Broken

C stands for currently taking.

All daily.

Lexapro 40mg

Klonopin 4mg – C

Abilify 15mg (Devil drug)

Lamictal 300mg

Lithium 1200mg

Synthroid – 50mcg

Cadista 4mg (six a day, descending from six)

Trazodone 200mg – C

Dilco/Misopr 50-0.2mg – C

Pantoprazole 40mg – C

Carafate 5g – C

Tremodol 100mg – C

A lot of drugs in just four years, no? I have been medicated since I was seventeen/eighteen. I can tell you right now that when I went off most my medications for three months a couple of months ago, I felt great. For a time. Then I started noticing old habits creeping back. The good thing was that the worse habits didn’t.
It was nice to test my strength but I wonder how much of that short-lived happiness was my first manic phase? Did I have a manic phase? Or was my “old self” starting to fight the demons?
I have been diagnosed with C-PTSD and a Mood Disorder. A Mood Disorder simply means that I have a bit of everything, so I can’t be classified as just one. It makes it hard to treat because doctors have to tackle multiple symptoms with one or a few drugs that are meant to treat only one type of disorder. Therapy seems like an endless road because the more I think about what’s wrong the larger the cave gets. It doesn’t help that each issue is the kind that most people spend their entire time with a therapist on, whereas I have to bring up more and more issues. What’s worse? Everything is connected, like a spiderweb, and that is a bad thing because connected like a web isn’t like having a root cause.
Can you understand why I dread therapy? Why I dread answering what’s wrong? People hate the honest answer of ‘where do I begin?‘ I want answers just like they do, probably more than they do. I want to know when I was broken. When and what happened that has made it so I need someone to tape me back together regularly?

Gratitude for Hope

It is obvious that I have been struggling with multiple disorders and it is only now that I discovered  the precise diagnosis; C-PTSD and Mood Disorders.

I have a difficult  time conveying the fear I felt when I learned what C-PTSD is and the nebulousness of “Mood Disorders.” It hurt, and I wanted to cry when I read the letter.

What I actually want to address is the gratitude I have towards my friends, and especially my family.

My family fought harder for me than I ever fought for myself. They stepped up, pressed me to find the strength within myself  that I didn’t believe I possessed. They gave the match to light the still fragile fire that is the hope I thought I lost.

The only way I can think of repaying them is to not give up. Because of all of you I have been able to choose the way of life that I’ve always dreamed of and to have.

I have not felt this kind of hope in a very, very long time it is a relief to know that is still inside me.

Lately I have felt something that I thought wasn’t even possible for me to feel anymore and that is happiness, small and fragile as it is now, it is growing and I am elated– feeding, letting it grow, it deserves to. I deserve to let it develop, I deserve to be happy and I want to say thank you for those believing in me that I deserve this kind of happiness,  that I  deserved to follow my dreams,  to not be confined within the opinions of others.

Thank you for telling me that happiness is still possible for me.

NAC and Paranormal Group.

At the moment, my medicine isn’t working as well as it should be working all because of one of them decided to be an asshole. It has gotten to the point where I had to leave my Paranormal Investigating team. I fucking hate that I had to do that. I felt like I belonged there and then… issues.
     I was hallucinating and hearing things which turns out it was a combination of forgetting to take NAC (it repairs neurons) and staying up late for investigations. On top of that I am struggling with trying not to cut and not relapse into being anorexic. Also I am rapid cycling and by rapid I mean every five minutes it’s a new emotion.  It’s so much fun.
     I want to go back to the team but I don’t know. Part of me says that they are better off without me and the other says they seemed happy to have you there.

 

I feel like shit without my group and really stupid that I wouldn’t have left if I had known about my NAC.

How I Survived.

Not many of you know that I tried to commit suicide two weeks ago but I didn’t. In the instant I tried to breathe in water, I was reminded of everything I loved, of every person I loved. It was their voices, faces, the memory of their hugs and words encouragement against my depression that really pulled my head above water. They have always been the ones that have kept me going no matter how low on fuel I am.

“You are my best friend.”

“You are amazing. You are incredible. You are worth a bazillion everything.”

“I’ve heard of you and I don’t know who Norman Reedus is so in my imaginary world you’re way more famous than he is.”

“It’ll be okay.”

“You are intelligent and talented and beautiful. In short, you are amazing. Never forget that.”

