I had my first therapy appointment this morning for the first time in seven months. I tossed and turned all night just at the thought of it. What would they ask? What would I say? It’s not like I’m in dark about my mental health. I’m very well aware of how bad things have gotten. All it took though was telling someone just how bad it was for me to realize the only thing I’ve been doing the past seven months is digging my own grave. Maybe not intentionally but if I continue down the road I’m on, I fear I won’t last another seven months. I read an article on Facebook today about a 27 year old dietician, Tara Condell, who took her own life. She left a suicide note on her website, still it was days later when her fellow employees missed her at work that she was found. That is heart breaking for me. Her note was her cry for help that people heard far too late. It is the first paragraph of her letter that haunts me. Not unlike something I would write myself at this given moment.
“I have written this note several times in my head for over a decade, and this one finally feels right. No edits, no overthinking. I have accepted hope is nothing more than delayed disappointment, and I am just plain old-fashioned tired of feeling tired.”
She takes the words right out of my mouth. Was it fate for me to see this article? She goes on to talk about things that I don’t quite understand at the moment like how good it seems she has it. Because I can for sure tell you I do not have it good. Perhaps at one time I did. But I no longer do. She speaks of things she will miss. Would I miss more than just my cats? That’s something I don’t have the answer to. Through her death and in her letter, Tara very well may have helped saved my life. I WANT to have it good once again. I WANT to have things to miss. I feel as though if someone had read this letter in time this sweet girl would still be here. Everybody’s low is different, true, and depression is not biased against who has it all and who doesn’t but coming from an insider this letter sounded like a cry for help. The real tragedy in suicide isn’t those left behind, it’s the life, often times cut too short.
Every forty seconds someone commits suicide. Could Tara’s have been stopped? I’m not sure. What I am sure of is that I owe it to her, her friends and her family to make sure mine stops. At my therapy appointment this morning I admitted to another human being that I sleep, on average 18 hours a day. That I have stopped taking my meds. That I have given up and I come home and read this. Coincidence? I think not. I am not alone in this disease.
My goals are small for now. My therapist gave me two things to do. Personal hygiene and journaling. I have got to get in the habit of waking up and showering everyday no matter if I have anything to do or not. For my sake. For my sanity. And journaling. Well I have been needing to do that for some time. I have so much on my mind and very very few, if any body, to talk to about it all and thats why it’s so important that I get it down on paper and out of my head. I hadn’t realized just how much this one step could help out. Oh, and taking my meds. I’ve been on them for some time and even though I feel as though they don’t work I still owe it to myself to continue to try.
Depression literally effects everything. From hygiene to work performance to relationships. If I hear one more person tell me it’s just an excuse I’m going to scream. It’s MORE than just an excuse. It’s a disease. It’s wanting so badly to get out of bed and do something about your life but not having the capacity to do so. It’s crippling. It’s kept me in bed for days at a time. It KEEPS me in bed.
Depression is like the feared dementor coming to bring you your last kiss. Everything turns cold and dark. Living with severe depression is like living after receiving your dementors kiss. You’re the living dead. Your soul gone. Everything dark, cold, and gray. Even sunshiny days seem dull. The will to live is gone.
I know this depression. I live this depression everyday. It’s a battle to get up every morning. To do menial task such as take a shower, clean, get ready for an event is monumental to me. It’s exhausting. My job has suffered from my depression. I’d rather be asleep than doing anything. If I’m asleep I don’t have to face the world and the fact that I’m sad. I’m probably losing my job soon. One of them at least. My main source of income. What will happen after that I don’t know. I had hope before this but it seems like everyday that goes by my depression gets worse and worse and worse. What will become of me? Will I just waste away? Or will I somehow find the strength to pick myself up?
Depression effects how well you clean. My room is a mess. There’s trash strewn about. Clothes everywhere. It’s not that I don’t want a clean room or a clean home but I’ve become so overwhelmed and going back to bed is just easier. It’s gotten to the point where I physically can’t get up to do anything anymore. I’m so low that my energy is shot. I don’t sit around and watch tv or eat bon bons. I sleep because my body and my soul is tired.
