It gives me strength to have somebody to fight for; I can never fight for myself, but, for others, I can kill.

Long story short. After my last post, I spiraled down into the Abyss again and attempted suicide again... and failed again obviously.
This time I took nearly 400 pills consisting of sedatives, pain meds, anxiety meds, every other medication I could get my hands on, Dramamine (to keep them all down), and chased it down with Mike's Harder Limeade. It was a pile of rainbow candies that could kill. Or so I thought...

Yes I was discovered.
No, the ambulance wasn't called.
Yes, I am fucking Immortal.

Seriously... I dont know how I lived. I was out for like... 3 days? Maybe? And I didn't even get out of bed until 2 days after that.

So.. We have me, near (but not close enough) Death for 3 days, and not even moving out of my bed for a total of 5 days.
That's 5 days of no food. 5 days of no water.

And when I finally did get out of bed, I was too weak to walk to the other side of the house to eat or drink. And the closest thing to me was... more alcohol. Thus calories to give me energy to get me to food. Needless to say I missed both the appointment with my doctor and with my therapist.

My daughter's 9th birthday is being celebrated Sunday.
Monday I'm going to the "mental health center".
I don't know when I will get out this time.
All I know is that obviously 12 days was nowhere near long enough to become strong enough to believe I am worth anything.

Cause I don't believe it. I never have. And when I got out, I believed it just the tiniest bit. ...and we see how well that went.
Well... now we begin again.

Healing the Moonchild
Take: 2

An Idiot's Post - Sometomes love is never enough... and then you just dont care

Current Mood:

dead inside

So.. about my last post. It all started with a misconception of the term paranoia apparently as I was asking for help on something. Ever since I met him, he has told me that he was always paranoid. So. in asking for help in a game, I didnt think anything of using the term.

What Unfolded:

Me: I need help on another quest for SB. The Section is on Quitting. I chose to do the Quitting section because even though I have no addictions, there are things I want to quit. And one of the main things I want to quit is... being afraid all the time. I want to replace all my fears with confidence. (No matter what that fear is of.)I need you to give me 3 reasons why I’ll succeed. Three that will boost my confidence and help me believe in myself. Just 3 reasons I will succeed in my effort to quit being afraid all the time.
I'm not afraid of any one thing in particular, but of so many things. Not like you and how you would worry about things in your paranoia (which I completely understand and empathize with now). My fears are never spoken about. Well, accept for the first one I admitted to you about being on my own.

Him: My issue is not paranoia. It's anxiety and the depression that comes with it. It is situational. When you were away at the hospital it went away completely. After the initial trauma of you leaving passed it went away. My family said it was like I was finally back. I never was bipolar, I never met DSM5 requirements, Dr Donnelly is not a psychiatrist and I am very good at pointing her in the direction needed to be put on meds. I was having a hard time remaining calm around you, because of you. You pushed me to get medicated and in the interests of the marriage I went along. I hated every moment of it. It was like I had fuzz in my head all the time. I was doing poorly at work because of it, but it made you happy. At first. As time went by having all that anger and anxiety shoved into the back of my head I just fell into a shell of despondency. I was dying from the inside out. You kept asking what was wrong but from past experience I knew that anything I said would be met with a twisting that would make me feel worse. I know due to your condition that it wasn't on purpose, but it still felt me feeling worthless. Even now you manipulate me, Your wording made me feel like I had to friend you on facebook again. That if I didn't I was a bad person. So please lay off the "you need help" stuff. Once you are stable and on your own then I will be fine. But you need me right now and I don't want to see you fail. So I am going to accept what is uncomfortable for awhile knowing that there is a light at the end of my tunnel. I want there to be a light at the end of your tunnel as well. But that takes time and help, through group you will find new allies, and you will find new friends now that you are medicated. I will see you through this.

-------------

~blinks~ So yeah.. that escalated quickly. Reading it, all I could see was that everything was my fault. Even now, that's all I see. And I was crushed and immediately wishing I had went ahead and pulled the trigger when I had the chance. I felt like all the hard work I had put into bettering myself and trying to believe in myself and been obliterated completely. I still feel like that. I hate myself again and I feel like a fucking idiot. I had to have a goal to focus on so I would be motivated to get better. My goal was that we would find a way to get past this. That goal is shot to Hell now. Frankly I don't even want to bother because I no longer see the point.

Anyway.. emails that were exchanged next involved me apologizing repeatedly for the paranoia comment and basically repeating what I said in the 2nd sentence of the post. He never once replied that he forgave me. This of course added to my feelings that I don't deserve forgiveness. In fact, I don't deserve anything really. I told him he could stay away because his discomfort was not helping him heal o it would probably be for the best.

-------

Then he said this: I also don’t want that email to be accusatory, just factual as to where I was through our marriage. I wanted you happy and I didn’t want you to leave. I ended up hurting myself in the end by not being true to myself and I lost myself along the way because of how devoted to you I was. I can’t live that life any longer. I hope I am not putting too much on you too fast, but I see a clarity in you right now and I need to be understood. You are not a bad person. I'll be around

-------

"Not a bad person???".... I'm sorry but after being so harsh, "You are not a bad person" is not going to make me feel better. In fact.. After saying all that, that little phrase means absolute jack shit to me. Its like putting a child-size finger band-aid on a 6 inch long, 3 inch deep, 2 inch wide wound made by a chainsaw. Completely ineffective.

And I did understand. I understood completely what I had put him through and that was why I was working so hard to try and fix it. But obviously I should not have bothered....

My Reply (I was still crying and wishing I were dead if only to get relief from the heart break. I tried not to let it show.)

-------------------------------

Really.. you don't have to..
the whole "it's because of you" being repeated multiple times kinda has um... me in a really bad place right now. Kinda crushed actually if i am going to be honest.
It's not be cause of me.. its because of the illness.. but thats besides the point and doesnt even matter anymore. You will always see "Me" as the enemy in the failing of what once was "Us" and I know this
 now I has and awkwaes

On top of this, 

Sr koojed at me, her ears dill bit subleased ed, star bright,,, elts go clo

--------------------------------------------------

I then told him not to email me and tried to clear my mind. The desire to die faded slightly but it was replaced with how I now feel toward the friend I had for 20 years who dropped me. It's not a good feeling. It's a feeling of.... "I don't care if I never see you again". So I wrote him once more. I decided that if he felt it was ok to be factual with me, than I may as well return the favor.

----------------------------------------

--

One last thing... as for the clarity you saw in me, it took a LOT of hard work to get there. 12 days in the hospital, hours upon hours of research and playing that stupid game, not to mention a TON of medication.

However the amount of clarity I have does not equal my mental strength. My mental strength has not even started its road to recovery really. I need several more hours of therapy and a psychiatrist before I even get to an inkling of what could be considered mental strength. You have witnessed how fragile and emotional I am. And right now I am literally dying inside.

And (since we are being honest) coming home to such an accusatory message has actually made me wish I didnt unlock the door and let you in. Even though the illness is the enemy, you successfully dismembered all the work it took me to get to the point where I was starting to believe in myself and have hope because you kept repeating how it was all my fault.
Would have been an hoor to die ib wou okayse

Its NOT all my fault. And I know it. But You don't.

So when I say "you don't have to come over".. what I really mean is I don't want you to come over.
I don't want your "family" support in person anymore because I see now that you will always see "Me" as the enemy and not the illness.
You will never be able to separate the two.
And you will never try to do so.
In your eyes the illness and I will always be one and the same.

So don't bother "accepting what is uncomfortable".

Just keep your word and don't file until I am stable. Your supporting me can just consist of the copays for appts and meds and You don't have to see me at all since that is when you are happiest.

And paybe// I can make kn3 9rsg9s3 As for hourh doging, or. Tihe had fire trucak be there

-------

And I mean every word.
I have given up hope for forgiveness.
I have given up hope for understanding.
I have given up hope that he would see how hard I was trying FOR HIM because I had a clear understanding of what I had done and I felt horrible.

I still do understand.
But I also understand that nothing fucking matters ti him other than getting rid of me.

So why even bother trying.
There is no point.

Ouch...

Came home to a pretty harsh message from the husband full of accusations and a comment that the light at the end of the tunnel for him would be when I am gone. The term "It's because of you" came up several times and .. wow. talk about placing all the blame.

Seems he also feels I manipulated him into befriending me on FB.. so.. i deleted him so he would be more comfortable. Told him that he can friend me back if and when he wants to. I don't want him to feel like I am manipulating him.

I'm also going to stop asking for as much help cause I worry he will think I am manipulating him there too.

I'm in shock and hurting.. and not really in the mood for conversation so.. yeah.


My .0001% of hope that we might be able to work things out has been obliterated, though.
He's really good at hiding how he truly feels.
I'll give him that much. I wish I had those skills/talents.


Christ. Can't one day go by without me crying?




