I can look back and safely say that I was in a mixed state when I went into the hospital. Since then, I have gone to a community services board, and gotten medication for bipolar disorder.
Bipolar disorder, or manic-depressive disorder, is primarily biochemical, and must be treated as such. Since I was only being treated for depression, I was still experiencing the effects of the cycling and ups and downs that are associated with this mental illness.
At the time, I was in a mixed state. Where the symptoms of depression were severe, but I was still experiencing racing thoughts and psychotic symptoms, such as hearing voices.
This state, for those who have bipolar, is often one of the most dangerous, and is a state where the most suicide attempts occur for manic depressives.
Knowing what I know now, I'd have to say that I'm lucky something worse didn't happen. It was bad, and it scared me, but manic episodes can be so, so much worse. I was lucky that I escaped with a few cuts, and a short trip to a psychiatric ward.
I'm doing better, and I'm getting better, but it's going to be a long road ahead of me. I'm still going to cycle. I'm still going to have periods of depression and mania, and it's going to be difficult. But I've got the experience under my belt to know when I've gone too far.
I'm going to be okay, and that's what matters.
One Crashed Into the Cuckoo's Nest
Friday, February 11, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
Proud
I was able to tell Prof that I've been clean for 2-3 weeks.
Going back and counting, it's been 23 days. Three weeks and one day since the last time I self-harmed.
I'm really proud of myself, proud that I was able to tell Prof, and proud that I've come this far.
Going back and counting, it's been 23 days. Three weeks and one day since the last time I self-harmed.
I'm really proud of myself, proud that I was able to tell Prof, and proud that I've come this far.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Quiet
Things are quieting down, in my head. And it's nice.
The Troops are kind of fading. It must be the Abilify. I'm not complaining. I can realize that they're parts of me, my personality, that my mind has compartmentalized into separate personalities. They're all me. They're all just different facets of myself that need to come together to form a whole person again.
And I can do that.
School didn't let me come back, but in some ways I knew that was going to happen. And maybe it's for the best? I don't know. I just have to keep on living. When I come back to college, I'm going to blow them away. I will be the best super senior they've seen, because I've been there and back, and I have the experience to know that I can handle anything after all I've been through.
Bring it on, life.
The Troops are kind of fading. It must be the Abilify. I'm not complaining. I can realize that they're parts of me, my personality, that my mind has compartmentalized into separate personalities. They're all me. They're all just different facets of myself that need to come together to form a whole person again.
And I can do that.
School didn't let me come back, but in some ways I knew that was going to happen. And maybe it's for the best? I don't know. I just have to keep on living. When I come back to college, I'm going to blow them away. I will be the best super senior they've seen, because I've been there and back, and I have the experience to know that I can handle anything after all I've been through.
Bring it on, life.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
I Don't Have To...
I don't have to feel that way anymore.
I found pictures I drew, a child curled up under a blanket, clutching at a teddy bear for dear life. BAD BAD BAD bombarded the child outside of the blanket, as tears rolled down their cheeks.
I'm not that child anymore. I'm not being bombarded by those thoughts. Things have calmed down.
Another pictured depicted a garbage dump.
A lone hand sticks up out of the rubble, a foot protruding underneath the garbage heap.
I felt like garbage,worthless, discarded.
But I don't feel that way anymore either. I have worth, and I'm not that person anymore. I'm not garbage.
I found pictures I drew, a child curled up under a blanket, clutching at a teddy bear for dear life. BAD BAD BAD bombarded the child outside of the blanket, as tears rolled down their cheeks.
I'm not that child anymore. I'm not being bombarded by those thoughts. Things have calmed down.
Another pictured depicted a garbage dump.
A lone hand sticks up out of the rubble, a foot protruding underneath the garbage heap.
I felt like garbage,worthless, discarded.
But I don't feel that way anymore either. I have worth, and I'm not that person anymore. I'm not garbage.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Icons
Posted this on my LJ, but I'm posting it here too.
001 | 002 | 003 |
004 | 005 | 006 |
007 | 008 | 009 |
010 | 011 | |
Cut Cut Cut Pt. 5
My last post of the year, I suppose. Part five of my Cut Cut Cut series.
Things have been getting better, but at the same time, I think it's getting worse. Just in different ways.
No more psychotic breaks, but other things have stepped up to take their place.
----------
Once at the campus health center, Prof took over. I stood awkwardly in the lobby, while he spoke with the receptionist.
Turning to me, he smiled and gestured to the waiting room. "Lauren, why don't you take a seat?"
