The last two weeks ago things have started to get worse and worse. I don’t fully know or understand why, just a part of it.
Lately I have been seeing a lot of therapists, psychiatrists and tons of other mental health workers. I’ve been seeing a lot of new people that I had to open to, also about very personal things. Plus the start of 1 therapy and knowing another intensive therapy will start in March, which I’ll be doing at the same time as the therapy that started yesterday. It’s very heavy and a lot to deal with all of a sudden.
Now I’ve come far enough to realize that it’s normal to be anxious about this. A lot of new things have been happening, which is really scary and hard to deal with. It’s perfectly okay to feel this way with everything that’s going on right now. People have told me that many times and I’ve accepted that it’s normal and part of therapy.
The stress of telling everyone about my BPD diagnoses has made a big impact as well. Which is also okay.
The problem is, is that I haven’t been doing well, regardless of anything therapy related going on. My medication has stopped working, it’s pretty much useless. It’s been absolute chaos in my head almost 24/7 and it’s gotten to the point that I’m not safe anymore, not at all. Even with my parents around, it’s very likely I’ll end up severly hurting myself (cutting) or take and OD. I’ve lost control over myself and it’s scary and dangerous. Then the therapy related stuff piled up on this as well and now it’s just all one big mess.
Earlier today I realized that I needed to get help, fast. I overcame my fear of talking about this to my parents and I told my mom that I really wasn’t doing well. She agreed to come to therapy with me luckily and she was glad I told her. At 1pm the appointment started and I felt myself shutting down and the walls came up. I forced myself to tell my therapist that I was in trouble and really need extra help and care. I tried to tell both him and my mom what was going on, but it was hard to put into words. In the end I was honest about everything though and it felt okay to say it out loud. I told them I was scared of myself, that I wouldn’t be safe at home, that I’m suicidal again and it would be very likely for me to try and end it. Especially when I’m in a very impulsive mood when upset, there’s no stopping me.
Then the question about what to do now came up, ofcourse. I said I didn’t know, my mom said she didn’t know. After a long moment of silence I said that I wouldn’t be safe at home and need to be in another environment where I’m more safe and can’t do anything too stupid. So we talked about going inpatient at the psychiatric hospital and my therapist brought in a psychiatrist I had met once. I also told her what was going on, but she clearly wasn’t too concerned. She came up with all kinds of things to make our home safe, which is useless, I told her. You can’t hide every pill and everything sharp. And I can just walk outside and jump in front of a train, jump of a roof, anything like that. I told her that. When I get into that state there is no one that can stop me and I don’t want to end up doing that impulsively.
As I said before, I had put my walls up so I wouldn’t break down completely. I wouldn’t be able to even get out of that room again if that happened, so I was protecting myself in some way. But you know what that psychiatrist said to me? That she couldn’t take me seriously at all with me acting so ‘normal’. She didn’t believe a word of what I was saying and just thought I wanted attention. Both my mom and I had to restrain ourselves from yelling at her and punching her. I felt so incredibly bad about what she said to me.. I was proud of myself for recognizing the signs of my life crashing down again and even managing to reach out for help before I would attempt to kill myself. Then she said this and it just made me feel so worthless and I felt so stupid for asking for help when I’m clearly not supposed to..
My therapist talked to her for a bit after that and luckily he said that he would contact the psychiatric hospital about an intake for me. I was so glad to hear that. But then that stupid psychiatrist bitch managed to convince him that it wasn’t urgent and I actually got sent home again. By that time I was too exhausted to even put up a fight anymore and just left..
I’ve been in bed ever since I got home and just played some golf on the Wii with my dad for distraction and to try to relax a bit. It’s all so weird though.
Right now both me and my parents are on edge constantly, because I might break down and who knows what’ll happen then. We’re all scared and it’s putting a lot of strain on all of us. I shouldn’t be here right now. We also don’t know when we’ll hear about when I can go to the hospital for the intake and I’m so hoping it’s tomorrow. I just don’t know what to do anymore.. I’ve asked for all the help I can get, because I need it right now, yet it feels like I’m not important enough, worth it enough, to help me asap.