On the bright side, my new Therapist turned out to be very nice

The Bad, The Ugly, and The Good: A Dyslexic Mix of the last 24 hours

It's odd for me to write sometimes. Not because of the very personal content that I share, but because of the time of day that I am most likely to do so. Usually it is after midnight and often close to daybreak. I have to keep that in mind when I write because otherwise the days that things occur will get confusing for me, and probably other people. So instead of saying "Today, ect...", I have to say "Yesterday" or Last night" even though due to my lack of sleep, it always seems like everything happens in one very-long day.. Even so, am going to purposefully write about "Yesterday" slightly out of order and the reason why will be obvious by the end of the post. (And don't skip ahead because that is just a really lame move and would ruin the effect.)

Anyway, very early yesterday morning (say... 3 am ish) I had made a list of specific goals I was going to accomplish. It was a very small list consisting of only 7 things. All of them pretty simple. Around 10 am I began working on this list, keeping focused and getting things done one at a time. (And if you know me really, really well, you would understand how impressive that is.)

One of my goals was to contact and make an appointment with a therapist. Now, from what I understand from other people, at the time of discharge from a mental facility, these types of things are completed by the attending staff. I don't know if the place I was at is run differently or if something kept the staff from taking care of this but either way, it didn't really matter. It was in my hands now. I had been given a list of three choices picked from my insurance provider.

The first one I contacted and left a message with returned my call 2 hours later and said she was not accepting new patients at this time. Ok, whatever, moving on. The next on I called and left a message with got back to me a little quicker, but automatically set me on edge because instead of asking the questions I normally expect (ok what is your name, date of birth, ect...) her first question was "How did get my number and who referred me to you?"

I did my best to hide the fact that I was taken aback by what I perceived to be a bit of a hostile start to the conversation and kept my voice as pleasant as possible. But inside, despite the fact I took a Klonopin just 10 mins prior, I could feel my anxiety growing. I did my best to explain how I had just recently got discharged and her name was listed on my discharge paper-work. Then she began bombarding me with questions about many things surrounding my discharge but absolutely none of them about myself. I answered them the best I could and all the while my anxiety grew like wildfire. Before I even realized it, my voice had lost its pleasant tone and had become cracked as I lost my composure. Finally she asked "What is it you want from me?"

Her tone seemed obviously annoyed and mine was bordering on weeping and desperate as I told her I needed to talk to someone. To see someone, to get help and that's why I was calling. She asked more questions, this time actually pertaining to me though still not the normal ones to be expected. This time they were along the lines of "have you never been to a psychiatrist?", "have you actually been diagnosed with anything?", "what are some of the medications you were put on" (which she interrupted me halfway through my listing them). At that point I did finally break down and was tearful and doing my best not to cry. I told her I had been admitted and was there for 12 days because I had a gun to my head and I just want to get help and start seeing someone.

The next thing I know, she says "Okay, I'm going to give you some numbers of other psychiatrists." At this point, panic had set in completely and I interrupted her:

Me: You mean you are refusing to see me? Are you not taking new patients?

Her: No, I am but... Well, honestly, you are a liability.

Me: But I have called psychiatrists before I even ended up in the hospital. Every single one I called have no appointments available for at least a month or more. The medication I have is only for two weeks. I am doing my best to get help. I want help. I need help and I need it fast.

Her: I understand that which is why when you call them, tell them you want to be on a cancellation list. (She then has me write down a couple on names and numbers while I try to calm myself.) I will also give you some crisis hotline numbers.

Me: (finally at the point where I am crying) I have all those already. I got them upon my discharge. I can't believe I am being turned away because I am 'too' desperate for help. I feel like you are pawning me off to be someone else's problem. I called you because you were referred to me and I am doing the best I can to get help and you are turning me away because of my history of suicide attempts.

Her: Well, like I said, it's a liability issue. I am going to be completely honest with you. If I take you on as a client, I am responsible for you.

Me: (still crying and now pacing through the house) And I am glad you are being honest with me, really I am. I prefer honesty. I, personally am honest almost to a fault, even when it's not in my best interest. But how many calls am I going to have to make and have people turn me away because I am in desperate need of help? I'm sorry, I'm trying not to be upset, its just.. I am going through all this, I am in the middle of getting a divorce, which was the catalyst, and I have called so many people before I ended up in the hospital and my attending physician told me that I show signs of Borderline Personality Disorder but he didn't actually diagnose me. He just told me that without support groups and therapy, the chances of me making it on my own are at 10%, and I have no family to help me and I just.... (at this point I went almost silent because I was overwhelmed and could not speak. All I could do was try to keep from sobbing out loud. I was having major difficulty regaining my composure as my anxiety morphed into a mix of depression, hopelessness,worry, stress and shame for not being able to keep it together. Finally I managed to do so.)

Me: I'm sorry. I just really, really want to get some help.

Her: Have you been to group therapy?

Me: (sniffling and not bothering to hide my depression) No. Not yet. I have plans to but I need to get my anxiety under control first

Her: Where are you? I mean, what side of town are you on?

(I tell her.)

Her: Can you drive? Do you have a car?

Me: Oh yeah, that's actually not a problem. My husband will allow me to use the car any time I need.

Her: Ok. Could you make it in tomorrow. Do you have about an hour and a half?

Me: (complete shock) What? Oh! You'll see me? Yes! Oh my god. Thank you so much!

At this point, I ran through the house to my desk and took down the information, directions and all. All the while thanking her profusely. Her tone was not AS defensive but it wasn't any kinder either. I thanked her at least six times before I hung up but she never once said "You're Welcome." I have no idea what to expect today when I see her and there is a part of me that is very concerned with how the conversation went. I have no idea what I said to change her mind.. and honestly I seriously doubt I will ask. I am too grateful to have an appointment (so soon even) to care.

That whole ordeal exhausted me to the point where I took another Klonapin to help me calm down and then went to lay on the bed to relax. I ended up passing out and sleeping for 3-4 hours. By the time I woke, it was dark out. My "To-Do" list, such as it was, still remains over half unfinished because my body still feels drained from the uncontrollable emotions several hours later. Hell, my muscles are even stiff and sore.

So that was kinda the Bad, The Ugly, and The Good.

However - There is more Good. And it's really, really Good. This Good happened before the call, but I didn't want to talk about it until the end because I really wanted to close my entry with a high note. I had a MAJOR breakthrough today. And I am talking MAJOR, MAJOR Achievement. And I am really proud of myself because this is Amazing.

While I was washing my hands in the bathroom, I was able to look at myself in the mirror and say "I love you."

Not only that, but I said "I believe in you and I forgive you. You are worth loving. You are a good mother. You are a great friend and you are really awesome because even though you are working so hard to better yourself, you are wanting to help heal others. I am proud of you for making yourself the priority though. You do have courage. You do have strength. You always have, even at your worst moments. And I love you.".

I said that to myself while looking in the mirror. AND, I didn't feel stupid. In fact, I felt it sincerely. I BELIEVED IT!

This is a major, MAJOR step for me and I wanted to share it because... Looking in the mirror and even saying "I like you" was something I have never been able to do. Even during my "modeling" phase. In fact, I have never been able to do that in my entire LIFE. I have always hated myself. ALWAYS.

So yeah. I had a Personal Monumental Moment. - I am even considering declaring July 9th a personal holiday that I will celebrate Myself every year. I just need a name for it. I don't want to call it something stupid like "Love Me Day" - but that's basically exactly what it is so it will do for now. So from now on, every July 9th, I will celebrate this occasion. And if I have a job, I will take this day off because it is a day just for me.

I only sleep with people I love, which is why I have insomnia...

The past few entries have been.... "heavy" to say the very least. But again this journal is documentation of a journey. The journey started in a land of never-ending mental nightmares, only to travel through what could only be perceived as one of the many deep pits of a Psychological Hell. Now I find myself on the other-side, yet the road ahead is still black as pitch and unrevealing. With each day that dawn breaks I can't help but speculate if there will be yet another nasty surprise awaiting me such as the one I discovered last evening. I know I have an enemy now, though who and why are questions that elude me. I will not go into the details as to my discovery but I will say with confidence that my estranged husband has had nothing to do with it. I know because I questioned him in person and one of my honed skills from my past is my ability to read body language. His claimed innocence is genuine. Of that I am certain. It was proven even more so when he came over and contacted proper people in an effort to amend the situation at hand. One thing is certain... were it not for the fact that I am being properly medicated currently, I would not be able to handle this issue. I had a hard time simply coming to terms with it upon my discovery. Two weeks ago, this would have landed me in the mental facility just as easily as the email sent with the screenshot.

I watched this video on Netflix last evening, which I will post for you now, The series in and of itself is one I am finding very helpful. This particular one is on how gaming actually IMPROVES your life - with scientific research to back it up. It's only about 20 mins. (Take the time to check it out. It's really quite interesting.)

Anyway... after watching this, I decided to play this... game she created called Super Better. And I have to admit, it is helping me. The first steps of course are baby-steps and it does get harder as you go along, but it is actually helping me feel better about myself and I am finding that I am actually beginning to have mini-goals I want to accomplish as I go along. And since there are 2 challenges that I am actually specifically targeting first, both of which have to do with my mental health, that is a plus. (There is also about 2 or 3 specifically targeted for weight-loss and I have included them in my daily "game play" but my weight is (for the first time in my life, I think) not my number one priority in bettering myself.) Of course, the forums are a broken and part of the site itself is a bit buggy, but for the over-all I find it a positive experience. And I need all the positivity I can get... no matter how silly the source may be.

