Hey all. Just a note to let you know that I have created a new blog... and am actually posting on it, heh.
http://areluctantborderline.blogspot.com/
There's the link. Hope you'll check it out.
Ta.
Girl
Monday, May 2, 2011
Monday, January 31, 2011
This is as close as I can get
I've tried for ages now to come up with a good description of how I feel after that SEVER MD episode I had a few years back. I've been up and down since, never really Normal but never as bad as that last (meds here and there are probably mostly responsible for keeping me from the bottom of the Pit). Yesterday, while discussing with a friend the despondency I've been feeling since recently being denied DL benefits (what I tell people is essentially a temporary disability) I came up with what seems to be to be the best analogy by far. Because I haven't ever felt that I 'got over' that (and yes, I know how melodramatic that sounds, still, it's the truth). It's like I was beaten to a bloody pulp (yeah, it's a little graphic, sorry)... and I never really healed from it. I'm not bloody any more (this is just an analogy for how it feels and has nothing to do with the SI I engage in), that's true, so it may be a little harder to tell or to believe that I am still not doing well. But I've not healed. I still feel tender and raw and extremely painful. Sometimes just simply movement hurts too much.
*shakes head* So there it is. It's not great... but I think it's pretty accurate. The closest I've gotten, at any rate.
*shakes head* So there it is. It's not great... but I think it's pretty accurate. The closest I've gotten, at any rate.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Per Ardua
I have more than one tattoo. I've got more than one unconventional piercing as well (and by conventional I mean the single lobe piercing that most women have) if you really want to know. But it's the tattoos that concern me tonight. Specifically the one that reads, simply, Per Ardua. It is the McIntire (MacIntyre, or a few other spellings, take your pick) clan motto (my Great Grandmothers maiden name) and means through difficulties (or through adversities, which translation I myself prefer). Because I worry about giving too much identifying information over this blog I won't tell you where this tattoo is. Still I suppose even without that information the story bears mentioning, though the writing is probably more for my own benefit than for any of yours.
I'm feeling rather Awful, you see. At the same time I am almost just existing. Not the 'stare vacantly into space' just existing... I'm just... existing. Anyway tonight I had in mind to cut. Specifically I wanted to cut 'please'(I will draw the line at telling you where). 'Please, what?', you may ask. If only I knew. 'Please, let this all end'? 'Please, let me find a way to get the help I need, that I want'? 'Please, let me find the courage to take my life, thus ending this mess'? 'Please, can't everything just be better, normal'? *shakes head* I honestly don't know. Probably it is a combination of all those things. Whatever the meaning behind the word that was the plan and I had everything I needed to do it. And then I that tattoo. Per Ardua. Through difficulties, adversities. And I couldn't do it. Oh, don't get me wrong, I want to. There is something about the whole stupid thing that makes me want to cry even as I sit here writing this and I notice the razor blade on my kitchen table... and know I will not use it, even as I did not use the one earlier.
My clan motto. Per Ardua. Through difficulties, adversities. Well damnit if i am to be totally honest I am getting a little sick and tired of difficulties, sick and tired of adversities, sick and tired of getting through them. And yet here is one more difficulty, one more adversity that I will get through before the night is over, as small as it is. When will it be the last one? When will I finally be able to say, that's it, I'm through?
Damn tattoo.
I'm feeling rather Awful, you see. At the same time I am almost just existing. Not the 'stare vacantly into space' just existing... I'm just... existing. Anyway tonight I had in mind to cut. Specifically I wanted to cut 'please'(I will draw the line at telling you where). 'Please, what?', you may ask. If only I knew. 'Please, let this all end'? 'Please, let me find a way to get the help I need, that I want'? 'Please, let me find the courage to take my life, thus ending this mess'? 'Please, can't everything just be better, normal'? *shakes head* I honestly don't know. Probably it is a combination of all those things. Whatever the meaning behind the word that was the plan and I had everything I needed to do it. And then I that tattoo. Per Ardua. Through difficulties, adversities. And I couldn't do it. Oh, don't get me wrong, I want to. There is something about the whole stupid thing that makes me want to cry even as I sit here writing this and I notice the razor blade on my kitchen table... and know I will not use it, even as I did not use the one earlier.
My clan motto. Per Ardua. Through difficulties, adversities. Well damnit if i am to be totally honest I am getting a little sick and tired of difficulties, sick and tired of adversities, sick and tired of getting through them. And yet here is one more difficulty, one more adversity that I will get through before the night is over, as small as it is. When will it be the last one? When will I finally be able to say, that's it, I'm through?
