Rehab again

So I spent like 5 days inpatient. It was a mix of emotions. I tried to get discharged with the plan to do some stupid things. Then I panicked at the thought of being discharged. I agreed to go to rehab then backed out because I had no idea about insurance. Then the social worker randomly had a guy come from a rehab facility. I had to go by the end of the month to be sure insurance would pay. I expected to go tomorrow. Then today she said I was approved and would be transferred. Now I am in the car with my parents on my way. So don't be surprised if you don't hear from me for a while. I am terrified.

Thank you

I don't have the energy or motivation to write much right now. I wanted to say thank you for the kind comments on the last post. I also wanted to update that I am going back IP because I just can't do this. My thoughts are so horrible and I don't have vodka left to drown them out. Yesterday I slept all day because I was avoiding my parents. I only left my room when they were out of the house. I basically watched Grey's Anatomy and thought about death. It took half the day to find the courage to ask my parents to take me to the hospital because that is just not an easy conversation to start. I am honestly more worried about the depression than the detox. I just know that eventually I might do something stupid if I can't get this under control.

On the verge of giving up

Every time I think that things can't get worse, I prove myself wrong. This week has been.. a mess. I really can only be vague because the truth is I don't remember a lot of it. I feel like I've killed enough brain cells that I have trouble piecing together the sober times, and then there are some blackouts that I cannot for the life of me remember.

Like Wednesday... I was supposed to have a job interview and therapy. I can remember waking up barely in time for therapy. I was not sober. I went and was basically told they can't help me and think I need rehab. I tried again to explain that I can't do that and they're basically sending me home to die. I mean I am pretty sure I said I was suicidal and she let me leave. I didn't even stay the whole time.. I wandered around until it was time to go home and that's about all I remember. Hell if I know what happened that evening. I know my mom mentioned yesterday going out to eat with my dad, but I don't think I went with them.. I don't know what I said to them. The next thing I remember is waking up yesterday still pretty drunk. Nobody said anything about it.. I made candied pecans for my dad's birthday. I eventually got dressed and i went to dinner with my family. Then I got home and watched some TV with them and went to bed sober.

Today I got up exhausted. I sat at my computer and cried about how worthless I am. I had to tell my mom that I didn't have therapy today. She asked if it was because I showed up drunk wednesday, so they obviously know. Then she left to go to lunch. I went to the liquor store. Now I am home wondering how my life got to this point. I spent a lot of the night trying to figure out how to kill myself. I can't decide if it would be better to do it before Christmas because frankly nobody probably wants me there. Or do I just attempt it and get put in the hospital? I think I need to be in the hospital, but I don't know how to ask. Plus, I am supposed to have a job interview tomorrow, and since I am so close to being kicked out.. I probably should go. I haven't figure out insurance for January.. but then it doesn't really matter if I don't have therapy.

What the fuck have I done to my life? I feel like a public service announcement about alcoholism at this point. But I also feel like I wouldn't be alive without it. I kind of want to get kicked out and the plan for if that happens isn't pretty. I am just hoping that I am still alive for some reason. Maybe there is some worth for this pathetic life after all? God I hope so.

My side of the street

I don't know where to start. Things are complicated right now. Let me explain a series of events. 

Last week I had several arguments with my parents about my drinking. No arguments Thursday-Now. Except, Sunday I went shopping with my parents.. there was some discussion about having mason jars at the house.. and they were in my room because that had previously basically been storage. Well, in the evening I go to a meeting and my dad drives me. I get home and my mom comments that there are jars in my room and what size they are. I go to change later and check to see if the empty bottle is there that I had filled with vodka Saturday night.. Sunday I finished the rest off, so it would have been empty. It was gone. So obviously my mom found it in my room and threw it away. I wait and wait and she doesn't say anything. Monday morning I hear her and my dad leave in the morning. I wake up and look at the calendar and see an appointment with a name and time.. I google it and see that it's a therapist. So I live in fear that it had to do with me and that I would be confronted and kicked out later, but nobody said anything to me. 

So I don't know if this is counselling because they have been fighting more.. or this has to do with me.. or what? But I honestly at this point am open to whatever happens. I mean I have accepted that I will likely kill myself if they kick me out.. but I am not going to involve myself in the decision. I know that I have done a lot of shit to this family. I know I am worthless and a waste of money. I am only doing what I can. I am applying for jobs. I have an interview tomorrow and one saturday for retail jobs. I applied for the healthcare.gov insurance, but it was nearly as expensive as COBRA.. so I have to appeal that or apply for medicaid. I haven't asked if my parents will pay for COBRA again. I know I can't do DBT if they don't, but I am still not convinced that I want to do that after the last couple appointments with my therapist. I am hoping to get a job and be able to at least pay for insurance. 

I am not doing well with drinking. I today finished and threw away the bottle for the cooking wine. I walked to the liquor store in the fucking rain. My dad recently fixed the security cameras on the front and back door.. I briefly debated climbing out my bedroom window to avoid the cameras, but I decided to just say fuck it and hope he doesn't really have time to watch the footage of every time the back door is opened. I honestly wonder if I am the reason he fixed them.. but it's probably more about the packages he gets for Christmas. I finally said fuck it and just went and bought 2 bottles of vodka. I hid them under my soaked sweatshirt walking back in. Honestly.. if they say anything, I am tempted to ask if this is pathetic enough to make them realize that I do NOT enjoy my drinking. I walked in the fucking rain until my shoes and the bottom of my pants and my hoodie were drenched to buy the vodka.. I came home and did a phone interview for a job. I am not enjoying this. I am miserable. I have debated for days if a week of pills is enough to kill me. I am living for them, and i am miserable. Friday I didn't drink and at some point at night I started basically sobbing.. sobbing because I am unhappy, I am worthless.. I am supposed to be making Christmas presents but I know that no one will actually want them.. so why bother? I just don't want to sit there with nothing to give. I want someone to understand that if I were a sensible person I would look at all these consequences and stop drinking, but I am not. I am an alcoholic and nothing is enough to stop this. I welcome death. 

I explained to another therapist Friday about why I don't want to go back to rehab. I stop drinking and am confronted with all the feelings that alcohol numbs, and those places can't handle the results. Usually, I become suicidal and they threaten to send me somewhere else.. which would be a mental health facility that medicates me but doesn't deal with the behaviors so I go home and drink. I tried to get him to see that the depression and anxiety are the root of everything. I cannot tolerate emotion. I need to learn that before I can feel capable of not drinking. I HATE everything involved in drinking. I just like to be numb. I realize that this isn't normal.. and I want help. I want to be different. I just feel like DBT and therapy are more important than sending me somewhere that will get me sober and expect me to go home and handle life. 

I doubt my parents will confront me based on the cameras. I saw on the calendar another appointment with the mystery name. I am not going to ask unless someone volunteers the information. I am just going to keep trying to clear my side of the street. I am probably going to lie about my drinking tomorrow because I know that I need therapy to deal with problems that have nothing to do with alcohol. I may try to get her to understand that because I don't think she understands me. I might print some entries from this blog because I do better in writing than in person. I honestly don't even mind being put in the hospital. I just want to either die or be someone else. 