Today the animals are in need of food-stuffs. I will be going with him to acquire these items. Doing so will complete a few of my "quests" for the day.

....I hate to admit it, but there are brief moments that I forget reality and I have to remind myself that we are still getting divorced. I almost kissed him on the cheek yesterday but I caught myself. When I admitted it, he merely stated that it would have been awkward. And for him, I know it would have been. Lilly had been with us, thrilled to have me around and I guess I almost got caught up in the moment of having our whole family participating in something even though that something was just getting me food so I would not go back to starving myself. It was nice. It was comforting. It felt right...

...but I know it didn't feel right to him. He is convinced we are not good together. He doesn't even want to try to work things out knowing I am doing my best to get better. And, honestly I don't blame him. Looking back, I realize what an awful person I was and how I never truly appreciated all he did for me. Yes I had complaints (but they were mostly about his family) and yes they were valid. But I got so wrapped up in my misery of them that I lost sight of what I had. And now.. it's too late.

But at least he is being kind. A friend... a good friend.

I don't think I will ever date anyone again, let alone get remarried. I don't even have the desire to make new friends, let alone find another lover.

Besides... being the "Crazy Cat Lady" can't be all that bad. At least I will be a COOL Crazy Cat Lady and not one of the freaky ones that no one really want's to be around. Maybe I will start my own "No-Kill" kitty shelter. Those are always needed. Just need to find a cheap house to renovate and turn it into a kitty dream home. (And of course the funds run such a project.)

The Great Fall into the Abyss of the Mind

Been gone awhile.. Much has happened and much has stayed the same.

What has stayed the same? Still getting a divorce.

As to the "What" of the "Much that has happened..." It is a long story, as it should be, for many days have passed. I am too weary to tell it all but I will write some now, and some tomorrow perhaps.

About the last entry.. That day... I called him.. there was no answer. I texted him.. no response. I felt he was, once again, not taking me seriously. I cried... a lot. I broke the lock to the gun cabinet by prying it open.. i just didn't want to live anymore. I paced the house, gun loaded, safety off, cocked and ready. My panic came in waves.. I didn't know what to do, I just knew I wanted to die. In a last ditch effort, I made a call to his parents.. All I could do was cry.. plead for help. They thought I was his sister... so I hung up. Of course they would think it was her.. why would they bother thinking it might be me? Why would they care? I cried more. I sat.. I became cold and calm.

At that point I did put a gun to my head. Finger on the trigger, eyes filled with tears and staring at images of my daughter, myself when I was my daughter's age, my wedding picture, and that screenshot sent to me from someone who has still yet to be named. But though my eyes were filled with tears, I felt insanely calm. As if I were in the center of a hurricane... time stood still. I was at peace. And it was a peace I had never felt before.. It was a peace that felt "right". I wasn't scared anymore. I think I even felt a smile on my lips because I was so certain that for the first time in my entire life, I was doing the right thing,

Just when I had numbed myself to the point where pulling the trigger would be no problem, I heard him call my name. I remember blinking once as his voice registered and he called my name again. I heard the door press against the chain lock. My throat seemed to close up yet a whimper somehow escaped.

He heard it.
He asked if i wanted him to go away... did i?
Did I want him to go away so I could finish this once and for all?
End this pain and suffering that I seemed to be causing everyone including myself?
Did I want him to leave me be so that he and his family could live in peace?
Did I?

The questions raced through my head at lightening speed and before I even knew it, I found myself unlatching the chain. Weeping so hard that my entire body trembled before I collapsed onto the hallway floor. I don't even remember walking down the hall. I do remember him taking the gun from me despite my feeble attempts to hold it. I still wanted to die..

Why did I let him in? What made me go to the door and allow his entry? I still don't know. That was June 23rd. A Sunday. The date of my last entry.

The blur I remember from that point was being driven to a mental hospital by his sister. She spoke to me like a child... I didn't take offense as she is a school teacher after all. Tears kept falling. I wasn't sobbing anymore, but I was drained, raw, and empty. But the tears would not stop. I remember sitting in triage.. waiting for what seemed like forever. Waiting for a straightjacket. Waiting for him to just leave me there. Waiting for something to happen... It ended up I was waiting to be handed papers of permission to be treated to be signed.

Then I was walked away. Away from him. Away from the noise. Away into a room where I was made to change into scrubs and then offered a dinner which sat for hours untouched. Signed more papers. Blood was drawn. Spoke blankly to a psychiatrist and then sat on the gurney rocking back and forth trying not to go catatonic. More papers to be signed.. then I was lead outside and driven to another facility.

I was terrified to get out of the car. The tech and the security guard did their best to calm me but I was shaking so bad I could hardly walk. The guard walked quickly, the tech slowed his pace to match mine and make certain I didn't fall. I was lead through what seemed to be a plethora of outside "hallways" before we even made it into the unit. I could hear nothing but the buzz of the overhead lights and my mind seemed to focus on the moths and gnats that flitted around them as we walked. It was hot. It was humid. It would have felt miserable had I not already felt dead.

Finally we made it into the coolness of the facility. My first reaction was how I thought it odd that the pale green be the color of choice for "soothing". Granted it is a color for psychological "balance" but it is also considered to be associated boredom, stagnation, blandness, and enervation. I would have thought pale, calming shades of blue to be more appropriate. As I write this, it strikes me as odd to even have this thought at that moment considering my mindset.

I don't remember much after that. I know I was "processed", made to change into yet, another set of scrubs, and  given a room which I didn't leave for the first four days unless I was "made" to do so by the staff in order to eat or take meds. I didn't speak to anyone, patient, tech, nurse... I didn't trust anyone. I always looked down, never meeting anyone's eyes. I got compliments on my hair.. (which is blue now, btw, by accident) to which I mumbled 'thank you' before hurrying back to the safety of my room.

Many nights I spent panicked and curled up into a corner wrapped in a blanket when other patients (usually male) would get out of hand and start screaming in the middle of the night. This was an on-going thing until the doctor ordered meds to sedate me. But after a few days, I grew immune and the sleeping pills alone were no longer enough.

I slept most of the first 5 of the 12 days spent there... It was a long road ahead..

As stated, the first several days were spent in my room. Insomnia hit me at night, but the days I slept almost constantly because of the mix of anxiety medication and the chronic deep depression. When awake, tears fell near constantly. My thoughts.. I am not sure I could tell you exactly what they were other than feeling ashamed of my worthlessness. The patients who had visitors were constant reminders of how (I perceived) no one gave a shit about me. That it did not matter if I rotted there. I would listen to conversations.. so many of them. One of them being between two techs. They spoke of how there was a guy on the west unit who had, at that point, been in the facility 10 months. 10 Months!! His family apparently signed him in. They spoke about how he would get calls from them, and he would walk to the phone as if to take the call, and then simply hang up. I thought about him a lot. I wondered if I were to end up staying that long (or longer), if I would get calls or if I would simply be forgotten. Then I decided I would not be forgotten because the divorce would go through and eventually I'd be kicked onto the street.

These are just a sample of the the thoughts of the broken hopeless person I had become..

The first couple of days, the techs were almost lax when it came to my eating habits. (Or lack thereof). But soon they would force me out of bed and out of the room to join the others in meals, most of which I barely touched. It was then that my high level of social anxiety became very apparent. I would take a roll, pull pieces off and nibble while rocking back and forth. I don't think I ever actually finished the roll, let alone the rest of the meal because all I remember were more tears. Silent yet steadily streaming down my cheeks. I was hot but my skin was cold and clammy. Next thing I knew, I would wake in my room, hours later, curled up in a fetal position and wrapped in blankets with no recollection of how I ended up there. It was awhile before I realized that they were medicating my anxiety during the day, but during the evening they didn't bother as they figured the sleeping pill would be enough.

Day 5 was the first time I ventured out of my room of my own volition. It was the first time I comprehended I had a doctor overseeing my status and medication, as well as a social worker overseeing other aspects of the situation that I still don't quite understand. It was the first day I had a conversation with my doctor. The usual questions were asked and always answered honestly. Yes, I still want to die. No I don't want to hurt anyone else. No I have not been hurting myself nor do I want to. I just don't want to live. No I don't know my family's psychological history. No I do not have any friends or family on the outside. Yes I was abused as a child and as an adult, physically, sexually, and probably emotionally too considering self-confidence was no longer even in my vocabulary. I got defensive during the questioning. And as I did, my anxiety rose. My blood pressure was taken, it was so low that they took it 3 more times to be certain the reading was right. Twice with the machine and once the 'old school' way. I felt the haze coming on as he said he was going to adjust my medications and encourage me to attend the group therapies that took place. I remember glaring at him and telling him flat-out that my anxiety would not allow me to join group. That I needed one-on-one. That I read it in my original notes fro my first psychiatrist. He simply stated he would up my meds and for me to try.. Feeling dizzy, I was offered more meds and I wend back to my room and slept for 12 hours, missing breakfast, lunch, and snack and would have missed dinner as well had I not been woken.