Depression effects relationships. You become paranoid that no one likes you and that everyone is against you and you will find that some people are. You will find that some people don’t understand mental illness and would rather stay that way than lend a compassionate heart or ear your way. Family starts drifting farther apart. You miss things. You get left out of things. People stop inviting you to things because you never show anyways.
Depression effects hygiene. Just getting a shower seems like running a marathon. Forget small things like shaving or brushing your teeth. You gain weight like crazy even though you’re barely eating. It’s like you’re body is preparing to hibernate for the rest of your life. Physical appearance isn’t one of your top priorities anymore. Sleep is.
Now that I’m soon to only be working one to two days a week again I’m afraid now more than ever I’m going to lose myself to this disease. This illness that is a burden to have and a burden for anyone who loves me. They have to watch me fall into the abyss. I know on Saturday I’m going to hear it’s an excuse and that’s fine. Some people don’t understand mental illness and that’s their choice. It’s not an excuse just like a diabetic having to take insulin and watch what they eat isn’t an excuse neither is being in the grips and the horror of full blow depression. If you’ve never slept more than two days in a row, woken up to see how horrible your house and your life looks, to full on projectile vomiting; then you my friend do not know depression. I am almost 30 and have had this disease since I was 11. That’s how old I was at my first suicide attempt. My last one was at the age of 14. I have wanted to since then but have remained hopeful that something will give. This is the worst my depression has ever been. Will I ever see the light again? I hope so. Only time will tell.
Fitzgerald, one of Americas iconic writers didn’t become famous until after his death but that didn’t stop him from wanting to achieve his dreams and live a life he was proud of, and want it for his fellow peers. I have no idea what my future holds but what I do know is that I can’t give up now. My last post may have made it seem like I was ready to, and I’ll be honest I have days where I feel like I want to but something stops me. My will to live outweighs my will to give up. Or rather I’m just so tired sometimes that I can’t even do that. I’d rather wait it out and see what happens. As long as there is air in my lungs and blood flowing through my veins then I might as well try. I know my last post probably scared a lot of people but what you must know is that first of all I’m a writer, everything I feel is done with passion, I WAS feeling like ultimately giving up, yes. That comes with having borderline personality disorder. Suicidal thoughts are part of the depression I battle everyday. Its like a cannon going off amidst the artillery fire in an all out war. BUT A thought doesn’t necessarily mean an action. Giving up isn’t an option for me, but starting over is,.
Starting over is hard and it hurts like hell. Its stressful. Its taking two steps forward and three back and somehow still making progress. Its unpacking all the boxes you’ve left unpacked or just throwing them away and accepting they are gone. Its accepting you may be eating ramen until the next power bill is paid. Starting over may mean staring at something you’ve started and accepting its time to let it go. OR perhaps go at it from a different angle. Starting over is leaving the job you’re not appreciated at even though its all you have, but you’ve come to realize you value your self worth a little more. Starting over is putting on PJ’s again at night instead of just falling asleep in your clothes. Starting over is loving yourself and letting everything else come afterwards.
Have you ever felt like you weren’t really alive? That somehow you had died and were trapped in this body? In this life? And that MAYBE it was purgatory. Lately I have felt this way. I sleep most of my days away. I ignore the bill collectors. I have 79 missed calls. I never go anywhere. I barely eat. I exist, I’m not living. I got out today to write this but not JUST to write this. I had to send my resume to my sister in hopes of getting a full time job. Something I desperately need.
“Its a no smoking sign on your cigarette break.” I smoke cigarettes. I have since I was 18. Its a terrible habit I know and hopefully one day when I beat this damn disease I can quit. I’ve been told I smell like smoke, I’ve been told I smell like cigarettes. I’ve even been told I need to spray something so I don’t smell for a job before, thats nothing out of the ordinary. But y’all I was told that I smelled like WEED. I haven’t smoked pot since I left FL and it was medicinally legal for me. And even then it was in concentrates and vapes. I haven’t heard that I smelled like WEED since, well, since my parents were accusing me of smoking it back in 09. I take things personally, words hurt. Maybe they aren’t meant to always but out of all the ways you could phrase something you say weed. First of all weed has a very very very distinct smell and cigarettes and weed don’t smell alike. At all. Thats why it felt like a blow to me. Because I know I may smell like cigarettes but I know theres no way in hell I smell like WEED. If my medicine allowed me to I would have cried my eyes out over this. I don’t dress like a “pot head”, I don’t talk like a “pot head”, I just don’t get it. I have been awake today longer than I have in at least three days. Sleep is all I can do. The meds aren’t working. I can’t afford therapy. I’ve been sick. Probably from stress or being upset.
