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Friday, December 31, 2010
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.
Growing Up
Growing up is hard.
I learned that Prof is just Prof. To stay at school, and out of my life.
He once said that freshmen believe their professors go to their offices on Fridays and climb into their briefcases until Monday morning, when they reemerge ready to teach.
So that's where Prof will stay.
In his briefcase back at school, where I can't access him. Because he is my academic advisor.
And nothing more.
Oddly enough, I'm okay with that. I knew this day was coming, and that's okay.
It should have happened before now, but that's alright. I'll make it through this.
No one wants to hurt me right now (in my head, not externally), and I don't want to hurt me, and it's all going to be okay.
Growing up in hard, but it's necessary. Though I thought I'd grown up enough in the past few weeks, I have been shown that there's always room to grow.
I learned that Prof is just Prof. To stay at school, and out of my life.
He once said that freshmen believe their professors go to their offices on Fridays and climb into their briefcases until Monday morning, when they reemerge ready to teach.
So that's where Prof will stay.
In his briefcase back at school, where I can't access him. Because he is my academic advisor.
And nothing more.
Oddly enough, I'm okay with that. I knew this day was coming, and that's okay.
It should have happened before now, but that's alright. I'll make it through this.
No one wants to hurt me right now (in my head, not externally), and I don't want to hurt me, and it's all going to be okay.
Growing up in hard, but it's necessary. Though I thought I'd grown up enough in the past few weeks, I have been shown that there's always room to grow.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Well then...
I am losing myself, if I'm not already lost.
Maybe now I can find myself?
Here is an e-mail that I sent to Prof and my counselor. Insight?
I'm not sure.
Good times.
Maybe now I can find myself?
Here is an e-mail that I sent to Prof and my counselor. Insight?
I'm not sure.
Prof,
This e-mail doesn't really merit a response, I'm just trying to figure things out, and keep you in the loop as to where I'm at mentally. It's long, so if you manage to keep your attention on it till the end, go you.
Right now, I don't have any self-injurious thoughts, neither does ML. She says she doesn't really like the consequences anyways, so that's a good thing.
I just...things are tough.To explain, I'll start off with what they said in the hospital. Dr. Milam said I don't have DID or anything, just that as a coping mechanism I have compartmentalized my feelings into personalities. These are just a way of coping, and they can be weaved back together with me through therapy.
So.Let me explain how my brain is working right now.
There are 7 people in my head. They represent different emotions, to an extent. They all serve different functions, have their own names, opinions, handwriting, thoughts, voices, and the ability to switch in and take over when I can't handle something. Sometimes I dissociate and I don't remember a couple hours of my life because one of them has switched in. I guess this is normal? I don't know. I just know that I can't remember portions of my day, or driving home, because it wasn't me that was doing it. (And it's beyond normal dissociation like Robin said we do in every day life.) Sometimes they switch in just because they want a say in what's going on on the outside, because I don't necessarily give in to their thoughts or demands.
They each have different personalities, I guess because they operate as different facets of me that handle different situations.(Oh, the joys of having a psychotic break. All kinds of good stuff pops up.)
There's Mean Lauren (ML) , Nice Lauren (NL) , Roo, Sam, Calm and Collected (He likes to be referred to as CnC) , Kerri , and Aly.When I'm feeling particularly overwhelmed, caffeinated, or I haven't taken my Abilify, their voices rise to a cacophony in my head and I can't think straight. I get twitchy, panicky, have bad thoughts. It's one of those 'the voices in my head are telling me to kill you, and it's really hard for me not to listen' moments, and it's scary.
I've conducted conversations with them in a journal, and they all have different handwriting. CnC has rather neat print, ML's handwriting is scrawl, Sam's is very sloping and elegant, Roo's is childlike, Kerri is very girlish, and mine is a jumbled mess of print.CnC even grips the pen too hard, and I had to ask him to stop.