Day 8 - He came to visit. I was still a mess of emotion. Still feeling worthless. I tried to have a normal conversation but all I could remember was the painful words of the screenshot. I had asked if we were still getting a divorce. He said yes. I asked if there was another girl (half-hoping that was the case cause then I could make sense of everything) he said no. I don't remember much of the conversation, other than getting up and walking away murmuring about how I was a controlling abuser and have never nor could ever love anyone or care about anyone and I believed every word. I didn't look back, instead focusing on how my mother was right all along. That if my own dad could not love me as a baby, no one would love me as an adult. I did not have another visitation from him again, nor anyone else for the rest of my stay. I believed the reason to be was that I was not worth the effort.

Day 9 I was threatened by one of the nurses that if I didn't start going to group I would be sent to the West Unit. (Where all the real problem people are.) This scared me, so I forced myself to try.. I could never last longer that 10 minutes in the room due to my anxiety. I tried three times and finally just gave up, deciding that being transferred would be better anyway since from what I had heard, they tended to over-medicate the real crazies and maybe I would get lucky enough to be one of the ones over-medicated.

Day 10 I met with a woman who was to interview me and determine my eligibility for SMI Disability Insurance. The "interview" turned into a 2 hour long session because the flood-gates opened then and everything came pouring out. Every horrible graphic detail of my childhood all the way to how I ended up in the facility. I used up nearly two boxes of tissues from crying so much. When I finally looked up at her, her eyes met mine controlled yet seemingly damp and slightly horrified. I then apologized profusely and she asked if I had ever talked to anyone before and I admitted that she was the first. She looked down at her papers as she straightened them.. I merely noted how much writing there was that then immediately felt the flush of deep shame and I apologized again. She told me not to.. that I had nothing to be sorry for.. but I felt horrible. The rest of the day, I stayed in my room, coming out only for meds and the meal I knew I would be forced to attend.

Day 11 was my first real sit down with the social worker. I vented about the groups and how my papers stated that I needed 1:1 therapy and how I wasn't getting it and how I felt like I was being treated like a number. I vented about how the nurses asked us to trust them yet half of them couldn't be friendly or even remember my name and how I felt like I was in something that resembled a mix of a prison and a dog pound and how I still felt worthless and how I questioned everything I have ever stood for.... and he listened.

In fact it was the first time that someone actually payed attention to me, heard what I was saying, and offered feedback. He sat with me for over 2 hours conversing and taking the time to actually tell me I was not worthless. That my core values mattered. That he had faith in me and believed in me. By the end of our conversation I went from feeling like a worthless waste of space to someone who still had worth. It wasn't a strong feeling. In fact it was quite tiny and fragile. But it was the first time in months that I felt like I *might* be able to handle the road ahead. I left the room with a seed of hope. That evening, the hope grew bit by bit. By morning, I was up and waiting for him and my doctor in the hall at 5:30am. I sat there and right when they came in, I nearly ambushed them saying I was ready to go home. And I was persistent until finally they said "okay".

And I got out.

My hope is still very, very small. Puny even. It's fragile, cracked, and held together with little more than paste and string. But it's there. And it's mine.

I just need help to get it to grow stronger. And I know that will take a lot of work, especially since it's mostly on me and I am trying to have it take the place of decades of negativity. I'm still scared. Petrified of what is to come... and praying to the powers that be that the choices I make as far as those I decide to keep in my life will not play a part in destroying the infinitesimal bit I have finally found.

I don't want to feel like dying again... Because I really feel that if I return to that point, there wont be a chance to come back. Because I wont bother to ask for help. I will just do it with no warning.

Its dark in here..

i have not been on the forum for awhile. i slipped into a really dark place again after i spoke to my husband and... i am just feeling stupid for thinking i could try.

when i spoke to him, and i not only told him, but showed him i was making an effort, he told me he would consider my request to work things out. but then i found out he was talking shit about me to this girl at work. and he was saying that i was trying to manipulate him and even though he said he was going to wait and see how i was doing, that he really wasn't. he had no interest in doing so. i am completely dead to him.. he says he wants me to get help but in the same breath that he does not want to help me get help.



i...really thought i could count on him to be my advocate to at least fight this BPD, that i still had a friend in him. but i dont.

he was supposed to go with me monday to talk to someone. but i dont want him to.. and i dont want to go alone..  all i want is someone i can trust to be there for me but there is no one.

i sent him an email telling him that from now on no personal conversations would be had between us unless it is to do with the divorce. i also told him that there is no need for him to come over any longer. and if he needs to, he is to call or text first, and ring the doorbell. i did my best to sound cold-hearted.. like i no longer gave a shit.. That as much as I don't matter to him, he doesnt matter to me.. but the entire time I was writing it i was crying my eyes out.

i can't really find it in me to go on the forums right now even though it is supposed to be my safe haven of sorts. in all honesty i am back down to where checking out is practically the only thing on my mind.

how easily i could do it.

we have a gun cabinet, he took the key.. but i have a hammer and i can break the glass and get in very easily if i felt like it. i dont know if he is an idiot for not realizing it, or if he thinks there is no risk really. I am guessing it is the latter because he told me that the first time i admitted i was suicidal, he wasnt really worried and that was why he didnt check up on me for 4 days after the fact.

which.. in and of itself speaks so very loudly..

Thing was.. in that four day span, i ate all the pain medication and muscle relaxers i had from previous heath issues. i ran a hot bath and i took my razor and sliced myself so many times (the right way) that before i passed out i thought of Bathory bathing in the blood of virgins because that was what the water looked like. i woke up ten hours later still in the tub..  alive and sore. obviously i didnt cut deep enough. problem with being a fat girl i guess..

i dont know.. maybe he doesnt have to worry. im selling everything i can on craigslist so i can build my own exit-bag because falling asleep and never waking up seems preferable to taking one of the guns to my head.

does my decision on the way i want to die make me less suicidal? less of a risk?

who knows... who the fuck even cares anymore.

What? Really?

I have a confession..
Deep down I really do want my marriage to work out.
I have always given everyone second chances.. third, fourths, fifths..
For the first time in my life, I want a second chance.

Thing is, he has people constantly telling him to "be strong". Family. friends... strangers.
He thinks if he gives me a second chance it will mean he is weak.

I just sat for nearly an hour pondering that last sentence. Analyzing it. Mainly because I wanted to be certain what I wasn't being biased in my next statement.

As a person with first-hand experience in giving people not only 2nd chances, but 3rd chances, 4th chances and 5th chances... I will tell you right now, doing so takes a shit-load of strength.

I posted in the "Divorce" section of the psych forum about how I was going to make the effort to save my marriage. I posed a question in the thread as well. The post got several hits. More than any of my other posts ever have. Yet there was no response. Right now, several hours later, there are even more hits.and yet, still not one comment.

It was then that I realized, the support in that group is completely one-sided. It was as if the fact that I had decided to fight to keep my family together, I no longer was deserving of any support, even though I am still hurting. Hell, I didn't even get a sarcastic "good luck with that."

What is wrong with this world? We offer support to those who are struggling but accepting things for the way they are, but those who are struggling, hurting just as much and yet still choose to make a stand to fight, we completely ignore them?

I am truly at a loss and deeply saddened by this. If I had saw that post written by another, I would have commented with just as much support as I would any other.

I think I made myself into an out-cast... I think I just alienated myself on a psychological forum. Well, as least a portion of it.
I have no idea

We have to live today by what truth we can get today and be ready tomorrow to call it falsehood

I often think about the type of people who take pleasure in destroying others. Not physically, but emotionally.

There was one I knew of who openly admitted to the fact that he took great pride in doing just that. He would befriend someone fragile, usually a woman, and he would gain their trust. He was a very patient man so it often did not matter how long it took to do so. To him, it was all part of the game. He had a very efficacious technique. Once he chose the (un)lucky girl, he would pay strict attention to every word she uttered. He would always make certain to compliment her on various things. Since he met these women online most of the things he would compliment her on were things such as a success she shared or her picture or anything creative that she had accomplished. Basic things. On top of this, he was very much a wordsmith so every comment made was with carefully chosen words. He would draw her in and as she let her guard down, he would appear to let his own down as well. In time, she would find herself completely trusting, if not falling in love with him. And he would know the exact moment it would happen. But he would never end "the game" at that point. He would continue to play it for months, sometimes years, all the while stringing her along and deepening the 'friendship'. The longer it lasted, the more deep the wound. He would even manipulate her into slowly turning her back on those whom she called her friend and would continue this process until she had all but alienated everyone from her life other than him. It was a very important part of the process and imperative to the end result.

Eventually he would become bored with her, usually because he had found a new 'toy' to play his game. When that time came, he would watch carefully for any opening that presented itself for him to break off the "friendship" and make it seem as though she was completely at fault. When that happened, his pretty words morphed into poison as he would break her down, belittle her and make her believe that she was completely worthless. Because she had been manipulated, she had no one to turn to. No one she felt comfortable in speaking with. Since he was now all she had, she would do her best and beg for forgiveness and promising that she would be a better person. At this time, he would graciously accept her apology. Again he would take the time to build her up, though considerably less effort was put into doing so. It wasn't really needed at this point. For within a week, sometimes  mere days, she would be right back where she was before. Ignorantly blissful in her friendship with a viper. The break-off process would happen again, and again he would treat her mercilessly, and again she would beg and again he would "forgive" and then even less effort would be made to keep her in his life.