Bad days and good people

I have not had a good week. Two days of being confronted by my parents about the drinking and being threatened with being kicked out didn't stop me drinking a bottle of vodka yesterday. Today I saw my new therapist and it was pointless. I basically listened to her go on about how I need to stop drinking. She also told me she thinks I can't. She asked if I was ready to go to treatment. I had to explain that I can't. I have no money, and I don't know how long I will have insurance. I am kinda hoping to lose it so I don't have to see her anymore. She also asked what feelings I have when I said I drink not to feel. She asked how the depression feels. I tried to explain my anxiety and she didn't seem to get it. I tried to explain that I have repeatedly tried rehab. So did the other people at this place who I have talked to not write anything down or did she not read my chart yet? She asked if I tried journaling and recommended I try it after I had just fucking said I already do. Like the woman has pretty much already given up on me. I mean I already know that I am alcoholic. Telling me that if I have access to alcohol that I will drink is not helpful when I live within walking distance of a liquor store. I have been to rehab. Once I got kicked out for trying out ways to kill myself. Once I attempted to kill myself within a week or so of getting home. I have attempted to find ways to kill myself in other hospitals. I don't want to go back to treatment. I wanted to tell her that I am mostly alive because my parents have my meds locked up and it's almost Christmas. But I am pretty sure that honesty would lead to being back in the hospital. So I mostly stared at the floor.

So I was in a bad mood. I left there and pretended to be normal. I had dinner with my parents. Then I went to AA. I don't think I have ever shared in this group. I have finally stopped leaving early to avoid having to hold hands and pray at the end. I have finally spoken to a couple people. I am making progress. Anyway, I sat down and a man came up to me and gave me a gift because he brought them for people he knows at the group and had an extra. It was a Christmas ornament. And somehow that made me feel better than all of the appointments at the DBT place. I thanked him and shook his hand. I thanked him again after the meeting.

The meeting was about powerlessness. Honestly, people mostly told stories of the crazy things they did while drinking. It was honestly just what I needed because my parents act like I am a pathetic, awful person. My therapist acts like I am hopeless. These people have who have done the same or worse are sober now. They don't judge each other. I am honestly not scared of being judged by them. I am scared because I don't want to hurt them, and my ex sponsor basically told me I am toxic and she doesn't want to talk to me anymore. But I can listen and at least feel like a less worthless excuse for a human being. That's something.

And I don't think I have replied to some comments recently, but I read them and appreciate them. I am just struggling to find words lately. I am struggling not to fall apart. I don't really see any hope or reason to keep going. I am just struggling.

High school and my strange history with religion

So this comes up because I was packing my apartment recently and found an old journal with an old poem. I forget that I was really into writing poetry in high school and college. I was also into drawing, and I save a bunch of old sketchbooks. I was inspired anyway to revisit my old website and my old poetry and read what I wrote back then. I am reminded that the depression goes back many years.. and I always had strange ways of trying to cope.

So I have a weird history with religion because basically I am the only one in my family who really tried to find religion. I was baptized Episcopal.. and until I was 8 and we moved to Texas we generally went to church. My mom worked at a preschool associated with an Episcopal church. We moved and basically didn't find a church here.. we went to one that ended up advertising in its news letter classes to cure  homosexuals, and while none of us are homosexual.. this offended my brother and I enough we couldn't go back. I went through phases though of trying to read the bible and pray

Well then when I was in middle school, my mom worked at a library and started bringing me home books on Wicca.. and I decided to become Wiccan. I did it kinda half heartedly until my junior year when a bunch of stuff was going on. I was seriously depressed. Then I had a good friend who was in a car accident and spent a while in a coma.. then she was basically brain dead.. like she woke up, but she wasn't her. I decided to devote myself to the goddess Morrigan.. and to start doing blood sacrifices in the hope I could fix things. I was convinced I could fix my life.. I was convinced I could bring myself back. So I would self harm and burn tissues I used to collect the blood. I fully acknowledge this is not an accurate representation of the religion. This was my desperate attempt to fix things.

I eventually gave up on this. I got rid of my altar. I went back to Christianity and felt terribly guilty for my history with pagan beliefs. I didn't really find religion again until 2010 when I went to Remuda Ranch and devoted myself to Christ again. Then I eventually started going to church with a friend and joined a Byzantine Catholic church. Then alcoholism made getting up that early impossible... and now I believe but just don't do anything about it.

But anyway.. a poem

My Sacrifice

   

What more can you want from me?

Everyday part of me dies for you.

The blades dig into my skin

For your blood offering .

The incense burns my flesh

Smoke for consecration, for power .

All the pain your heart desires

Leaving my body tired and scarred

What more can you want from me?

It's never been enough

So the blade goes deeper .

New cuts, new burns

Cover my body with scars .

Patterns of destruction ,

Signs of my devotion .

I lay my blood on your altar

Sacrificed to earn your favor.

What more can you want from me?

Nothing will ever be enough

Except that final sacrifice

When I lay my life out on the altar

And let the blades take it all away

And the blood snuffs out the candles

The final sign of my devotion

I live for you, I die for you

What more could you ask of me?

And if anyone cares enough to look.. this is my old website with the poetry and some old artwork. This is mostly from when I was a teenager https://www.smellydog.net/beth/main.htm

One more

Carry me away

These tired fingers

Not as quick as they used to be

This old mind

Too slow to react

This weary soul

Falling to pieces

This ruined body

That can't fight back

These steadfast opinions

Resisting the tide of change

This burning hatred

Waging this war

The falling darkness

Carrying me away

A mile in my shoes...

Do you ever think of a title before you think of what you want to write? I thought of one walking to the liquor store this morning. It is a mile walking to and from the closest liquor store. I have been obsessing over this trip to the store for several days. I didn't drink this weekend, but I knew my mom and dad had to go this morning because he had a colonoscopy scheduled and she was driving him. I debated if I had time to go to the liquor store and back since they were supposed to be done around 10 but probably would be going to breakfast after. My dad is a huge baby about not being able to eat the day prior.. I have to fight the urge to say that I have gone 5 days without eating, so one day is nothing. But whatever.. liquor stores open at 10, so I would have to count on them not coming straight home if the place is close. 

My thought walking home is that I wish they could spend a few days inside my head. My parents are very much the type to believe alcoholism as a choice. I think they fall into the fallacy that drinking is fun. It honestly was never fun. My dad said at some point I should stop justifying my behavior by saying I need alcohol to handle my depression. I should just use other coping skills. I wish he realized that coping skills don't come naturally. I mean my parents never taught them. My mom vented to me about my brother and dad. My dad was silent and handled things by picking at his skin and occasional outburts of anger. I was not raised to handle feelings. I am ill equipped to handle the depression I feel. I will not say my family has less problems, but I do know I am the only one to repeatedly attempt suicide. I am the only one to go inpatient multiple times, so if they have the same level of feelings.. I am the one too weak to handle them. 

I wish they could see inside my head. I wish they could see the amount of time I spend obsessing over getting to the liquor store. I wish they could see the amount of time I spend trying to figure out how I could even plan suicide. They could see the existential crisis that suicide plans create.. will I go to heaven? hell? Not exist at all? Those questions haunt me. Liquor takes this away. But then they don't know the obsession that comes with drinking.. when? where? how much? I think about why i should quit and why I should continue. Nobody would choose this way of thinking. Nobody would choose this if they knew another way to handle it. 