Damn tattoo.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Yes, I think it sounds stupid as well
Unfortunatly I just do not know what else to do. So I have applied for what amounts to a temporary disability of sorts. Please understand that I do not want to be a drain on society, though that is what I will become should I be awarded this assistance. But as I said before I honestly don't know what else to do. *shakes head at self in confusion and disgust* I haven't had any medication (for those of you who haven't read my blog before I have taken antidepressents in the past) for about two months because that which I had been taking was not working (though it seems to have been better than nothing as I am doing worse now *shrug*). I cannot afford to try new ones because I am out of work. And I've not worked for some months now (and before that something like six months or so without work) and that could hardly even be called part time (I worked four hours a day, Saturday and Sunday, for about three months). I don't really want to go into it all, it always sounds so stupid and melodramatic even to myself but at the same time I know that it is very real.
The real purpose of this entry, really, was simply to ask that you do whatever it is you do, be it pray or just send out good thoughts regarding this. I'm going to call on Wednesday to see if they've gotten the psych eval I had on the 29th of last month. I think they should. I actually expect that they'll tell me what they've decided when I call. And I'm really rather worried. Because as much as I dislike things like doctors appointments and therapy and the like I know that it has become necessary. I honestly want to be a functioning member of society. I'd like to have a job. I'd like to go back to school. I just need some help to get back to the point where I can do those things. I hate to say that. I sometimes loath myself for it. But that is where I am.
The real purpose of this entry, really, was simply to ask that you do whatever it is you do, be it pray or just send out good thoughts regarding this. I'm going to call on Wednesday to see if they've gotten the psych eval I had on the 29th of last month. I think they should. I actually expect that they'll tell me what they've decided when I call. And I'm really rather worried. Because as much as I dislike things like doctors appointments and therapy and the like I know that it has become necessary. I honestly want to be a functioning member of society. I'd like to have a job. I'd like to go back to school. I just need some help to get back to the point where I can do those things. I hate to say that. I sometimes loath myself for it. But that is where I am.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Why do they care?
Why do others care if a person kills themselves? I'm not talking about parents, siblings, other, extended family, or others who know and care about the person. I'm talking about those who are not otherwise invested in the person. People who don't know them from Adam (query: if you're talking about a girl is the phrase 'don't know her from Eve' appropriate? or do you just have to find something else? I've often wondered about this, lol). What makes them bother? Why do they care if I die?
I ask these questions not because I am suicidal at this time. That is to say there is no intent. Heaven forbid the thought leave me alone for just one day. Restarted a couple of antidepressants yesterday so it's been even more fun these past 24 hours. Actually it's those antidepressants that bring me to the point of entry. Because yesterday I had strangers go out of their way so that I could be able to have those meds.
I went to the free clinic in town yesterday. I didn't expect much to come of it. As a matter of fact I rather expected to waste their time. But I had to try. Out of work again I have no way to pay for antidepressant medication. The best solution to that would be to get another job. I need another job, for more reasons than just medication. Student loans. Rent. Basic existence for myself and the boys (the cat and dog). The problem is... I don't know if I can do it. I want to. I need to. I need to finish growing up. I need to become an adult. But since that last sever MD episode (that anyone who has kept up with this blog is more than likely heartily sick of hearing me reference) I haven't felt capable. Fragile. It's the best word I can come up with. It's a word that I hate, at least when it is being used to describe myself. But when I was 'properly medicated' (on antidepressants and feeling blissfully Normal) I could do things. I know it sounds stupid but 'life' was possible again. All of it. A job. Exercising (I'd love to lose weight... a substantial amount, if I am to be honest). Going back to school. All of it. And now... nothing. Not when I'm not medicated. And it's just getting worse. Further into the Pit I go. And if I go too far, this time, I do not believe I'll make it out. So I went for help, believing that they would have none to give me, and OK with that. I spent two hours there and surprisingly enough most of that time was talking to someone, not just sitting in an exam room waiting. During that time I talked to a doctor (I think she's relatively new as far as volunteering there because I've never seen her before) and a mental health worker (at the risk of sounding ungrateful I will say to that 'joyous days'... but I mean, honestly, do I have to enjoy talking about all this crap? Because I'm not sure that is ever going to happen). They in turn talked to an NP who is apparently there 'all the time' and the guy who runs the clinic. And at the end of the two hours I was told by the guy who runs things (nice guy, from the whole three minute interaction we had) that the clinic would cover it (thankfully the two together, because of a discount the clinic gets at one of the local pharmacies, only added up to $27 so I don't have to feel too badly about it... I probably will, but I don't have to, lol) and left with an Rx for 200 mg sertraline (once daily) and one for 150 mg bupropion twice daily. Ah and a referral to comprehensive mental health in town, despite my telling them that they won't take me. That's alright I'll just suck it up, go talk to them once, and then present myself at the clinic again in two weeks to tell them that comprehensive once again told me no.