This particular cycle would span years, and eventually decades, until one day.. he would find his opening and the break-off would include a complete lack of contact. No longer would he even bother with her destruction verbally. He would simply state that she was no longer worth his time and then completely ignore her, leaving her absolutely devastated. Then he would watch as his silence took it's toll and she became nothing more then a husk and considerably worse off then they day he had met her. He took delight in the fact he was able to demolish someone so completely and then he would mock them and make statements of utter disdain on various social networks that they were both part of. He was careful never to state her name and he would always make these remarks as though they were nothing more than random thoughts in his head, but he knew that she would see them or come to know of them in some way and that it would further crush what little shards of self worth she had left.

And he felt proud of this accomplishment. He viewed himself near god-like for he had taken someone fragile and insecure and built them up into someone beautiful and strong and then completely shattered them. He did this because it amused him and made him feel powerful.

I do not know what became of the countless women he did this to...

I can only say that I am among the most recent, and also, the one that lasted the longest. While I am a little better than I was when his game first ended, it has caused me to become very jaded... very cynical and completely unable to trust another soul. I no longer believe that real love exists. And I'm not just speaking of 'relationship' love, I am also speaking of platonic love, or any category/level/style of love whatsoever. "Love", in every sense of the word, has become nothing more than a myth. It belongs with things like unicorns, the tooth fairy, and Santa Claus. It is fake and there is no such thing and those that believe in it are complete fools. I don't believe in friendship either. Not true friendship. There are no such things as "true friends."

But, perhaps the most important thing I have lost my belief in, is that being a "good" person, being honest and having integrity and being loyal, matters. It doesn't. It doesn't matter at all. It will not make your life better. If anything, it will make your life much worse. I know this because I have lived it. I have held myself to these standards and I did it because I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought that in doing so, I would eventually find others who held fast to those values as well. But my experience with this person taught me I was a fool. So now I am telling you. Don't waste your time or efforts on such nonsense. These things are only useful if they are faked so that you can get what you want out of life. Don't believe me? Just think about every single politician that has ever existed. Or any person with real power of some sort. None of them are, or ever were, "good people".  That's just the way the world is.

Some people's blameless lives are to blame for a good deal

It's currently difficult to write here but I make myself do so anyway. After all, I made this journal for a reason.

The ex came over this morning to feed the animals as usual, but this time I actually made it out of my room. I have had a question plaguing me and I had to have it answered. Not because I was actually hoping that things would change, but more because I was allowing him (yet another) chance/opportunity to perhaps take some responsibility in, not only the destruction of my emotional/mental state, but of our relationship all together.

Another piece of Back Story- The whole reason I ended up moving into my own bedroom to begin with was the fact that one night he thought it would be a fine idea to rape me. It chose not to call the cops on him for various reasons. And they were quite typical of most rape victims.. feeling as though I deserved it was at the forefront of course. However, added to that was knowing the stigma that rape claims carry where the victim is involved. And then there was the main reason... and that reason was "Who would believe me?" I mean, seriously. Think about how absurd that sounds. A husband raping his wife. Most people feel that it is the "wifely duty" to submit completely to the husband. It's almost as if the institution of marriage means that the woman is now owned by her husband. She no longer has the same rights to her body that she once had. Therefore, forcing her to have sex when she says "No" repeatedly is not all that big of a deal. After all. He married her. While society does frown on domestic abuse, being raped by the husband is not really included in that definition. And knowing this.. why would a woman want to come forward about such a thing? Not only that, domestic abuse is often only viewed as physical. Many times it is forgotten that emotional abuse is a major part of it as well. And the thing about emotional abuse is that it does not leave physical bruises or scars. On the outside, a person can be picture perfect. On the inside, however, there is great damage that (sometimes forever) goes unseen. He was not the physically abusive sort. In fact, it is something he prided himself on. So.. going to the authorities would, most likely, have been useless when he raped me. If they do not see signs of physical abuse, then they are more likely to believe the husband who would simply state "Oh she likes it that way. She gets off on the kink." And then, that would only add to the shame and worthlessness I felt.

So anyway, back to the question: I asked him if he felt there was any chance at all in making an effort to fix our marriage or if he was just done and over it. (Again, not because I had a desire to fix it myself, I was just curious to see where his state of mind was.) And I got the response I was expecting. That no, he was pretty much over it. He claimed that he tried to speak to me on several occasions but in all honesty, he never did. He continued to go on about how this whole situation began years ago and that I was the one at fault for everything going to shit. I didn't want to fight so I didn't bother reminding him of the fact that him raping me had just as much- - if not more - - to do with the reason we were at our current point. I am tired of defending myself when, in truth, i should not have to.

Anyway - - I have letters to write, things to put up for sale, research to continue, and people to contact so I am going to go take care of those things.

On a side-note, I joined this forum on Psych Central. I have made no effort to really reach out to anyone though, mostly because after the emails conversations with the crisis center, I am a bit uncomfortable with attempting to reach out again.

Why Crisis Hotlines and the like are completely useless as a sole source of support

It's been another one of those bad BPD days. After my last post, I made an effort to feel better by watching Dane Cook and other stand-up comedians. It helped me get my mind off things for a little bit. I did managed to get a few hours of sleep as well. Not as many as I would have liked, nor nearly as many as I know I need, but something is better than nothing. especially when on is on their 5th consecutive day with no sleep at all.

I received another reply from the Samaritans. I don't think I will be continuing my correspondence with them. Again, they are wonderful people and I have nothing negative to say about them. It's just that during my interaction I discovered that having someone to simply listen, even non-judgmentally is not enough at this point. As with most, if not all, crisis hotlines, chats, what-have-you, they are not allowed to offer advice. As it stands, I am past the point of simply needing someone to hear me.It may have been helpful a couple months ago, but right now I find that it is just not enough.I have been going back-and-forth in my mind trying to decide if I should post them. While I do wish to document this journey of mine, this is one of those rare times where I find myself questioning if sharing something would be a good idea. Doing so would bring a whole new level of vulnerability to the table. Most likely I will post them at the end of this entry.

This is all probably just my personal insecurities talking. I'm sure I will get past these ones in particular and move on.

In other news, I was told via text by my estranged husband that he is helping me by "pushing me to go to the hospital".

Yeah.. that's great and all, and I have been trying to gain the courage to do exactly that WITHOUT his  so-called help. In fact, I was the first one who stated that I probably needed to do so. The help I have been asking for from him is Emotional Support. Which, obviously is non-existent since I have been, and continue to be, completely ignored when I make requests for such. Basically what I need from him is to be a constant, continuing, empathetic force in my life. I need him to care enough to take the time to listen. To actually be around and help me to build trust and encourage me that this is something I can do. To sit with me, face to face, and talk to me. Maybe even give me a hug.

Unfortunately, even though I know that he knows this is what I need as well, I also know that this is something he is just not willing to do. I really do not have anyone else in my life who would be willing to do this either. This was why I took the step in reaching out to the Samaritans. I was hoping that if I could at least fool myself into thinking I had a friend to turn to, I would find the strength to get treatment. It's not the same though.. talking to a complete stranger. Especially when, before you even speak to them, you are told that the continuing emails will not be with the same person. That every time you contact them, you are speaking to someone different. So, in all honesty, there is no actual friendship/relationship being built. And when you realize that, the whole situation becomes completely fake. It's the equivalent of 'canned laughter' on sitcoms. Empty and meaningless. There really is no substitute to having an actual friend or family member to lean on in times like these.

Well, I suppose I really have nothing more to talk about at this point so here is the email exchange with the crisis center I contacted.
Raw and un-edited:

Luna Amor	Jun 12 (2 days ago)
to jo

Um.. this is the first time I have ever contacted anyone. Well, of this nature anyway.. and honestly I feel a little more than awkward in doing so. But I know I have to start somewhere and given my epic failure of an attempt to simply make an appointment with a psychiatrist today, it has come to my attention that perhaps I need to.. "purge" a bit before trying to do so again. But I will get back to that..

First things first: Currently, as in at the moment of writing this, I am NOT suicidal. While I will admit that suicide is on my mind on a daily basis, the urge to actually attempt suicide is, at this point in time, not an issue. I would not say I am "fine", however, because if I was than obviously I would not be taking the time to pester you lovely people with my babbling.

So.. as for the issue at hand, well.. I really don't know where to start. I'm sure some would say "Start at the beginning", but in all actuality that is a horrible place to start. It would take hours for me to write down all the life-altering events that created the person I am and brought me anywhere near where I am at this moment. And while I am quite aware that reading tombs upon tombs of people's lives is something that is deeply appreciated, I can only imagine such intense reading is very taxing on the eyes. And, my dear stranger, I have no desire to do such.

