asked me to tell her some good qualities I had. I... Really couldn't. Despite being happier and all, I just couldn't list any good qualities. And that's what I said; I said that I really wasn't sure. At that point, one of the other patients raises her hand. She was one of the first patients I saw on the very first day I came, and I've never spoken to her even once.
The therapist allows her to speak, and she(other patient) says that she can see that I'm really kindhearted, and that I could draw very well. Then another patient, this one I've just BARELY spoken to, I've really only played a listening part in conversations that he has with the other patients, adds in that he agrees that I draw very well and then he also adds that I'm always smiling. Whenever I make eye contact with people, I smile at them, which is really friendly and welcoming.
Then the therapist herself agrees on my smiling, and then she adds that I'm very respectful and polite with everyone and... THEY JUST LEGIT TOOK MY FEELS AND RAN WITH THEM. I had to try so hard not to just cry, good gosh, I'm lucky that I was the second-to-last person since we left really soon after. I went straight to my room and just had to write the event down because I was just squealing and stuff mentally. Heck, I was jumping around my room once I knew I couldn't be seen. I was just way over the clouds. I was so touched and so happy and just... AAAAAAAA. It lasted the whole day, ahahaha, I mean I still feel so squee-ful right now just remembering it...
The rest of the day was just preparation for discharge, and then waiting for my sister to come and pick me up. My mother had come at 1 PM since they had visitation hours today, and it turns out that my sister eventually told her (and I'll assume dad too) the truth - that I had drank bleach and yeah. Surprisingly she's being so understanding and gentle about the whole situation, just constantly reminding me that she loves me a lot and couldn't survive if anything ever happened to me, etc.
The thing is, I KNOW that it would have gone down much differently if she had heard anything from me myself. I had tried to tell her just in August what was going on, and the littlest hint of it being a mental problem made her snap and actually THREATEN me. I just gave the smallest hint, and not only was she saying really hurtful things, but she actually freaking threatened me. So I guess it so works out that now she knows what's going on, and she and dad are actually being supportive and such. Odd how things work out, eh?
Anyways so I've been home for some hours now, I mean, it's almost 6 AM on October 1st. I don't even know how many hours I've been typing this for, ahaha! But yeah, it feels great to be home. I'm doing so much better.
So... In the end, I guess it finally did get better. I'm no longer even regretting what had pushed me(I mean, my heartache is still IMMENSE, and that's not going to go away for a long time), because if I hadn't made this drastic attempt, I wouldn't have wound up in the hospital, and I wouldn't have gotten the help I've needed since so long ago. I would have had to wait at least a few more months, and I'd have probably been beyond saving by then.
My self esteem, depression, and anxiety are all SO much better. However... I'm not ready to come back just yet. I want to settle down with my medications and make sure I'm really okay and such before I try to talk to anyone online or such. I need to make sure that yes, I'm definitely okay again. Thus, I'm going to keep away until November. I'm sorry to everyone who may want to talk to me or such, but please give me time.
I'll see you all in November!