Day Seven - My Journey Through A Mental Health Facility

It was Wednesday June 3, and time for my 7:00p appointment with Tonya. She opens with the typical "So how are you?" and each session I normally put a lot of thought as to what I am going to say. I foolishly think I set the tone. I mean, it isn't like she doesn't already know how I am doing! I truly suspect the woman is psychic. And I don't believe in psychics. Last session she asked 'the question' and all I said was, "I'm not." I had thought about what to say but really didn't care what answer to give that week, so I was just kind of flippant. The woman still got me to talk meaningfully for 60 minutes though. June 3, I thought and thought, but hadn't come up with the exact words yet. You see, I had a plan. I knew I had shut down and was beyond help. I had begun to willingly and quite easily lie to the people I love and count as my support group, or I just ignored them. I didn't want them to know. I didn't care anymore. It became none of their business in my mind. Why bother when I was failing so miserably? I haven't ever willingly lied to my support group. Ever. But Tonya was the only one left that I was being honest with (well, except she had no idea I was lying to everyone else, but in my defense, she never asked, so maybe she isn't psychic after all). I knew the choice of words was paramount to my plan. Anyway, I went to the session to slyly try and get her to help me figure out how to get permission from my children to die. Now, I think I am pretty smart, and was convinced I could fool the best therapist I have ever had in my life to get the answer I needed, even though she seems to see right through me with a single glance. Sometimes I won't look at the woman. She reads my mind! I thought I could trick her into slipping up and giving me a way to gain approval from my boys to die. I rationally know suicide is selfish. I know it permanently hurts those left behind. It is a huge reason I fight as a mental illness advocate. However, I had played my last card. I asked my children for permission to die and they said no. And besides, in my head, I wasn't suicidal. I just wanted permission to die.


So we sat down, she looked at me, asked 'the question', and I will be damned if out of my mouth popped the words, "I think I need hospitalization, but I can't afford it." I swear to you my mouth dropped a bit and I thought, "WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST SAY?" Tonya didn't immediately tell me how silly of a reason lack of money was not to admit myself, but thanks to her, I did end up admitting myself to Mesa Springs in Fort Worth, Texas, early afternoon on June 4. I agreed to it midway through the session and went home with a game plan to get things in order within 24 hours so I could go. During my 90 (I got 30 free minutes that night) minute session with Tonya, I kept telling her I wasn't suicidal, but I did have one heck of a fool proof plan I was happy to share and thought pretty highly of myself for thinking of it. Why not share? I wasn't suicidal. She didn't challenge me. Instead, she helped me to admit to myself that my preoccupation with gaining approval to die would eventually become greater than the need of my children's approval. And she isn't as smart as she thinks. I know now she made it seem like my idea, but she led me right to the watering hole. She never once told me, "Yes, you are suicidal." And, even though I just didn't care, I did obviously care enough to not want that preoccupation to become true. That is just how good she is. Or maybe she is the sly one??? Hmmm...


I was inpatient for 13 days. The first night home, June 16, I knew I wanted to blog about this, but had no idea how. How could I explain a journey from void to hope and make sense enough to touch someone else? I read a book that Tonya brought to me while there (told you she is awesome). The author tells the story of feeling inferior about giving a speech in which the other speakers are all CFO, CEO, COO types. In discussing it with her husband, she told him of a time where she failed miserably giving a speech that included other peer speakers instead of speakers she felt had more talent than her. I related to that. I felt like a failure and I felt inferior in life at the point when I read her story. All I could think was, here I am a blogger and mental illness advocate that just blogged about stopping suicide, trying to set an example and help people, and I am hospitalized! What else speaks complete failure? So, after reading her story again on my first night home, I made a terrifying decision. I decided to open up to YOU and publish my journal entries - word for word, grammar and spelling errors included (wow, that grates my nerves). The thought causes me to sweat even as I type now. BUT, in defiance of the shame, irrationality, doubt, self hate, irritability, psychosis, confusion, mania, hypomania, depression and anything else mental illness causes, this journey will now become yours if you so choose to read. My hope is you can see that 'broken' can become something 'much less than broken' again. I refuse to use the word 'fixed'. That implies 'works like new' and that was over the second I took my first breath with my childhood background. I won't use the word 'balanced' either. I still got some work to do. So, this is my journey. I do not wish it on a single person in this world. Even my two enemies. Though I say it becomes 'yours', your journey of hospitalization may (hopefully) never happen and if it does, it will be different. But I am now so convinced we ARE each other's best support system, that I am both nervous and excited to share.


So, before I let you loose, there are three things you need to know:


I was the victim of a crime on May 8, 2014. I can almost give you the time but I won't. It is etched in my mind and behind my eyes at random times during the day forever. It changed me. Laura was stolen from me without permission (not that anyone would have given permission).

Bipolar 2 and Generalized Anxiety are not my only diagnoses. I was diagnosed with PTSD December 2014, directly in relation to May 2014's events.

I made three consistent edits to my entry that were necessary:
- details of my suicidal ideation and plan are replaced with the words "-suicide trigger-".
- details of the event on May 8, 2014 are replaced with the words "-event trigger-".
- real names are not used, however, look to the top of the blog. There is a tab called 'Glossary' and it gives the name and relationship to me. Use it if you find the blog confusing. If I would have ever thought I would share this with the general public, I would have done a better job of describing each person!


DAY SEVEN SUMMARY - Finally. The tide begins to turn. It only took me a week!!! But I hope this shows that hospitalization is not necessarily linear just like other diseases. You have setbacks. And, there are a couple more setbacks but my reaction is much more rational. COGNIT is a computer led group session that lets you track your daily mood. It also has video to help you. So, when you see entry followed by the words COGNIT, I have written something that COGNIT said. I only took advantage of it starting with today's stay and I regret that. It is a very good tool. The book I read that Tonya gave me is called, "The Gifts of Imperfection". I highly recommend it. Tonya may never get it back. HA HA! Anything followed by BB is directly from that book.


JOURNAL ENTRY - Wednesday, June 10
Kennedy doubled Latuda and upped Prazocin yet again. We shall see. Last night I lost Josiah in my dreams. He was in front of me and suddenly not. I was in our house. Ian was there. He was holding my hand. And somehow I knew Josiah was supposed to be there with me. And I couldn't find him. I panicked. I ran outside. I don't remember how but suddenly I was outside in a parking lot. Lots of buildings were around me. But I was seeing myself from far away. I couldn't find him. I knew someone had taken him from me. And suddenly I was behind some sort of wall and she was on the phone telling someone how poisonous I am and to avoid me and I kept thinking she was speaking so soundly and correctly. I wanted to expose myself to her that I was listening but I wouldn't let myself because I knew I needed to hear these things about myself. And I was somewhere in grass but could see Mamaw McGregor's stairs and that room on the right with the rocker and I KNEW evil was in there. And it liked me. It wanted me. And I turned in the grass but it was concrete and I was in the back of a car that was being driven away and I looked out and far away there were people that I knew from another dream but I didn't know their names and they were standing with Josiah. I was screaming and beating the window but then the window was down and Josiah was close and looking at me but not saying anything. I was screaming but no sound came out. And I wanted him. And I was reaching my hands out and I wasn't in the car anymore but I am not sure where we were then. I just remember seeing his face looking at me and not having any emotion and not saying anything. And it all went away and I was in front of our house again and I walked to the backyard with Ian and Frederick. And I kept saying, "Take me to Josiah, Ian. Please baby if you love me, take me to Josiah." And I was trying to scream for Jennifer to come to help me but she wouldn't come out of the house. And Ian kept walking around the backyard and Frederick was biting my ankles. And I went back in to the house and I crawled to the boys room and there was Josiah's bed and I crawled up into it and it smelled like him and I went to sleep. And I was watching me sleep. And Daniel walked in and then the tech woke me up for vitals. I went back to sleep til breakfast. Now I am going to go to group. As many as I can today. Stacey is asleep so I need to try and stay out of the room so she can rest. Diana will go with me. And I am going to try to talk. Try to make something of this mess or I am never going to be free.

When I focus on how my life journey is dim and nothing but sitting around and waiting to fail again, flip it around and understand it may happen again, but I am not a failure. I am strong for recognizing I needed help to balance myself again. Remember this: Needing help to balance is like sneezing from a cold. You get a kleenex, blow your nose and move on. You don't beat yourself up because you couldn't stop the sneeze and refuse to sneeze or blow your nose again. You do what you need to do to get over the cold. COLD BIPOLAR. SNEEZE AND SNOT RELAPSE. DO WHAT YOU NEED TO DO MED CHANGE TOOLS HOSPITALIZATION. Then you can say fuck the cold for a bit longer!

If you don't transform pain, you transfer it - Timothy

I do NOT want to transfer my pain to the boys. They don't deserve it. They already bear enough having me. Think on what transform means. Transform to what??? Balance? How?

Sometimes it becomes too overwhelming to maintain your private health and hide it - Kate

Trauma can cause a disconnect from your strengths, values, principles - COGNIT

Your beliefs become your thoughts
Your thoughts become your words
Your words become your actions
Your actions become your habits
Your habits become your values
Your values become your destiny - COGNIT Mahatma Gandhi

So I do perpetuate something because my belief about myself is negative. But I am confused. I have good values. How can I flip? My beliefs almost became my destiny. I believed I didn't deserve to live and -suicide trigger-. Does that mean my values are skewed. What are my values? I think they are good, but it they include -suicide trigger- then do I have some values to change to be kinder to myself. Hmmm...I think this to be true.

Facts
When you are weak you are stronger than you think
You already have, or can develop the strength you need
Concentrate on the strengths you have. Many of the strengths that served you in the past will help you now - COGNIT

So I need to reflect on life and list my successes and challenges so I can find my strengths cuz I see none at the moment. Figure out how to use those strengths in the future for challenges. Think of strengths I would like to develop, would have been useful, wish I had, research them and remember to try them out.

I feel shame in any action or emotion, afraid to be thought of as weak and unable to manage bipolar.

