Tag: suicide

How I feel about my overdose

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I was numb in my first post about it and I gave you the logistics of what happened, but I never explained to you how I felt then and how I am feeling now. I am mourning the loss of a piece of myself and yes it was fragile and broken, but it was still a part of who I was and still am. I feel like once anyone reaches this type of milestone we should celebrate our hard work but mourn that piece of you that had to die for you to get here. The piece of you that was a tidal wave of emotions that made you cry and was so angry for no reason. The one that couldn’t live without benzos, that was so selfish I forgot about others, I lost so many friends but it never mattered, being high and numb was the only thing that mattered as long as I was high I never felt ashamed. I pushed everyone away because my death would be easier that way and determined that no one loved me anymore. I isolated myself in my illness and addiction I wasn’t a person anymore. I know it’s been said so many times about people with addictions but it is true. I mourn her still, I will still mourn her because she was a lost child digging through a sea a demons drowning in pills never seeing her opportunity to free herself from everything but now I am free.

I looked in the mirror yesterday and I cried for her mourned her loss even through everything and where I am I could still see her reflection. She still lives in there that sad little girl and as much as I wish I could save her but I would never be able to reach her without falling back down the rabbit hole. I want to tell her I’m sorry I won’t be able to save you, but I love you.

A year ago today I overdosed.

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My mouth almost goes numb when I say it. It is hard to fathom where I was a year ago compared to where I am today. I don’t have a lot of memories from that day and everything that is a reminder is erased. These are a few of the things I could find. I know that I was popping Halicon and Xanax chasing it with whiskey. I was in a “support group” on Facebook and those ladies were watching my downward spiral. I made several lives in the group one of which was me staring in a shower head and then there was the final curtain call. I was down to the last few pills in the bottle and I went live. I have no idea what I said but I know I ended it and passed out. I don’t know how long I was out for but the ladies in the group freaked out and started blowing my husbands phone up. I remember coming to when my husband came rushing home pissed at the entire situation. I realize now that he wasn’t just angry, he was terrified. If I never went live then I would probably be dead. He picked me up and threw me in the truck and took me back to work with him. I was passed out but the moments I came to were nothing but incoherent screaming. People have a lot of preconceived notions of overdosing. It isn’t always like what you see in the media. You can overdose not throw up, not have your stomach pumped and just go in and out of consciousness for hours. So now it is after 3:00 and we pick our daughter up from school and I’ve managed to slightly stabilize myself (in my mind) to have a really good shouting match with my husband. He sends our daughter outside while I’m screaming and swearing. (I didn’t eat anything that day and I had enough benzos in me to knock out a horse, I’m slightly intoxicated and I’m manic.) I have no idea what I yelled about, but I guarantee you it was nothing but slurred speech, half sentences and swearing lots of swearing. We got into a huge fight and he called my mother and kicked me out. I didn’t know if I was going back inpatient but I didn’t give a shit I just didn’t understand what was happening. The suicide attempt to me wasn’t a big deal it wasn’t my first time and me abusing Benzos also a norm for me. He took my phone and wouldn’t let me have it. I wasn’t allowed on social media or to talk to about it to anyone who wasn’t involved or aware what was going on. I found out later he did this to keep me from going inpatient unless he felt like I needed to. I slept on a mattress in my moms living room for 3 days. The first night I passed out and felt like shit when I woke up. I was so hungover blinking hurt and detoxing was torture. My marriage almost ended and I have forever traumatized my daughter from the ordeal. We forget sometimes that our actions can kill the people around us even if they don’t kill us. This doesn’t mean that I won’t ever get bad again and I won’t deal with suicidal thoughts. It just means that I’m finally at a place where I can get help the right way.

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Hello booty juice (part 3)