These people believe I am amazing but the truth is, they are more amazing than I will every be. They have been my wings when I needed them the most. They have never feared my depression, self-hatred, or my lack of belief in their words. However, from this point onward I will believe, like you do, that I am worth bazillion everything, I am amazing, I am intelligent, and that it will be okay and that I am loved.   

Later, I decided I would share my story last November with  My friend, Dese’Rae L. Stage. During this interview for Live Through This, I was having trouble remembering things I wanted to say and she said, “You’ll remember it when we’re done.” She was right, I remembered more what of what I wished I had said. I remembered what I was afraid to say because it might be triggering for some. I remembered the feelings I had the night I tried to kill myself.

I have always thought that depression felt like ice wrapping itself around my shoulders and knife in my chest. Except the  knife would never reach my heart nor would the ice fully cover me even though I wanted them to.
I didn’t want to be alive. I didn’t want to have other people’s thoughts and wishes in my head anymore. I didn’t want to think of the hundreds of ways that I failed. I didn’t want to let people know just how badly my rape had hurt me. I had felt that way for a while but that night was the final straw.
Everything ached and I was having trouble breathing. I was convincing myself out of hurting myself, like I had promised my family. I promised I wouldn’t cut. What I decided to do was far worse: I began to fill my bathtub with only one motive.  I was going to drown myself in the one place I often sought comfort. What was ironic was that as I watch the bathtub fill, I tried talking myself out of doing it but I was failing because of memories. Memories of bad test scores, disappointment from my parents and teachers, my embarrassment, and being raped by someone I thought loved me thus making me unworthy of love of that kind. All of them at once like a very ugly movie. It was enough. I was done. I pulled myself above the water and here I am.

I wish I had remembered to say that.

Time is too Slow

I’m unsure as to how to proceed with this post. Should I talk more about the aftermath of recovering?  Should I talk about how my weight upsets me? Should I talk about how much I want to cut myself lately? Or my decision to not date or have any type of romantic contact?
Why don’t I just talk about all of them? Let’s do that.
First on my mind: Relationship thing. I made this decision yesterday because I have become sick to hurting myself (literally) of getting hurt, violated, looking over for someone “better” or someone who fits a preferred mold. I’m done with trying to guess whether a guy likes me or not– friends or not friends? Am I good enough for you? I am done with guess and getting hurt. I have better, more worthwhile, things to do than wait for someone for me who probably doesn’t exist. I will only accept a miracle man. I man who shows me that he is brave and won’t play games. A man who is honest and strong. That man will have to accept me for who I am and all of my craziness. My emotional roller-coaster-ness.I will change for that man. 

      On top of being shunted aside for more beige-like-personalities, I’m not thin enough. It frustrates me beyond belief that there isn’t one man who genuinely believes I am beautiful but I guess my personality is such an affliction that beauty can’t over power it. Which is impressive because many have admitted that they wanted me just to get laid. 
I want so desperately to be that one woman you see and just say, “wow.” The unattainable beauty that people remember and not another person on the bus, in class, or at a party. I want to be spectacular. Then jaw-dropping when they find out that I am whip-lash smart but I’m not these. To others, I am just some rape victim who wasn’t intelligent to keep herself safe. That is what is making me want to cut. It’s hard to shut out the words because they are my own and proven through experience. I’m not sure how to handle any of this. 

Victim to Survivor

Last Valentine’s Day I was raped by a person I thought loved me. Most rape survivors are stronger than I am and what I mean by that is that they didn’t let it, the trauma or loss, practically consume them. I kind of have. I hear loving words from those around me but I feel as if they are wrong because everyday I paint a smile on my face. I haven’t spoken of the nightmares that are more reliving the memory and every night more and more resurfaces. Every night I have to deal with a new wave of horror, misery and self-hatred because I lost my memory. My brain shut off the second he rolled me over and the image that comes to mind everyday and night is the window that I was facing. The memory of that damn window taunts me in the fact that it is a twisted metaphor for escape.

I do not see myself as strong because I failed to escape. The thing I haven’t told people is that I let the abuse continue. The abuse started on Valentine’s Day but didn’t stop until April.  I remember that. remember being afraid to say no and I let him do what he wanted then after he left I would ask myself what was wrong with me. Where did my strength go? I have buried that because the guilt and pain has been too much

However. a year later, I start the harder process which is believing in myself and believing that I am as strong as other believe. This process I know will be one of the hardest things I will ever do for myself but it is something I need to do. I have let it interfere with potential relationships, with schoolwork and my family life. I am done being a victim. I am ready to be a survivor.