- - So.. where I am at. Well, at the moment I have found myself as a fledgling in this world of mental illness. I have always had issues with social anxiety. I knew I was suffering from this particular disorder from a very, very young age. I just didn't know it was not normal or that it actually had a name. When one grows up and their body is in reacting in a near continuous state- of panic with seemingly very symptom from labored breathing, to cold sweats, to one's body shaking so badly that it is a wonder that one's skin does not simply sloth off, it becomes "normal". So, suffice to say, I am aware of this issue.

The "fledgling" part that comes into play is that I have managed to hit an all-time low at this point in my life. Not quite rock-bottom but that is only due to the simple fact that I still have a roof over my head. And.. that's about the only positive thing I can say at the moment. In the past couple of months alone, I have managed to alienate everyone around me who has ever claimed to care about me. And when I say "everyone", please let me assure you that this is not an over-statement in the least. As it stands, I have found myself with literally no one to talk to. I have no friends, no family, no support group what-so-ever. How this was brought on is a very long story. And while I openly admit to having played a large role in this, I also know that it was not ALL my doing. To make matters worse, this has come at a time when I have just found out that I have BPD - or.. "Borderline Personality Disorder. Obviously this is very, very upsetting to me. What is even more upsetting is the fact that my, now soon-t-be Ex-husband is a trained psychologist and despite knowing how important it is that I have a support group of some sort, he has chosen to take my 8 year old daughter and stay as far away from me as possible. (Which, in all honesty, is merely across the street to stay with his family... of course, that is a place where I am not, nor ever have been, welcome. Even during the years when there was nothing really wrong with me, they always made certain that my presence was tolerated at best. Personally I think it is because of the fact that I have a ..."gothic" mentality and it is quite obvious that I am not what one would consider "normal".) He says he cares about me and that, should I need him, I know where to find him.. but when I pointed out that I am currently in desperate need of his support and I need him here, at home, to help me deal with this, my pleas for assistance are met with complete, stone-cold silence. This, in turn, makes me feel even more abandoned. Especially since he is - - well, was- - the only person I have allowed close to me.

As for my family, well.. to say my childhood was traumatic is an understatement and when I was of age, I decided to make my own decisions and made the choice to not be a part of their so-called "loving" religion, they made it very clear that I was no longer a part of their lives. So.. trust issues, abandonment issues,  issues with my personal self image... At this point I feel as though I have more issues than Sports Illustrated magazine. And I do have a sense of self-loathing.. and since the BPD came to light and the only person I was able to trust has all but turned his back on me after 10 years of marriage, I can't help but have those obnoxious feelings of worthlessness and daily thoughts of how much happier and better off everyone would be if I were not to exist anymore. I do cut.. not on my arms or legs, but rather my breasts because it is the least likely place to be noticed. I do it almost every other day.. usually when I catch myself surfing the web and spending hours studying information on how to make an Exit Bag. The cutting, however, has gotten to the point to where it barely even takes the edge off.. Some of the wounds are so deep/damaging that I think I have killed off the nerve endings because in certain areas I don't even feel pain anymore.

...Forgive me. It was not my intention to ramble on this much. My main reason for writing, as I stated in the beginning, was due to my failed attempt to seek out professional help. I guess there was more I needed to say then I originally thought..

Anyway.. this is going to sound insanely stupid, (it does to me anyway) but honestly I am at a loss.I was in the process of contacting a psychiatrist today so that I may get some assistance with BPD and I ended up having a severe panic attack while on the phone. (These are something have have been dealing with every single day but due to the fact that so much shit has went down recently, I have literally locked myself in my room for going on 3 weeks. I have not left my room other than to grab a piece of bread and cheese or something equally simple to eat or to use the bathroom. And I have had my phone turned off the majority of the time. So, that being said, I almost fully understand my moment/reasoning of severe anxiety.)

However, due to this, I am now finding myself incapable of being able to call to schedule an appointment without freaking the person out on the other end of the line to the point where they want me to hang up and call a crisis hotline. I do not need a crisis hotline. Again, I am not suicidal. I just want to be able to see a doctor. But every time I am asked about how I am feeling or what symptoms I have, I find myself fighting tears, feeling stupid and ashamed, and then the cold sweats come on as well as the shakiness and inability to breathe and to the person on the other end, I am quite certain, it sounds as if I am going to slit my wrists right then and there. I am not of course.. but I am unsure as to how I can successfully make an appointment with a psychiatrist when every time I get on the phone, I have these attacks.

I know that that the main reason you wonderful people are here is simply to lend a sympathetic/empathetic ear and most-likely not to give advice. But.. I really, really want to get some professional help. And I want to be able to do so without having huge anxiety issues once the the person on the other end starts questioning about what symptoms I have or how I have been feeling. For some reason, putting this out there, verbally, tends to overwhelm me emotionally. And when that happens, the other person stops taking information and refers me to the crisis hotline. (And yes, I have a huge fear of calling such a hotline, having yet another verbal conversation that ends up being laced with what sounds like an emotional breakdown, and 10 minutes later having men in white coats knocking at my door. This is actually one of the main reasons I chose to write you instead.)
I just want help. And the fact that I have no support group is hindering me, I know this. I just want to be able to make the call, schedule an appointment, and in doing so, finally catching a glimpse of a light at the end of the tunnel. Is there any possible ideas you can give me so that I may be able to do this one little thing that, in all actuality, should be simple? Any at all? Or even any information on techniques which I can practice in order to calm myself down enough to maintain a steady voice while the questions are asked?

I really want to get assistance. I just don't want to have to be admitted to get it. I am deeply fearful that if it comes to me being admitted into a mental institution, my estranged husband will use that opportunity to make certain I never see my little girl again.

I thank you deeply for taking the time to read this. It truly was not my intention for it to be so lengthy.
Please be sure to take a moment to rest your eyes, take a break, or perhaps have some tea.  I know that reading words on a monitor can be a bit tiring.

The Samaritans	Jun 13 (1 day ago)
to me

Hello Luna

It is good you felt able to contact us, it takes a lot of courage to share
your innermost thoughts and feelings - you have made such a huge step already
by sitting down to write to us.

Life sounds like it has been tough for you Luna, and please do not say sorry
for rambling on as you say, you have been through so much.

Samaritans are a confidential service and will not judge you. We will be here
to offer you emotional support and hope that by giving you the time and space
to explore your feelings, you may find a way forward.

You ask for help on how to make this call to your psychiatrist - whilst we do
not give advice we are here to support you emotionally Luna. You say you find
it difficult to make the call - what do you think is holding you back? Reading
through your email, you have such a wonderful way with words - do you feel
that writing down what you want to say on your call would help you?

Whilst you say you do not feel suicidal, you talk of having thoughts of how
much happier and better of everyone would be if you were not to exist anymore
- can you tell us what makes you say this?

You are a brave women Luna, coping with all the the life-altering events that
you have experienced and having your friends and family desert you at the time
you really need them most.

Can you tell us how you see you future at the moment - what do you think needs
to change for you in order for life to get better.

Please keep in touch, we are here to support you whilst you are going through
this difficult time.

Jo

--------------------------------------------------------


Samaritans provides confidential  emotional support for  people experiencing feelings of distress and  despair,  including those which could lead to suicide. Our mailbox  is read  every  day by trained volunteers, using the name 'Jo'. Messages are read and usually replied to within 12 hours.
Samaritans is a registered charity, number 219432.  It is the co-ordinating body for the 201 branches in the UK and Republic of Ireland, all of which are constituted as independent registered charities (or the equivalent).  A trained Samaritan volunteer from one of the 201 branches has written this email
For more information about Samaritans visit: www.samaritans.org



========================================================

Luna Amor	Jun 13 (1 day ago)
to jo

Hello Jo,

Thank you for the information as to the advice. I thought such was the case, I just was not certain. I appreciate you clearing that up for me.

As for what is holding me back in making the call... Currently it is the fact that once I was actually speaking with someone, actually hearing their voice and how they were able to convey a sense of tranquility in their tone.. I don't know. For some reason it triggered something in my psyche. It was as if the emotional walls I have been building to help keep myself as sane and rational as possible just started to crumble. Outside of very brief conversations (if they can even be called such) with my husband, I have not spoken to another living soul in nearly a month. And since he is so abrasive, I suppose that the calm tone of the individual I spoke to caught me completely off guard. I know it doesn't really make sense.. having an emotional breakdown just because someone speaks kindly to you. But then again, I am having trouble wrapping my mind around this situation.

Right now I feel as though my world has been all but destroyed. Currently, in my eyes and in my heart, it feels like a cataclysmic event. I can see nothing through the smoke and ash as I still stumble blindly through the rubble for several days after it began. Soot cakes in my lungs, making my chest heavy and my breath labored. Fumes burned my eyes causing them to brim with tears near constantly. It seems like an eternity of me losing my balance while I try to find a path out of this place. When daylight fades into night, my heart aches with loss in such a way that I lose sleep. As it stands, I have not slept for almost four days.  I find myself reaching out, groping the darkness for anything to replace the grief. Sometimes I give in to a bit of substance abuse. I do this very sparingly though.. What I use does not get me "high", I don't think. At least I does not give me the high that everyone claims it should. I really don't  mind that it doesn't though, because what it does do is take the edge off my emotional pain just enough so that I am able to think a bit more clearly without having my thoughts all muddled. Other times, my fingers just find my blade. Simple, elegant and sharp. There are times when all I do is gaze at my reflection in the steel. Of course, as I stated before, this is not always the case.