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All night they do checks on the patients, every 15 minutes to be exact. It didn’t matter where you were or what you were doing they were going to find you. There is more to that story soon, but now after NO SLEEP they wake us up at 6:30/7:00. We all start to file out and people have made friends and they are all talking to each other and I’m just there. We all go to breakfast (the only plus is the food is good.) and then we are placed in groups. I was placed in the progressive group. This group were for people who had problems but could still function in the everyday world. Then it happened the most horrid retched thing imaginable. We were put in GROUP THERAPY for 8 hours. Yes you read that correctly 8 fucking hours of group therapy. We broke for lunch and dinner we also had small breaks in between but mostly it was GROUP.  The first woman in there who claimed to be a “psychologist” explained to us how alcoholism and drug abuse is hereditary and no matter what we do we will probably suffer form of it. Of course someone who has never experienced anything like this has now become more anxious. We are listening to her go on and on telling her all of her families issues (at some point I wondered if she belonged to with us.)  They would give us small 5 minute breaks and as soon as the break word break came out of their mouth they would swipe their badge and turn the phones on. It looked like a Black Friday sale everyone jumping to get on the phone. There was a middle aged woman who called everyone in her family and we heard her entire life story. (If you’ve ever seen OITNB she is the Hispanic lady crying on the phone. There are things I don’t care if you are a stranger or not you shouldn’t say in front of other people.) After the second break and another part of her life story the “counselor” came in and left the area to turn the phone on open and stepped back out to talk to someone and I ran over and flipped the button on so I could call my husband. I’d probably been on the phone with him for about 1.5 minutes when the “counselor” came back and said, “No one is supposed to touch that button who turned the damn phones on.” I just want to remind everyone at this point that I am sleep deprived, manic, confused and so fucking pissed off I didn’t care. “I did because this bitch wouldn’t shut the fuck up.” The “counselor” stood back her face turned red, her eyes begin to narrow as she pursed her lips. “We will calm you down. That is your last warning.” Her knuckles kept turning whiter and whiter. “I don’t give a fuck.” I said laughing. You could tell that she was frazzled like she had lost control of the group. So we talked some more, she glared at me the whole time I didn’t pay attention. Next comes lunch and after the candy cart came around. For those of you who aren’t familiar the candy cart is the wonderful nurse/pharm tech that brings around the pills. You know the good stuff that makes 8 hours of group therapy bearable. I went up and the nurse snapped, “We can’t give you anything because you haven’t seen your doctor.” She whipped around pushing the cart down the hallway.

I read via bathroom light the night before when I was unable to sleep that by law I had to see my psychiatrist 24 hours after the 10-13 was issued and according to the paperwork the 10-13 was issued at 9:30 am so I am well over my 24 hours and now I am pissed. I slam my fist on the desk and start yelling, “It’s been over 24 hours where the fuck is my doctor?” The counselor rolls her eyes and motions for the door as soon as I walk out there is another person waiting for me and again they trying to calm me down but all I see is red. “Do we need to calm you down?” Her brows crease and her eyes glaring through me and I decide to get cocky. “You keep fucking threatening me with that but you ain’t bout shit.” As the words slip off my tongue here comes a nurse with a needle in her hand. She grabbed my arm and drug me down by the nurses station the needle still in her hand. It was like waving a gun when robbing a bank. I sit with group that has the “loose girl” in it. I am sitting there while they are coloring still grumbling when I see the nurses station door open. I am inclined to mischief and not learning my lesson from the previous time I walk in the nurses station and sit down to use the phone. (I really wanted to talk to my husband to calm myself down and though I feel like I have expressed this it seems they would not listen.) Then it happened…..I got booty juiced.

I wake up a little later in a room that I’ve never seen before. I was able to sleep a little longer so I wasn’t so pissed. The nurse came in and said, “Are you going to follow rules?” I sleepily nodded and was escorted to a list of small glass offices. I sat my legs shaking furiously when a small Middle Eastern man walks in and introduces himself as the psychologist. I asked as nicely as I could for the psychiatrist and see said, “You have to see me first.” I will save you from the ignorant angry words I said. Finally this smug, douchebag walks in he looks like he is 20 years old and of course he is my psychiatrist who talks to me for like 5 seconds determines they I may not be bipolar but severely depressed. ( There is no way in such a short amount of time he could diagnose me.) He prescribes me Lexapro, Klonopin, and one other medicine to help me sleep. Now the candy cart will be my best friend and I am sent back to my group. I eat dinner finish up and head back to the common area to get ready for bed. I make it back to the room sit on the toilet when someone swings open the shower curtain. ( There were no doors.) “Leave me the fuck alone. I am trying to take a shit in peace dammit.” She gives me a smug look, “We are doing a count do we need to calm you down again.” “Bite me bitch.” I say getting up to wipe. “Are you going to help me out?” She frowns and exits the room. I take a moment and hope in the shower and here she comes again. ” There is no way it’s been 15 fucking minutes already. Leave me the fuck alone.” She stands there staring at me. ” Unless you plan on helping me you need to fucking leave.” She starts to giggle and exits the room. This is my first of a hellish 72 hours.

Media (social) killed suicide, addiction and mental illness

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I wish I could talk about everyone who was fucked over by the media for their illness, addictions and suicides but it would be a whole book.