I don't know.. I just wish they could see the lack of logic in my thoughts. I would say I want to quit but can't.. except I don't want to quit? I cannot imagine life without these intrusive, obsessive thoughts. I cannot imagine handling these thoughts without some self destructive behavior. I cannot imagine LIFE. This isn't life. It is existence. I cannot imagine a fulfilling life. I feel like time is too slow, and I cannot kill enough time to make it ok. Bur none of this is easy to explain to anyone. It is a feeling and not a logical thought. I wish they could spend time in my head and understand that I don't just choose this for fun. Nothing is fun. A happy life is something I cannot even imagine. I am trying so hard to believe it is possible. 

Highs and lows

I cannot remember exactly when I wrote last, so I might repeat myself. This has been one of those weeks where it feels like God is taunting me. I suppose a better person might view it as Him opening doors to keep me hopeful, but it feels like getting my hopes up and then kicking me down again.

So I had the interview with one bank, and it had sounded in advance like a sure thing. It wasn't. The interview didn't go that well.. it was that sort where they ask formulaic questions and I am not good at that. So Monday I found out they had decided not to hire me. But then I had gotten an email Friday about a phone interview with another bank. So I did that Monday morning. Well.. I had agreed to a call at 10:30 and I did not receive or see an email saying they rescheduled it for 9:30. The interviewer called right after I had woken up, so I was not at my best. It was going ok until she started asking about why I lost my last job. I said I was laid off, but she kept asking questions. Even when I said I took medical leave and had not performed as well after.. she asked if it was normal for someone to be put on probation after medical leave. Like I would know? Nobody else I knew took a month off.. and she asked why, and I was not comfortable explaining about the ECT. Frankly, it was not any of her business. Like she should have just dropped it. So I didn't get that job.

I was starting to feel totally hopeless again.. Like my checking account is overdrawn by like $600. I have $2 in my savings and one maxed out credit card and one not maxed out. I owe money to a million places, and I am not even trying to pay any of it because I have nothing. I had honestly become pretty hopeless and suicidal. Then yesterday I got a call asking if I could interview the next day (today) for yet another bank. I agreed to come in the afternoon since I had a psychiatrist appointment in the morning and my mom was going to lunch with my brother.

My psychiatrist appointment was awkward. I didn't want to explain about the car accidents.. I admitted to drinking. I tried to explain vaguely what was going on, and she used her "talking to a child" voice asking me about some of it. I am NOT a child. I just don't want to go into every detail of why I feel hopeless. She asked about getting a sponsor.. and I did not want to go into that mess. The last conversation I had with my ex-sponsor left me with the impression that I am hopeless and toxic, so yes I am hesitant to involve new people in that. I have spoken to a couple people (!!!) and at least done a reading in a meeting and asked for someone's phone number, so I am making progress.. but I am not just going to ask anyone (because she claims having anyone is better than nothing) when I was hurt badly in the past. She talked about how working on myself is important for me to be able to get a job, but there is a serious risk of me not being able to afford insurance and copays in the near future.. so getting a job is required for me to continue therapy. I don't think she understands how broke I am.

But I survived and basically had her keep my medication the same. Prior to my interview, I did something really pathetic.. my mom went to lunch with my brother. I walked to the liquor store. It's about .5 miles each way. I bought a bottle of vodka and walked home. I drank some before my interview. The interview went.. well? It was strange. They didn't ask that many questions. I talked about the last bank I worked at.. customers, sales, what I liked, what I did. I really am good at customer service and I enjoy it. It doesn't seem like it.. I somehow can detach from the depression and everything and put on my customer service mask, and people love me. Customers loved me. So I mostly just talked about what I know. They seemed happy. It was more of a conversation than an interview. Then the service manager showed me all around the bank while the manager called to find out about benefits for part time employees. That was it.. they said they'd call about the benefits question and the position. So I took that as a positive, but i am not getting my hopes up at this point.

Oh and I have been basically eating everything in sight and gaining a ton.. so that's lovely. I am going to start working on it soon. I mean I spend at least a couple hours a day on a pro-ana website, so you wouldn't expect me to be such a fatass. I just find stress eating so natural when I am not drinking, so I almost feel like drinking is better.

In the midst of all this, our dog was sick. I think it was Monday or Tuesday we took her to the vet because she was stumbling around and struggling to walk. We got her in 2004 when I was still in high school, so we feared the worse. My dad assumed it was a stroke. I had no idea. The doctor diagnosed it as vestibular disease which manifests a bit like vertigo. They gave her a shot of medicine. I didn't make it to AA that night because of timing and because I wanted to be home to help because basically someone had to walk with her to help with balance or she would fall.. and then she'd be terribly anxious about falling and go back to sleeping under the bed. By the next day, she was actually able to go for a walk. She fell once trying to walk across the linoleum in the house, but she was fine outside. We still haven't gotten her to eat... except she ate something off the ground outside today that I seriously hope was a treat that was left there. I have been trying to be helpful by taking her out since I live here without paying rent.. at least I can help? Plus, we've had our dog Katy since I was in high school. I didn't live here for much of that, but she's still my dog. It's funny because my cat Odd has also been involved in all this. He sleeps by the dog. When Katy falls and retreats to the bedroom, Odd goes running after her. It reminds me of how Odd was when Mudge was old.. only Katy is even less interested in his help than Mudge was (and Mudge didn't much like him).

I have been thinking through all of this of what I will do if I survive this. I don't plan to stay in banking forever. I also don't really want to go back to biology research. I have thought about becoming a nurse.. or a vet tech.. or something. I feel like I need to be directly serving someone, but I don't know. I don't really see into the distant future. I am more just surviving. The farthest I am planning is how I will deal with money if I get a job. What will I pay first? Then maybe I am thinking of getting out of my parents house.. but honestly at times this includes the thoughts of running away and killing myself, so I avoid focusing on that. It is about now. It is currently about staying alive through christmas.

*edit* Not that anyone else cares but Katy ate! I got her to eat 2 treats after we got home from dinner. We sometimes throw treats for her to find in the yard, so I threw 2 (to her because she doesn't really need to be running) and she ate them. Then my mom mixed some rice and turkey for her later. She hadn't eaten for a couple days, so we were thrilled that she ate it all. She's 14.. I know she is not immortal, but I am not ready to lose her. She took a lot of work. She was so shy we could barely touch her at first. Now she basically insists on being petted. She is amazing.

The wreckage of our present

I started to write the other day, but then my parents were around and I don't like blogging around them. I particularly didn't want to do it at that time because well.. it will make sense once I write about the past week.

Let me preface this with a request. I am well aware of how much I have fucked up. Please keep in mind that I am an alcoholic. I have a mental illness. Also please keep in mind that pretty much all of us have fucked up pretty badly at some point in our lives. So basically.. no hate.

