July 17, 2018

Just so, so, so, so, so tired.

Too tired to keep typing “so.”

Still working, though.

Not eating full meals because I’m too tired to cook.

Trying not to isolate myself.

current song

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July 15, 2018 (1:41 pm)

Things have become rapidly bad again. It’s not because of a breakup or anything significant.

It’s the crippling sadness, emptiness, loneliness, sleepless, pain that I feel only in a depressive episode.

I break into random moments of tears and can’t make it through a single church service without starting to cry.

I canceled all my plans this weekend and stayed in bed for the majority of yesterday. Except, I did manage to get out, call my folks to talk about Grandma’s birthday, and walk a grand total of 4.5 miles. The walking was mindless, but the distance and time occupation felt good. I’m going to try and go back out today before the rain.

Last night, however, I didn’t go to sleep until 5:15 am, only to wake up again at 7:30 am for church. I cried on and off for several hours before forcing myself to go to sleep to escape the thoughts.

I relived college memories of watching a fellow classmate in a neighboring dorm kill themselves by stepping off the balcony. I relived the memories of the rape and sex abuse and ptsd coping and why the fuck is this my life?

I feel very weighted by my thoughts this weekend and I’m afraid to reach out but I’m trying to go through my contacts for someone I can meet up with this week who could pray with me but not grow too concerned. I need, need, need to find a counselor to unload all of this onto. It’s becoming desperate.

I’m starting to wish I had the effects of the medication again without the side effects. Depression isn’t something I ever feel prepared for and it scares me.

I need to find someplace to pray today.

 

July 7, 2018

December 12, 2016: I was diagnosed with Bipolar 2 and Panic Disorder

June 1, 2017: I came out to my family about having both disorders

December 31, 2017: I came out to my sister as bisexual

January 1, 2018: I came out to my parents as bisexual

July 6, 2018: I admitted to myself I’d been raped on February 11, 2011, I used the R word

July 7, 2018: I admitted to myself that I’m not bisexual, I’m gay

 

 

It’s a process and it’s always updating.

2 – part 3

The more I write these blogs, the more it feels so important to do so. I lost all the air in my lungs while looking back through photos to attach onto these entries. It feels forceful to have to confront everything but writing out every detail without poetry or riddles has finally started to silence my mind a little. 

The featured photo was taken soon after February 11. I’m on the floor with the purple hat and striped sweater. My knees are tucked up to my chest; a position that for years I would automatically curl into every time I sat down.


So comes the aftermath.

The night of February 12, I pulled myself from my dorm and walked or was picked up (I don’t remember) to the methodist foundation. There, I was ushered into the back apartment of the building where all of the girls had gathered.

Before I go on, there is a division in this girls group. At this point, I was close with all of them. I struggle to make myself use their real names because it makes this blog feel more vulnerable. The names with an asterisk are ones I lost contact with but have no hard feelings towards:  Loran*, Dani*, Laurel*, Taylor, Bethany. 

They asked me what happened because they had some details from their long term boyfriends who were also the band members and Jared’s roommates. Jared had sent a text the night of February 11 that basically stated I would be spending the night. The next morning after Jared had dropped me off, Loran’s boyfriend Chris confronted Jared about what exactly happened and he told him we had sex. Chris told Loran because he was worried about me. Chris knew Jared was unpredictable.

I kept contact with Chris and Loran for a long time after that. Chris joined my dad and I during the summer of 2011 to a U2 concert in St.Louis. I didn’t attend their wedding in January 2013 because Jared attended with an old (ex) friend of mine as his date and I couldn’t stand to be in the same room as them. Loran said she understood. 

I told the girls group the basics. He was drunk, he picked me up, I didn’t realize I was spending the night until there was no other option, yes this proves he really did like me all along, yes we had sex, and then he told me we could never do it again. The older girls were worried about me, telling me to ask them anytime if I needed to talk. The younger ones (by younger I mean my age) were giddy and happy for me. They were excited that this proved he actually liked me all along.

Jared didn’t show up to the foundation that night. It would be a few more days before he would arrange to meet me there only to say that the sex would never happen again. That we couldn’t kiss or hold hands because we weren’t in a relationship. He wasn’t interested in a relationship.

I can’t tell you why I still wanted him after this. Why I still wanted a relationship with him but not really. I know I hated the feeling of all those months lost and here was the sex as proof that he liked me and he still couldn’t say so. He could talk down to me and break the news that this was wrong like I was the one who pushed for it. 

Not an apology for being drunk for it? Not a confession of liking me all these months? Not a question if I am okay or if what happened was okay? 

He said we should take a break for a while, like this was an actual relationship. I didn’t get the chance to talk during that conversation because I couldn’t find my voice. I was silent. I figured this meant we were going back to flirting and texting and seeing each other a few times a week at the foundation. I was so wrong and even after what happened, was still so heartbroken to be so wrong. Because he didn’t text me at all. Wouldn’t text me back. Started going to a different church group with a different church and old high school friends in town.