If you are an everyday person like me getting diagnosed with an illness is just that a diagnosis. No one is reporting my suicide attempts, addiction issues, the medication I am on and it is because I am just a normal everyday person. Of course my immediate family and friends are concerned but it doesn’t make the front page of magazines or posted on all the social media outlets with tacky and smutty titles, however if you are a celebrity that changes and it is sad that so many of them hide their illness or addiction for that reason and that our society is so desensitized they lack all forms of empathy. The only thing people see is green. That dollar sign for who gets the scoop from a close family member, the autopsy report, pictures of their death but the media doesn’t grieve the loss of someone who had an impact on the world, the same people whose very words may have saved your life. We don’t see that we won’t remember them for their accomplishments or the impact they had on us. We will remember them for every controversial thing they’ve ever done all indiscretions made public. We do it for the views right? to get a retweet? for more followers? We’ve made that our priority instead of seeing this happening and demanding a change. We need our government to do more for us, we need as a society to stop desensitizing death, mental health, and addiction. I know we can’t save anyone, but instead of finding the negatives in their lives let us find the positives the amazing accomplishments but most importantly let us make mental health an open ended conversation. We need to be more comfortable with who we are and the media (social) needs to back the fuck off. Celebrities are still humans and I think as a society we’ve forgot this too. Let’s work on bringing up mental health in a more positive light.

What are your thoughts?

Property of the state… (part two of my story.)

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They gave me my papers and told me I had to be there by 7:30. I went to SummitRidge in Lawrenceville, Ga, don’t go to Summit for ANY REASON!!! My husband and daughter walked me in as far as they could go, I handed my papers in and said goodbyes. The big wooden doors beeped as they swiped their badges and I was quickly ushered in. My world was crushed and I was still so confused and hurt by what was going on. They brought me into a room with 4 or 5 other people and I sat with my bag and my stuff shaking and crying because no one would tell me what was going on. I remember I love Lucy in captions in the waiting area. About 9:30 or so it was finally my turn. This small little bald white man who was extremely grumpy and unfriendly started asking me about my insurance and financial questions and I was a bitch and told him all I wanted to do was go home and he said, “You will but not for 72 hours.” He smirked and I called him a bastard. “If you can’t control yourself we will take care of it for you.” He meant booty juiced. I’ve become very familiar with booty juice. For those of you who don’t know, booty juice is when they take a shot of thioridazine or haldol and if the nurse is a bitch it is a bit of both and jam it in your ass to calm you down. So now it is after 10:30 when he finishes and I am ushered through more beeping wooden doors to a larger waiting room. This is when I met the on staff doctor. While I waited for my turn holding my stuff and more papers, a few people “got loose.” as the nurses called it. There was a woman there I don’t remember her name but she walked around and had touch everything and kept moaning something I couldn’t understand. I don’t think she could actually talk to you and if you went near her she would freak out and go the other way. In the process of her “getting loose.” her shorts dropped down and she was walking shorts around her ankles and the nurses were laughing. We are now after 11 pm and I am tired, pissed off, and still confused none of it felt real. When I walked in to the room to see him (there was no nurse or any woman in the room btw.) The nurses took my stuff and started rumbling through it. When I walked into the room the dr. who was an asshole as well asked me my name and birth date then says “squat and cough.” I’ve seen this on movies but it is real.  So I did what he said, even though I was extremely uncomfortable and expressed this more than once. He said pull out from under your bra to make sure there is nothing hidden. I am still extremely uncomfortable as he takes my temperature and blood pressure asked about tuberculosis (that is a common problem)  then sends me back out with no more conversation. Now it is close to midnight and I finally was placed in “a bed” They give you exactly 1 sheet, 1, pillow, 1 blanket a wash cloth and a towel. They also give you a small piece of soap, 1 bottle of shampoo and conditioner then 1 toothbrush and a small thing of toothpaste. You could not get another towel or washcloth until you turned in the previous pairs. I was handed all of this with my bag that was all out of whack and sent me to my room. It was separated into three separate wings, the men, the women, and then the teens. We had one common area to share. My roommate was already sleeping (she kept the room at 80 degrees and there was no negotiating with her. She had been there for almost 3 weeks.) So I wrapped my blanket around me and went out to the common area and sat on the couch crying. The nurse who was French…I think was very harsh and told me to go to bed or they would make sure my doctor knew and I would stay longer. I didn’t even know who my doctor was no one told me. I was sent back to fill “a bed” and as I am walking she reminds me that I am property of the state so now I try and sleep but it starts to get better…….

to be continued

10-13 – 72 hour psych hold – The story of a bipolar outcast. (This is a 4 part series.)