Last week I moved my stuff out of my apartment.. sort of. It was a lot for one person to do, but I couldn't bring myself to pay anyone to pack or ask my parents to pay rather because I'm broke. Because it is really difficult to go back there given I spent the majority of my 6 years in that apartment either drunk or depressed and self destructive. I trashed that apartment, and it reached a point where I basically lived in my bed. I ate in my bed, slept in my bed, drank in my bed, and otherwise just watched Netflix. So my solution to the difficult emotions of moving was to drink before/during packing.. I generally didn't drink until I got to the apartment. I also was drinking at home before bed at night. Well, my dad scheduled the movers to come at 7am last Wednesday, and the day before I kind of said fuck it and that I would finish cleaning after they came. But I am never up that early.. so I was exhausted and still a bit drunk when I drove to the apartment to meet them. I then drank more at the apartment because I was upset by how the movers treated me. I managed to get in not 1 but 2 accidents that day. One of which I rear ended someone and freaked out (this was on the way there). I didn't see damage, so being an idiot I just drove off. The 2nd a truck stopped suddenly in front of me, and I slammed on the brakes but still hit them. I did give them my insurance.. and a cop stopped and gave me a ticket for following too closely and called the tow truck because my car was totaled. I amazingly didn't get a DUI but he did ask about if I was on medication because I know I was having trouble answering questions because of the combination of being exhausted, at least slightly drunk, and just really upset. I really don't remember all the details.. like I remember the truck I hit but not exactly where I was. No one was hurt, and I have insurance that will pay for the damage.

My parents were fucking pissed. I guess from the comments they made, they knew I was drunk.. and I think the movers had said something about that too. Also.. as if they weren't pissed enough, 2 state troopers later showed up at the house about the 1st accident to give me a ticket for leaving the scene. There were some arguments. I otherwise didn't speak to them that day. Since then.. there have been more arguments. I have no car to drive, so my mom had to take me to drop off my keys at my apartment complex the next day. I didn't bother finishing cleaning because I knew I was in no shape to do it since I didn't sleep or have any alcohol that night. I just gave up. They are now driving me to meetings and waiting in the car to make sure I don't leave and go drink. I otherwise am sitting around the house. But they are speaking to me now? It's still awkward as fuck. I am ashamed of everything.

I am now without a car and so basically only going out if my parents are. I don't have a job still. I had one interview last week, and they turned me down. I had a phone interview today and have put in a few more applications. My thought is I can get a bus pass to get to any job I get. I don't know.

Mentally I have been unwell.. I have not been able to buy vodka so the withdrawal was bad at first. I resorted to drinking a bit of cooking wine. I have since looked at about everything in the house in search of alcohol. I have gone to meetings and sat there trying to think of how to get a drink. I have also contemplated how to get enough of my pills to attempt suicide, but then I would hate to do that before Christmas. The first 2 days after the accidents, I didn't sleep at all. I have since slept some but not full nights. I am still exhausted but trying to act as normal as possible because I am paranoid they will think I am drinking when I'm not. I am generally just anxious all the time, depressed, ashamed, and overall clueless about where to go from here. I don't really want to stop drinking. I am just sort of forced to. If I could, I would.. so I don't know what the future holds because sooner or later I will have the opportunity to buy liquor. They can't watch me forever. I just don't know how to get to where I want something in life more than I want to be drunk and not think or feel. I am not hopeful. I just am. I am just existing.

So that's my update. I will try to update again when there is something worth mentioning.

I don't know

I have written and deleted two posts. I just don't know what to say, but I feel like I should write to tell you I am still alive. I don't think I know what to say about what's happening, and I am very aware that it can either improve or fall apart. I am very much living a day at a time.

I have an interview Monday for a bank teller position. I already did a phone interview, and I have worked for this company before (a different location). I have done this before, so it scares me less than other jobs. It's bank hours and part time, so I could still make appointments. My parents are on board. I was upset because they called while I was at dinner with my family (after the bank should be closed), so I didn't answer. I had to call the next day. I still struggle with phone calls.

I am not entirely doing well. I am drinking. I tell myself I will stop when I get the job, or I will stop when I am out of the apartment. I don't know if that will be true. I do think I will have so much less stress when the apartment is done. I am actively packing. I have packed the books, half the kitchen (didn't have anything to wrap the fragile things so couldn't finish), sorted clothes to keep or donate (they range from a small to plus size), and miscellaneous things. I have a lot to donate because I have gone from a size 24 to a 10 to a 14 again. I have things I never even unpacked from when I moved into the apartment 2011. I am generally throwing away those things. It will be so nice to not have this apartment I am not even living in but am very aware of.

I am drinking, but I am going to meetings. I am generally going to the group near my parents house. I have someone in mind for a sponsor, but I haven't asked her yet. I have been to a few meetings at my home group. I was scared to go because.. well, have I explained the phone call with my ex-sponsor? Before I last went inpatient, I called my former sponsor because she runs a cleaning service, and I honestly just wanted to hire someone (her people or the others at AA that clean) to help clean my apartment. She had agreed before. When I called, she basically gave me this talk about how she's giving me to god and staying out of it. I don't even know what to say.. I just listened to her and felt awful. I have put her through some shit, but she fired me during a 4th step.. so I don't know if anyone is at fault. I saw her today at a meeting. She just came to drop something off but was hugging people. She gave me the longest hug and seemed so excited to see me, so I felt better. My friend B also got there after the meeting, and she was so proud of what I have done at the apartment. They are the 2 people who actually have seen the apartment, so I feel like they understand my progress. I just wish I could say I was sober.

I managed to do the assessment for DBT. I heard them discussing my leaving the appointment last time, but thankfully no one said anything to me about it. I am very much trying to trust the process. I have a bunch of appointments scheduled to answer a lot of questions. I told one therapist that my willingness to try this has to do with knowing people who were "rejects" that found help. People who psychiatrists and therapists were fed up with that found help. She seemed to understand what I meant because I have had little luck with treatment.

So I am alive. I am not well, but I am not worse. I will try to write more soon.

Diagnoses and empty bottles

I am still managing things a moment at a time. Sort of the bare minimum to keep going, but I am actually managing that. Like I am getting up by 11 everyday. I am eating most meals. I am running errands and going places with my parents. I am not going to bed before 11. I am exhausted and overwhelmed, but I am managing.

I had a psychiatrist appointment today that I was dreading. I missed my last appointment because I was exhausted and had a headache.. this was before detox. She called shortly before I got out of hospital and left a voicemail asking how I was doing because I missed the appointment. I never called back because by then I had already made another appointment, and I just didn't want to explain at that point what had happened. She mentioned it today and I just said that I basically wasn't functioning at that point. I explained about detox. I explained that they changed my meds. I lied a bit about my drinking.

She asked if I had any other questions or comments.. so I brought up something that's been bothering me. My discharge paperwork from the hospital has my diagnoses listed a couple places.. and I am not sure which is the diagnosis of that psychiatrist and which might be the diagnosis from the ER. Anyway, in one spot it lists major depressive disorder, which is my usual diagnosis.. well, it's major depressive disorder, recurrent, severe. It mentions alcohol use disorder, which is obvious. Then in one spot it lists Bipolar 1. I have NEVER been diagnosed Bipolar 1. I have had doctors go back and forth over the past 10 years about whether I have treatment resistant depression or bipolar 2 with hypomania, but I have never had a true manic episode.. so this bothered me.

Anyway, I pointed it out to the doctor and asked her about her opinion. In the hospital, I had been a bit upset that the psychiatrist said the priority was relapse prevention and not depression.. like the alcoholism was the primary problem. I ranted to at least one person about how the depression predates the alcohol use by about a decade. I self medicated with alcohol. I was pretty broken, so I just took whatever meds he chose to give me. Today, my doctor brought up a diagnosis that hasn't really been mentioned since around 2007.. borderline personality disorder. She took out her copy of the DSM 5 and read the diagnostic criteria to me. I fit about 7 out of 9 currently, and I have met all of them at some point in those past 10 years (2007 is when I was first put inpatient for suicidal thoughts and when I was in treatment for bulimia the first time). She says that it often gets confused with bipolar.. the emotional instability. In the hospital this time, I was basically alternating between joking and laughing with other patients (which was more normal happy than it was manic) with severe depression or anxiety (sobbing, worrying, or no motivation to do anything but stare into space). My mom attributes any manic behavior (fidgeting, rapid speech) to anxiety and not mania. The current medication is meant to even that out.

