the year that I died

Things were already falling apart. I couldn’t tell you when it began, I just remember my therapist telling me at some point that I needed to see a psychiatrist. Why, because everything that I had buried so deep inside and chose to forget and other things that I didn’t know were there started pouring out of me and I couldn’t hold it together anymore. For a long time I refused to see a psychiatrist, I refused medication, I convinced myself that I was fine and that I could handle anything. Boy was I completely wrong. This was the second time it was happening but this time was a lot worse than the first.

The first time this happened, I remember in 2012, I sought out professional help because the things that I had buried deep inside and had chosen to forget had started to surface and I didn’t know what to do about it. I found a therapist and we started working through my issues. I had a boyfriend at the time. He knew what I was dealing with and I think we became closer because the more he knew, the more I felt comfortable around him. My therapist at that time suggested that I see a psychiatrist and get on meds to help with the depression. I refused for a while. Then I said I’d give it a try. Not too long after, I ended up in the ER. I don’t know if it was because of the meds or just a really bad anxiety attack. I stopped the meds and I stopped going to the psychiatrist. At some point I thought things were getting better and I was healed, so I stopped therapy and now we end up to the beginning of this blog.

Fast forward a couple years later, obviously I found a new therapist because I was really really really depressed. No one had to tell me. I don’t remember when I started seeing her but since the beginning she had been suggesting meds. I remember complaining to my therapist saying that I would be in a perfectly good mood and be with good company and all of a sudden a wave of depression would hit me. So that’s what clinical depression is. I still refused the meds. My depression was getting worse, things from my past were resurfacing and there was no stopping them. At some point the suicidal thoughts became apparent. They’ve been there before but the urge was a lot stronger now.

Things just got worse from that point on. I started hearing voices and seeing things, seeing ghosts. I felt like someone was following me. I was always on edge. The suicidal urges were constantly knocking on my door. I’d have episodes where I would be talking to someone in person and the voices in my head would start to talk and say that they would harm the person that was with me. I was scared for the other person’s safety and I would cry and cry and try to run away but that person would tell me that there is no one there. I would continue to argue with them telling them to leave, but they never did. In the end, they calmed me down and I would snap back into reality. I had several episodes of that. I remember when I felt like the voices in my head were plotting against me, plotting my death. I remember telling my friend that I wouldn’t make it to my next birthday that year. I remember saying that many times. I remember having a dream where I was dead. I felt like I was already dead. The voices in my head told me to give all my account information to someone. They told me to write goodbye letters to certain people. They would tell me exactly how it would happen, the only thing left is for me to do it. One day I remember them saying, you know where the xacto knife is. I told my friend I wasn’t going to be at church that night. I went home. I starred at where my xacto knife was. I sat there for a while. I eventually got up and ran to my room crying and digging my fingers into the palms of my hands so that they wouldn’t do anything. My pastor and friend found me and took me to my pastor’s house that evening. That was only one incident. I didn’t tell my therapist about that.

In the middle of all this, I gave into my therapists’ wishes and started looking for a psychiatrist. I didn’t realize how hard it was to find one until I started looking. Some said they were not taking any new patients. Some said I wasn’t sick enough. Some asked why my family wasn’t driving me to my appointments? One said they couldn’t treat me and didn’t tell me why. Looking for a psychiatrist and the constant rejection drove my suicidal urges into overdrive. Being told that you are not sick enough according to text book? Just because I still have a job and live on my own, I’m not sick enough?!? I’m on the verge of ending my own life! Is that not sick enough for you?!?

Eventually I found a psychiatrist that would treat me. Eventually I told my family what was going on with me. It wasn’t until September 2016 that I was officially diagnosed with Schizoaffective Disorder and started treatment. It’s been two years and many changes in medication since then. I think my psychiatrist has finally found what they call the “cocktail” of medication so that I could function normally. It’s been working well the past few months, I hope it keeps going and not have to change again. Things have gotten a lot better. I don’t have hallucinations anymore. I don’t see things any more. I don’t hear voices anymore. I’ve fought to stay alive for this long and now am making plans for the future. I went through hell and back and now I get to live my life to it’s full potential. I’m alive and well and am really glad that the meds are working. All I can do now is look towards the future.

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my saving grace

I took the day off today… for two reasons. One, I didn’t feel like going to work and two, I was feeling depressed. I definitely needed it. Work is not crazy but it’s not busy either. I slept in til 11am and then went to lunch with my cousin. Went home and took Mochi to the park.