I no longer trust what I feel. Do I feel it because it is authentic me or do I feel it because it is what I think I am supposed to feel.

I act like I think I am supposed to act to be stable and refuse to acknowledge I may be slipping into hypomania or a depressive state. I think I can control bipolar and instead allow it to control me.

I see good and victories in others, but only negative and failure in myself. I readily accept their victories and cheer them on, but I also readily accept my failures and use it to prove my worthlessness. I feel I must be perfect to be loved.

My public self is how I act publicly - many positive qualities. My private self is all negative. Very unkind to myself. My inner child is all about feeling unloved. My inner critic judges me harshly. Much more harshly than anyone else. We all have an inner eye that sees all four parts. It sees what we do and what we feel. The more we are aware of each one, the easier it is to adjust and become a balanced form of each four. Wow do I have a lot of work to do.

You don't have to believe it. Just listen and it will grow - Evan from group - fucking profound

People are very fond of giving away what they need most from themselves - Oscar Wilde from Samantha - that is me and when I don't get it back, I don't get mad, I just think I don't deserve it!!!!

I don't want anyone to fix me. I want them to listen, assure me they care, and still love me even though I am not perfect. I want you to want me to talk to you again and tell me you welcome me talking otherwise I assume I am a burden.

Please do not see me through the eyes of your values, thoughts, opinions, reactions, brain. My brain is diseased. Understand if I seem unacceptably angry, if I am seemingly stupidly sad, if I cry for silly reasons, if I talk too much, If I am over the top happy, if I speak and act insecure and irrational, that I have bipolar and may do these things. I promise you that I have been battling NOT to do these things. I just don't do them everytime they happen in my head. I have fought so hard not to let you see this. And you witnessing it is my failure. I have tried every tool that I have learned, and tried to act like a normal person and it didn't work. The dam has broke and flooded the land of my psyche. I have stopped using my tools, or need a med change and my actions should show you I am desperate and need your help before I fall permanently down the bottomless rabbit hole.

How much we know and understand ourselves is critically important, but there is something even more essential to living a wholehearted life: loving ourselves - BB

I must admit I do not love myself. Ok, I do not love myself. Is this common with bipolar??? Who knows. Research.

Unraveling is a time when you are challenged by the universe to let go of who you think you are supposed to be and to embrace who you are. - BB

So, I do not love myself and I have unraveled. Now is the time to forget who I think I need to be and love who I am. So, fuck, that is what Tonya meant on the card when she wrote you are enough.

...let go of my need to please, perform, protect. - BB

I do not love myself, I have unraveled again, and maybe I do not love myself because I never think people accept me, SO I DO NOT ACCEPT MYSELF FIRST TO PREEMPT THEM. Wow. Deep. But I see the truth in it. Now how do I apply this to the gut??? What part do meds play in this? Bipolar is meds, and tools and CBT. I have to keep seeing Tonya and stop being so opposed to med , even though I hate changing meds.

...make the conscious choice to believe... - BB

hmm. Conscious choice has to involve my heart too.

I want to call today a turning point. I feel different. Part of it is the sleep I now get. Nightmares still exist, but last night wasn't a nightmare in my book. Just a bad dream because I fear losing Josiah so much. What will I do without him. I hope he doesn't have his transplant when I am in here because I just have to be there to watch over him and make sure everything works out like I did with Dad for so long. So, today is a turning point. I have been so confused and negative so far. Why am I here? I mean, obviously I am fucked up, so I am here. But am I here because I haven't dealt with May? Am I here because I need a med adjustment? Am I here because I stopped using my tools to manage? Am I here because I have crossed the line of no return? What is the root cause? I can't improve by treating symptoms or results of the root? Is one thing the root or do they work in combination? I mean, I agreed to another med set change last year in April. Then the -event trigger- happened 10 days later. The meds set change seemed to be making a difference when I -event trigger-. Before -event trigger- I was already clearer and working full time again. Of course, after -event trigger-, I NEVER worked another full shift and got fired in August. But because the meds seemed ok before, I kept telling myself situational depression. Then, of course I stuffed everything to take care of her through cancer. Then December 14 and the world blew up thanks to little miss Eleanor. I am the big mouth??? She supposedly loved me? She kept saying nothing was wrong. But she went and just had to open her mouth. So December 14 and now I can really see I started the slippery slope then. April hit and I realized next month was one year. Then began the plummet. Then that stupid email about turning my back. Last straw. Full explosion. If I handled -event trigger- differently would I have not ended up here? DID I handle it wrong? I never reported it. I tried to tell her and when she said she needed me to concentrate on her surgery, I just felt it was the right thing to do anything she asked of me. Then the cancer and I decided after that and the wedding was the right time. Since December 14, I have shamed myself constantly for how I handled it. For not reporting. For not speaking up. For actually seeking help from those I trust and love. I actually shamed myself and feel I brought burden to their life because -event trigger-. I thought I failed. Me. I took total responsibility for something that should have never happened and was WRONG. DESPICABLE. Well guess what. I don't even think I made a mistake at this point. I did the best I could. Could I have handled it better? Yes. I could have started therapy back right away and could have not resisted what Zimmerman recommended for med changes. Was that a mistake? NO. I handled it the best I could. What part does bipolar play in it. Limit of cognitive function. Damn bipolar. The known inability to tell when you are slipping to late. I cannot resist med changes. Does a person resist antibiotics? No. They may not like it, but they embrace it to get better. And I better think again before I go and stop therapy too. Hope Tonya wants to see me until I die. That is the mindset I must consciously choose to believe. I preach it to everyone else. Time to walk the walk as I talk the talk. I must become my own advocate before becoming others. Be authentic. Hey. That is what I need here. Sundance was all about intellect. I need to be authentic and believe it in the gut. My heart. No more learning and thinking now do and do because I learned. Gut it. Heart it. But that is a thin line to walk. Like the thinnest thread of the smallest spider on a web. The heart of bipolar is treacherous because of the brain.

SO what did I teach myself today:
- do not resist med changes but don't accept them readily either
- use my tools again: journal, journal, journal, journal, journal... music, read, exercise, regular sleep, review of what I got from Sundance
- start chart daily moods again so I better recognize when a mood swing is hitting
- find a new pysch
- I connect with Tonya. Keep going. Also, go ahead and start -event trigger-
- I AM NOT A FAILURE!!! I am strong (Mason will love that one damn him for being right again). I have hit bottom harder than ever before. Not only did I survive - I sought help when I had convinced myself not capable of being helped. That alone implies I recognize I was strong. At least a little strong. But strong is strong. Ian told me so many months ago that if I am breathing, I am fighting, and if I am fighting I am strong. I breathe. Is there a worse bottom? Possibly. Will I go lower in the future? Possibly. Does it mean I failed? NO. NO. NO. It means I am experiencing what others with bipolar do and I can't completely avoid it nor think I am above others and fail if I am not perfect. All I can do is not stop using my tools, be better about my med changes, and stay in therapy. I need to stop trying to control bipolar like I have been and go back to managing it. I must learn to be my own med and mood advocate. I need to come up with a game plan to educate my support group to help me recognize the signs when I begin to stray because I have a brain disease and my brain may not be as good at recognizing it as they are. Am I scared. Fucking hell you bet I am. But I WANT TO LIVE AGAIN. I WANT BALANCE. Balance is fucking cool. Depression sucks. Hypomania is awesome but I have to reject that as okay to go through. The bounce back sucks balls in depression so it isn't worth it. Tonight I feel passion to live. I have so little according to the American dream and damn anyone that wants to put me down for it - Lenny. I like simple. Nobody can tell me that is wrong. It is simple and easy. I make mistakes and am usually pretty stupid in how I handle things but God Damnit, I am not perfect and neither is anybody else. Shit, I feel like writing more so I can come back and see this clarity, but valium is kicking my ass. Good night. I love you Laura. Thank you for helping me.

Day Six - My Journey Through A Mental Health Facility

It was Wednesday June 3, and time for my 7:00p appointment with Tonya. She opens with the typical "So how are you?" and each session I normally put a lot of thought as to what I am going to say. I foolishly think I set the tone. I mean, it isn't like she doesn't already know how I am doing! I truly suspect the woman is psychic. And I don't believe in psychics. Last session she asked 'the question' and all I said was, "I'm not." I had thought about what to say but really didn't care what answer to give that week, so I was just kind of flippant. The woman still got me to talk meaningfully for 60 minutes though. June 3, I thought and thought, but hadn't come up with the exact words yet. You see, I had a plan. I knew I had shut down and was beyond help. I had begun to willingly and quite easily lie to the people I love and count as my support group, or I just ignored them. I didn't want them to know. I didn't care anymore. It became none of their business in my mind. Why bother when I was failing so miserably? I haven't ever willingly lied to my support group. Ever. But Tonya was the only one left that I was being honest with (well, except she had no idea I was lying to everyone else, but in my defense, she never asked, so maybe she isn't psychic after all). I knew the choice of words was paramount to my plan. Anyway, I went to the session to slyly try and get her to help me figure out how to get permission from my children to die. Now, I think I am pretty smart, and was convinced I could fool the best therapist I have ever had in my life to get the answer I needed, even though she seems to see right through me with a single glance. Sometimes I won't look at the woman. She reads my mind! I thought I could trick her into slipping up and giving me a way to gain approval from my boys to die. I rationally know suicide is selfish. I know it permanently hurts those left behind. It is a huge reason I fight as a mental illness advocate. However, I had played my last card. I asked my children for permission to die and they said no. And besides, in my head, I wasn't suicidal. I just wanted permission to die.