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The story: My hubby and I went tubing the week before everything happened. There was a lot of rain so the water was rough, but we decided to go anyway. We were probably a quarter of the way down the river when I hit a rock that knocked me out of the tube and underwater. The tube fell on top of me and when I finally stood up my anxiety was bad I couldn’t breathe. The moments after this are kind of blurred except the fight with my husband (when it gets bad there is ALWAYS a fight with my husband.) The next days after that it kept getting worse and that feeling in my stomach wouldn’t go away. I left where I was that Friday and rushed myself to the ER convinced I was dying of something. (I tend to be a tad bit dramatic.) The dr in the ER told me I was just experiencing some mild anxiety and prescribed me Ativan (3). (We now know I can’t take Ativan because it makes me manic.) The entire weekend was just a blur. I know I wasn’t sleeping, then I was and then I tried to run out of the condo naked a few times and drive my car. (if you’ve read the exorcism post this should sound familiar.) I  got time confused and started texting and calling people at all hours of the night. When Monday finally came around I crashed then on Tuesday I had a doctors appointment and that is when it all happened.

I don’t trust general practitioners to this day because of this. It was Tuesday, July 16, 2013, I went in at 8:30 am for a dr. appointment and somewhere I scared the hell out of Nurse Practitioner with closing blinds, turning off a light and sitting in the dark (I’m sure other stuff happened I can’t remember.) I sat there for awhile and then the doctor came in and said we are taking you across the street to the hospital (Morgan Memorial), but when I said I would drive they said, “No the nurse will bring you.” I should’ve known something was up then. When we got to the hospital there were security guards and nurses around the check in desk and then I knew something was wrong. After I checked in they put me in a bed by the nurses station and every time I had to go to the bathroom they would follow me. (This should’ve been my clue.) between then and about 2:30 I had nurses and doctors in and out asking me questions taking my blood. I called my husband trying to keep him updated until he was able to get off work to sit with me. I kept asking when I was going to leave but no one would tell me anything and THEN finally that evil bitch walked in, the on staff psychologist. We played 20 questions and she pulled out a pile of papers and started playing 150 questions. I got irritated and asked if I could leave and she in this most condescending way possible says, “If you leave the sheriff will come and find you.” I still had no clue what the fuck was going on and she finally told me. “You were placed on a 10-13 (in the state of Ga) involuntary psych hold. So we are trying to find a bed for you at a psych hospital.” There was never anything comforting or further explanation besides, “You are bipolar, manic and a danger to yourself and others. We will come back when we have a bed for you.” That was it “a bed.” In the eyes of the state I am no longer a person, just “a bed.” I had become a number, a warm body to fill the bed and line the pockets of the insurance companies.

When my husband got there I told him the news. I was completely devastated and confused. We still weren’t completely sure of what was happening.  I tried to explain to him what was happening but it didn’t make any sense because NONE OF THIS MADE SENSE. The evil bitch finally came back when they had “a bed” and she could barely get the words out of her mouth before he got angry and started demanding answers. She explained everything to him and he said, “I want to take her there.” She said, “No she has to go by ambulance because she is in the care of the state.” I was “a bed” “in the care of the state.” I want you to think about how fucked up that is. They took my identity from me and made me a statistic, my illness at that point defined me. My husband talked her into letting him take me. He rushed home grabbed our daughter and some clothes. (If you aren’t familiar with psych hospitals; No shoelaces, no drawstrings, no belts, nothing sharp, nothing offensive, nothing triggering,) So he was able to run home grabbed some clothes and flip flops and my daughter. This still bothers some people because my daughter was there when I was dropped off.

We are getting to the good stuff…..

If Emily Rose was a doped up schizophrenic it would look like this.

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Before I start this I need to say the following: The only person I will mention in this blog is my husband. The names of other person involved will be listed as person 1. I want to thank person 1 for everything they did during the time it was happening and I’m sorry for everything I did and ruining the friendship we had. I was overly medicated, selfish, a bitch and reflected symptoms of a sociopath. (Don’t do drugs kids) which in no way can make up for the pain I caused, but it was my fault and I’m sorry.