I can ask them to help me out, when I'm going through something. Usually begging one to switch in during the heat of the moment doesn't work (only Sam can do that), and instead it's kind of like setting up a date. For work last night, I asked CnC to help me out when it got tough, or just to keep the ball rolling (through journaling).Sure enough, I ended up watching myself in another grand depersonalization moment as CnC just went to town doing dishes and getting shit done.
I don't really know how to handle this. What do you do when your own brain is messing with you, creating personalities in your head that can come unbidden? The other night, Roo popped out and babbled like a madwoman and I had to yell at her in the journal. I can't have this happening. I can't switch when I'm at work, or in a social situation.
I know that they're not complete alters. They're apart of me, and I them. But it just doesn't make sense what they're doing. Why would they/I hurt me, why would they do all this crap that just makes it harder on me. It's like there's no awareness there. ML did it because she was frustrated with me, not thinking that's what I would have wanted, or what was best for us. (Yeah, I'm an us. This is bullshit.)I don't know.I just hope that lots of therapy and pretending like it's all okay (not) might help. I just want to be normal again, instead of having this constant hum in the back of my mind of different voices telling me to do things. Yeah. That sounds sane.
If you've made it this far, congratulations. I owe you a cookie.
Merry Christmas, Prof
-Lauren
Good times.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Cut Cut Cut Pt. 3
ML cut me. Eight times.
Once on my left wrist, under the watch band. Hide it.
Once on the right palm, test. Too deep. Ouch.
The leg?
Four. Four slices. About two and a half inches long each.
Done with a razor, a slim thing. Waif like, but very lethal.
Once more, on the left index finger. So when you touch things, when you go through your day, you will know.
ML left me, then. Dazed and confused, I looked at the blood smearing under my watch. I winced at the pain in my palm. Wondered at the cuts on my leg.
Calm and Collected took over. (I can identify CnC now. I just knew then that it still wasn't me who took care of my body.) "Might as well get cleaned up," CnC said with a sigh.
"First thing's first...shower, then bandaids," CnC murmured, nodding an affirmation. CnC had a plan.
Going to the door, CnC peeked out to see if the roommates had returned, which they hadn't. Calmly, CnC collected everything needed for a shower, then went and started the water.
It stung, that shower. Water sluiced over my body, washing away the blood, but not the pain.
I switched back into myself and crouched down, pressing my forehead against the wall of the shower, tears rolling down my cheeks.
"Why...why...why..." I chanted. Why did this happen? Why did ML do that?
Pull yourself together, CnC's voice echoed in my mind.
I couldn't do it. I just remained crouching, water hitting my back, wounds pulsing idly.
Switching back in, CnC went about getting me cleaned up, gentle as he cleaned the cuts. He was sweet, though he had little compassion as my shampoo stung the cut on my right palm.
"It's what you get," CnC murmured, though not to me. He was chastising ML, angry at what ML had done to my body.
Getting out of the shower, I went to my room, after appropriating some of my roommate's bandaids and neosporin.
I ripped up the paper towel I had had my toaster strudel on, and poured peroxide over all the wounds. I hissed as the chemical stung, then wiped the liquid away with my strips of paper towel.
After bandaging me up, CnC turned to my computer, responding to an e-mail I had sent to Prof (my academic adviser).
And he responded with:
Noon sounded just fine.
I went to lunch, and was snatched up by one of my roommates. This was one thing that I couldn't handle. Roommate is not someone I wanted to deal with. She took me to lunch, where I couldn't eat the rice and vegetables I'd put on my plate.
Shaking, I tried to drink my water, but instead gnawed on the edge of the cup.
An eyebrow raised and a frown on her face, Roommate asked if I wanted to leave.
Nodding fervently, we got up and I went to my appointment with Prof.
It went downhill from there.
Once on my left wrist, under the watch band. Hide it.
Once on the right palm, test. Too deep. Ouch.
The leg?
Four. Four slices. About two and a half inches long each.
Done with a razor, a slim thing. Waif like, but very lethal.
Once more, on the left index finger. So when you touch things, when you go through your day, you will know.
ML left me, then. Dazed and confused, I looked at the blood smearing under my watch. I winced at the pain in my palm. Wondered at the cuts on my leg.