I suppose I could write out what I wish to say and perhaps it would help. But in order to do that, I would need access to the list of the inquiries they would make. Perhaps with a bit of research I will be able to find a generic form that is used and build off of that.

As for what makes me state that everyone would be better off without me.. well, one of the main reasons I said that is because that was exactly what my ex-spouse said to my daughter weeks ago before our separation became official. She came to me, upset at his words. I did my best to comfort her, still under the impression that we were going to make an effort to work things through. I told her everything would be ok and that if it would make her feel better, she should confront him and just say that "it was not a very nice thing to say".  Next thing I know, he came into the room and she did just that. She said "Daddy, that was not a very nice thing to say." He glared at her and snapped that it was the truth so it didn't matter.. Witnessing this.. his response, the heartbroken look on her face.. It was absolutely awful. It was about an hour after that interaction that the decision was made. And when it was all said and done, he took my daughter and went over to his mothers. That was about three weeks ago.


I have not seen her since then, despite my efforts. I was under the impression that they were keeping her from me.. but last evening he came back to pick up a couple of things and when I questioned him about it, he told me that, quite frankly, she did not want to be around me "because I was sad". Now.. whether or not he said this purely out of spite or because it was true.. that she had no desire to see me because I am sad, I will probably never know. What I do know is that he has no interest in making an effort to fix things and his family, even after 10 years, never accepted me as their daughter-in-law. Add to that, my own family's lack of interest and the fact that I have no one els in my life.. well, in my mind saying that "everyone would be better off if I did not exist" makes complete sense. If I didn't exist, my daughter could come home and sleep in her own bed. He could come home and not have to worry about trying to avoid me. (which he really shouldn't worry about anyway being as I remain locked in my room whether he is home or not.) His family could breathe easy knowing that I would never be around disrupting their lives with my continued feeble efforts try and gain their acceptance. And my family.. well.. They would not even notice. As far as they are concerned I have not existed for about 15 years. So, yes.. I honestly do feel everyone would be better off without me. When I am feeling really low I contemplate  for hours, and sometimes even a couple of days, the best way to make their dreams a reality. I have already decided that I would leave a note if I go through with it. And the note would simply state "You're welcome." Nothing more would need to be said. At this point in time I have already apologized and begged and pleaded for others to make the effort to make things work. They have no interest in doing so. So as far as that is concerned, I have given up. Actually.. it was this morning I finally gave up. I made a final effort, requesting that we at least try to work things out for the sake of our daughter. Again my request was completely ignored and met with dead silence. So.. yeah. I am pretty much at the "why even bother" stage of things now.

I'm not going to lie. My heart is breaking right now. And yes, I actually have decided on my 'exit strategy' as it were. There are only two reasons I have not done it yet. One, I don't have what I need for what I wish to do and two, despite the fact that I am highly upset and hurting, I am still not in the correct mindset. - - That being said, I know there must be one tiny thing that keeps me from it, even if those two things were to fall neatly into place. And that is the very tiny, nearly invisible sliver of hope that if I show these people I love that I am making an effort, they will have a change of heart. They will come home. They will stop ignoring me, my emails, and my texts.. And they will join me in my efforts to rebuild. Course.. it is merely a tiny sliver of hope. At this point I have no idea if it will grow.

As for how I see my future.. Honestly, I don't. For me to even feel like I have a future to work toward, I feel like I would need to have someone that I care about show me that they believe in me. Simply believing in myself no longer works for me. I was capable of doing so in my late teens and early twenties. The ambition and drive I had back then was astounding. Even during the 2 years I was literally living on the streets, my only shelter consisting of bridges, and if I was lucky, abandoned houses, I still found the motivation to keep going. I had a dream and a vision and that was what carried me through.

That ambition vanished when my daughter walked out the door with her dad to go join the rest of his family and all the love and attention they had to offer. They have made it perfectly clear that they have every intention of keeping her from me even if I were to manage to hold a job, get a car and a place of my own.

So.. I guess the answer to that last question would be for any one of them to have a change of heart.

And I am pretty sure I don't need to tell you what I feel the likely-hood of that will be.

C'est la vie

-Luna

The Samaritans	7:03 AM (15 hours ago)
to me

Hello Luna,

It is good that you feel able to write down and share your
inner most thoughts and feelings, do you find that it helps?

You say that you could write out what you wish to say and
perhaps it would help, have you managed to research about the
enquiries that they would make?

Life sounds like it is still extremely difficult with you,
and having no contact with your daughter must be very hard
for you to cope with. In your email you say that you have
decided on your 'exit strategy', does this mean that you are
planning to end your own life?

Samaritans are a confidential service and we will never judge
you, or any decision that you make. We are here for you to
discuss your thoughts and any feelings of suicide that you
may be having, we will continue to support you emotionally
for as long as you need us. Please remember you are not
alone.

Jo

------------------------------

--------------------------


Samaritans provides confidential  emotional support for  people experiencing feelings of distress and  despair,  including those which could lead to suicide. Our mailbox  is read  every  day by trained volunteers, using the name 'Jo'. Messages are read and usually replied to within 12 hours.
Samaritans is a registered charity, number 219432.  It is the co-ordinating body for the 201 branches in the UK and Republic of Ireland, all of which are constituted as independent registered charities (or the equivalent).  A trained Samaritan volunteer from one of the 201 branches has written this email
For more information about Samaritans visit: www.samaritans.org



========================================================

:/

I am having a really bad BPD day today. Depression has set in and settled down all nice and comfy in the corner of my mind.

In the past few days I have been using the email option for The Samaritans. In the beginning I was unsure. When I got a response, I was hopeful. But as I answered the questions they asked, I found myself feeling considerably worse. I'm not insinuating that they are a 'bad' group. I am just sayin that this has become a really bad day as far as emotions go. Im lonely, which is no real shock considering I have only myself to keep me company just like last week and the week before.

The movies I have been watching are no longer effective In taking my mind off things. My desire to create beautiful images and works of art has become little more than a dried up husk. I find I have no tears left to cry. I'm just feeling very....hollow.

So.. like I said. Having a rather bad emotion day.
Hopefully tomorrow will be better,

“Such silence has an actual sound, the sound of disappearance.”

Another night goes by and I still have yet to sleep. Ordinarily I would not consider this a big deal because it happens near constantly. But right now sleep is something I deeply desire. Of course, along with that sleepless night, another long and lonely day begins. I actually had to pull up my clock/calendar on my computer to even know that it is now Wednesday.

The soon-to-be ex-husband continues to remain scarce, and yet, despite knowing I have the entire house to myself, I remain in my room behind a locked door. I did contact him at one point. I sent him a text inquiring whether we were actually friends or if we had become nothing more than acquaintances. He replied that we were still friends, but actions speak louder than words and the fact that he does not even make an effort to speak to me shows that there is no "friendship there. Add to this to the fact that my emails to him are met with silence and.. well.. it's quite obvious what the truth is. Why he bothers to lie to me is something I will never understand. This may be me "projecting" or whatever, but he must think I am an absolute idiot if he truly believes I have no idea as to the truth of the matter. Just like I know that he and his family are purposefully keeping my daughter from me. This has been the case for weeks. I honestly can think of no real reason behind this other than the fact that they are preparing to make certain that I am allowed to have nothing to do with her when we finally go to court to determine custody. And yes, I said "when". I know, and have known, that "if" was never really in the cards. I have known for years that when we separated, this was exactly how things would go. I was just hopeful that I would be able to last another 9 years, but such was not meant to be.

I know that divorce always brings out the worst in people and the worst is usually brought out in the side that has family support. In the past, I would do my best to attempt to fight for joint custody, but right now I am at the point where I know it would be a losing battle. Just as I know that if my Ex had his way and was able to have me committed, divorce papers would be delivered to the institution within a weeks time. As I said, I am not stupid. I have been through this before and know all to well that those who claim to care about me have no qualms about lying to my face about any given subject. No one is to be trusted when it comes to divorce. There is no such thing as "fairness" nor is there such thing as "staying friends". It just doesn't happen, and my case will certainly be no different. At this moment it is a battle that I am better off forfeiting. Hopefully, if I am still walking around this pathetic rock, when she comes of age she will seek out and forgive me. If not, well than I suppose such will mark yet another lifetime failure for myself. If trophies were awarded to those who failed at life, I am quite certain that my case would be among those most full.

In other news, I made an attempt to contact a psychologist last evening. Logically I know that these people are here to help people such as myself. Yet, at the same time. I cannot help but feel that a bit of resentment for those who have chosen this as their career. First, there is the fact that I feel like I am having to pay someone to pretend to be my friend and care about me enough to listen to me complain for an hour or so a week. The other fact; it has always been in my head that such people really have no interest in seeing you "get better", Job security and all.. Basically, it's for the very same reason we have not discovered a cure for the common cold. People get sick, they go to a doctor. Doctor prescribes medication that often only manages to mask the cold symptoms. But in truth, the medication does no real help. My views on professional psychology/psychiatry are much the same. Only instead of pills, one must rely on the doctor saying that you are making progress. If you are not, the the spiral continues downward until it has become little more of than a useless moment in time when you begin to question but you are soon quieted down with the statement of "perhaps you are not ready yet" or something of the like, and you fall blindly back into the cycle.