So let’s start on August 27, 2015, we just got back from vacation and I was not on my meds. I laid in the bathtub and took excessive amounts of lamictal, Fanapt, Xanax and Valium. I know this much for a fact. (Do you see a trend here?) I took Lamictal whenever I wanted to and I would skip it for 7 or more days and then take 8 or 9 at a time. I stopped taking my antipsychotic which at the time was Fanapt except when I felt like it and then I took 6 or 7 at the time. What I did not stop taking was Xanax. Xanax and I have a long extremely unhealthy history. I also need to mention that at this time I was also mixing Xanax with Valium and a bunch of diet pills. So after that I asked person 1 for help. (They are in no way affiliated with a church) They were “counseling” me (it is hard for counsel someone who is so high all the time but I thank them for their efforts) One day (I think it was the end of September beginning of October) I told them that I was having memory lapses and it felt like someone else was in my body talking for me like I was possessed this is where it gets interesting. The person possessing me was Legion. (if you don’t know who he is- Legion” is the name given to a demon or group of demons, particularly those in two of three versions of the exorcism of the Gerasene demoniac, an account in the New Testament of an incident in which Jesus performs an exorcism- google.) I apparently had quite a few conversations where “Legion” talked to them and texted them. (I have yet to figure that part out.)  and then we decided to try and solve the problem and do an exorcism on me. I want to remind you again that person 1 is in no way affiliated with a church so none of this was a good idea.

The first time in October. I couldn’t tell you what I looked liked but I’m sure it was a high manic psychotic person. They did the Bible verses (https://www.catholic.org/prayers/prayer.php?p=682 and I think that is where they came from) and the frankincense and myrrh anointed on my head. I shook and jerked around speaking in “tongues” (it was just swearing excessively cursing everyone including God.) I tried to choke myself with a cable and when that didn’t work I climbed up a flight of stairs screaming incoherent sentences mixed with the constant verbiage of fuck damn and shit. In my head I swore I summoned serpents and talked to Legion.)  I came to on the staircase completely confused of what was going on with me. When that was over I sat on the couch completely just fucked up. I didn’t know what was going on I was hearing things and I was so confused so I took Xanax and not a little Xanax 12, 1 mg Xanax and I had to be somewhere at 5:30 and about 45 minutes after I did it I said oh shit and tried to counteract the Xanax with Redbull. (There is proof of all of this.) I drank 3, 20 ounce Redbulls because in my head one will fix the other. (Again don’t do drugs kids) so when I got there and I’m so mixed up between emotions, medicine and just complete manic denial. I just left and went to the ER. For whatever reason God decided to have mercy on me and they did not take my blood. I drove completely fucked up and to this day have no way to tell you how I made it anywhere safely. (I have big regrets about that now.)

Now the memory lapses are back and worse than before and “Legion” is getting stronger, so I thought, this entire time I’m just steady popping pills. So we decided to do this a second time and my husband was there. Person 1 was talking to me and I went blank then I took off running and my husband clotheslines me to get me to stop and I popped back up like nothing happened. They held me down again reciting bible verses trying to get me to stop and eventually I got exhausted and stopped. I always call my psychiatrist whenever anything is happening and I had to go in and see him and he threatened me with inpatient if I didn’t stop. He also cut off my Xanax and Valium and I lost all privileges to do anything so no more diet pills. No more refills so when I ran out I was out.

The last time was at my house. It was like 1 in the morning and I was on my usual routine of popping pills, my husband is up with me trying to take care of everything that was happening (God bless that man) when I flipped my shit again. I ran to the kitchen and got a knife and we fought as I tried to stab him then dropped the knife and went running through the yard screaming (thank God my daughter saw none of this) he again had to clothesline me which accomplished nothing. I tried to stab him again and then proceed to grab my keys and try to get in my car to leave. He fought me the best he could pulling me out of the car. I kept screaming and running I fell down repeatedly in the process and I’m pretty sure I ran into a tree, but I was doing everything “Legion” told me to do.

By early November I was out of everything covered in cuts and bruises and then withdrawals. I hate withdrawals and withdrawing from everything I was on felt like death, but by the time it was over with the damage was done. Relationships ended the truth and what was a lie is still obscured  some to me. What I did learn from this is were people possessed schizophrenic? Was I actually possessed or was it the medication and schizophrenia that got me? I will never know the answers to those questions. I sit here 3 years later writing this and I realized how fucking stupid this sounds. I had to leave some out for other reasons but this was the worst of it. So yeah there was a time I had exorcisms performed on me. It was one of the highlights of my mental health timeline.