Calm and Collected took over. (I can identify CnC now. I just knew then that it still wasn't me who took care of my body.) "Might as well get cleaned up," CnC said with a sigh.
"First thing's first...shower, then bandaids," CnC murmured, nodding an affirmation. CnC had a plan.
Going to the door, CnC peeked out to see if the roommates had returned, which they hadn't. Calmly, CnC collected everything needed for a shower, then went and started the water.
It stung, that shower. Water sluiced over my body, washing away the blood, but not the pain.
I switched back into myself and crouched down, pressing my forehead against the wall of the shower, tears rolling down my cheeks.
"Why...why...why..." I chanted. Why did this happen? Why did ML do that?
Pull yourself together, CnC's voice echoed in my mind.
I couldn't do it. I just remained crouching, water hitting my back, wounds pulsing idly.
Switching back in, CnC went about getting me cleaned up, gentle as he cleaned the cuts. He was sweet, though he had little compassion as my shampoo stung the cut on my right palm.
"It's what you get," CnC murmured, though not to me. He was chastising ML, angry at what ML had done to my body.
Getting out of the shower, I went to my room, after appropriating some of my roommate's bandaids and neosporin.
I ripped up the paper towel I had had my toaster strudel on, and poured peroxide over all the wounds. I hissed as the chemical stung, then wiped the liquid away with my strips of paper towel.
After bandaging me up, CnC turned to my computer, responding to an e-mail I had sent to Prof (my academic adviser).
Prof,
I know you've had a really busy week, and I've already [insert self-degrading bothering-related comment here] this week, but I was wondering if you'd have any time tomorrow to just...I dunno, check in...
This morning was really bad. The medicine functioned too closely to a sedative, and I walked around in a haze all day.But it was the pre-medicine state that really scared me, and I don't quite know how to handle it.
Either way, I'm getting by, and struggling to keep hold of what I've got.If you don't have time tomorrow, that's cool. I'll.....well, Yahoo! Answers always yields interesting results xD
Thanks,Lauren
And he responded with:
Hi Lauren,
How about noon?
Noon sounded just fine.
I went to lunch, and was snatched up by one of my roommates. This was one thing that I couldn't handle. Roommate is not someone I wanted to deal with. She took me to lunch, where I couldn't eat the rice and vegetables I'd put on my plate.
Shaking, I tried to drink my water, but instead gnawed on the edge of the cup.
An eyebrow raised and a frown on her face, Roommate asked if I wanted to leave.
Nodding fervently, we got up and I went to my appointment with Prof.
It went downhill from there.
Feels Like [I'm Crazy]
I think I'm going crazy.
I don't hear the voices.
They're in my head.
In my head.
Six of them. Mean Lauren, Nice Lauren, Roo, Kerri, Calm and Collected, and sweet sweet Sam.
Echoes. Lots of echoes.
I don't know.
They're apparently "personalities" that I've compartmentalized over the years. Pieces of my personality that need to be woven back together.
But they have control. They have their own opinions, thoughts. They switch in when it suits them, switch out.
They protect me, when I can't cope on my own.
They hurt me, as Mean Lauren did two weeks ago.
The voices hum. They echo. They whisper mean things to me in the back of my mind (at least Mean Lauren does).
Mean Lauren is prevalent, the others are there when called.
Roo came out tonight, and hung out with my mom. That was nice of her.
It's hard to tell. I can tell them to be quiet. I can tell them to calm down. But that doesn't mean anything. They're still there, humming.
I think I'm going insane.
I don't know what to do, or who to talk to.
I need help.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Unrelated
badbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbad
Monday, December 13, 2010
Cut Cut Cut Pt. 2
I'm writing this in pieces, because it almost hurts too much to talk about it all at once. This may be my story, but it isn't an easy one to tell.
After my 9:05 AM emergence, and seeing my roommates, I went back to bed.
But I didn't do anything. I tried laying back down, but that didn't help. I just rolled around and thought.
I thought bad thoughts, terrible thoughts. My mind was racing. I'd taken my medication, so why weren't they working?