So we sat down, she looked at me, asked 'the question', and I will be damned if out of my mouth popped the words, "I think I need hospitalization, but I can't afford it." I swear to you my mouth dropped a bit and I thought, "WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST SAY?" Tonya didn't immediately tell me how silly of a reason lack of money was not to admit myself, but thanks to her, I did end up admitting myself to Mesa Springs in Fort Worth, Texas, early afternoon on June 4. I agreed to it midway through the session and went home with a game plan to get things in order within 24 hours so I could go. During my 90 (I got 30 free minutes that night) minute session with Tonya, I kept telling her I wasn't suicidal, but I did have one heck of a fool proof plan I was happy to share and thought pretty highly of myself for thinking of it. Why not share? I wasn't suicidal. She didn't challenge me. Instead, she helped me to admit to myself that my preoccupation with gaining approval to die would eventually become greater than the need of my children's approval. And she isn't as smart as she thinks. I know now she made it seem like my idea, but she led me right to the watering hole. She never once told me, "Yes, you are suicidal." And, even though I just didn't care, I did obviously care enough to not want that preoccupation to become true. That is just how good she is. Or maybe she is the sly one??? Hmmm...


I was inpatient for 13 days. The first night home, June 16, I knew I wanted to blog about this, but had no idea how. How could I explain a journey from void to hope and make sense enough to touch someone else? I read a book that Tonya brought to me while there (told you she is awesome). The author tells the story of feeling inferior about giving a speech in which the other speakers are all CFO, CEO, COO types. In discussing it with her husband, she told him of a time where she failed miserably giving a speech that included other peer speakers instead of speakers she felt had more talent than her. I related to that. I felt like a failure and I felt inferior in life at the point when I read her story. All I could think was, here I am a blogger and mental illness advocate that just blogged about stopping suicide, trying to set an example and help people, and I am hospitalized! What else speaks complete failure? So, after reading her story again on my first night home, I made a terrifying decision. I decided to open up to YOU and publish my journal entries - word for word, grammar and spelling errors included (wow, that grates my nerves). The thought causes me to sweat even as I type now. BUT, in defiance of the shame, irrationality, doubt, self hate, irritability, psychosis, confusion, mania, hypomania, depression and anything else mental illness causes, this journey will now become yours if you so choose to read. My hope is you can see that 'broken' can become something 'much less than broken' again. I refuse to use the word 'fixed'. That implies 'works like new' and that was over the second I took my first breath with my childhood background. I won't use the word 'balanced' either. I still got some work to do. So, this is my journey. I do not wish it on a single person in this world. Even my two enemies. Though I say it becomes 'yours', your journey of hospitalization may (hopefully) never happen and if it does, it will be different. But I am now so convinced we ARE each other's best support system, that I am both nervous and excited to share.


So, before I let you loose, there are three things you need to know:


I was the victim of a crime on May 8, 2014. I can almost give you the time but I won't. It is etched in my mind and behind my eyes at random times during the day forever. It changed me. Laura was stolen from me without permission (not that anyone would have given permission).

Bipolar 2 and Generalized Anxiety are not my only diagnoses. I was diagnosed with PTSD December 2014, directly in relation to May 2014's events.

I made three consistent edits to my entry that were necessary:
- details of my suicidal ideation and plan are replaced with the words "-suicide trigger-".
- details of the event on May 8, 2014 are replaced with the words "-event trigger-".
- real names are not used, however, look to the top of the blog. There is a tab called 'Glossary' and it gives the name and relationship to me. Use it if you find the blog confusing. If I would have ever thought I would share this with the general public, I would have done a better job of describing each person!


DAY SIX SUMMARY - I can summarize this day in one word. Rage. And I included the picture from my journal. It does no justice whatsoever to how I felt. I wanted to bury black scribbles all over it, breaking the tip of the marker while screaming my lungs out. I wanted to bleed on it. I wanted to spit on it. I wanted to crumple it, then stomp on it. I wanted to tear it into tiny pieces and shove it down someone's throat. None of those were acceptable behavior at Mesa Springs, so I was left with this drawing. I tried to refuse meds. I tried to refuse to eat. I tried to refuse to see Kennedy. I stayed in my room. I skipped every group. I did smoke, however and tried to just act normal to Diana, but she knew. Stacey knew also and gave me plenty of space. But both of them did something that was important to me. They respected me and cared. They knew I was in pain and they knew it was up to me to handle it and up to staff to help me make that happen. I closed my door several times, which isn't allowed and just ignored them when they told me it needed to stay open. One tech came to try and draw me out and I basically told him to go to hell and leave me alone. My night nurse tried to draw me out and I told her it was none of her business. By the way, you will notice the drawing is in color. I have smuggled several markers into my room by now and hid them whenever I was out. By the end of my stay, Stacey and I had a full set of colored pencils in our room, too. Don't do this if you are hospitalized. It is for your own protection that nothing other than golf pencils are allowed in your room. STRONG language warning.

JOURNAL ENTRY - Tuesday, June 9
FUCKING GOD DAMN BASTARD MONSTER. GET OUT OF MY HEAD. FUCKING GOD DAMN BITCH OF THE ANGEL YOU THINK YOU ARE. YOU ARE NOT. HE IS NOT. HE IS DAMAGED? WHAT THE FUCK. HE IS DAMAGED SO HE CAN WILLINGLY CREATE MORE DAMAGE AND WE ARE SUPPOSED TO SUPPORT? YOU BITCH TO SHOVE THAT DOWN OUR THROATS. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD. DO YOU HEAR ME. GET THE FUCK OUT. FUCK YOU NIGHTMARES. FUCK YOU. DO YOU HEAR ME SCREAMING IT. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU BASTARD. FUCK YOUR SOUL. FUCK YOUR FUCKING SOUL TO HELL WHERE YOU ARE NOT EVEN GOOD ENOUGH TO BE BANNED. MAY YOU FUCKING SUFFER FOR ONE SPLIT SECOND OF MY SUFFERING AS YOU CONTIUNE TO MAKE ME SUFFER IN NIGHTMARES. AND FUCK HER AND DAMN HER TO HELL FOR LETTING YOU DO IT AND CONDONING IT. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY EYES. LET ME FUCKING BLINK WITHOUT HAVING TO SEE YOU. WHY? WHY FUCK YOU. WHY DID YOU DO THIS. WHY YOU MOTHER FUCKER.WHY ME. WHY GOD WHY JUST FUCKING TELL ME. I AM SO FUCKING WORTHLESS. I AM SO FUCKING DISGUSTING. FILTH. DO YOU HEAR ME. FILTH. STINKING FILTH GRIMY AND DISGUSTING AND SLIMY AND FULL OF INFECTION. FUCKING DIRTY ROTTEN SMELLY FUCKING NO GOOD FILTH. FUCK ME. FUCK ME LIFE. I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU. FUCK YOU BASTARD. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY NIGHTMARES. FUCKING PRAZOCIN ISNT WORTH SHIT. FUCK PRAZOCIN. FUCK IT. IT DOESN'T FUCKING WORK. FUCK YOU PRAZOCIN. FUCKING GET RID OF NIGHTMARES YOU MOTHER FUCKER? FUCKING HELL WHY ARE THEY STILL HERE THEN. PLEASE FUCKING KILL ME LIKE I DESERVE. FUCKING HELL. FUCKING NIGHTMARES. GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME. AWAY AWAY AWAY AWAY AWAY LEAVE ME ALONE GOD DAMNIT. I HATE YOU. DO YOU HEAR ME. I FUCKING HATE YOU. FUCKING WANT YOU TO FEEL THE PAIN, FEEL IT FOREVER. ETERNAL. PAIN. FUCKING PAIN. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FUCKING HEAD GOD FUCKING DAMNIT. FUCK YOU. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK YOU. YOU FUCKED ME OVER. SO FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU AND THAT BITCH. THAT FUCKING BITCH I GAVE EVERYTHING TO. FOR WHAT. TO GET FUCKED OVER BY BOTH OF YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK PRAZOCIN. FUCK THIS PLACE. FUCK GROUP. FUCK PEOPLE. FUCK KENNEDY. FUCK NURSES. FUCK ALL OF YOU. DAMN EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU. I AM DAMNED TO HELL. ME. DAMNED TO ETERNAL NIGHTMARE HELL. FUCK YOU BASTARD.

Day Five - My Journey Through A Mental Health Facility

It was Wednesday June 3, and time for my 7:00p appointment with Tonya. She opens with the typical "So how are you?" and each session I normally put a lot of thought as to what I am going to say. I foolishly think I set the tone. I mean, it isn't like she doesn't already know how I am doing! I truly suspect the woman is psychic. And I don't believe in psychics. Last session she asked 'the question' and all I said was, "I'm not." I had thought about what to say but really didn't care what answer to give that week, so I was just kind of flippant. The woman still got me to talk meaningfully for 60 minutes though. June 3, I thought and thought, but hadn't come up with the exact words yet. You see, I had a plan. I knew I had shut down and was beyond help. I had begun to willingly and quite easily lie to the people I love and count as my support group, or I just ignored them. I didn't want them to know. I didn't care anymore. It became none of their business in my mind. Why bother when I was failing so miserably? I haven't ever willingly lied to my support group. Ever. But Tonya was the only one left that I was being honest with (well, except she had no idea I was lying to everyone else, but in my defense, she never asked, so maybe she isn't psychic after all). I knew the choice of words was paramount to my plan. Anyway, I went to the session to slyly try and get her to help me figure out how to get permission from my children to die. Now, I think I am pretty smart, and was convinced I could fool the best therapist I have ever had in my life to get the answer I needed, even though she seems to see right through me with a single glance. Sometimes I won't look at the woman. She reads my mind! I thought I could trick her into slipping up and giving me a way to gain approval from my boys to die. I rationally know suicide is selfish. I know it permanently hurts those left behind. It is a huge reason I fight as a mental illness advocate. However, I had played my last card. I asked my children for permission to die and they said no. And besides, in my head, I wasn't suicidal. I just wanted permission to die.