Suicide videos and Redbull

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I will trigger warn now:

My first suicide attempt in September (there are 5 attempts to be exact) wasn’t my first time trying in the last 5 years I want to say over a dozen times so this concept wasn’t new to me. I preferred overdosing, if you wanted an out you had one, self harm is to painful, guns are to quick and permanent, hanging is just gives me chills. If there was a way to kill yourself I knew it and probably attempted, tried or googled to see the success rate. You get the point.

Whenever this happens I make videos. They are long winded apologizes and I love you’s to everyone who mattered in my life, (pour out a little redbull, chug the rest of the redbull) and then there is the honest to God truth about people because you are about to die. I watched one of those yesterday and I cried but mostly I laughed. I can almost guarantee I was high. I know some people will read this and think what a horrible person I am for saying it, but is okay. We all handle our illness differently and sometimes the only way I can cope with it is to find humor in it. The honesty I gave probably helped me more than I realize. I would post the video but the last thing I need is for it go viral.

Bipolar, suicide, schizophrenia, psychosis are scary. The deeper I get the more open I will be about my illness. I think we all need to be open about our illness, our coping mechanisms, and the most important that we are still a fucking person. Our illness doesn’t make us a robot, incapable of empathy towards other. We probably have more empathy than other people because of what we deal with. We are stronger, it takes someone with great courage, will power, determination to move when your muscles leave you paralyzed, you forget how to speak, there is only darkness, you watch the world crumble around and by the Grace of God or whatever you believe you get up, you move and function like everyone else. It hurts like hell but you do it, but sometimes you can’t it just won’t work and people need to understand that. It may not seem like much to you but for us it is frustration and the feeling of defeat, so you tell someone who is suffering who can’t do it that it is okay and be there for them. If we admit we are having problems and confide in you there is a reason. It is also okay to not be okay and I think with the stigma people forget about that. We are strong people but we suffer more than people realize. If you aren’t okay don’t hide it please please please tell someone and don’t let that pit of hell consume you. You can talk to me. I don’t care if I know you or not I will be there for you and I will hold your hand through it because I know how it feels. I love you, other people in your life love you and you matter.

❤

A year without suicide

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Last year I had every intention of dying before I ever saw my 34th birthday. I was suffering with severe mood swings, psychosis and in the process self medicating with benzodiazepines and not taking my medicine as prescribed. On my memories from Timehop there are several goodbye videos, and I found this. I wrote this note the first time I tried. Which was exactly a year ago today. I went to my spot on the lake with a bag of pills a Redbull, music and a made a video explaining how I wanted my funeral, to be cremated, the playlist on my phone for my funeral so I didn’t have to listen to shitty music as I watched from heaven. Tomorrow is my 34th birthday. Tomorrow I will be 34 years old and by the grace of God I’m still here fighting. We are counting to my first day of my life changing decision. It hasn’t been easy but in the process I’ve found me again. ❤️ I made it.❤️

Suicide is real.

My pain was real.

It wasn’t because I was selfish.

It was a permanent solution to a temporary problem. My illness will forever be a struggle and a permanent problem in my life.

Just call someone and tell them you love them and ask them if they are okay.

I am a survivor.

I am a person, not my illness.

I am not embarrassed or ashamed of my suicide attempt.

You shouldn’t be either.

F@$! judgmental people. They don’t matter.

Your story can save a life

1-800-273-8255

The freight train of moods derailed

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So, if that title confuses you it means my moods aren’t really stable. We will begin with psychosis. The psychosis is currently happening while I’m sleeping which is better than when I’m awake, but that’s like saying a sprained ankle is better than a broke one. I wake up confused and I stay confused for hours at a time. I forget what house I am in, I have large pieces of my day missing. If it involves my husband I trust him to tell me what happened, but then I have to put my faith in others and that is what scares me. People call it negative energy, but it really isn’t. I am scared of what I might say or do so it is easier to not make a personal connection with people. I don’t know how to explain that to people.

I cried yesterday and I couldn’t tell you why. I didn’t post yesterday because I knew it wouldn’t make sense and it might not make sense now. I hate when that happens because then people look at it you strange. I can’t just tell them that I’m bipolar so this is completely normal. I wish I could but I know that remark will come with additional questions and assumptions. People make a lot of assumptions about me most of them are wrong or misguided but they aren’t concerned enough to ask.

My psychosis is pulling the mood down and we are going down quickly. Last year on 9/28/18 I tried to kill myself and was self medicating. I have almost made it a whole year without it and I am still working hard with it, but honestly I am struggling not with self medicating with the other stuff. The memory lapses, confusion, crying, the depression that is coming and knowing I can’t stop it.

I wish I could explain to people how hard it is to deal with this.