Sunday, February 28, 2010
Dr. W stares at me and tells me to up my meds or hospital. I look at him, he is no longer laughing at me manic, I am back down to earth, past earth to Hades and back to suicidal despair. Indeed all I can think about is death. I tell him I don't feel safe. I clutch a small striped tabby stuffed plush my friend M and K bought for me when J left - a momma and baby cat . I put the baby in my purse ,and stroke it, trying to not be in the moment, but be four years old again.
I want someone to hold me like I was four. I have a friend on Facebook who's avatar is holding his small daughter, and I long to be held like that, comforted. I lie to the doctor, but I really don't want to be alone, I don't feel safe. I want someone to hold me at night, to grab my hand when I try to pick up a knife or a bottle of cleaning solution. But I don't have anyone. Just my cat, who stares at me with those green eyes and says "meow" and I realize that even though I am not safe, I cannot go- yet, no one will take care of her. But I wish, wish wish apon a star, i had someone who could do a one on one with me here in my apartment until this feeling passes, because it's really bad this time.
The other night was my sister's birthday and the whole family went out. I surprised everyone by grabbing a glass of pink champagne and ordering veal parm. I have not eaten veal since I was in 7th grade and learned about veal calves. Dr. W. said I'm so depressed nothing means anything to me anymore. It's common with depression. I don't know. Dr. W is good man. He was the doc who suggested the ECT back then, and apologized, said of all the people he had seen it happen I am one of probably 5 failurers. I am tired of people telling me I am a psychiatric statistical abnormality. First with the ECT, then with the Haldol= I want to scream I am tired of being maimed and hurt by you Viennese Head Thumpers! But I don't. Instead, my mother orders me some chicken parm, and a Diet Coke. The waiter asks if I want anything else. Before I even think , I say "White Russian". My mother says, "She will just have a Diet Coke". That's it. Man, I can taste that Kalhua in my brain. But would I actually drink it? I am afraid to know. Part of me would. Part of me would grab my coin in my purse, my AA coin, and drink the Diet Coke and the water on the table. My sobriety is important. Not eating veal means something to me. But not that night.
I just don't feel like myself anymore. I don't know if it's the med cocktail I am taking reluctantly, or it's from the therapy, my personality seems to me to metamorphosing into a poisonality. No one else sees it. Just me. I really hate myself. I hate therapy...I don't know if it's bring out issues I have hidden away so tight in my memory I don't want them to come up. Tear down the wall.... I don't know if it's the fact everyone I know in real life is telling me to take meds and won't support my wishes to get off all psych meds...I don't know what to think. My walls have kept me alive all these years. If they come down, will I die? I don't know but I have a gut feeling I am going to find out shortly.
I reluctantly tell the doctor I started self injuring again,, something I haven'd done in over twenty years. I am also hypersexual, again something that hasn't happened in twenty years. I just cannot stop thinking about sex. I don't understand. But I want to. I really want to, I'm just scared. I think the only life that is easy is the cereal Mikey likes.