I suppose it doesn't matter what the diagnosis is if the treatment is working. I have generally always been on a mood stabilizer as well as an antidepressant, which could treat either depression or bipolar. So I have been told before the diagnosis doesn't matter. Now, I am on a larger dose of Seroquel (quetiapine) and an antidepressant, which can be a treatment for depression or borderline or whatever. I don't know why I care so much about the label. I think because the treatment generally hasn't worked, and I have it in my head that if they could just all pick the right diagnosis, they could finally fix it. Except, I don't think I know what fixed feels like. This has been going on so long that I only know that I don't feel right now. I do feel better than before the hospital, but I am having to fight to believe that I can maintain this. I of course also got the talk about how DBT is important and AA is important and basically I have to do the rest of the work. Oh and alcohol is only one more thing for the medication to fight against, so that won't help.

I wish I could say I wasn't drinking. I really have been struggling with that, and it's dumb. I haven't been drinking enough to do anything except convince myself I am ok. I have taken a few swigs of cooking wine. I have drained those last drops from all the empty bottles in the trunk of my car. All just to convince myself I was fine.. somehow not drinking is so scary that a few drops of vodka and that taste or that burn in my mouth is enough to make it ok. I logically know it isn't doing anything. I finally bought a bottle today.. and yeah. I went to an AA meeting mildly intoxicated. It was a speaker, and it was helpful. She talked about how she didn't have a progressive history of alcoholism. There was never a "first drink." It was always about being drunk. That's how it is/was for me. I never liked the taste. It was never social. It was always about changing the way I felt. It was never about making me happy. It was always about being numb or blacked out or otherwise removing feelings. It still is. I know that therapy is supposed to teach me another way to get through bad feelings, but I worry that any feeling is intolerable for me.

I did finally mention briefly in conversation with my parents the worry about my health insurance next month. They said they will pay for it if I can't. They don't want that to be a factor in me continuing treatment (my meds, my psych, therapy). I had wanted to ask them because I made this DBT appointment and then realized that I might not have insurance or any way to continue. I mean even if I get the bank job, I won't get insurance immediately. I just didn't want to ask since they're probably paying for the movers to get stuff out of my apartment.. I am finally making some progress packing. I owe them a lot of money now, and I can't pay it all back immediately because I owe money to a lot of hospitals and such too.. but I honestly need the insurance if I am going to make any progress now. I might be able to find other ways of paying in the future, but it would be too easy to abandon all of it because I can't pay.

Anyway.. this is a lot of rambling. I am just lately bothered by the whole idea that I have a severe mental illness, I cannot say with 100% certainty what it is, and I have no specific cause. People always want to suspect abuse, but I have nothing to blame but luck or fate or myself. I have an addiction, and the cause there is my mental illness and general inability to regulate or tolerate any feeling. I now have to set all that aside and focus on the present and what I can do. I can take my meds. I can go to appointments. I can pack up my apartment. I can get out of bed everyday and go to bed every night, and I can try to manage. That is what I can do. I cannot change the past. I cannot predict the future. I can only take it a moment at a time.

Breakdown and the aftermath

So things got progressively worse after my last post.. like basically never getting out of bed except to eat. I wasn't even sleeping. I was just staring into space. Occasionally, I would get up and move to the couch to watch Netflix. I went to meetings but only as an excuse to stop for liquor.

Well.. on the 8th, I was supposed to start a job and go for the assessment to start DBT. I woke up and I could barely eat a bowl of cereal I was so tired. I didn't go to work. I could tell my parents were unhappy. I finally got up and my dad came home from work and said they were taking me to the appointment. They drop me off and I start filling out paperwork.. and I just couldn't. It was just too much. I left and my parents were in the car outside. I got in and burst into tears. I tried to explain, and they didn't get it.

I tried to say I was tired. They said I wasn't tired, I was drunk. We had this big argument in the car. I ended up telling them to either let me go back to my apartment or take me to the hospital. They said I was too drunk to walk, I definitely couldn't drive. They didn't even take me home to pack because I clearly couldn't pack.

I went to the ER. I didn't think I was that drunk, but I know they wouldn't let me leave until my blood alcohol dropped.. they eventually transferred me to another hospital that had a chemical dependency unit to detox. This was several hours later and my blood alcohol was still .12. The nurse did my intake and honest to God had to hold my arm as I walked to bed because I could hardly walk and tucked me into bed. I was forbidden from getting up unsupervised.

The next day was miserable. I had to use a fucking walker at first because nobody trusted me to walk. The patients were so nice though.. like.. amazing. I didn't sleep the first night and had hardly slept all week. I finally saw the psychiatrist who totally changed my meds. The next night I slept like the dead. Still.. I kept having crying spells including one where I was hyperventilating. The tech kept telling me it was just withdrawal. Finally, I wandered out of my room and another patient was decent enough to find my nurse who gave me more Librium. I was alternating laughing and crying the first few days.

By the end of my week there.. I was better? I actually taught a group and was made "team leader" and given the task of helping new patients. I had been paranoid my parents wouldn't let me come back, but they seem to have.. I mean I am back at their house now. My mom did my laundry while I was gone.

I checked my voicemail while in the hospital because that seemed safer than checking when I got home.. since this is usually a big trigger. I got 2 calls from a recruiter at a bank asking me about interest in a job. I called and she basically said if I apply for this position, she will send me to interview with the manager.. I said it would be a few a days because I was in hospital. Anyway.. she seemed ok with it (she seemed surprised I called from the hospital). I applied.. so we will see. It's a better job than what I passed up. I still have lots of problems to deal with, but for now.. I am doing better.

Animals

I went from unable to post or get out of bed to posting repeatedly? I don't know. I just feel like these thoughts are my current purpose.

Does anyone feel like animals understand them better than humans? I feel that way, and I don't know what that means.

In high school Mudge watched my self harm. She sat and kept me company as I questioned my life. Recently, I was seriously considering taking pills. Some pills. Odd lay on my chest and stared into my eyes. He is always there in those moments and Nermal is sleeping by my feet to remind me peace is possible. Then tonight I felt I'll... I felt sweaty and wondered about my heart. Then a guy's dog at AA kept nuzzling my hand. The dog has done it before, and I was just in love. It's like he knows I am sick. He knows I need love. The cats know I need to be reminded that someone cares.

I had thought I should be a nurse, but now I think I am meant to care for animals. I honestly feel they know what I need more than people. My parents don't know to come to me, but they do. I have been questioning my purpose and I am drunk, but maybe this matters?

So I guess if you don't know, get a pet. A cat or a dog will know better than a therapist. They will remind you that you're needed. They would miss me. It would make a difference. Someone would be hurt. My cats don't react to my parents like me. They would be sad.

I also know that you who read this care, so thank you. I really am trying to live.

Funny or sad?

I am questioning why I exist. At home, I would be in bed with cats eating whatever doesn't need effort and drinking. At my parents, I was awake most of the night just tossing and turning and checking to see if my mom was up. I am "recovered" but ashamed to eat at night because I am hungry. Then I wait until my dad leaves for work to drink the vodka in my car to maybe sleep. I was too afraid that one of them would hear the door if I went at night.