So we sat down, she looked at me, asked 'the question', and I will be damned if out of my mouth popped the words, "I think I need hospitalization, but I can't afford it." I swear to you my mouth dropped a bit and I thought, "WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST SAY?" Tonya didn't immediately tell me how silly of a reason lack of money was not to admit myself, but thanks to her, I did end up admitting myself to Mesa Springs in Fort Worth, Texas, early afternoon on June 4. I agreed to it midway through the session and went home with a game plan to get things in order within 24 hours so I could go. During my 90 (I got 30 free minutes that night) minute session with Tonya, I kept telling her I wasn't suicidal, but I did have one heck of a fool proof plan I was happy to share and thought pretty highly of myself for thinking of it. Why not share? I wasn't suicidal. She didn't challenge me. Instead, she helped me to admit to myself that my preoccupation with gaining approval to die would eventually become greater than the need of my children's approval. And she isn't as smart as she thinks. I know now she made it seem like my idea, but she led me right to the watering hole. She never once told me, "Yes, you are suicidal." And, even though I just didn't care, I did obviously care enough to not want that preoccupation to become true. That is just how good she is. Or maybe she is the sly one??? Hmmm...


I was inpatient for 13 days. The first night home, June 16, I knew I wanted to blog about this, but had no idea how. How could I explain a journey from void to hope and make sense enough to touch someone else? I read a book that Tonya brought to me while there (told you she is awesome). The author tells the story of feeling inferior about giving a speech in which the other speakers are all CFO, CEO, COO types. In discussing it with her husband, she told him of a time where she failed miserably giving a speech that included other peer speakers instead of speakers she felt had more talent than her. I related to that. I felt like a failure and I felt inferior in life at the point when I read her story. All I could think was, here I am a blogger and mental illness advocate that just blogged about stopping suicide, trying to set an example and help people, and I am hospitalized! What else speaks complete failure? So, after reading her story again on my first night home, I made a terrifying decision. I decided to open up to YOU and publish my journal entries - word for word, grammar and spelling errors included (wow, that grates my nerves). The thought causes me to sweat even as I type now. BUT, in defiance of the shame, irrationality, doubt, self hate, irritability, psychosis, confusion, mania, hypomania, depression and anything else mental illness causes, this journey will now become yours if you so choose to read. My hope is you can see that 'broken' can become something 'much less than broken' again. I refuse to use the word 'fixed'. That implies 'works like new' and that was over the second I took my first breath with my childhood background. I won't use the word 'balanced' either. I still got some work to do. So, this is my journey. I do not wish it on a single person in this world. Even my two enemies. Though I say it becomes 'yours', your journey of hospitalization may (hopefully) never happen and if it does, it will be different. But I am now so convinced we ARE each other's best support system, that I am both nervous and excited to share.


So, before I let you loose, there are three things you need to know:


I was the victim of a crime on May 8, 2014. I can almost give you the time but I won't. It is etched in my mind and behind my eyes at random times during the day forever. It changed me. Laura was stolen from me without permission (not that anyone would have given permission).

Bipolar 2 and Generalized Anxiety are not my only diagnoses. I was diagnosed with PTSD December 2014, directly in relation to May 2014's events.

I made three consistent edits to my entry that were necessary:
- details of my suicidal ideation and plan are replaced with the words "-suicide trigger-".
- details of the event on May 8, 2014 are replaced with the words "-event trigger-".
- real names are not used, however, look to the top of the blog. There is a tab called 'Glossary' and it gives the name and relationship to me. Use it if you find the blog confusing. If I would have ever thought I would share this with the general public, I would have done a better job of describing each person!


DAY FIVE SUMMARY - I attend my first group thanks to how I felt safe from friending another patient, Diana. I relate my story in group, but I find it very interesting that my emotions during the group from telling my story do not make it into this entry. Instead my entry focuses on what I get from group. I came into Mesa Springs with the intention of not speaking to a single person. I never expected to meet people I could identify with so easily. While groups benefited me greatly, talking to and hearing other patients talk helped me the most. I learned that I need to share my fears and insecurities with others I can trust instead of being afraid to hurt them. This was the first full day I did that. I have included the points I got out of a handout that day. I did not include all of the handout. I only included the ones I had checked as applying to me and when you see comments in parenthesis, I actually wrote them like that on the handout. What is in parenthesis is not part of the handout, just my thoughts about it.

JOURNAL ENTRY - I am so glad I decided to talk to Diana. Oh my God she is exactly the type of person I want to let in my circle and be my friend. That girl is going nowhere when I get out. And she lives close! She is sweet, positive, understanding, and thank the fuck God I already feel like we can just sit there and not say anything, but be comfortable. No vocal vomit from her. Although I do love the talking from Matthew. He is like da bomb to talk to. I didn't want to shut up talking to him. Could he possibly be the first male friend I want in my life since May. CAN I TRUST HIM? I need her. It seems like she can accept my insanity and not reject me. Is she the beginning of me coming back? Is her acceptance of me the first ray of sunshine that maybe I deserve to live? I can actually look her in the eye and not feel ashamed that she met me. I am so glad I chose her. And she convinced me to go to group. I hope she doesn't figure me out. What if I hurt her. She doesn't deserve it either.

Group -
Failure is failure but not complete, never ending and always predictive failure. Look for exceptions. What was a similar situation where you succeeded. If none, did you survive yesterday? Then you succeeded. Therefore failure is not predictive of always failing. Failure is just a mistake. It is an opportunity to problem solve. It takes steps. You may have to go through the steps and have to adjust. If you solve the problem and later fail, do not think in a catastrophic way. Go back to what worked or restart the problem solving. - from group

Does this mean I am not a complete failure? I have lived 50 years of days. I have held a job before. I have won awards. I have blogged like my dream. I do love the boys. I did have three good years after Sundance. Food for thought. Must think this further.

vicious cycle - negative beliefs
virtuous cycle - positive belief and evidence to prove the vicious wrong
example: my vicious - I am a worthless person. I fail my children by not having a job. I fail my blog by not blogging enough, so worthless.
my virtuous - I am a person of worth - I am here to change and stabilize my meds - I don't have to make a lot, but I can get a job if I work hard here. I WANT to work to support my children, have made the choice to come here to get to the point I can, so not a failure.

I MUST STOP ADDING ALL THE NEGATIVE THOUGHT INTERJECTIONS TO THIS VIRTUOUS. Question is how now? Food for thought. I forced myself to write it without the negative so is there hope? Can I learn to think this habitually? Probably not, but that is vicious. Maybe. That is as virtuous as I can manage right now. Honestly at least.

Positive statements encourage us and help us cope through distressing times. We can say these encouraging words to ourselves and be our own personal coach. We have all survived some very distressing times, and we can use those experiences to encourage us through current difficulties. Examples:
-stop and breathe, I can do this (survive another day)
-this will pass (that fucking never ending depressive state)
-I can be anxious angry sad and still deal with this (does this include rage)
-this feels bad and that is a normal body reaction (disagree what the fuck is normal)
-this feels bad and feelings can be wrong (especially with bipolar)
-this wont last forever (even if seems it will)
-I have survived before, I will survive now (ummmmmm)
-I feel this way because of my past experiences, but I am safe right now (hmmm, that food for thought. Failure after success may not be predictive of permanent failure again. Interesting. Must think further to this one)
-my mind is not always my friend (no fuck)
-thoughts are just thoughts not necessarily true or factual (wow, that is a hard one. How do you know which is which. Future consideration)
-I can learn from this and it will be easier next time (ok, I call BULLSHIT on this but I am willing to think on this one. It just seems to get harder each time, but am I doing that myself with my vicious. I guess I can be vicious with myself. But don't I deserve the vicious. Holy shit I really need to think this one through. Am I my own worst enemy instead of my own advocate that knows better than everyone else about myself. Can I trust this thought. hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Think Think Think. This could possibly be key.)
Keep calm and carry on (cant resist - keep calm and carry on being a cowboys fan makes more sense but yeh, think about this too. Is freaking out helping me validate negative and vicious???) - handout

Kennedy upped the prazocin. I am willing to give it a chance. Maybe it can get rid of my nightmares. Group today gives me hope. Makes me really think. Do I perpetuate myself. If that is true does that prove my insanity and worthlessness or do I need to accept and heal? Confusing to me right now? How do I know the difference? How do I feel this in my gut? Tell me and intellectually I accept. Intellectual didn't seem to work for me. How do I drive this from uncomfortable to habitual thought? How can I get it to reach my heart and gut so I can be something more than failure. If I fail again, how can I see it as a mistake and worthy of readjusting with different steps instead of deciding to -suicide trigger-. Bipolar is so black and white. At least for me. Is that my perfectionism? Am I the only idiot to suffer bipolar like this? Or am I even an idiot? Do we all suffer this? How can I find out? Can I beg my readers to tell me? How do I ask? I want to reach them. I want to help. I don't want to suddenly need their help. What if I hurt them? That is failure. But as a failure can I? Wait. Am I am failure. Gah. vicious versus virtuous. How the hell am I going to get to that. I am fucking good at vicious because it is true. Is it? Confusion. Confusion. CONFUSION. How do I know what is for me here and not? Maybe I do need more than a med change. Do I need to regroup my coping skills? Can you lose coping skills? Or does that just mean you failed at getting them the first time when they don't work or you stop. Can you get them back? Does it work anyway? I have no desire to cope. But I do. If I fail at coping is it failure or a mistake I can correct. This is all confusing but good for thought. But my mind is fucking racing. Maybe that is good. Is this a turnaround? Can I trust a turnaround. It has failed before. Is that predictive failure. How do I know. Wait til I die to decide. This is very hard. I don't want to accept. Is that part of the problem. Afraid of success? Why? Because I think anything but what people think I should be is failure? I can't be depressive. Not acceptable in their book. Is that them or me? Wow. If it is them, how do I survive living in this closet of unacceptance and discrimination because I have to hide the real me? Or am I just right? I AM A FUCKING FAILURE. What to think. I am confused right now. But at least I don't want to kill myself or cut right now. My thighs need a rest anyway. OH get serious Laura. You really aren't a cutter. They didn't even notice the healing ones when they did their little inspection last week. I don't have to cut deep to get relief and I am smart enough to know where arteries are and I know to use neosporin after. I just do it a little to feel better. Diana made me feel so safe today. Stacey made me laugh my ass off. She fucking took a radio out of a truck - I mean like yanked it and clocked someone. I like this chick. I can think of a bitch that deserves more than a fucking clock by a radio. Think I may hire Stacey.