Ceilingceilingceilingceilingceilingceiling
Why wouldn't they stop?
LamplamplamplamplamplamplamplamplampPhonephonephonephonephonephonephonephonephoneShoeshoeshoeshoeshoeshoeshoeshoeshoeshoeshoeDoordoordoordoordoordoordoordoordoordoordoordoordoor
Things just kept repeating. Echoing in my mind, reverberating off the inside of my skull. The voices were at a dull roar.
I sobbed quietly as I walked out of my room, my own mind driving me crazy. Torrents of words, sounds, all repeating.
Cutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcut
This had happened before, the Tuesday earlier. It had been so scary, this repeating. But it kept going.
I stumbled down the hallway, and into the kitchen area. I turned in a circle, crying, hugging myself as tightly as I could.
I was lonely, I was hurting. I wanted to reach out. I wanted someone to help me take my pain away.
But there was no one I could call.
You've talked about this enough, so we're going to do it, ML said conversationally, within my head.
W-what?, I replied.
You've talked about it, hurting yourself, I mean, enough. I'm tired of your bitching. We're going to do this.
N-NO! I don't want this! Give my body back!
Fuck no. You're just a pansy. We're going to do this shit now, because I'm tired of hearing you bitch and moan. I'm going to do this, and get it over with. You suck, so shut up. This is all your fault anyways.
ML took a sip of tea, then dropped to her knees off the bed and onto the floor, pulling out the tub from under my bed where my bath razors were normally kept.
When she didn't find them there, she nonchalantly continued on until she remembered that the bath razors were in a smaller container in the desk cubby.
Pulling it out, she selected a razor (there were several) and jumped back up on the bed, finishing the Toaster Strudel and taking another sip of tea.
She messed with the razor for a bit, trying to open it up. She cut her thumb, superfically (there wasn't any blood), and nodded in agreement with the razor that that wasn't the method to use.
So she took the spoon from my tea cup and pried the razor apart. Two slim, deadly blades fell onto the bed.
I was crying inside.
I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS I insisted.
Oh yes you do, ML said.
NO. NO NO NO. MAKE IT STOP. I DON'T WANT TO HURT MYSELF. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE!!!!!!! I begged frantically.
Too bad. We're doing this. This. Is. What. You. Get.
Cutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcut
I didn't want to do it.
After my 9:05 AM emergence, and seeing my roommates, I went back to bed.
But I didn't do anything. I tried laying back down, but that didn't help. I just rolled around and thought.
I thought bad thoughts, terrible thoughts. My mind was racing. I'd taken my medication, so why weren't they working?
Ceilingceilingceilingceilingceilingceiling
Why wouldn't they stop?
LamplamplamplamplamplamplamplamplampPhonephonephonephonephonephonephonephonephoneShoeshoeshoeshoeshoeshoeshoeshoeshoeshoeshoeDoordoordoordoordoordoordoordoordoordoordoordoordoor
Things just kept repeating. Echoing in my mind, reverberating off the inside of my skull. The voices were at a dull roar.
I sobbed quietly as I walked out of my room, my own mind driving me crazy. Torrents of words, sounds, all repeating.
Cutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcut
This had happened before, the Tuesday earlier. It had been so scary, this repeating. But it kept going.
I stumbled down the hallway, and into the kitchen area. I turned in a circle, crying, hugging myself as tightly as I could.
I was lonely, I was hurting. I wanted to reach out. I wanted someone to help me take my pain away.
But there was no one I could call.
I couldn't call my roommates, or my adviser. I couldn't call anyone. No. This pain was mine. This pain was only for me to deal with, to suffer with.
It was tearing me apart.
I looked around our living room in bewilderment, taking in the tree, the couches, the TV. And I cried.
Then I tried, tried to pull myself together. But I couldn't. My mind and heart shattered then, into a million pieces. I couldn't do it anymore.
Cutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcut
So I walked to the fridge, opened the freezer, and calmly took out a strawberry Toaster Strudel. It was a sudden switch, that I was only vaguely aware of. But I had switched, into a persona I can now identify as Mean Lauren.