It seems my depression has been getting worse. This is the 3rd time that I’ve gone home or stayed home from work because of it. It seems like I have depressive episodes every week. My doctor changed my medication again but this time they have to increase the dosage slowly and the effects will happen in the span of a couple of months. That scares me! If my depression is already getting bad, I don’t want it to get any worse waiting, months for the right dosage, for the medication to work. I wish I could say that I was getting better, that the medicine is working and I’m on the road to recovery. Well kinda but not really. I’m afraid of what’s to come in the next month or two. I’m afraid of how bad it might get. I still wish that all of this never happened. I get tired of going through the same thing month after month. Taking medicine day after day waiting for something to work. I hate being asked if I have suicidal thoughts, if I have a plan, and what am I going to do? Knowing full well that there is a definite answer to that scares the SHIT out of me! I know what I am capable of. But, in the back of my mind, I really really really don’t want to die! Even though sometimes I do. Maybe that will be my saving grace. That thought alone will keep me from pulling it off. That thought alone will fight my other half to stay alive. Maybe if I’m fighting for someone else and not just me, that will stop me. Maybe that support that I get from someone is enough to pull me out and get me through this mess. That too will be my saving grace. That has to be enough. There is still that glimmer of hope that I will get through all of this even though half the time I’m skeptical about it. C’est la vie.

this is me

I guess when I started this blog site, I didn’t know how personal I would get. In the beginning, I wanted it to be light hearted and funny, or quirky even. I realize that some of my posts have really gotten deep into what makes me who I am today. I have a journal that I write in almost on a daily basis, but lately I find that I’m writing in here more than the journal. I guess I’m learning to open up? I thought it would be scary at first, to let the world know the real me, that side of me that I’ve been hiding from, hiding from the world all these years. I’m afraid of letting the world know who I really am. I feel like I wouldn’t be accepted given my past experiences with people.

So this is me. I normally don’t open up my feeling or my true self to just anyone. It takes me a while before I begin to trust someone because I’ve been burned many times before.

What do I really want to say? I want to stop hiding behind the shadows! I want to stop being the submissive, passive, even door mat that I used to be! I want to let the world know who I am and this is what I’ve been through to get here! It was never the easy road for me. Every time I thought, “this is it, I’m done, I can’t take it anymore!” I somehow found a way to get through it, don’t know how exactly, but I do. Then a year and a half ago, I get this thing called Schizoaffective Disorder and I plummet down to the depths of nowhere land and have to climb my way back up what seems to be a never ending roller coaster of symptoms and emotions and have to start all over again. But God won’t give me anything I can’t handle right? Sometimes I feel like that’s not true. Like this battle is winning over me. I’ve really questioned my faith going through this and it has scared me to my core! I used to be like God can get me through anything. God will prevail. God you are my rock. God this. God that. Then it became why God? Why me? I can’t do this! This thing you gave me is too hard to handle and I’m not the person to do it. When there are times when all you think of is taking your own life day after day among many other symptoms and just waiting and hoping for the medicine to kick in. I began to think, where is God in that? No matter how many times or how hard I prayed that this wasn’t real, that I didn’t have this thing, it wouldn’t go away. I stopped relying on God. I lost my faith in God. I lost all trust in God. I relied only on medicine to hopefully get better and even then I was skeptical. The medicine is working now, a few changes here and there. I don’t think about suicide as much. I still have depressive episodes here and there. I try to talk to God but it gets cut short. I’m still angry with him. Hopefully someday that will change. I read back in some of my old journals and all I talk about is God being in my life and how much I looked to him for all the support I needed; I kinda want that back. But, I know that has to come from me, and God is waiting.

 

lets pretend

Lets pretend that this mental illness of mine was all made up. That I am doing it for attention. That I don’t need to take all this medicine. That I am always on the up and up and life is good. Then reality kicks in and it is all very real. I’m not doing it to get attention. Believe me, I don’t like getting all the attention. I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to have to rely on medication just to make me feel normal. I don’t want to constantly be asked “Are you okay?” because I really don’t have an answer and of course I’m going to lie and say that I am. But at the same time I don’t want to talk about it either. There is nothing to talk about. I’m just in a state of mind. The in between. Not negative, not positive, I’m in nowhere land. I have no control over this. It just happens without me knowing it and by that time, it’s too late. I’m already there. I’m in this state of mind that is indescribable. A blank stare across my face. My inside is hollow with cobwebs hanging here and there. Cold grey cement walls. No thoughts. No words. No actions. How long it lasts, I don’t know. I can’t put on a happy face anymore and pretend that everything is okay. I wish I could, it would make things a lot easier. People won’t get hurt. I don’t choose to be like this. But I can’t take it anymore. I don’t want to have to explain myself to people when they see me like this because there is no explanation. I’m tired of having to pretend that everything is okay, that I am okay, because I’m not and everything is not okay. I don’t want to be fixed, my doctor is already doing that. You just gotta let it pass. Lets just pretend that people understand what it is that I’m going through and give me a break. I am trying my hardest to get through this and I gotta tell you, this, THIS, is REALLY REALLY REALLY HARD! I haven’t given up yet. I’m still here, aren’t I? But please, don’t be offended if you are not the person that I choose to talk to about this. I do it for good reason. So in the end, lets just pretend that I don’t have this mental illness and you treat me like a normal person as if nothing was ever wrong.