Day Four - My Journey Through A Mental Health Facility

It was Wednesday June 3, and time for my 7:00p appointment with Tonya. She opens with the typical "So how are you?" and each session I normally put a lot of thought as to what I am going to say. I foolishly think I set the tone. I mean, it isn't like she doesn't already know how I am doing! I truly suspect the woman is psychic. And I don't believe in psychics. Last session she asked 'the question' and all I said was, "I'm not." I had thought about what to say but really didn't care what answer to give that week, so I was just kind of flippant. The woman still got me to talk meaningfully for 60 minutes though. June 3, I thought and thought, but hadn't come up with the exact words yet. You see, I had a plan. I knew I had shut down and was beyond help. I had begun to willingly and quite easily lie to the people I love and count as my support group, or I just ignored them. I didn't want them to know. I didn't care anymore. It became none of their business in my mind. Why bother when I was failing so miserably? I haven't ever willingly lied to my support group. Ever. But Tonya was the only one left that I was being honest with (well, except she had no idea I was lying to everyone else, but in my defense, she never asked, so maybe she isn't psychic after all). I knew the choice of words was paramount to my plan. Anyway, I went to the session to slyly try and get her to help me figure out how to get permission from my children to die. Now, I think I am pretty smart, and was convinced I could fool the best therapist I have ever had in my life to get the answer I needed, even though she seems to see right through me with a single glance. Sometimes I won't look at the woman. She reads my mind! I thought I could trick her into slipping up and giving me a way to gain approval from my boys to die. I rationally know suicide is selfish. I know it permanently hurts those left behind. It is a huge reason I fight as a mental illness advocate. However, I had played my last card. I asked my children for permission to die and they said no. And besides, in my head, I wasn't suicidal. I just wanted permission to die.

So we sat down, she looked at me, asked 'the question', and I will be damned if out of my mouth popped the words, "I think I need hospitalization, but I can't afford it." I swear to you my mouth dropped a bit and I thought, "WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST SAY?" Tonya didn't immediately tell me how silly of a reason lack of money was not to admit myself, but thanks to her, I did end up admitting myself to Mesa Springs in Fort Worth, Texas, early afternoon on June 4. I agreed to it midway through the session and went home with a game plan to get things in order within 24 hours so I could go. During my 90 (I got 30 free minutes that night) minute session with Tonya, I kept telling her I wasn't suicidal, but I did have one heck of a fool proof plan I was happy to share and thought pretty highly of myself for thinking of it. Why not share? I wasn't suicidal. She didn't challenge me. Instead, she helped me to admit to myself that my preoccupation with gaining approval to die would eventually become greater than the need of my children's approval. And she isn't as smart as she thinks. I know now she made it seem like my idea, but she led me right to the watering hole. She never once told me, "Yes, you are suicidal." And, even though I just didn't care, I did obviously care enough to not want that preoccupation to become true. That is just how good she is. Or maybe she is the sly one??? Hmmm...

I was inpatient for 13 days. The first night home, June 16, I knew I wanted to blog about this, but had no idea how. How could I explain a journey from void to hope and make sense enough to touch someone else? I read a book that Tonya brought to me while there (told you she is awesome). The author tells the story of feeling inferior about giving a speech in which the other speakers are all CFO, CEO, COO types. In discussing it with her husband, she told him of a time where she failed miserably giving a speech that included other peer speakers instead of speakers she felt had more talent than her. I related to that. I felt like a failure and I felt inferior in life at the point when I read her story. All I could think was, here I am a blogger and mental illness advocate that just blogged about stopping suicide, trying to set an example and help people, and I am hospitalized! What else speaks complete failure? So, after reading her story again on my first night home, I made a terrifying decision. I decided to open up to YOU and publish my journal entries - word for word, grammar and spelling errors included (wow, that grates my nerves). The thought causes me to sweat even as I type now. BUT, in defiance of the shame, irrationality, doubt, self hate, irritability, psychosis, confusion, mania, hypomania, depression and anything else mental illness causes, this journey will now become yours if you so choose to read. My hope is you can see that 'broken' can become something 'much less than broken' again. I refuse to use the word 'fixed'. That implies 'works like new' and that was over the second I took my first breath with my childhood background. I won't use the word 'balanced' either. I still got some work to do. So, this is my journey. I do not wish it on a single person in this world. Even my two enemies. Though I say it becomes 'yours', your journey of hospitalization may (hopefully) never happen and if it does, it will be different. But I am now so convinced we ARE each other's best support system, that I am both nervous and excited to share.

So, before I let you loose, there are three things you need to know:

I was the victim of a crime on May 8, 2014. I can almost give you the time but I won't. It is etched in my mind and behind my eyes at random times during the day forever. It changed me. Laura was stolen from me without permission (not that anyone would have given permission).

Bipolar 2 and Generalized Anxiety are not my only diagnoses. I was diagnosed with PTSD December 2014, directly in relation to May 2014's events.

I made three consistent edits to my entry that were necessary:

- details of my suicidal ideation and plan are replaced with the words "-suicide trigger-".

- details of the event on May 8, 2014 are replaced with the words "-event trigger-".

- real names are not used, however, look to the top of the blog. There is a tab called 'Glossary' and it gives the name and relationship to me. Use it if you find the blog confusing. If I would have ever thought I would share this with the general public, I would have done a better job of describing each person!

DAY FOUR SUMMARY - Once again, I have an entry with nothing positive. I was halfway through my first hospitalization by this point in 2011 and I haven't even made it to a group yet at Mesa Springs. My anger is growing. The hate of myself. Feeling like having bipolar disorder makes me an unacceptable human being. I did go ahead and look forward in my journal. I attend first group tomorrow, so stick with me.


JOURNAL ENTRY - Sunday, June 7
I can't stop being angry and it makes me angry that I am so angry but too stupid to stop being angry. That is what being a fucking bipolar will do to you. Fuck up your mind so you cant think through the simplest of equation. Become bipolar and 1 + 1 becomes anything but 2. You will multiply when divide and convince your brain it is just fucking with you. Math becomes English. English becomes French. Light becomes dark and dark stays dark. FUCK. I am a bitch that shoots through anything that touches me. Antithesis Midas. This is just so fucking unfair. Another nightmare so Kennedy upped the Prazosin. I can't go much further. I think he said the max is 5. It isn't going to work. What am I going to do. I cant live like this and I cant avoid sleep. I slept all night again. What is that 3 days? 4. Dunno. Don't care. Just I had another nightmare. My life was fucking stolen from me. It isn't fair. -event trigger- And still, never a word of I am sorry? Aren't Christians supposed to care when -event trigger-. I want to puke. Never that was wrong. Never you didn't deserve that. OH and lets not let yourself forget Laura your worthlessness that it was my big mouth that made her look bad. The devil tarnished the archangel's halo. Yep, that would be me. Devil incarnate.  And then that email. I blew up at Josiah about it. I couldn't control my anger and I couldn't control the screaming. Unless we were the normal kind of kid fighting, I have never been angry at him. He is my rock. The only one besides Ian ready to listen and comfort. All he wants to do is help and all I did was scream. How fucked up is that? I have a new roomie. Stacey. We told each other to not take it personal if we didn't talk to each other and then in the room she had me crying I was laughing so hard. Already glad she is my roomie. Oh my God. I was really laughing. Besides Facebook group I never laugh anymore. You can't help but laugh in group. I love Linda, Mason, and Arthur so much. Especially Linda. That girl just makes me feel special even though I don't deserve it. And if Mason could get any smarter. I would have to kill him, except the Smeagles of course. He does have that disease going against him. I hate. I literally hate. I hate. FUCKING HATE. I understand that -event trigger- but how could I be betrayed by her. I hate. I don't hate, but I hate her. I fucking hate her. Death is too good. Slow. Maiming. Trickling blood but never dying. PAIN. ETERNALLY. Torture. Never ending. This hate consumes me. My thought. My taste. My smell. Consumes. Don't try and blame bipolar on this one. Life has been a special hell for me now. Bipolar and -event trigger-. Already fucking suck at coping in the world like a real human. Now this. WHY FUCKING GOD DAMINT WHY? WHY THE FUCK? I AM BITCH CONSUMATE. Just -suicide trigger-. I have exactly 3 brothers left out of this mess. 3 nephews. NO cousins. NO Uncle Jeff anymore. I will never see him again. Never. He will die and it will continue to look like I am the fuck up. That is how fucked up I am. LOSER. BITCH. FUCK UP. So fucked that yes my minds soup de jour of the night was flashback time. Guess that slot of punishment got filled quickly. It seems to love to be featured. FUCK THE FUCKING VALIUM. I couldn't wake. Kicking. Screaming. Crying. Punching. Trying to find a blade to cut. Just nightmare over and over. FUCK PRAZOSIN. Black. Blasphemous sin. Raging inferno. A never ending tsunami. I am ready to snap the fucking head off the next person that walks in this damn room, shove it down their throat, kick the hell out of what is left and enjoy every minute of it. It can be her. I tried to refuse morning meds. It isn't fucking working. I got spoken to like a first grader. I refused breakfast. I refused morning group. What the fuck for? I AM FUCKING BIPOLAR. DO US ALL A FAVOR AND EXTERMINATE ME LIKE THAT ROACH THAT I AM. SQUASH ME FLAT. Unfucking fortunately my head will survive for however long it takes those suckers to die. SO FUCK ROACHES. MAKE ME A SPIDER AND EXTERMINATE MY FILTH AND DISGUSTEDING BIPOLAR ENTITY. Except the boys are still convince they need my diseased mind. I cant even be smart enough to get them to see how much better off they would be. I NEED THESE FUCKING MEDS TO WORK OR I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL GET OUT AND -suicide trigger-. I am wedged. Pillow up. Writing like I am in first grade cuz it is hard to write and hide. But hidden is what I must be to protect from my insanity. Protect. Withdrawal. Admit defeat. Defeated bipolar bitch. Put it on my headstone please. Here lies the stupid, defeated bipolar bitch that sure as hell took her time making the world a better place. But thank God she finally did it. Now we can celebrate. HA. Mason would tell me I am having a fucking pity party. He just doesn't know me well enough yet to realize how I know the truth about myself. This is so fucking unfair that I am so pathetic. I FUCKING HAVE PTSD thanks to May. There I FUCKING SAID IT. HAPPY YOU FUCKING DIAGNOSIS. I am not evil enough to have just bipolar, I have to be worse for everyone and have PTSD too? Strike me with the cancer I deserve and just get rid of me please. I don't know. Do I have it? Another reality check? Part of the ultimate plan to kidnap my reality and make me never want to come back. Maybe that is what I can do. But how do I know which one is best? Which will cause the people the least pain? The more I can save the better. GOD DAMNIT. I am so confused. I wish that fucker would just actually speak to me. But then, how would I know if he was telling the truth? Is it possible to give a lie detector test to someone in my head? And would it be reality? Or would it be another of his tricks. I am slipping.................so fucking worthless and weak. It isn't that I don't want to get better. I can't. All that will happen is the mood shoe will drop again. More casualties. I just don't deserve life. I don't manage bipolar. It manages me. God Damn valium. Sleep. Wonder what the flavor will be tonight.