I nodded, almost numb at this point.
I looked around the waiting room, deciding where to sit. I finally decided upon the seat next to the door and fire alarm, my back to a wall. I was on edge, and completely wired. Knee bouncing, foot tapping, I was pulled as taut as any rubber band might be.
It seemed like an eternity before Bird, the campus counselor, came through the doorway.
Prof had been looking at the magazines in the corner, and he looked up, smiling. He gestured for me to follow Bird, and I could barely stand.
My legs were shaking, but I followed Bird, as much as I wanted to run out the door I'd just been sitting beside.
Prof followed behind me, and we made our way to her office. I could feel the walls crumbling, even as CnC tried to shore them up once more.
We were losing it, I was losing it.
I collapsed into my favorite seat in Bird's office, while Prof sat down in the less comfortable arm chair, while Bird sat in her swivel chair across from us.
"So, Lauren. What brings you and Dr. Prof here today?"
Prof raised his hand, smiling slightly. "If I may...let me tell you what Lauren has told me, and then we'll see if everything corroborates."
Bird nodded, and I listened as Prof recounted my tale, word for word.
My counselor looked at me for affirmation-I nodded, looking away guiltily. What could I say? It was true. ML had cut me.
Bird began to list the options. I knew what I was going to hear.
"We all depersonalize, Lauren. When we're driving, doing menial tasks. But when it gets to this kind of level, further action is required..."
I nodded, tears in my eyes. I was trying not to cry, trying so hard.
I looked at Prof, then away. I couldn't look at him. How could I?
After she was finished explaining my options, I nodded once more. "I think...I think that going to the hospital would be the best...for me..."
Prof nodded encouragingly, as I fell apart inside. I wrung my hands, tears rolling down my cheeks as I gradually lost my control and grip on my emotions and reality.
Soon after my courtesy transport was there. I would first go to the community services center to be evaluated. If I were approved for hospitalization, I would either go voluntarily to the hospital, or I would get TDO'ed, which means that I would have gotten a temporary detainment order, which meant I would have to stay a minimum of 72 hours at any given hospital.
After getting approval, I would then go to the emergency room for a medical evaluation, and from there to the hospital that they found a bed for me at.
I got up, steeling myself. CnC was in control, but barely. He followed the police officer, and Sam scrambled to give me lots of hugs in my head. But it was so, so hard.
The police officer was kind and he even let me sit in the front of the car. We went to go get my things from my apartment, where my roommates were an audience to my little sideshow. From there, my adventure really began.
Things have been getting better, but at the same time, I think it's getting worse. Just in different ways.
No more psychotic breaks, but other things have stepped up to take their place.
----------
Once at the campus health center, Prof took over. I stood awkwardly in the lobby, while he spoke with the receptionist.
Turning to me, he smiled and gestured to the waiting room. "Lauren, why don't you take a seat?"
I nodded, almost numb at this point.
I looked around the waiting room, deciding where to sit. I finally decided upon the seat next to the door and fire alarm, my back to a wall. I was on edge, and completely wired. Knee bouncing, foot tapping, I was pulled as taut as any rubber band might be.
It seemed like an eternity before Bird, the campus counselor, came through the doorway.
Prof had been looking at the magazines in the corner, and he looked up, smiling. He gestured for me to follow Bird, and I could barely stand.
My legs were shaking, but I followed Bird, as much as I wanted to run out the door I'd just been sitting beside.
Prof followed behind me, and we made our way to her office. I could feel the walls crumbling, even as CnC tried to shore them up once more.
We were losing it, I was losing it.
I collapsed into my favorite seat in Bird's office, while Prof sat down in the less comfortable arm chair, while Bird sat in her swivel chair across from us.
"So, Lauren. What brings you and Dr. Prof here today?"
Prof raised his hand, smiling slightly. "If I may...let me tell you what Lauren has told me, and then we'll see if everything corroborates."
Bird nodded, and I listened as Prof recounted my tale, word for word.
My counselor looked at me for affirmation-I nodded, looking away guiltily. What could I say? It was true. ML had cut me.
Bird began to list the options. I knew what I was going to hear.
"We all depersonalize, Lauren. When we're driving, doing menial tasks. But when it gets to this kind of level, further action is required..."
I nodded, tears in my eyes. I was trying not to cry, trying so hard.
I looked at Prof, then away. I couldn't look at him. How could I?
After she was finished explaining my options, I nodded once more. "I think...I think that going to the hospital would be the best...for me..."