Now I am eating and wondering if my mom will wake up. Will she say anything? I honestly don't care if I get kicked out. I will just die if they don't want me. I don't think I was meant to be.. but drunk I can just watch Netflix and forget. Does anyone else feel they weren't meant for this world?

The good, the bad

I haven't known what to write this week. Things since I got home have been... fucked up? That's the best way to describe it because there is good and bad and basically I am going moment by moment.

The bad is that I am depressed. I am barely sleeping. I had a horrible headache for 3 days that had me in bed covering my eyes and only venturing out for cereal or English muffins. I don't know if it was a migraine or the rubbing alcohol I have been drinking. I have slept maybe a couple hours this week and honestly wanted to die this morning because I was up all last night.

I have been watching Greys Anatomy all day, which is what I do when I don't want to exist. I showered and dressed and then watched greys Anatomy and sobbed.

The thing is that I have done some amazing things. I hired someone to clean my apartment. Admittedly, I basically let them in and lay in bed.. but still. You can see the floor. I got a job. It's just at Walgreen's, but it's something. I turned down a job at a restaurant that for some reason terrified me and a few hours later got a call from Walgreen's. I also managed to call about DBT. I have an assessment next week.

I just don't know how to sustain this. I was so exhausted today that I drank hand sanitizer. I was shaking enough that I bought vodka before AA. I was so tired and depressed this morning that I lay in bed trying to think of how to OD until Odd decided to lay on my chest and stare into my eyes. I just couldn't do it then. Plus, my meds are locked up. I just honestly wonder if I should just be locked away. I don't know if I can do life. Yet, I am doing the best I can. I am somehow alive. I just wish I wanted it. I just wish I wasn't so tired. I wish I could hide in bed until I can face the world.

But yes.. everything is fucked up. My body is probably unhealthy from not eating and drinking rubbing alcohol. My mind just isn't right. My heart just isn't in it. So I am watching Grey's in bed. Tomorrow I will try again.

I lie and I lie and I lie

Well, I am home again. My parents house. This week was not fun.

Last Thursday my psychiatrist basically insisted I go inpatient. It was more or less implied that if I didn't go voluntarily, I would be forced. I was taken by ambulance from that building to the psych ward at the same hospital, which was a bit ridiculous. Then it was discovered that she didn't bother to call ahead, and they had no bed. So I was put back in the ambulance and taken to the ER. I was there for like 8 hours. My potassium was low as usual. I was then told I was being transferred to another hospital.. and I was a bit of a bitch about it.. threatened to pull out my IV. But the whole point was to go to a new hospital and not be sent to one I have been to 3 other times.

In the psych ward.. I was crazier than usual. I tried to sign myself out AMA and was threatened with being court ordered. I then convinced the doctor to let me go Monday. Well, my parents got really angry about that. They visited and said some pretty horrible stuff.. like bringing up how much money they spent on me.. and my mom stormed out (which she later said was because of my dad not me) and my dad told me she found alcohol in my room and how much it hurt her. I cried and became more suicidal.

So I began simultaneously to develop a detailed plan to get out of the hospital and kill myself. I somehow managed to convince them that because of the fight with my parents, I should be discharged to my own apartment. I convinced my parents not to visit Monday, so they wouldn't know I got out. And then more details I won't go into. I lied to the doctor and had her convinced that I was better. She actually put in the discharge order. Then the social worker said that they should at least call my parents, and I just couldn't lie. I confessed that I had a plan. The doctor was shocked and upset that I had lied. I don't think it's that odd to lie? But I ended up staying 2 more days and agreeing to go to my parents house. My parents agreed I could come back if I didn't bring alcohol home again. This whole speech about it being my last chance.

So I am out. I am not as suicidal. I mostly am not convinced I want to get sober. I am just taking it a day at a time. I am still freaking out about the apartment and jobs and everything, but I am not dealing with it tonight. Tonight I am trying to take it easy.

Just FYI

Going back inpatient. Psychiatrist is letting me go voluntarily, but it is pretty clear leaving isn't an actual option. So I will update when I get out

Therapy.. just need to vent

I half wrote another post yesterday but didn't publish it because I was waiting to see what happened today. See.. I decided to tell my therapist how bad things are. Silly me thinking that would accomplish anything.

Here is the situation. I now have potentially 2 job offers. I am waiting for the restaurant to be close to opening, and they are supposed to call. I did a phone interview for a bank teller job and the recruiter was going to see if they had any full time positions and call me but pretty much offered me the part time job. I hung up the phone at the end, and then curled up in bed sobbing.. like legit sobbing because I can switch the depression off briefly but I know very well that I can't keep it off. It feels like an on/off switch except the time limit is maybe an hour sometimes. So the interview left me in tears contemplating death.

My therapist says she doesn't think I should be working. She said I should be looking at disability. I said that I don't know what I need to do and burst into tears. I really have no idea what I need to do. I tried to explain that I am completely broke and my parents have threatened at least once to kick me out, and I am scared. I told her I am still drinking because I don't think I would be alive if I wasn't, and my parents don't understand that. They refuse to understand that it's not fun. It's not me being rebellious. It is a survival mechanism. When I think about suicide >50% of the time, I am hardly sleeping, I need to be able to turn my brain off and the medications don't do that.

I seriously said more than once that I am suicidal. I even flat out said that the reason I am alive is that today is my mom's birthday, and I couldn't kill myself right before her birthday. That was because she wanted to text my dad that she was going to get the information about disability for me. Not that she was going to tell anyone that I said I was suicidal.. and I just didn't want her to talk to him today and start a conversation about this on her birthday. I don't want to try to explain this to them today. I said that I really see no way that I am not going to be hospitalized Thursday when I see my psychiatrist, and she said that was OK.

And she seriously let me leave her office at the end of the appointment without telling anyone what I told her. I really tried to get her to understand that I am NOT ok, and she just let me leave. She wants me to talk to my psychiatrist about TMS and she is supposed to give me some info about disability. She said we could call during my session if I wanted to use the time that way (with the tone of voice implying that was a waste of time) because like most people she doesn't comprehend how much I struggle with phone calls. I don't make phone calls, so I don't know how this is going to work. I told her that I don't think this is fixable. She kept trying to make suggestions about stuff like cleaning the apartment, and I just kept crying harder.

I left and went home and pretended to be fine. Well.. my mom and brother went to lunch, and I went back to bed. I don't think I ever fell asleep. I just pretended to sleep to avoid talking to anyone. I somehow have to make it through tomorrow and then I guess try again with my psychiatrist. I imagine my psychiatrist will respond differently. I mean it's not even like having this conversation a few months ago prior to the suicide attempt. Then maybe I could understand her not taking this seriously. Now? WTF?

So it hasn't been a good day. I really hope I can sleep tonight. Maybe sleep would help. I just can't bring myself to say anything to my parents. I know I should. I just feel so worthless for thinking this way, and I don't know how to explain this. I don't know how to make them understand that this isn't my fault. I don't even really understand how I went from a relatively normal person to this fucking mess in 6 months. I don't know how to fix it either. But I think I can make it one more day.

Rigorous honesty

I have not had a great day, but it could have been worse if I had done what I planned.