I’m trying to start over guys. This is my story of picking up the broken pieces of a broken heart. IF your heart isn’t in it nothing will be and I’m finding thats why nothing seems to be working for me. My heart is so broken it can’t be in anything. I’m trying to heal. I’m trying desperately to stay here for myself and not just for the people that love me. Because let me tell you a life of merely existing and never living is a hell on earth. A minute feels like a hour. I can’t tell you the last time I laughed. I honestly can’t remember. Just admitting that and typing that out brings tears to my eyes. Everyone should know laughter and I haven’t known it for so long. If its the last thing I do its beat this disease, one way or another. I plan to start over. Today is a new day.
What is unrelenting life crisis you may be asking yourself? Well it is what it sounds like and it effects those with borderline personality disorder. If you’ve ever watched “Girl Interrupted” you may be familiar with the disease I’m referring to. Well I’ve been plagued with this since I was 14. Unrelenting life crisis is as described by Dr. Shari Manning:
One “bad” situation (many times not of their own making)
Inability to tolerate the distress of the situation
Leads them to make ineffective decisions OR
Engage in impulsive behavior to relieve stress
Makes situation worse
I am working really really hard to use coping skills to manage the crisis that are coming up in my life but getting sober in and of its own is hard enough much less doing it with borderline. My hope is to do this, do it well and thoroughly so that I may be able to help other addicts and alcoholics that may have “grave mental illness” because you CAN recover!!! IT IS POSSIBLE!!! If I’m going to be a statistic I’m going to be the GOOD kind. I have many problems beset before me. First I stupidly backed into a wall and busted my OTHER tail light so don’t have any working tail light, My phone is about to get cut off and I have no idea what to do about that, I’m feeling every single emotion in one day, I’m longing to have a guy friend in my life and can’t find a sober one to save my life, being a tom boy theres only things a guy can relate to and I feel as though I’m being PUNISHED for something, my health insurance has run out and clearly I am sick, I have no clue how I’m going to pay for medications, I don’t qualify for Medicaid because I don’t have kids, I sat in fiber glass last night, my real family barely talks to me even though I couldn’t do this without them and I would love to share this with them, lonely is an understatement. I could go on but I won’t bore you. I think you get the point. What is my plan for recovery? WELL I’m glad you asked. First I’m going through the 12 STEP Program! Such an amazing way of life and if we all lived this way the world would be such a beautiful place. We are not perfect and no one person can adhere to the steps perfectly but I do my best and I will try my best everyday. Second I plan on becoming my own best friend again. I once was. Six years ago, before the great darkness. Before I lost Mariah and experienced the first great loss in my life. Before I started to get emotionally abused. I was truly in love with myself. I stayed up late reading “Brave New World” and the “Dune” series. I ran everyday. I did yoga. I meditated multiple times a day. I didn’t smoke NEARLY as much. I listened to music more, and probably most importantly I JOURNALED. Why I don’t do that anymore I have no idea. I will never be the SAME Katie again but what I want to do is read the Tao, I want to learn Thai Chi, I want to go camping ALONE, I want to run again and feel the freedom and release of my feet hitting pavement, I want to get back to my mat and do yoga again and eventually teach in rehabs, I want to quit smoking, I want to get a job and not just any job but something I’m passionate about and something that HELPS my community and those around me. I want to spread joy and happiness. I want to serve others. I want to travel the world and hike trails all over! And most importantly, I want and NEED to write and JOURNAL. I can’t tell you how healthy that is. I want to start making better healthier discussions. DPL stopping using me back in February and thats still relatively fresh, I’m not really looking to hop right into a relationship, I’m more focused on my well being and my self care. I had something happen to me and well it threw me for quite a loop. I don’t know how to put it words. I miss my friend from the hospital. My friend that got me to where I am now. The friend that got me on the road I’m on today. The friend that got me to where I can now look in the mirror and say “I love you, you are worth it.” He, he is the only guy friend I have and I’m not allowed to talk to him because I’m a girl. I remember staying up from the time we got meds at 8 until 11:30 or later just me and him talking. I softly cried to him. I will never forget just looking at him and telling him how desperate I felt. The desperation of a drowning man. I told him how I felt like no one understood me, and that I thought I was destined to be alone the rest of my life and that no one would ever love me the way I appreciated myself. You see, I KNOW my worth, I don’t look to others for validation, I know my worth. No one else does. But HE DID. He told me how he found love and told me that God had a plan and to just listen to my heart. He told me his story. I knew then I needed to get sober. He saved my life. I owe him my life.