I never saw him at all anymore, but I had so many questions. I was so confused and still so in love with him. I began to isolate myself from everyone.

A boy from my dorm sat beside me in the dining hall one day. I can’t remember the details between having lunch together and meeting him at his dorm one night, but that progression happened somewhere in March 2011. He was heartbroken over his ex girlfriend and I was still waiting for Jared to come back. We had sex and it wasn’t loving but it was consensual. Ben and I both agreed we didn’t want to be in a relationship, we just wanted to be fuck buddies (I hate that saying now). So on a nightly basis, I was with him, two buildings down from mine.

I became less involved in the methodist foundation. Stayed with Ben almost every night. Continued to smoke and drink with my old floor mates. Continued to go to class.

Somewhere during March, Jared came back to the foundation. I wasn’t there, and after asking around for me (I was told later), he texted me to ask where I was. At that exact moment I was angry at him. Being with Ben and listening to him talk himself through his breakup made me feel like I had gone through an actual one with Jared. By the time he sent this text to ask where I was, I felt more powerful than I had since I first fell for Jared. In that exact moment I was leaving Ben’s dorm and headed for my own. I told him I was with Ben and when he asked who Ben was, I told him he’s someone a boy I sleep with now. Jared was furious.  I was confused. I texted him to ask why he cared when he said we could never do it again and we weren’t in a relationship? He responded something with, “That doesn’t mean we’re not together. How could you go and do this to me?” 

That text was my tipping point. The edge of a stair, tipping my foot down to the next. A private message on Facebook from a boy back in my hometown who thought I was cute who I’d go home to fuck over spring, summer, and fall break. An old high school friend a few dorms down who I’d fuck while we were both high one rainy night in the fall. Somehow, between February 11, 2011, and the fall of 2016, my list of boys I’d slept with grew to 26. I don’t remember all of their names. Some happened in the same night. Some became fuck buddies for years. Two were relationships that were purely physical. Most were purely physical and rough. I was good at sex and I could lose myself in it. I was always the one to break up with the boys and I was always the one who could get them to want me.

I loved that power. 

Back to March 2011. By April, I was almost completely unattached from the methodist foundation. The girls from the group still reached out and we would occasionally hang out. There were a few nights in a row where I didn’t see or talk to the girls group. Bethany and Taylor had apparently shown up to my dorm room one Saturday night looking for me. I was with Ben and had put my phone on silent. They asked all my floor mates (I wasn’t close with any of them) where I was and even roped my RA in, telling her something bad must’ve happened to me. I came back to my dorm around 2:00 am of that night. My floor mates looked horrified to see me. They hesitantly asked if something was wrong and when I responded confused, they told me there had been two girls looking for me. The two girls told my RA I was missing and if I didn’t check in with her tonight, she’d be notifying my parents in the morning and possibly the campus police.

I was gone for one fucking night. My RA was chill about it, a little confused why I called them my friends and why it was so bad I was out for the night. My floor mates thought it was funny and one of them still likes to joke with me about it.

I was beyond angry at Bethany and Taylor for it. After calling them the next morning to ask what the fuck happened, they came by to pick me up. They said they were angry I stopped answering their calls and texts that day/night. They demanded to know why I had become so distant from the foundation and stated they would continue to check up on me like this and would continue to report me. I told them I was out fucking Ben and didn’t care that they had been worried because it wasn’t their place. It wasn’t their fucking place to report me to my RA or especially my parents. And don’t fucking think you will ever pull that shit again. Taylor was huffy and hurt, Bethany apologized, but both remained pretty distant from me for a bit.


Ben and I faded out by summer time. Seth and I had sex only when I was home on breaks. The people I regularly talked to included Brooklyn, Emily, and Justin (my old floor mates), Bridget (another blog post dedicated solely to her sometime soon), and occasionally Bethany and Loran.

Summer came, and back in late fall 2010, I had applied to be a camp counselor at a methodist church camp in western Illinois with Loran, Chris, Dani, her boyfriend Patrick, and a few people from other colleges in other methodist foundations.

I continued to talk about Jared and ask about him. I continued to try and text him though he rarely responded. It wasn’t until almost a year later that he would text me back, “Get me out of your phone man,” and I would really never try to contact him again. 

 

Leg work

On my end will be the mental stuff

Like telling myself I’m good enough.

I want you to make me strong

So everyone else knows it.

But really, I’ve joined 2 running groups, a biking group, 1 yoga studio, and 1 gym with hopefully 1 personal trainer.

Time and place

When was a time where you came the closest to killing yourself?

A lightening storm in ’08…

Not when you were still just thinking about it.

A college dorm in ’11…

But when you almost left.

A kitchen floor in ’16…

So only a few times, that’s no so bad…

Relief

There was a statement I read off a suicide prevention blog back in high school.