Day Three - My Journey Through A Mental Health Facility

It was Wednesday June 3, and time for my 7:00p appointment with Tonya. She opens with the typical "So how are you?" and each session I normally put a lot of thought as to what I am going to say. I foolishly think I set the tone. I mean, it isn't like she doesn't already know how I am doing! I truly suspect the woman is psychic. And I don't believe in psychics. Last session she asked 'the question' and all I said was, "I'm not." I had thought about what to say but really didn't care what answer to give that week, so I was just kind of flippant. The woman still got me to talk meaningfully for 60 minutes though. June 3, I thought and thought, but hadn't come up with the exact words yet. You see, I had a plan. I knew I had shut down and was beyond help. I had begun to willingly and quite easily lie to the people I love and count as my support group, or I just ignored them. I didn't want them to know. I didn't care anymore. It became none of their business in my mind. Why bother when I was failing so miserably? I haven't ever willingly lied to my support group. Ever. But Tonya was the only one left that I was being honest with (well, except she had no idea I was lying to everyone else, but in my defense, she never asked, so maybe she isn't psychic after all). I knew the choice of words was paramount to my plan. Anyway, I went to the session to slyly try and get her to help me figure out how to get permission from my children to die. Now, I think I am pretty smart, and was convinced I could fool the best therapist I have ever had in my life to get the answer I needed, even though she seems to see right through me with a single glance. Sometimes I won't look at the woman. She reads my mind! I thought I could trick her into slipping up and giving me a way to gain approval from my boys to die. I rationally know suicide is selfish. I know it permanently hurts those left behind. It is a huge reason I fight as a mental illness advocate. However, I had played my last card. I asked my children for permission to die and they said no. And besides, in my head, I wasn't suicidal. I just wanted permission to die.


So we sat down, she looked at me, asked 'the question', and I will be damned if out of my mouth popped the words, "I think I need hospitalization, but I can't afford it." I swear to you my mouth dropped a bit and I thought, "WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST SAY?" Tonya didn't immediately tell me how silly of a reason lack of money was not to admit myself, but thanks to her, I did end up admitting myself to Mesa Springs in Fort Worth, Texas, early afternoon on June 4. I agreed to it midway through the session and went home with a game plan to get things in order within 24 hours so I could go. During my 90 (I got 30 free minutes that night) minute session with Tonya, I kept telling her I wasn't suicidal, but I did have one heck of a fool proof plan I was happy to share and thought pretty highly of myself for thinking of it. Why not share? I wasn't suicidal. She didn't challenge me. Instead, she helped me to admit to myself that my preoccupation with gaining approval to die would eventually become greater than the need of my children's approval. And she isn't as smart as she thinks. I know now she made it seem like my idea, but she led me right to the watering hole. She never once told me, "Yes, you are suicidal." And, even though I just didn't care, I did obviously care enough to not want that preoccupation to become true. That is just how good she is. Or maybe she is the sly one??? Hmmm...


I was inpatient for 13 days. The first night home, June 16, I knew I wanted to blog about this, but had no idea how. How could I explain a journey from void to hope and make sense enough to touch someone else? I read a book that Tonya brought to me while there (told you she is awesome). The author tells the story of feeling inferior about giving a speech in which the other speakers are all CFO, CEO, COO types. In discussing it with her husband, she told him of a time where she failed miserably giving a speech that included other peer speakers instead of speakers she felt had more talent than her. I related to that. I felt like a failure and I felt inferior in life at the point when I read her story. All I could think was, here I am a blogger and mental illness advocate that just blogged about stopping suicide, trying to set an example and help people, and I am hospitalized! What else speaks complete failure? So, after reading her story again on my first night home, I made a terrifying decision. I decided to open up to YOU and publish my journal entries - word for word, grammar and spelling errors included (wow, that grates my nerves). The thought causes me to sweat even as I type now. BUT, in defiance of the shame, irrationality, doubt, self hate, irritability, psychosis, confusion, mania, hypomania, depression and anything else mental illness causes, this journey will now become yours if you so choose to read. My hope is you can see that 'broken' can become something 'much less than broken' again. I refuse to use the word 'fixed'. That implies 'works like new' and that was over the second I took my first breath with my childhood background. I won't use the word 'balanced' either. I still got some work to do. So, this is my journey. I do not wish it on a single person in this world. Even my two enemies. Though I say it becomes 'yours', your journey of hospitalization may (hopefully) never happen and if it does, it will be different. But I am now so convinced we ARE each other's best support system, that I am both nervous and excited to share.


So, before I let you loose, there are three things you need to know:


I was the victim of a crime on May 8, 2014. I can almost give you the time but I won't. It is etched in my mind and behind my eyes at random times during the day forever. It changed me. Laura was stolen from me without permission (not that anyone would have given permission).

Bipolar 2 and Generalized Anxiety are not my only diagnoses. I was diagnosed with PTSD December 2014, directly in relation to May 2014's events.

I made three consistent edits to my entry that were necessary:
- details of my suicidal ideation and plan are replaced with the words "-suicide trigger-".
- details of the event on May 8, 2014 are replaced with the words "-event trigger-".
- real names are not used, however, look to the top of the blog. There is a tab called 'Glossary' and it gives the name and relationship to me. Use it if you find the blog confusing. If I would have ever thought I would share this with the general public, I would have done a better job of describing each person!


DAY THREE SUMMARY - I'm not exactly sure how to summarize this day because I was all over the place. I can tell you that the first time I was hospitalized, I was at the very next group and never missed one the entire time. This time I just didn't care and I think you are going to be able to tell that it was actually a good thing as you see more of me and I begin to come into something much more less than broken. In retrospect, I learned something very important at Mesa Springs. I have to be me. The good. The bad. The ugly. And all of it is ok. So, I hope you wont read today and think, wow she just doesn't want help. That is true of day three, but it is soon to change. Hang in there. Stay with me. Language warning.