Prof nodded encouragingly, as I fell apart inside. I wrung my hands, tears rolling down my cheeks as I gradually lost my control and grip on my emotions and reality.
Soon after my courtesy transport was there. I would first go to the community services center to be evaluated. If I were approved for hospitalization, I would either go voluntarily to the hospital, or I would get TDO'ed, which means that I would have gotten a temporary detainment order, which meant I would have to stay a minimum of 72 hours at any given hospital.
After getting approval, I would then go to the emergency room for a medical evaluation, and from there to the hospital that they found a bed for me at.
I got up, steeling myself. CnC was in control, but barely. He followed the police officer, and Sam scrambled to give me lots of hugs in my head. But it was so, so hard.
The police officer was kind and he even let me sit in the front of the car. We went to go get my things from my apartment, where my roommates were an audience to my little sideshow. From there, my adventure really began.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Cut Cut Cut Pt. 4
The fourth piece of my Cut Cut Cut puzzle.
At this point, it's easier to talk about all of this now. I don't get that queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach anymore (well, I do, but I don't feel like throwing up at this point.)
I still have flashbacks, and flashbulb memories , and certain things make me cringe, like certain types of socks, thin clothing, or hospital smell.
Cut Cut Cut Pt. 4
I don't remember much from my appointment with Prof. I knew it was only supposed to last half an hour, and Roommate would be coming at 12:30 for an appointment with him.
But I needed to talk, even though my throat was constricted, and I was already on the verge of tears.
When I got there, he smiled, as he always does, and invited me to sit down.
I tried to steel myself, but I could feel my walls crumbling down.
CnC shored up those walls, lent me some of his courage, his stability.
I was able to look Prof in the eye, and not say anything for awhile. Until I remembered the multitude of bandaids that I had on my hands and leg.
Tears rolled down my cheeks as I confessed this sin to him. I apologized first.
"First off...I'm sorry," I nearly whispered.
And then I proceeded to tell him my story. How it wasn't me doing the cutting, because it wasn't. ML had taken over, and Prof and I agreed that it was a major depersonalization moment for me, and because of that fact, we should probably go down to the counselor.
He asked me if I was strong enough for that, if I was okay with that. I nodded, and pulled my coat back on, my gloves, my hat.
Wrapped my scarf around my neck, slung my backpack over my shoulders.
I was crying, silently, as he led me out of his office and on that excruciatingly long walk down to the health center, where the campus counselor had her office.
I told him that I felt stretched too tight. Like a rubber band that was stretched to its limits, and if it's stretched anymore, it would snap.
"What happens if you snap? If that rubber band snaps?" He asked me.
I shook my head. "I don't know...I'd fall to pieces..."
I thought I had snapped, that my inner rubber band had been stretched to its limits. But there was more to come.
At this point, it's easier to talk about all of this now. I don't get that queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach anymore (well, I do, but I don't feel like throwing up at this point.)
I still have flashbacks, and flashbulb memories , and certain things make me cringe, like certain types of socks, thin clothing, or hospital smell.
Cut Cut Cut Pt. 4
I don't remember much from my appointment with Prof. I knew it was only supposed to last half an hour, and Roommate would be coming at 12:30 for an appointment with him.
But I needed to talk, even though my throat was constricted, and I was already on the verge of tears.
When I got there, he smiled, as he always does, and invited me to sit down.
I tried to steel myself, but I could feel my walls crumbling down.
CnC shored up those walls, lent me some of his courage, his stability.
I was able to look Prof in the eye, and not say anything for awhile. Until I remembered the multitude of bandaids that I had on my hands and leg.
Tears rolled down my cheeks as I confessed this sin to him. I apologized first.
"First off...I'm sorry," I nearly whispered.
And then I proceeded to tell him my story. How it wasn't me doing the cutting, because it wasn't. ML had taken over, and Prof and I agreed that it was a major depersonalization moment for me, and because of that fact, we should probably go down to the counselor.
He asked me if I was strong enough for that, if I was okay with that. I nodded, and pulled my coat back on, my gloves, my hat.
Wrapped my scarf around my neck, slung my backpack over my shoulders.
I was crying, silently, as he led me out of his office and on that excruciatingly long walk down to the health center, where the campus counselor had her office.
I told him that I felt stretched too tight. Like a rubber band that was stretched to its limits, and if it's stretched anymore, it would snap.
"What happens if you snap? If that rubber band snaps?" He asked me.
I shook my head. "I don't know...I'd fall to pieces..."
I thought I had snapped, that my inner rubber band had been stretched to its limits. But there was more to come.
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