Growing is hard no matter if its in your bones or in your soul! Its going to be uncomfortable but oh so worth it! I am going to be such a stronger me and be able to handle all these unrelenting life crisis soooo much better and I’m going to be able to help people with my story. I’m going to have tough skin from being lonely. Sobriety isn’t always easy but it is ALWAYS worth it.
You never know how many people really care until you hit rock bottom. People start to come out of no where. People you thought had forgotten all about you still remember your smile and the impact you had. No life is too small or insignificant. Everyone has a place. Even me. In my own weird way. I don’t know where I fit in this world but I know I was put here to help. I helped a girl out with clothes and a bible while in the hospital. One of the first things I did was get her a bag ready to go up to the hospital. It meant way more to her than it ever could to me. I didn’t do it for me I did it because I saw a need that I could fill. Something I could do to make the world a better place. So I did. I will call this girl until she leaves. I also met a man who lead me to get sober from my valium. Not that its bad for everyone but I have been on it for too long and everyone notices a difference of me on it. And thats what I hate. I want to be the best Katie for everyone. I hate being anxious but at the same time I don’t want to be a robot.
Part of being inpatient is giving up your freedom. Your sanity basically. You stare at walls for long periods of time just to think about the decisions you made that got you there. Which I can tell you sucks balls. I cried like a baby my second day. My first full day really. My second day I started to see the light and I started to do things that made me feel good, like run when we went outside and not sleep all day. I played cards with group members. I made people laugh. I’ll never forget those people. The people that impacted me far more than they may ever realize. You may think your life is insignificant and I know I sure did but no life is too small. NO LIFE is not important. NO ONE should be left behind in this cruel world I don’t care who you are. This world is scary and lonely and I don’t care what you’ve done you don’t deserve to be alone.
My friends and my family have carried me as far as they can and its time for me to carry myself. I pray for the strength and the courage to do so.
As most of you know I suffer from mental illness. I speak openly about it in my blog and I am not ashamed to speak out about it. It is a prevalent illness across the world and needs to be addressed and not suppressed. These past few days I have been inpatient at a hospital here in Columbus MS. I was having terrible suicidal thoughts and my moods were so off. I was betraying my friends without intention and things were just getting out of control. I was pushing anyone and everyone that cared away. So that way leaving would be easier. I saw what I was doing so I knew I needed to check myself in somewhere so thats just what I did. I didn’t hesitate on my decision. Once I decided I was going I was going. I knew it would be scary and I knew I wouldn’t like it but I knew it was what I NEEDED. You are the only one that can take care of yourself and you are the only one that knows yourself well enough to know if you need help or not. I sought help because I knew my life was in danger. From my own hands. Which is pretty dad gum scary. I love life and I want to be here to help people but I have a disease which tells me I’m not worth it. And that no one loves me when in reality thats not true. Neither statement. IF you or someone you know needs help I urge you to get them to seek it. Its not fun but it does help. I feel a million times better. I came home to a car that won’t crank, a locked phone, but I am fine. I am okay. Everything will be okay. I have a roof over my head, I have friends that love me, and food for my belly. I can’t ask for more. I will get my phone to work and I will get my car to work at some point. Freaking out about it isn’t going to help. Being upset about it isn’t going to help. I’ll tell y’all all about being inpatient just as soon as I can. But I’ll tell you something there were times when I thought it was the worst decision of my life but now that I’m out in the free world I see that it was the best decision I could have ever made. I am back and I am ready to write!