They didn't have to work so hard at it (there was a lot of phone calling before they decided the clinic would cover my meds). I'm not sure why they did. Why did they bother? What made them care? *shakes head* I don't know I'm making myself sound awful, I think. I understand helping people. I like people. So... I mean, I do understand... but I don't *is confused* Why do they care if I am depressed. Why do they care if I hurt myself or think of suicide daily. I mean, enough to bother, They didn't have to call around. They didn't have to do any of it.
And as I sit here, a huge mess of suicidal and self injurious ideas, thoughts in the form of images >.<, the tiniest part of me wishes they hadn't bothered(OK, not really but lord do I wish it would stop).
Is it stupid, that I don't understand? I should, I think. I don't know why I do not.
I ask these questions not because I am suicidal at this time. That is to say there is no intent. Heaven forbid the thought leave me alone for just one day. Restarted a couple of antidepressants yesterday so it's been even more fun these past 24 hours. Actually it's those antidepressants that bring me to the point of entry. Because yesterday I had strangers go out of their way so that I could be able to have those meds.
I went to the free clinic in town yesterday. I didn't expect much to come of it. As a matter of fact I rather expected to waste their time. But I had to try. Out of work again I have no way to pay for antidepressant medication. The best solution to that would be to get another job. I need another job, for more reasons than just medication. Student loans. Rent. Basic existence for myself and the boys (the cat and dog). The problem is... I don't know if I can do it. I want to. I need to. I need to finish growing up. I need to become an adult. But since that last sever MD episode (that anyone who has kept up with this blog is more than likely heartily sick of hearing me reference) I haven't felt capable. Fragile. It's the best word I can come up with. It's a word that I hate, at least when it is being used to describe myself. But when I was 'properly medicated' (on antidepressants and feeling blissfully Normal) I could do things. I know it sounds stupid but 'life' was possible again. All of it. A job. Exercising (I'd love to lose weight... a substantial amount, if I am to be honest). Going back to school. All of it. And now... nothing. Not when I'm not medicated. And it's just getting worse. Further into the Pit I go. And if I go too far, this time, I do not believe I'll make it out. So I went for help, believing that they would have none to give me, and OK with that. I spent two hours there and surprisingly enough most of that time was talking to someone, not just sitting in an exam room waiting. During that time I talked to a doctor (I think she's relatively new as far as volunteering there because I've never seen her before) and a mental health worker (at the risk of sounding ungrateful I will say to that 'joyous days'... but I mean, honestly, do I have to enjoy talking about all this crap? Because I'm not sure that is ever going to happen). They in turn talked to an NP who is apparently there 'all the time' and the guy who runs the clinic. And at the end of the two hours I was told by the guy who runs things (nice guy, from the whole three minute interaction we had) that the clinic would cover it (thankfully the two together, because of a discount the clinic gets at one of the local pharmacies, only added up to $27 so I don't have to feel too badly about it... I probably will, but I don't have to, lol) and left with an Rx for 200 mg sertraline (once daily) and one for 150 mg bupropion twice daily. Ah and a referral to comprehensive mental health in town, despite my telling them that they won't take me. That's alright I'll just suck it up, go talk to them once, and then present myself at the clinic again in two weeks to tell them that comprehensive once again told me no.
They didn't have to work so hard at it (there was a lot of phone calling before they decided the clinic would cover my meds). I'm not sure why they did. Why did they bother? What made them care? *shakes head* I don't know I'm making myself sound awful, I think. I understand helping people. I like people. So... I mean, I do understand... but I don't *is confused* Why do they care if I am depressed. Why do they care if I hurt myself or think of suicide daily. I mean, enough to bother, They didn't have to call around. They didn't have to do any of it.