It started poorly because my parents asked if I wanted to go to breakfast. I declined because my stomach has been acting up for several days. I don't know if it's a result of the last time I drank rubbing alcohol or the drinking in general. I stayed in bed a bit longer then got up to vomit, and *TMI* threw up some of the salad I ate for lunch yesterday (and stood there trying to remember when I had salad because for dinner I had a veggie burger). So I guess my digestion isn't great. I had some milk and went back to bed.

The plan was to go to my home group for a meeting and then to my apartment to get my computers... and any pills I could find. I ended up crying and saying in the meeting that I don't want to be alive. Several people talked to me after. I told the friend that I didn't think I should go to my apartment because of what I wanted to get. She asked what, and I told her I wanted to grab pills. So obviously that plan was cancelled. Instead, we went to get food for her lizard. I managed to go straight home after. Thankfully my parents didn't ask why I didn't go to the apartment because I didn't want to explain. I see very little chance of making it through the week without going back inpatient. I am trying to at least make it until I see my therapist Tuesday to see what she thinks I should do.

I now have several people who know what's going on, so I am a little more accountable. I drank this morning, but I haven't touched the vodka this evening. I am trying to avoid it, but I also don't want to throw it out in case I start having withdrawals. I don't think I have been drinking enough to have a problem, but I can never be sure. My body is clearly not coping well with how I have been treating it. I am a little worried about it, but I am still pretty suicidal.. so not that worried. I am just trying to keep it together for a few more days. I am back to my parents house where my medications are safely locked away. I think I can manage a few more days.

Digging a deeper hole

**TW** please read at your own risk

I feel like good things are happening, but I am sinking lower. I feel my life expectancy should be measured in days or maybe weeks. I do not see a happy ending because I do not want a happy ending. I am mainly weighing the consequences and trying to minimize damage.

The good... I have a job offer for a restaurant. I also have a phone interview for a bank I worked for before. I would prefer the bank because I would prefer something I have done before. It might be a different location, but I know I have done it. The other job is a cashier job, which I have experience with, but at somewhere I have never worked. Not going to lie.. I worry a little that I ate at the restaurant and have had an upset stomach ever since. Likely, the upset stomach has to do with the rubbing alcohol I drank a few days ago and not the food.

The question is if I can manage any of this. I saw my new psychiatrist yesterday and cannot honestly say I want to be alive. I am exhausted, and I want out. I do not see any way of fixing everything I have broken. I am terrified that I will never be able to find all the medical bills and pay them. I am still scared to even check my mail, so keeping up with everything is terrifying.

I am also just miserable. I am sad. I tried to explain it all to the new doctor, and I can barely keep track of when I was in each hospital. If I had full control of my meds, I wouldn't be here. However, I don't have full control, so I have to come up with a plan. Plus, my mom's birthday is next week, and I cannot decide when would be the best time to lose a daughter in reference to that. I am thinking after...

I am trying. I am just trying to keep going. I want to believe that I will want to be alive because I just cannot imagine decades of this. I honestly think I am defective, and I wasn't meant to be alive.

My parents are struggling to cope with me. I stupidly talked to them drunk, and my dad mentioned it later. I mean if they kicked me out, it would make the choice easy.

I am still trying. I am planning to tell my therapist everything and see if she has better ideas. If I cannot work and function, can she find another option? I am willing to try other things, but I don't know what to try. I only know how to go on interviews and go to work.. until I don't. Until I can't. Then I don't know what to do.

So yeah.. my life is crumbling around me. I need any bit of support I can get. I am sad and scared and I don't think I can show it. I am trying to hide it. If I weren't with my parents, I would just stay in bed. I wish I could just stay in bed. I don't think I should have to act like I am functioning and doing ok. I want to be able to act like the crumbling mess that I know I am. Pretending is only making the suicidal thoughts worse.  So I guess we will see what happens. I love all of you that read this and have commented before. I have loved this chance to be honest. If I don't get to write again, I wish you the very best.

**Edit** I am continuing to take the right step. I need to go home tomorrow and get my computers. I texted 2 friends to say I will be at an AA meeting. I told both I am struggling, and I asked B to go to my apartment with me. That way I am far less likely to leave with a bunch of pills. This may not make me less suicidal, but it makes me less likely to come away with an excess of pills. It also means I am less likely to lie about how badly I am doing, so I can hopefully be honest. I will continue to try.

Reaching out

I had a terrible day.

After the disagreement with my parents, I didn't want to go to ECT. I don't think it's helping. I am terrified about the possibility of my parents kicking me out when they are almost my only reason to live. But I went to ECT. The doctor wants to keep doing this for next week too. I argued it's pointless but agreed because I don't have a lot of options.. and I didn't want to say I was suicidal and be put inpatient.

Well, the thing about ECT.. for me at least waking up from anesthesia is really confusing. I know where I am but sometimes have gaps in my memory. Like today I looked at my phone and saw the message I sent someone yesterday about the fight with my parents. I then looked at my last post and remembered the overdose. And so this week comes flooding back with all the fears about finding a job and cleaning my apartment and having a place to live. This resulted in me crying hysterically with the nurses trying to reassure me that it will get better. I kept thinking that it won't if my parents kick me out and I lose my only real reason to live.

Of course.. I couldn't mention the drinking or the overdose because I risk getting put back inpatient. And being inpatient only complicates things like cleaning the apartment and getting a job. I ended up having to swear to one nurse that I will be back for my treatment next week (meaning alive) because I was curled up in a ball crying but refusing to really explain why. Meanwhile thinking all sorts of terrible things.

Afterwards, I got myself put together enough for lunch and shopping with my mom. I also when I got home called my friend B from AA and told her about it. I tried to call one other friend later when the hopeless feeling came back. She didn't answer, so I texted a non AA friend to basically explain where I have been for the past few months. I haven't gotten a response.
I am still feeling very hopeless and alone. I just don't see things working out for me. I truly don't. I mean I applied for a bank teller job because I have experience, and my mom's comment was that I didn't like working at the bank. That's true to some extent, but also I doubt I will like being homeless or unable to afford my medications.. and just the other day she made it sound like those are possible outcomes. I am just trying to take any step that I can to keep myself from saying fuck it and giving up on life. I may not want to be alive, but I am holding onto the assumption that someone cares about me.

And the downward spiral continues *TW*

Not even sure where to begin. I don't remember if I mentioned that Monday I had the brilliant idea to take approximately 30 benadryl.. maybe 40? Shortly after my mom and brother came home, and somehow my brother being there made it too weird to OD, so I purged as much as possible. Nothing really happened. I didn't even feel sick or tired. Then Tuesday and Wednesday I drank rubbing alcohol.. and on top of that my parents mentioned the bottle of vodka in my bathroom last night.

My mom basically said I would have to find somewhere else to live. But then also was talking about me needing to apply for jobs. My dad seems to want some way to test me to see if I am drinking. I didn't say a whole lot because I can't explain how much I am only alive because of them. I also wasn't the one who originally suggested moving home. And I haven't actually lied about the vodka. I just haven't mentioned it. I basically said that the depression is worse, I am not sleeping well, and I don't know what to do. The drinking isn't fun. It's survival.

I am back to having crying spells. Twice I have left AA early to cry hysterically in my car. I have all kinds of suicidal thoughts. I am barely keeping myself alive and reasonably safe, and I am supposed to find a job? I am not sure how to safely pack up my apartment, which I know is full of pills and knives. I am not sure I can even safely go get my laptop. My parents are still not allowed in the apartment, so I would have to take friends.