This secret part of me, that had always said mean things, had mean thoughts, and carried out mean acts had taken over, and I was an unwilling audience to this little show.
Mean Lauren [ML for short] calmly cooked the Toaster Strudel, mind set on what she would do next. While waiting, ML walked down the hallway, and into the bathroom.
"How to do this," ML muttered, using my hands, my hands, to open up the shower curtain. My feet to step inside the shower, and then pick up the razor, examining it, and nodding with grim satisfaction as she set her plan into motion.
Cutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcut
She walked back out into the kitchen, noting with a degree of happiness that the pastry had popped up. Almost jovially, ML set about finishing the Toaster Strudel, and then making a cup of hot tea, merrily carrying both back into my bedroom.
In the back of my mind, where I was watching, I wondered: What the hell is going on here?! I have no control! She wants to hurt me! Make her stop!
But ML just continued on, watching Johnny Test on Cartoon Network as if this were normal; as if planning to cut yourself and eating breakfast are normal occurrences that should be taken care of in the same morning.
You've talked about this enough, so we're going to do it, ML said conversationally, within my head.
W-what?, I replied.
You've talked about it, hurting yourself, I mean, enough. I'm tired of your bitching. We're going to do this.
N-NO! I don't want this! Give my body back!
Fuck no. You're just a pansy. We're going to do this shit now, because I'm tired of hearing you bitch and moan. I'm going to do this, and get it over with. You suck, so shut up. This is all your fault anyways.
ML took a sip of tea, then dropped to her knees off the bed and onto the floor, pulling out the tub from under my bed where my bath razors were normally kept.
When she didn't find them there, she nonchalantly continued on until she remembered that the bath razors were in a smaller container in the desk cubby.
Pulling it out, she selected a razor (there were several) and jumped back up on the bed, finishing the Toaster Strudel and taking another sip of tea.
She messed with the razor for a bit, trying to open it up. She cut her thumb, superfically (there wasn't any blood), and nodded in agreement with the razor that that wasn't the method to use.
So she took the spoon from my tea cup and pried the razor apart. Two slim, deadly blades fell onto the bed.
I was crying inside.
I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS I insisted.
Oh yes you do, ML said.
NO. NO NO NO. MAKE IT STOP. I DON'T WANT TO HURT MYSELF. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE!!!!!!! I begged frantically.
Too bad. We're doing this. This. Is. What. You. Get.
Cutcutcutcutcutcutcutcutcut
I didn't want to do it.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Cut Cut Cut Pt. 1
On December 3, 2010 somewhere between 10:10 AM and 10:30 AM I hurt myself.
The wounds were superficial; they didn't bleed much, and they weren't very deep.
But the psychological scars ran to my core.
But I couldn't get out of bed.
As 6:35 rolled around, I buried my face in my pillow, awaking again at 7. This time I cried into my pillow, hugging myself and rolling up against the wall in an attempt to keep from shattering into a million pieces.
Rocking back and forth, I argued with myself.
You should go to class.
No.
You need to go to class. There's still time. Skip the shower, study. You have a quiz.
No. I don't...I can't....I'm not good enough. I can't do it. I'm going to fail.
You have to take that quiz. You're not going to be able to pull off a B without it.
It doesn't matter. I'm not good enough. I suck. I fail at life. I can't.
.........
I'm going back to sleep.
You should....forget it. Fail your quiz. You fucking suck.
So I rolled over and went back to sleep, tears rolling down my cheeks as I wallowed in self loathing and regret. I made the conscious decision to skip everything in lieu of sleep, of keeping my fragile sense of self together.
I woke up again at 9:05, and stumbled out to take my other medicines. I saw my roommates and nodded at them, bleary eyed and in pain.
But they couldn't help. They were just there.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Culmination
My self loathing continued. My stress levels rose, and I had no outlet with which to dispel all that stress. I just bottled it up.
Thoughts started going through my head early on in the semester. Dark thoughts, of hurting others, but mostly hurting myself.
What if I throw myself off the chapel wall? I'd think .