JOURNAL ENTRY - Saturday, June 6
I guess I am supposed to call this a good day. I got to see the boys for family therapy. They smelled so good. I love to smell them. Their arms around me were heavenly. I didn't want to let go. So it made me feel like happy. Til they left. Then it was reality again. Whatever reality is. I certainly don't know because of him. But I have had sleep now. 2 nights in a row. I slept all night again. So with sleep I feel so much clearer. I had no idea lack of sleep could do that. Everytime I would finally sleep I would wake up even after a few hours and feel refreshed so I thought it was enough. I don't know what to say about the boys. They really do love me. I could just feel the pain from Daniel. I have failed him worst. And I saw it hard for him to talk about but he loves me anyway. How did I get such good kids. I feel they are the best things in the world despite me. But did I have a hand in it? Is it possible to be a rotten tree and produce good fruit. The Bible says no but maybe it doesn't apply like that here? I don't know anymore. I have something to admit to Tonya but I don't want to. I am suicidal. It just not a suicidal ideation I have felt before. Before it was all -suicide trigger- but this time it is different. I am -suicide trigger-. I mean, the plan -suicide trigger- is brilliant, but the fact that I was so into it to the finest detail, I mean like lights and rushing and hands and shit...damn that is suicidal. -suicide trigger- So I guess it is good that I am here. Does this feeling mean I am beginning to care. Do I care if I care. I don't know yet. And I don't care if I know. Guess that kind of answers that question. I just know it feels so good to have seen the boys. They aren't going to get to visit me otherwise. That is best though. I still wont talk to anyone or sit or come out of my room. I still think they need protection from me. So, sleeping...the fucking nightmares...I don't think I can write that right now. I just sat here for a moment and tried deep breathing. Nope. Cant do it. Maybe later. Sat again. Nope. Gonna have to be later.
-----stopped writing
I am so fucking pissed. Amanda came in because she wanted me to get out of bed and come out and go to a fucking group. I don't need fucking group. I need these fucking meds to work. Then I am gone. And I was crying and she wouldn't stop. And she was nice and everything. I mean that IS her job. But I just kept crying harder and finally told her to stop because I was about to launch rocket style. I was getting so fucking pissed. Well I was smart enough not to tell her the rocket part. Don't want the isolation room. She backed off thank fucking God. She suggested talking to someone and asking if I could just talk to them - like another patient. Samantha? I guess maybe. Diana seems like a good choice. I don't know. She is quiet and probably won't talk vomit from the mouth like Tish does. That fucking woman never shuts up. I can hear her from my room and it drives me nuts. Well, worse than I obviously am. Do I define stigma? Am I helping it because I am here? I hurt the mental illness world of advocacy because I cant keep my shit together? I wonder what Kitty or LaShonda would say. They are the most awesome advocates. I learn so much from them. Anyway Diana it is.
-----stopped writing
I have to write this demon. I have to. Maybe that guy will leave my head and not come back. Maybe he wont control and try to kidnap me from reality anymore. I told Kennedy about the nightmare last night. Prazosin goes up tonight. It hasn't stopped the nightmares. I am asleep. I feel asleep. I can feel myself sleeping. And someone opens the door. I hear the knob turn and the door open and close. I hear the footstep. I feel the person standing above me. And then the reality fight begins. The person doesn't do anything else. I don't see the person. I feel the person. No gender. But an evil personality is there. I know it is there. It is real. There is where reality and nightmare begin to blur. I KNOW it is real. I mean it isn't real but it is REAL. It is more real than not real to me. I believe it is real just like the guy in my head trying to control me. That is the blur. I try to wake up to prove it isn't real. I cant. I think I do for a split second because suddenly I see the room and no one is there but all of a sudden I am asleep again and the evil personality is back. Did I even wake up? Maybe that is part of the master plan. I struggle getting more violent with myself. Punching my arms out. Wake. Sleep. Am I really? Or kicking my legs. Wake. Sleep. Am I really? Or screaming at myself. Wake. Sleep. Am I really? Over and over. What is real? I KNOW someone is trying to control my head. Trying to steal reality. I know not to tell anyone this because they wont believe me. But I know. When I finally wake and am really awake, I'm not sure I am awake. I search the house. Check the lock. It is always locked but is it reality or not. Is he in my head fooling with me? How do I know? I am so confused. With time, I finally decide I must be in reality but how do I really know still. What happens the day he really steals my reality and wont give it back. And that was the one last night. Then there is my hands. I am asleep. I look at my hands even though I am asleep. They aren't mine. I KNOW they aren't mine. And he is in my head again. Trying to fool me anyway possible. Stealing my reality. No stitches from a surgery or scars, but technology can fool me. They look like my hands. I check for the mole. It is there, but he is so clever he would do that to fool me. They wiggle when I tell them but he is in my head so of course they are going to wiggle. And I am so afraid those hands are going to hurt someone even though I don't feel it but he is in my head and fooling me and I know I need to cut them off to protect people and try to defy him. Beat him. Ian. I MUST CUT THEM OFF AND FIND MY HANDS AND DEFY HIM AND SHOW HIM HE CANNOT STEAL MY REALITY. So yeh, it was pretty scary to wake up in the kitchen crying the first time. And the lines are blurred. I just stood there and stared. What was reality? What should I do. Cut them to be sure? I am so confused. What if I do nothing and they hurt. What if I cut and they were mine. He is in so much control. So I sit on them. No cigarettes. No coffee. No books. Just sit and try to anticipate his next move. How can I know anything they do is real or not. How can I trust myself. I cant. I sit and they hurt from sitting on them. But that could be him too. I finally give up I guess. But truly, who knows if I am even in reality now? His hands could be having me write this just to make it seem real. Maybe my reality is still kidnapped. I am Star Trek episode whatever. Stuck in a false world and even Kirk cant help me. Or was it Spock. No it was Kirk? Was that show reality? Maybe I have never been in reality? Is there  reality? FUCK. I hate those nightmares. You would think after having them once I could reason they aren't real. But can I? He is powerful in my head sometimes. It tires me so much to fight him. I slip and almost give up so many times. Just take me. It must be part of what I deserve. And truly is the Prazosin reality? Maybe it is his illusion to kidnap my reality completely. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I am fucked. I have to protect this world from me. I want to badly to just -suicide trigger-. It is still so best for everyone. There isn't any way to -suicide trigger-. This is all HIS FUCKING FAULT -event trigger-. Cant we just erase May from the earth? Nope. Don't deserve it. God can I please see my children again. They are my reality. Or email Charles. Or talk to Josiah. Or talk to Linda or Jennifer. I just can't. I have to protect them. That is why I didn't tell them. These meds need to work. I just don't fucking need groups. Jesus Christ they will see my ugly. I am poison. This is such shit. SHIT. God. Damning. Shit. I am getting so pissed. This whole fucking thing is ridiculous. God let me scratch my eyes out. Fucking life. What the fuck did I do to deserve this. Fucking strike me with cancer would you. Then people would care instead of roll their eyes, never believe and shun me. I fucking try to be human. Fucking hell I do. Fuck. Damnit. Rage. Rage. Rage. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE WORTHLESS PILE OF SHIT FUCK YOU BITCH BITCH BITCH -suicide trigger-

Day Two - My Journey Through A Mental Health Facility

It was Wednesday June 3, and time for my 7:00p appointment with Tonya. She opens with the typical "So how are you?" and each session I normally put a lot of thought as to what I am going to say. I foolishly think I set the tone. I mean, it isn't like she doesn't already know how I am doing! I truly suspect the woman is psychic. And I don't believe in psychics. Last session she asked 'the question' and all I said was, "I'm not." I had thought about what to say but really didn't care what answer to give that week, so I was just kind of flippant. The woman still got me to talk meaningfully for 60 minutes though. June 3, I thought and thought, but hadn't come up with the exact words yet. You see, I had a plan. I knew I had shut down and was beyond help. I had begun to willingly and quite easily lie to the people I love and count as my support group, or I just ignored them. I didn't want them to know. I didn't care anymore. It became none of their business in my mind. Why bother when I was failing so miserably? I haven't ever willingly lied to my support group. Ever. But Tonya was the only one left that I was being honest with (well, except she had no idea I was lying to everyone else, but in my defense, she never asked, so maybe she isn't psychic after all). I knew the choice of words was paramount to my plan. Anyway, I went to the session to slyly try and get her to help me figure out how to get permission from my children to die. Now, I think I am pretty smart, and was convinced I could fool the best therapist I have ever had in my life to get the answer I needed, even though she seems to see right through me with a single glance. Sometimes I won't look at the woman. She reads my mind! I thought I could trick her into slipping up and giving me a way to gain approval from my boys to die. I rationally know suicide is selfish. I know it permanently hurts those left behind. It is a huge reason I fight as a mental illness advocate. However, I had played my last card. I asked my children for permission to die and they said no. And besides, in my head, I wasn't suicidal. I just wanted permission to die.

So we sat down, she looked at me, asked 'the question', and I will be damned if out of my mouth popped the words, "I think I need hospitalization, but I can't afford it." I swear to you my mouth dropped a bit and I thought, "WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST SAY?" Tonya didn't immediately tell me how silly of a reason lack of money was not to admit myself, but thanks to her, I did end up admitting myself to Mesa Springs in Fort Worth, Texas, early afternoon on June 4. I agreed to it midway through the session and went home with a game plan to get things in order within 24 hours so I could go. During my 90 (I got 30 free minutes that night) minute session with Tonya, I kept telling her I wasn't suicidal, but I did have one heck of a fool proof plan I was happy to share and thought pretty highly of myself for thinking of it. Why not share? I wasn't suicidal. She didn't challenge me. Instead, she helped me to admit to myself that my preoccupation with gaining approval to die would eventually become greater than the need of my children's approval. And she isn't as smart as she thinks. I know now she made it seem like my idea, but she led me right to the watering hole. She never once told me, "Yes, you are suicidal." And, even though I just didn't care, I did obviously care enough to not want that preoccupation to become true. That is just how good she is. Or maybe she is the sly one??? Hmmm...

I was inpatient for 13 days. The first night home, June 16, I knew I wanted to blog about this, but had no idea how. How could I explain a journey from void to hope and make sense enough to touch someone else? I read a book that Tonya brought to me while there (told you she is awesome). The author tells the story of feeling inferior about giving a speech in which the other speakers are all CFO, CEO, COO types. In discussing it with her husband, she told him of a time where she failed miserably giving a speech that included other peer speakers instead of speakers she felt had more talent than her. I related to that. I felt like a failure and I felt inferior in life at the point when I read her story. All I could think was, here I am a blogger and mental illness advocate that just blogged about stopping suicide, trying to set an example and help people, and I am hospitalized! What else speaks complete failure? So, after reading her story again on my first night home, I made a terrifying decision. I decided to open up to YOU and publish my journal entries - word for word, grammar and spelling errors included (wow, that grates my nerves). The thought causes me to sweat even as I type now. BUT, in defiance of the shame, irrationality, doubt, self hate, irritability, psychosis, confusion, mania, hypomania, depression and anything else mental illness causes, this journey will now become yours if you so choose to read. My hope is you can see that 'broken' can become something 'much less than broken' again. I refuse to use the word 'fixed'. That implies 'works like new' and that was over the second I took my first breath with my childhood background. I won't use the word 'balanced' either. I still got some work to do. So, this is my journey. I do not wish it on a single person in this world. Even my two enemies. Though I say it becomes 'yours', your journey of hospitalization may (hopefully) never happen and if it does, it will be different. But I am now so convinced we ARE each other's best support system, that I am both nervous and excited to share.

So, before I let you loose, there are three things you need to know:

1. I was the victim of a crime on May 8, 2014. I can almost give you the time but I won't. It is etched in my mind and behind my eyes at random times during the day forever. It changed me. Laura was stolen from me without permission (not that anyone would have given permission).
2. Bipolar 2 and Generalized Anxiety are not my only diagnoses. I was diagnosed with PTSD December 2014, directly in relation to May 2014's events.
3. I made three consistent edits to my entry that were necessary:
   - details of my suicidal ideation and plan are replaced with the words "-suicide trigger-".
   - details of the event on May 8, 2014 are replaced with the words "-event trigger-".
   - real names are not used, however, look to the top of the blog. There is a tab called 'Glossary' and it gives the name and relationship to me. Use it if you find the blog confusing. If I would have ever thought I would share this publically, I would have done a better job of describing each person!
   

