My second consultation with a psych and psychiatrist here was interesting. I felt a want, almost a need to tell them that I am recovered and all right. But maybe that’s just me kidding myself right? School’s about to start soon and my nerves are firing again. What if I collapse in class, hyperventilating, having a panic when everyone thinks it’s a seizure? I missed two doses of my medication on accident and I find myself nauseous and light headed. If this is the beginning of my relapse, I’m frankly afraid to think about what’s going to happen when school starts. I worry again. I mean, it’s just like having a cramp. Once you get rid of the cramp, you start to be paranoid in how you walk or how you stretch in case you trigger it again.
What’s the trigger? Stress? Loneliness? I find myself looking out into the ominous night just wondering what the hell did I put myself through in the past few years.
To be honest and truthful, the only word that can describe me right now is : afraid.
Taken with my 60D when I flew on a hotair balloon with my family. It was 1000ft above the ground and do not estimate me when I say how tempting it was to just casually tip over the basket and free fall down to nothing. It takes confidence and pride, dignity and love to continue life.
It was dark times and I don’t ever want to go there again. I still see blades that can slice into my skin everywhere I go. I still feel a tad bit suicidal every time an opportunity passes. I’m scared because I feel so alone. When depression overwhelms you, you start to believe that you’re the only one in the world who cares for you – which is not true. And the worst part of the day is right before you try to sleep, when there’s nothing to distract you and there’s nothing to make you busy, and all that’s left to entertain you is the thoughts that you’ve managed to push out during the day. The thoughts that haunt you even in your sleep. You only realize how precious things are when you’re about to lose them or when you’ve actually lost them. Don’t wait until it’s too late…
Rain is my favourite favourite favourite weather. But rain can also be triggering. Right now my mood isn’t in the best condition. My mother is keen on keeping me off of my anti depressant and my sleeping medication on weekends – a bad idea. My mood swings are terrifying and I had even picked up a blade, almost doing it. I touched my scars on my arms and legs and I’m once again reminded of what i had gone through in the past year, the past 4 years… Tears couldn’t be stopped… I hope you guys are having a better day 🙂
I’ve always wanted to start my own blog about my recovery progress. Honestly, there’ve been so many people in my life that played a big part. Even those who hurt me, they’ve made me stronger.
I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder after my highschool had a tip off from one of my friends that I was suicidal. The day before that, I had confided in my best friend that I was on the verge of jumping off my balcony, 21 floors up. I had suffered Insomnia for 3 years at that point. Sleep was useless for me. I was failing school, I gave up. I knew I was sabotaging my own future at my own cost, but I couldn’t care. I hated waking up everyday. I hated myself. I binge and purge at least three times a day. And my day revolves around the next few 10-15 cuts of 3″ each on my left and right thighs. My day revolves around the next time I bring a cold blade across my thighs and feel the warm blood trickle down.
After the third suicide attempt – walking in front of the car, my parents decided it was time to just drag me (kicking and screaming) to the psychiatrist. I was bombarded with medication and I hated it. I took the meds, but it didn’t make a difference. So i stopped taking it. Bad mistake – the depression hit worse.
My parents had the worst time with me. I wouldn’t cooperate with them, why should I? I secluded myself from the world. It took me a long time to understand that it’s not a matter of whether I want to be treated or not, it’s a matter of what happens IF i don’t get treated. I only started recovering when I decided for myself that I was going to do whatever it takes to get this problem fixed.
This is a journey of my on going process of recovering. It’s been a year since I started the journey, and I’m taking baby steps each time. Most of the time I’m back peddling, but I know that I can re-take those steps again once I’m stronger. Hang on tight as you glide through this process with me, grow with me, recover with me – it’s possible.