I often feel like I’m looking at my life from the outside. Its this weird feeling I can’t explain. I have felt so alone for so long I don’t know what its like to feel like I have a partner in something. I have friends, yes. But an actual partner, no. I haven’t had one of those in a very very long time. I am 28 years old. The longing for companionship is past the point of longing and is now down right painful. I see all my friends married. Some have kids, some don’t. Some have full blown families. I feel so behind. So ALONE. ALONE doesn’t just mean by yourself. I know I’m not the only one but I always had a boyfriend. I always had a “sweetheart”. This is the longest I’ve ever gone and not “dated” anyone. My self worth had since been lowered because I feel like I’m not worth dating maybe. I know in my heart any man would be lucky to have me but when no one seems to want you its hard to NOT be hard on yourself. And its not even about men. ITs women too. Making friends is soooo hard. I have 2. Maybe 3 here in Columbus. I can’t rely on them day and night and while I don’t have a job I have to entertain myself. I have to find ways to be alone with me and be okay and its hard. I will be the first to admit that. Its VERY uncomfortable at first. I don’t even know what to do with myself half the time. I’d love to write all day but my hands are so unsteady because of the anxiety I can’t write on paper anymore. How sad is that. I used to could write in a journal and now all I can manage is to type. My hands are too unsteady for a pen and paper and that breaks my heart. When did it get this bad. When was it that I became such a mess. Was it really being told “Giving up got you to where you are now.”? I know I shouldn’t dwell on that but its hard. Its like a flesh eating bacteria eating away at my heart. Day by day it just eats away. I don’t want to give up but according to him I already have so whats the point. What is even the point anymore. I’m all alone and I feel like I always will be. I have God and thats about the only thing I can count on and right now I feel like thats all I’d rather be with is just him.
I unpacked all these in one day. I can’t stand a mess and disorganization. It literally drives me batty. Moving in a complete process. Its finding a job, its settling in. Its finding yourself again. In a whole new place. I am sitting at a bar my best friend works at to get wifi just to write this and to apply to jobs. I am at a loss at what to do. I have tried so much and done so much today I am exhausted. Being up at 5am everyday wears on a person. I try though and I’m still going to keep trying. I’m not going to let this depression and my BPD win. I won’t and I can’t. Too many people have put too much time and money into my well being and to help me get a fresh start just to sit and rot away. Like I’d really like to do but I know thats not Gods plan for me. Its the depression telling me that.
A wise friend once said “The greatest thing about life is everyone has their own book. Some are sweet and everlasting, some are horrifying and weird, some are sad and short, but it is YOUR book. And no one in the whole universe can copy or steal your book” – Henderson Cunningham.
This statement is so true. I hope my book is long and filled with lots of highs and few but very informative lows. No one knows what its like to be me and I don’t know what its like to be anyone else. I don’t want to know. I pray for everyone. I hope everyone succeeds in their own way. I never wish ill on anyone. I have made mistakes and I can’t take them back but I can live my life now and and want to repent and ask for forgiveness. My book is bitter sweet right now. And I’m okay with that. My sister has blessed me with a roof and I can’t be anymore grateful. My brother came and helped me move and I can’t ever repay him and my mom, don’t get me started. She is my rock. Well God is my rock but my mom comes second. I would love to write more and update more but its hot and I can’t stay long. I will have internet this weekend I hope and plan to write more. Please look forward to hearing me soon.
This song is my legit anthem right now. Its my song. Bebe Rexha gets me. I have been STUCK these past couple of days. I didn’t help the homeless. I didn’t do anything good but go to confession. Which I don’t think the penance fits the crime but that isn’t for me to decide. I will do my penance times three. I have done so much to hurt people that obviously people hate me enough to not even want to say good bye to me. My going away party was last night and not one soul from work showed up. Not one single soul cared enough to show up. Does it hurt, hell yes it hurts worse than a fire ant sting, but did I expect it, yes. Why, because I feel like I deserve it. I deserve pain somehow and for some reason. I am very depressed right now and I have been since Friday morning. I think because I knew that no one was going to show up. I legit had a break down in front of the friends that did come. It wasn’t many but I let it ruin part of my night and obviously my Saturday. I loaded nothing for LuLaRoe which I could have made money on because I was depressed. I was sleepy so I slept. I wanted to pack so I packed. Then I slept. I cried because I wanted to. Then I slept some more then cleaned my house for a party that never happened and then it didn’t and today has been sort of the same. I did post in my VIP group and go to church so that has to count for something. And I’m still packing and cleaning. I’m just doing nothing for myself thats going to help get myself out of the hole I’m in because for some reason I feel like I deserve to be in this hole and that someone should just bury me. I can only say I’m sorry so much.