Well, that is my rambling for now. Perhaps in the future I will create my own youtube channel. But, it i highly unlikely.

Suicide & PTSD

n my search for help in dealing with BPD, I stumbled upon this article which I felt should be shared. Part of BPD is the suicidal thoughts and attempts. This is a great source of information for those who are dealing with thoughts of suicide as well as those who have loved ones who are troubled as well. Please share this information as it is very important and will help bring a sense of understanding to the darkness that is so hard for people such as myself to escape from.

* * * * *

Combat veterans, sexual assault survivors, and other victims of trauma are vulnerable to a condition called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). People with PTSD suffer from a range of symptoms that interfere with their capacities to enjoy normal life.
People who suffered suicidal conditions, particularly conditions that were chronic, recurrent, or included one or more attempts, may also be victims of PTSD. According to its definition, PTSD may result when a person suffers an event or situation that is outside the range of normal experience, exceeds the individuals perceived ability to meet its demands, and poses a serious threat to the loss of life.
Suicidal people meet the formal criteria for PTSD. Severe and prolonged suicidal pain is not something that most people suffer. People in suicidal crises feel that they are at the breaking point of what they can cope with. Since 30,000 people die by suicide each year in the United States, it is a condition that poses a serious threat to the loss of life.
Many of us are haunted by memories of acute crises, acts of self-injury, or extended periods of severe depression. Like citizens of a besieged city, we lived through periods of time in which we had a realistic and unrelenting fear that we would soon be dead. We suffer PTSD simply from having been suicidal, independently of whatever particular traumas may have contributed to our becoming suicidal, such as abuse during childhood or exposure to the violent death of someone else. Our suicide PTSD is also distinct from whatever traumatic events may happen as a result of being suicidal, such as involuntary hospitalization or job discrimination. Undoubtedly, most of us suffered many types of traumatic events in our lives, and these events and their consequences need to be addressed in recovery. But the suicidal crises themselves may be events that induce PTSD.
The PTSD literature for veterans and sex assault survivors lists conditions that are commonly found among survivors of those types of trauma. Survivors typically have only some of these symptoms, and the severity of a particular symptom may vary from individual to individual. Survivors of different types of traumatic events often have a different range of symptoms. A remarkably large number of these conditions are common among people with long-term histories of suicidal pain:

• Problems with memory. Persistent, intrusive, and vivid memories concerning the traumatic situation. Events of daily life may trigger distressing memories related to the trauma. Memory lapses for parts of the traumatic situation. Many suicidal people are troubled by strong images, such as the feeling that they have bombs inside their bodies or a knife over their heads, and in recovery continue to be bothered by the memory of having had these images.
• Avoidance of things associated with the traumatic experience.
• Denial on the seriousness of the experience.
• Persistent anxiety.
• Fear that the traumatic situation will recur. The trauma is often an event that shatters the survivors sense of invulnerability to harm.
• Disturbed by the intrusiveness of violent impulses and thoughts.
• Engagement in risk-taking behavior to produce adrenaline.
• A feeling of being powerless over the traumatic event. Anger and frustration over being powerless.
• A feeling of being helpless about ones current condition.
• Being dramatically and permanently changed by the experience.
• A sense of unfairness. Why did this happen to me?
• Holding oneself responsible for what happened. Feeling guilty.
• The use of self-blame to provide an illusion of control. Sexual assault survivors often blame themselves: If I hadnt been at that location, worn those clothes, behaved in that way, then it wouldnt have happened. This pattern is also found in the survivors of a completed suicide. If I had only done x, the suicide would not have happened, can be used to try to cope with the fear that suicide will happen again in the family--i.e., it is preventable if I just manage things differently. The suicidal are often full of self-blame. As in the other cases it is partly due to an internalization of social attitudes that blame the victim or family, and also due to the effort to gain mastery over the situation. To imagine we could have done more is more tolerable than total helplessness.
• An inability to experience the joys of life.
• Feelings of being alienated from the other people and society in general. I am different. I am shameful. If they knew what I was like, they would reject me. I dont belong in this world. Im a freak, an outcast.
• When people with PTSD try to return to normal life, they are plagued by readjustment problems in the basic elements of life. They have difficulties in relationships, in employment, and in having families.
• A lack of caring attachments. A sense of a lack of purpose and meaning.
• Some chronically traumatized people lose the sense that they have a self at all.
• Veterans report the feeling that they never really made it back from the war. Formerly suicidal people feel they never really made it back to normal life.
• One Viet Nam veteran with PTSD said, I dont have any friends and I am pretty particular about who I want as a friend.
• PTSD was aggravated for Viet Nam veterans because they returned to a country that had negative attitudes toward them. For sexual assault survivors, stigmatization is the second injury.
• When Viet Nam veterans returned home people were angry at them. They had shamed the country, they had done something wrong, they were potentially harmful to others, it was dangerous to be with them. Sexual assault survivors may receive angry responses--on the grounds that they have done something that shames the family. Suicide attempters often experience great anger from family and care providers.
• A deep distrust of co-workers, employers, authorities.
• Left with unexpressed rage against those who were indifferent to their situation and who failed to help them.
• In personal relationships there are problems of dependency and trust. A fear of being abandoned, betrayed, let down. A belief that people will be hurtful if given a chance. Feelings of self-hatred and humiliation for being needy, weak, and vulnerable. Alternating between isolation and anxious clinging.
• Trauma often causes the victim to view the world as malevolent, rather than benign.
• No sense of having a future, or, the belief that ones future will be very limited.
• Feel that they belong more to the dead than to the living.
• The feeling of having a negative Midas touch--everything I get involved with goes bad.
• Loss of self-confidence, and loss of feelings of mastery and competence.
• A resistance to efforts to change a maladaptive world view that results from the trauma.
• A mistrust of counselors ability to listen.
• People who suffered traumatic experiences as children, teenagers, or young adults may simultaneously become prematurely aged and developmentally arrested. A part of them feels old. Another part feels stuck at the age they had when the trauma occurred.
• PTSD can be worse if the sufferer experiences the trauma as an individual rather than as a member of a group of people who are suffering the same situation. Unlike earlier wars in which units went overseas together and returned together, in Viet Nam each soldier had an individual DEROS (Date of Expected Return from Overseas). This reduced unit cohesiveness; each soldier experienced the war from an individual point of view. Suicidal people experience their near-death situation with extreme isolation. They see their conditions as being completely unique - terminal uniqueness. They have no sense of identification with others.
• The severity of PTSD symptoms tends to increase with the severity and duration of the trauma.
• The use of alcohol or drugs to cope with the PTSD symptoms.
• Attempts to do things to gain a feeling of mastery over the traumatic situation, e.g., become a volunteer on a hotline.These kinds of conditions may be found again and again in the chronically suicidal. Upon reflection, it should not be surprising that we should suffer PTSD. Many of us suffered from suicidal pain for years - and years - and years. The idea of dying is terrifying. We recoil at thoughts of dying by automobile accident, plane crash, murder, cancer, AIDS, drowning, suffocation. The idea of dying violently simply by forces generated from within ourselves is in some ways almost too horrible to apprehend. How could anyone survive such a prolonged siege of pain and terror - and remain unaffected?
  Survivors of traumatic experiences are often told, Its in the past. Forget about it and get on with your life, Why cant you just forget about all that, and enjoy life like a normal person? If we could simply get on with life, they would have done it. PTSD helps explain why it is so hard for the chronically suicidal to recover. Because we were suicidal, we subsequently suffered many of the conditions associated with post-traumatic stress disorder. These conditions are serious problems in their own right; they are formidable barriers in the recovery process.
  We can heal from the original trauma, and we can heal from the PTSD conditions that have plagued us since the trauma. The basic steps of PTSD recovery programs provide helpful guidelines:
  
  
  
  1. an environment that is physically and emotionally safe
  
  
  2. treatment for addictive behaviors
  
  
  3. patience: PTSD recovery takes time
  
  
  4. caring attachments
  
  
  5. restore sense of mastery
  
  
  6. rest and relaxation
  
  
  7. recall the traumatic event(s) in small steps
  
  
  8. gradually assimilate painful feelings and memories
  
  
  9. fully experience fear, anger, shame, guilt, depression
  
  
  10. grieve ones losses
  In a support group we have a chance to talk about our suicidal histories without the fear that we will be taken to a hospital for doing so. We can talk about the isolation, the fears, the pain, the confusion, the acts of self-injury, the behavior of others that was stigmatizing, denying, abusive, the horrible sense of estrangement that exists when you are in a terrible situation and there is no one who understands what you are going through, the hatred and contempt for oneself and the world, the debilitating sense of personal weakness. We see that we are not alone. We do not have the seriousness of our condition minimized, denied, or belittled. With time, the pain abates and the troublesome PTSD symptoms diminish.
  By David L. Conroy, PhD. Reprinted with permission.
  Source: http://www.metanoia.org/