And as I sit here, a huge mess of suicidal and self injurious ideas, thoughts in the form of images >.<, the tiniest part of me wishes they hadn't bothered(OK, not really but lord do I wish it would stop).
Is it stupid, that I don't understand? I should, I think. I don't know why I do not.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
"You have a lot of scars... it's just something that you do"
He didn't mean anything by it. I actually think he was trying to be understanding. And odds are his telling them those things was a big part of why mental health didn't come and harass me that day in the emergency room (they didn't even call like they had said they would, much to my relief, if I'm being honest). All that aside though... "I told them you have a lot of scars [...] it's just something you do"... I think it was that bit which unsettled me so much. "It's what I do" or "It's just what I do" are phrases I have used several times in the past... but never about my SI. About my music... about my caring for people... I've said it about those things. To have the phrase I use when talking about positive things in my life, positive aspects of my character, be used in reference to my self injury... and especially by a medical professional... I wonder how many doctors have treated SI like that. Again, I'm not saying it was bad... it's just strange that he used that phrase.
I can't do anything about the scars I have... heaven knows if there was a way for me to get rid of them I would (I stopped counting before I got to my legs... with 300+ scars on the rest of my body I figured I didn't need to count the rest... it's enough to say 'a lot'). But I can stop adding to the ones I already have. I just don't want hurting myself (a phrase I don't care much for but it's what is) to be just something I do. So I'm trying to stop. I've made it eight days so far and it has been anything but easy. But I've made it eight days. I made it nine months once before... here's hoping I make it past that this time. Maybe I'll make it from now on...
I can't do anything about the scars I have... heaven knows if there was a way for me to get rid of them I would (I stopped counting before I got to my legs... with 300+ scars on the rest of my body I figured I didn't need to count the rest... it's enough to say 'a lot'). But I can stop adding to the ones I already have. I just don't want hurting myself (a phrase I don't care much for but it's what is) to be just something I do. So I'm trying to stop. I've made it eight days so far and it has been anything but easy. But I've made it eight days. I made it nine months once before... here's hoping I make it past that this time. Maybe I'll make it from now on...
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
The First Step To Recovery Is To Admit that You Have A Problem... Part II
It was his 'you have a lot of scars, and it is just something you do' comment, and the nurse coming in with the water and the antibiotics. At least I think that is what it was. *shakes head* To be honest I really don't know. I do know that I have never before felt this way after having a cut seen to.
Unsettled is actually a very good word, thanks Han :) (strange to talk to someone directly in my blog, lol). As to why... yeah, I just don't really know. As I said about I believe it centers mostly around the interaction I had with the doctor regarding Comprehensive and, even more strangely, being given my first dose of antibiotics while I was there. *shakes head* I think it might have hit me then, that there really is 'a problem'. But how much sense does it make that an ER visit where I mostly dealt with two very kind, understanding individuals (and didn't have to talk to mental health) would be a time I 'realize' that something is wrong with the behavior that landed me there in the first place (my cutting)? *shakes head* And probably most unfortunately is that... I think that is what was so unsettling (realizing that something is wrong)... but I don't know if there is much I can do about that realization. Because I cannot seem to take it much farther than that... and while I am still feeling unsettled (really good word choice, thanks again Han, lol) and I am pretty sure that is why... I cannot... I am not sure that I really want to stop. *shrug* I don't know. I really don't. And that seems to be the most unsettling part of it all.
Unsettled is actually a very good word, thanks Han :) (strange to talk to someone directly in my blog, lol). As to why... yeah, I just don't really know. As I said about I believe it centers mostly around the interaction I had with the doctor regarding Comprehensive and, even more strangely, being given my first dose of antibiotics while I was there. *shakes head* I think it might have hit me then, that there really is 'a problem'. But how much sense does it make that an ER visit where I mostly dealt with two very kind, understanding individuals (and didn't have to talk to mental health) would be a time I 'realize' that something is wrong with the behavior that landed me there in the first place (my cutting)? *shakes head* And probably most unfortunately is that... I think that is what was so unsettling (realizing that something is wrong)... but I don't know if there is much I can do about that realization. Because I cannot seem to take it much farther than that... and while I am still feeling unsettled (really good word choice, thanks again Han, lol) and I am pretty sure that is why... I cannot... I am not sure that I really want to stop. *shrug* I don't know. I really don't. And that seems to be the most unsettling part of it all.
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