DAY TWO SUMMARY - I did see Dr. Kennedy before lights out on day one and was given something to sleep. I did sleep, but I think I would have regardless of medicine or not. When I moved it made me so dizzy I would almost fall over because the room literally seemed to have no direction (I couldn't feel which way was up and which way was down), I kept seeing black things move from the corners of my eyes that weren't there, and my muscles had begun to spasm randomly, so I knew my body was shutting down despite my inability to sleep. I could barely blink because my eyes hurt so badly. Over the last few months, that is how I know my brain will let me sleep, even though it never stopped the nightmares. This entry is a little clearer as you will see my confusion lift a bit. With the clearer head, I begin to get angry.  Before admitting myself, the anger at May 8, 2014 had reached epic proportions but I did my best to stuff it because I am not an angry person. It was like an erupting volcano spewing forth infinite lava. Ugly. Blind rage. I would become enraged and not remember what I did. I cant tell you the number of bruises I found but had no idea how it happened. My cat went through a period where he shrank back from my touch. I am afraid to think I must have hit him. I am positive I did because I am ashamed to admit I remember kicking him one day just because he meowed when I was really irritated. I kicked him over 10 feet away from me, from one side of the living room and against the door. It shames me. I call him my cuddle bug because he is always attached to my side. And my son can tell you of the day he tackled me as I tried to grab a knife and held me down until I came to. I still don't remember what my intentions were but I do know I flew into a rage because of a single comment he made. This entry is also a combination of the rest of my day one and part of my day two. Things happened after I ended my writing on day one and I remembered things after some sleep. I hope it isn't too confusing. Language warning.

JOURNAL ENTRY - Friday, June 5

I hate this fucking golf pencil I have to write with. Seriously. If I was suicidal, I could hurt myself with it so why do they insist we have to use it. I am going to steal a pen. They already found the first one I smuggled in, but I noticed they don't check under the mattress. Ha. But anyway, I am not suicidal so stuck with this piss ant excuse of a writing implement. I wrote last night and then smoked. Then we could use the phone. I just had to talk to the boys or I felt like I was going to disappear, and I mean I literally thought I was going to disappear. And Daniel asked me to let him know when I settled in. That made me feel like he loves me. Poor, misguided kid. But he will get it when I lie my way through this place and am no different. I mean lie like I KNOW I can get them to release me cuz I have lying down now. Just another example of the fuck I am. Pet peeve is liars. How apapro that I am now the expert. I am my own pet peeve. That kind of makes me smirk. Another proof of fuckedness. I wonder if I can exhaust proof before last breath. Anyway, I met with Dr. Kennedy. Fucker took my Paxil. And gave me Trazadone for the night but changed it to Prazosin today. Rinse. Wash. Repeat. I thought, 'what the fuck does it matter. I don't care. Open mouth, insert pill, spew poison anyway. WHATEVER.' But I did smile and say good. And I do have to give the man credit. What a fucking relief that he didn't open with 'So tell me why you are here", I am worthless you stupid fucks. You think I need a vacation or something? Heard the fucking food is good and the bed comfy? I cant live worth a fuck and nobody will allow me to die because I deserve it but don't deserve it so I can be punished. So I have to admit I learned something. He of course made me tell him about May. That alone gave me an anxiety attack right in front of him. But then I found out it wasn't an anxiety attack. He said it is a panic attack. I wondered why it felt different than it used to. I don't shake. I don't tremble. I quake. First sign. I draw up into myself, like I mean my shoulders curl in, my back bows inward like I am trying to curl in a ball. I cross my hands up around my next and pull my arms in tight because of my heart. I cant stop crying. But I cant breathe and I try to hold my breath and my throat feels like it could burst. I can feel my heart. I mean feel the heartbeat trying to come out of my chest without touching it to feel it. I feel the organ straining. It physically hurts. Just my heart. And my heartbeat canters. And I cant breathe but I am breathing so fast. And my muscles lock but the quaking wont stop. And I cant speak. I try to say words, but I just stutter once I can finally force my lips to form the beginning of the word. I have to clench my teeth to force the word in whole, or I just sit there like a stupid demonic fucker and stutter over and over. And, it is hard to describe, but everything tunnels. I see people talking to me. I hear people talking from my sides. I know they are talking. But I can't get my head to turn and they sound like they are speaking underwater from far away and if I don't really concentrate, they sound foreign like in some horror movie in another language. Fuck. Just reread that. Pretty awesome description for such a worthless piece of shit. But Kennedy taught me something. And he also made me see I have a double loss because of May. Not only -event trigger-. Whatever, I just cant get -event trigger-. I so deserve it tho. Pristiq is maxed so nothing new there. Buspar was as needed. No choice now. And added Latuda and Trazadone and Valium and Visteral. Think it may take a few more to fix me? Fix. What a fucked up word. I am not going to ever work like brand new. Have I ever been brand new. Could a filthy, disgusting soul of mine even ever been like new at conception? Judas was a fucking saint. And then there is me. I am Adam's firstborn. You know, the one not mentioned before Cain since I suck so bad. Thank god for the world he learned with the rest of them. Everyone thinks you have bipolar in one of two ways. Don't believe it. Think you use it as a crutch. Think you should just get over it and live. Ok, so that is three. No four. Think you are a drama queen. Five. Think if you are happy you are stupid if you don't stay there. Should I go for six as if why bother doesn't matter I don't care. I just fucking fail. Thoughts never right. Feelings always wrong. I am the sleet - each piece a part of a shattered and frozen soul that melts as tears outside the warm home of everyone's love, faith and acceptance. I fail. To watch forever but never deserving to belong. Who blames them. So phone time and Daniel was asleep. Ian didn't answer. Can you say panic attack. What was the count for yesterday anyway. There is this spot between the wall and my bed that I can wedge in. So I felt safe crawling there and curling up and putting the pillow in front of me so nobody had to look at me. Had a panic attack there too but can only take the visteral every 4 so I was fucked. Wedging worked for a few hours before lights out. And then lo and behold I slept. I slept about 3 hours before I woke up coughing and asked for a cough drop. I felt like superwoman with three hours of sleep AND no nightmare. AND I went back to sleep and woke up in this morning but of course I had a fucking flashback nightmare and the god damn valium made it so I went right back to sleep and just pleased myself by going through the whole ordeal again. But I made sure to sit away at breakfast so I didn't poison anyone. They all may be here but they all deserve to get better and I will just fuck that up. Figured out my roomie Patricia is a Witness. God Damn stayed away from her so I don't poison her for sure. She deserves Jehovah. I don't. You know Lenny wouldn't even bring me here.  He needed to work. One hour to work is worth more than my life. I spent 20 years with the man and lets face it. He figured it out waaaaay early but we had the kids. If anyone would know how fucked I am it is him after having to suffer my presence for so long. He is so much better off without me. He is the smart one. If I asked HIM permission to die he would be smart enough to help me plan and execute, make sure I wasn't breathing, let my body rot like it deserves, then plan and have the party, I want the boys to be that smart. It is my fault they aren't. No I mean they are smart, but I am so evil, I fool them without realizing I do and can't figure out how to unfool myself. I think it is that fucker in my head. He wont talk to me but controls me. I do have some hope tho. Daniel and I aren't as close anymore. He is getting it thank god. Give Ian a couple more years. Then I can move to Indiana with Josiah and wait for him to figure it out and then they can line up happily behind Lenny. PERMISSION! Then I can do what I need to do to end their misery. They will help Lenny. I didn't tell Josiah I was coming here. Didn't tell Jonathon or Randy or Jade or Jennifer either. Hopefully that will help them line up too. I did tell Linda, Mason and Arthur from group. They deserve to know. They will try their best to accept me just because of group. But I do so love them. God they are too good to me. You know I understand why people choose to die. I am the only one that it is true for though. Like Ricky's family. His leukemia is back. They deserve him. Not because of that but because his soul is good. I am just filth. Disgust. Nothing. Poison. Venom. Boil. Pus. Nobody deserves me. Why don't my children hate me?????????? Maybe the family therapy tomorrow will be good. Maybe they have started to understand and when I get free they can give me permission. I am not suicidal. I need to die. I need to give a gift to this planet and eliminate myself so it is a better place.

-----stopped writing

I protected everyone at lunch and dinner. I hope they just think I am stuck up so they stay pure from my insanity. Some chick named Kristine asked me to eat lunch with them. I just told her I was afraid of people to get her to go away. I am so good at one thing at least. But then Samantha came up. I can tell she is nice. I didn't know what to say so I said I would try next time. Maybe if I sit and am very quiet and don't look at them I can. I don't want to disappoint her. I had three nightmares last night and only remember one. Maybe the Prazosin will work. It just makes me so fucking mad that I have to have these. I am so pissed. Wasn't May enough that I have to STILL have nightmares about it? I even see it flash behind my eyes when I am awake. It just makes me so mad. Why did it happen? Why did I deserve that? Why. Just answer me? Why did I deserve -event trigger-. Is it really me. I mean he has done it before. I know that. But for Christ sake that was -event trigger-. WHY GOD DAMNIT? Is this all really my fault. I fucking want them to suffer like me. Do you hear me. SUFFER. PAIN. TORTURE. SLOW SLOW SLOW TORTURE. NO DEATH. TOO GOOD FOR THEM. JUST THE WORST IMAGINABLE PAIN COMBINED AND INTENSIFIED MORE THAN ALL PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE PAIN. AND THAT STILL ISNT THE PAIN I WANT THEM TO HAVE. GOD DAMNIT. FUCKING PAIN SO THEY FEEL A MILLIMETER OF WHAT IS LEFT OF ME. FUCK I WANT THAT. FANTASIZE ABOUT IT. AGAIN NO DEATH. TOO GOOD. IT WILL FEEL SO GOOD. NOW THERE IS A FUCKING POSTER CHILD FOR BETRAYAL. THAT FUCKING BITCH. TO SAY I MADE HER LOOK BAD? WHAT THE HOLY FUCKED PILE OF STINKING SHIT GOD DAMN FUCK? TO SAY I SHOULD HAVE STOOD UP FOR MYSELF? TO SAY I TURNED MY. MY. MY. MY. MY. MY. MY. MY. BACK -event trigger-? WHAT A FUCKING GOD DAMN JOKE. I BETTER STOP WRITING. I think I better stop writing. Why am I so angry? Here comes that fucking rage I cant stop. I could break this fucking stubby piece of shit pencil in half and sharpen it to a diamond point with my anger right now. Corner. I need the corner. Panic. Volcano. Death. Permission. He is in my head. Get the fuck out of my worthless head. No anger. No. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO corner