I have so many things my heart wants to say to so many people right now its overwhelming to have the damn thing in my chest right now. There is nothing I can do and I have to live with that. I have to use “coping” skills because apparently this is just life. And I need to “suck it up”. Even Professor Lupin has been acting Warewolfish. Which is to be expected of course. WE ALL KNOW HARRY COULD NEVER KEEP A DARK ARTS TEACHER LOLOLOL and I guess that stands true for me as well. Nor do I know if I want one to be honest.
I pray daily, moment to moment now actually that I make it to Columbus. Right now I don’t have the funds and I have no idea where to get the funds but something has to happen for me good right. I have put SOME GOOD out there. And with a box of jewelry just gone and all that I’ve been through you would imagine a miracle could happen just this once. I picture myself in my sisters rental. Walking in with the keys and unpacking all my stuff. I imagine hanging things on the wall and my cats getting settled in. I can picture it all and it makes me so happy I could cry because I just don’t know how I’m going to get there. I tremble with fear knowing I have to get my stuff out of this house by next weekend come hell or high water and I have no idea where I’m going to be. The streets? Columbus? A friends? Where will I end up? A great writer must live a great adventure but dang I wasn’t expecting this…..
As I sit here and think of what else I can sell to make money I consider taking myself to the main strip with my guitar and trying to make a few bucks singing and dancing, I would bring my bible and just do and say what the Lord said. I would make a sign that said “Homeless unless I can afford a moving truck in a week, will not strip.” I don’t know what else to do. The fact of the matter is I will be homeless if I don’t get a moving truck. I was laying here sobbing and thinking if today would be a good day to die. I know morbid but just a thought and I realized it was mine and my high school sweet hearts anniversary. We lost our virginities together so he is super special in my heart and is no longer with us. I whispered “Happy anniversary Will” and the one song he always said was about me came on my pandora so I knew he heard.
You may not believe in the afterlife but I do. I know he heard me. Its been a year and a half since I lost him. I have taken hit after hit after hit. My child hood best friend is no longer with me. The man who took me in as his own is no longer here. So many lost loves. So much pain. And now to bear the thought of becoming homeless the only thing I have is my faith. That is what Will tried so hard to cling to. And thats what I shall cling to. I will bring my guitar that he talked me into getting and go down to Palofax street and sing and dance and play with my bible and just sing and hope people tip me for being goofy. I don’t see myself as a beggar in the street, well maybe I am but I will provide entertainment I can guarantee that lol I still haven’t decided if begging on the street will really solve anything. When you’ve hit rock bottom you’re brain goes into overdrive trying to think of ideas on which how you can survive. Survival and not on the streets is the one thing you have got to keep in mind. And how to be moral about all of it. Someone told me to steal napkins from places, y’all I can’t even do that. I can’t even do that. If they give me extra thats fine. But I won’t steal. I’ll ask. Hell I can’t even afford fast food to get the extra damn napkins lol so no I’m not running in Taco Bell taking some napkins and running out. Nope. Not going to happen. I figure 5 will be a good time to go down to Palofax. I’ve got to tune my guitar. Is this really a good idea?
I would like to metaphorically be the “great king” and not the “street beggar”. My “thought world” was so sick for so long that I go so screwed up finically that now that I’m well I can’t get my head above water. I know its my own fault but I just want to breathe. Maybe I need to hit homeless shock bottom. I can still write my blog at coffee shops. I’ll stink lol but I can do it. I’ll start over and get a job somewhere. I don’t know just thinking about the worse case scenario. Being on the streets is a very very scary thought. But its a very real thought.