“If you kill your self then you will never be around long enough to feel the relief of death, your last moments on earth will be in pain.”

Every time a suicide idealization came back into my thoughts I’d remember this sentence and it would instantly bring me back to reality again. I wish I could remember what site I was on or had some way of letting that person know just how powerful that sentence was, just how many times it saved my life over the last 10 years.

Crying spells

I met a girl in early May. We started dating 2 weeks ago and 1 week ago I fully tapered off/then quit cold turkey from my psychiatric medications.

The withdrawal symptoms are described in a recent post, but in short, that week was physically AWFUL. Still, I get little heart flutters and am slow to stand up. The nausea has mostly died down and the migraines are gone (thankfully).

The new symptom is the crying spells. I saw an old picture of my sister’s elementary soccer team posted on Facebook and bawled for hours last night. My sister is alive and well and living with my parents, but just seeing her little baby face in that picture still brings sad, desperate tears.

Why? I couldn’t figure it out with the timing because I’m no where near PMS and the physical withdrawal ended last week. So I googled it. It’s apparently super normal for people (major depression and bipolar 2 patients alike) to experience crying spells lasting for hours and suicidal idealization after withdrawing from the same anti-depressants and antipsychotics that I did.

So the fact that I’ve spent about 6 combined hours between last night and tonight crying over my baby sister’s elementary soccer photo is justified.

Do I want to tell my new girl about the crying spells? No, mostly from shame and a little from worry. Bipolar 2 keeps me from talking about it because I’m either stuck worrying that my loved ones will instantly think my crying spells or low thoughts mean I’m suicidal, and I don’t want to worry them. Or, that I don’t have a good enough reason to be sad, so I feel ashamed of my puffy eyes and scratchy throat.

My new girl’s been through hell and back with her physical disease and even though she knows about my Bipolar and tells me I have every right to feel pain and sadness and struggle on some days, I still feel like I don’t have a good enough reason to be crying compared to everything she’s been through and the way she handles all of it. And what I’m describing is textbook for how a lot of depressive/Bipolar people feel about their disorders, I know this. I know I should be able to feel all of these intense emotions (now more so since coming off the medications) and be open with loved ones, especially my girlfriend, about this, but I’m still ashamed of it. I want to feel all the emotions, just not the sad-for-no-reason ones? I know that’s not how it works.

Withdrawal

So, I’m going through withdrawal from anti-depressants and anti-psychotics at the moment. It’s awwwwwwful. I’m nauseous/vomiting, dizzy, tired, sore, shivering then burning up, irritable, and most of all, I have the worst headache on Earth. One that’s so bad I’m considering if I’m experiencing mini migraines.

I’ve gone officially 2 nights and almost 2 full days without taking any Seroquel or Lexapro and the side effects are already better now than they were the first day. I’m hoping (and after reading almost every Seroquel/Lexapro 1st page Google review withdrawal story) I’m expecting these nightmare days to be over within this week. I was weening myself off 75 mg of Seroquel and 10 mg of Lexapro. I was weening myself off both over the last few weeks until 2 nights ago when I was finally down to 5 mg of Lexapro and about 20 mg of Seroquel when I decided to quit cold turkey.

At the time of quitting cold turkey I just figured withdrawal wouldn’t be tooooo bad because I’ve already walked myself off both drugs (only ever one not both) at different times and though I had headaches or nausea, it was never this unmanageable. Lexapro withdrawal is kind of a godsend because it’s just this out-of-body floating high that fluctuates throughout the day. The Seroquel withdrawal is the bloodiest beast. Seroquel is the one giving me these killer headaches and nausea and cold sweats followed by heat flashes that turn into me running to go puke every other hour (again, much better than even a day ago). Finally followed by these mini migraines where I can’t stand light or noise and my brain feels a little too swollen to be resting instead my skull and I can’t sleep without waking up with neck or back pain (elbow and knee pain is most likely from the rain outside and the cramps are from my period) and I just feel like I can’t get anything done when I HAVE SO MUCH TO DO this week because I’ve only got 10 days left in this place before I move out.

And maybe a little stress thrown in on top. GAHHHHHHH I hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate this pain. I hate hate hate how terrible these drugs are and I can’t believe and am so frustrated that they exist to help someone if they felt that terrible to be on and are this impossible to stop taking. It’s so tempting to take a mini dose just to lessen the withdrawal, but I don’t think it would. Plus, I don’t ever want either of those back in my system ever again.

I found a holistic mental health doctor who’s got me set up on a supplement schedule that I will hopefully not have to take for the rest of my life and even with taking them now, DON’T GIVE ME WITHDRAWAL and are not harmful to my system down the road or like right now.

I’m so angry at the mental health world for those terrible medications being the first option given when they are so painful. Why aren’t those the last possible option they give us to try? I’m done, so done, and so ready to be done with this pain.