What if I just...trip...into that desk corner...I'd ponder.
These thoughts of hurting myself persisted. At first they were whispers, mere thoughts of passing fancy. I didn't seriously consider it, didn't seriously consider hurting myself.
But the thoughts persisted throughout the semester, rising in volume throughout October, making a dull roar in November.
By early December these thoughts had risen to a screaming in my ear. A roaring that never stopped.
My mind was completely overrun by these thoughts of inflicting pain, of how much of a failure I was.
Cut cut cut.
Those thoughts continued, driving me insane. Everywhere I looked, every where I turned, I saw something I could hurt myself with.
I got Dosiq (my roommate) to keep my scissors, my pencil sharpener. She moved the knives for me, she did everything I asked of her to keep me safe.
But it wasn't enough.
Everything culminated, into that one day...December 3, 2010.
CUT CUT CUT
What if I throw myself off the chapel wall? I'd think .
What if I just...trip...into that desk corner...I'd ponder.
These thoughts of hurting myself persisted. At first they were whispers, mere thoughts of passing fancy. I didn't seriously consider it, didn't seriously consider hurting myself.
But the thoughts persisted throughout the semester, rising in volume throughout October, making a dull roar in November.
By early December these thoughts had risen to a screaming in my ear. A roaring that never stopped.
My mind was completely overrun by these thoughts of inflicting pain, of how much of a failure I was.
Cut cut cut.
Those thoughts continued, driving me insane. Everywhere I looked, every where I turned, I saw something I could hurt myself with.
I got Dosiq (my roommate) to keep my scissors, my pencil sharpener. She moved the knives for me, she did everything I asked of her to keep me safe.
But it wasn't enough.
Everything culminated, into that one day...December 3, 2010.
CUT CUT CUT
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
The Beginning
The beginning of my journey through the mental health system began long before I was actually committed to a psychiatric ward.
I'm a college student, with all those college student woes that most complain of.
Nothing I did was worthwhile, nothing I could ever do would mean anything.
This was the beginning.
I'm a college student, with all those college student woes that most complain of.
Back home, things weren't so peachy either, so I was dealing with a battle on both fronts. While college was my sanctuary, it had also become a torture chamber.
My classes became an incessant torrent of water boarding and jumping in and out of a veritable Iron Maiden.
The stress began to pile on, I began losing sleep, and nothing I did seemed to bring me the relief I needed.
I needed release. I needed help.
Attempts were made, don't get me wrong. I went to my academic adviser as often as I could, begging him to help me learn to relax. I plagued my roommate and best friend, Dosiq, trying to find the answer to my problems.
I was hurting. My heart was breaking. I felt as though I couldn't talk to anyone.
 |
| I felt very much like this. Hopeless, upset, staring at everyone with soulful eyes full of longing and pain. |
Life began to get harder. Waking up, paying attention, smiling. It all became tougher and tougher.
There was no relief from my pain, from my suffering.
A lot of it was internal. Even as a child, I was hard on myself.
When I was 10 and in 4th grade, I remember getting my first B on a report card. I was ashamed to bring such an awful report card to my mother, haunted by thoughts of failure.
It didn't matter that I had all A's everywhere else. It was my personal failure. I was making things hard on my mother, making things hard on everyone because of my B.
Now this is completely irrational, and I accept that. But that doesn't mean anything.
To my little 10 year old mind, I was the worst girl in the world.
And it just kept on going.
As I grew into adolescence then young adulthood with this guilt complex niggling at the back of my mind, driving me. It was the driving force that led me to the honor roll, led me to graduating with an advanced diploma.
Led me to leading a life that was harder than it needed to be, because anything less than perfection wasn't good enough.
Now I realize that that is a high bar to set for a 10 year old, let alone a 19 year old college student who feels as though the world is on her shoulders.
This manifested itself as self loathing.
I began to hate myself, hate everything I did, everything I thought.Nothing I did was worthwhile, nothing I could ever do would mean anything.
I was my own worst enemy. It was worse than anything anyone could have said or done to me, save my best friends or my academic adviser.
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