ECT isn't working. Meds aren't working. I saw my therapist but how is seeing her once every week or two going to fix this? I can't imagine ever being able to work again. It was the job hunt that put me in the hospital this last time. I know part of it is that I just don't want anything badly enough. I am only trying not to hurt people too badly, and I don't know how long I will care. So I may end up in hospital again, but is it going to matter? Is a week inpatient going to make it better or make it worse by just further limiting the time I have to do everything?

I don't know. I can't sleep. Everything is fucked. I don't know if anything can fix it. I have ECT in the morning, and I am going to do my best to tell the doctor that things are getting worse. Vodka would help, but I am out. I don't know if I can buy more and just hide it better. Do I just say fuck it all and go back to my apartment and begin drinking myself to death? I just don't know.

Insomnia

OK so I really think I might end up back in the hospital soon. My head is all sorts of fucked up, and I don't even know why. Like I have been drinking everyday.. I am pretty much constantly buzzed. I was dumb and finished my vodka this afternoon, which means by bedtime I was desperate enough to drink mouthwash. I of course can't sleep.. and it came down to either drinking isopropyl alcohol or taking a handful of benadryl. I settled on a splash of rubbing alcohol and water.. which tasted awful but took the edge off. I may get caught if anyone smells the glass or my breath.. but I don't really care? Like I almost need someone to say something so I can come clean.
What I really don't understand is why I am so desperate to be numb. My life is not so terrible. I was thinking about the counselor at rehab saying I probably have a lot more secrets than I told them... but I don't? My therapist was half convinced that I have repressed something because it just doesn't make sense for me to be this fucked up. I mean honestly.. I don't have as many memories of my childhood as most people do. I also had this weird thing where I told stories in my head.. but what's weird is that they were almost always about a girl who was horribly abused. But I wasn't abused. My parents loved me. Sorry that was a weird tangent. I have to be up for ECT in a few hours.. I don't even see the point anymore. It isn't helping. Meds aren't helping. I promised my therapist not to attempt suicide again before I see her.. but I don't know if I can keep this up.

Cats

So I really don't know if this makes me a fucked up human being, but I really feel like cats keep me alive more than people. Like I really have an abnormal attachment to my cats. In high school, I truly believe Mudge kept me alive. She would sit and watch me when I cut. She was somehow always there when I was upset. Now it's Odd. He grew up with a crazy owner. It was totally expected that I would carry him and cuddle him when I was upset. But he still is always there when I am upset. Like I had a bad day and last night he just laid down behind me and put a paw on my shoulder. He was just there. And I honestly wonder if he understands better than my parents. I don't think they get the philosophical crisis going on in my head. Or at least they don't know how to respond. Odd knows to just place a paw there and occasionally make some funny, sleepy sound. Nermal is still young and is more funny than understanding. Still I feel like I have to live for them. My parents could understand my death. It might change everything and be terrible, but they have an understanding of mental illness that would eventually allow them to cope. My cats might never understand why suddenly I wasn't there. I can't explain it to them because we speak different languages. So a paw on my shoulder helps me live. Funny noises keep me alive. I know I should care about people, but I feel more attached to these little animals I raised. They are mine.

Today I feel like I have to decide. Am I going to kill myself or not? If not, I have to stop drinking. I have reached the point of dependence that I cannot function without alcohol. So I think I have to give it up.. and I just don't know if I will end up in the hospital. I honestly care so little about life that I will take whatever happens. I have thought about picking up the pills. I really don't know. For now the only positive is the cat that chooses to sleep in bed with me and not the many other places that exist.

Almost desperate enough

I was seriously close to asking my parents to take me to the emergency room today. I am just not doing well. I felt really off today.. I don't know how to explain. It was like my body wasn't mine. I have had this sort of feeling before while going through withdrawal. I was also just exhausted. After breakfast and shopping, my dad mentioned seeing a movie. I was so glad my mom said no because I just wanted to go back to bed. After waking up, I felt nauseous.  I just really wanted a drink. I didn't even want dinner. I was just trying to act normal. Then I was just killing time until AA. I went to the meeting and stopped at the liquor store before. I just knew I was going through withdrawal and needed a drink. I was upset because a woman talked to me before the meeting and mentioned seeing me before and how I leave right after the meetings. I'm sorry, but doesn't it seem logical that if someone is clearly uncomfortable at meetings not to point it out? I seriously almost left before the meeting because she said that. I just really miss my home group. I feel like the only one who is still sick at this group. Like everyone else has years of sobriety, and I just drank in my car.

But seriously I considered going to the hospital. I don't see a way out of this, but I want out. I still haven't picked up the prescription I intended to kill myself with. The drinking has reached a point where I am scared to stop on my own, but my parents haven't said anything.. and I don't know if they don't know or are just too scared to say anything. I don't want to need treatment again. I don't exactly want to kill myself. I just don't see a way out. I don't want to keep doing ECT. I don't want to go back to my apartment. I don't want any of this. I just want oblivion. I just want out. I just struggle with the idea that I am not capable of life.

A total mess

I really am not sure I am capable of life. I think I have fucked things up again. I am back to researching ways to kill myself. I even requested a refill on a medication that I don't need. I know I should tell someone, but I don't want to go back inpatient. I'm drinking a lot. I slept most of yesterday. Basically, I'm a mess.

Hopeless? Worthless?

I am really struggling with being out of the hospital. I am back to wondering if I am really capable of living. I remember times where I was able to go to school or work and be good at things. I don't know what happened. I don't know if I just reached a certain age and ran out of that ability, or somehow alcohol fucked it all up. Except before alcohol, I had bulimia and self harm, and I managed ok.

I am pretty suicidal again. I keep thinking of my family. Is it worse for them to lose me or to live with a daughter who cannot live outside of the hospital? My dad is out of town for work. My mom was supposed to go with him, but now she is here keeping an eye on me. My birthday was yesterday, and we haven't really celebrated. They are spending money to feed me and take care of me. I can't possibly ask for gifts because I feel too guilty about being the 31 year old daughter that can't take care of herself. Except, I still believe that there is something inherently wrong with me that makes me unable to live. I think I was born defective.

I am still suicidal. I hate the question about having a plan because to me it is normal to have a plan. I am trying to just give ECT a shot. I am trying not to think about the future. I still honestly feel like escape is better. So I am drinking.. except that may lead to the need for detox.

I want to plan for the apartment. I want to think about working. I need to be focused on no more than tomorrow.

I am bothered by something small. I went on facebook because I knew people wished me happy birthday. One friend said happy birthday and she hopes I am doing ok. It just made me wonder what everyone thinks. How obvious is it that I am going crazy?

I don't do this often, but if you read this I could use some comments. I don't know what. I just want someone to tell me to keep fighting. I want to believe that I have a future. I want to believe that I am not just a mistake that is inconveniencing my family. I don't know how to turn all this into something positive. I just keep thinking that it would hurt less to end it now. It would hurt me and everyone else less.

Tonight I drink to avoid doing anything worse. I know that I could do worse. Instead I will try for now to stay alive.

Home again

I think I last updated before being transferred to the psych ward. It took most of Monday for them to arrange the transfer. The issue was that I had mentioned ECT, and only a handful of hospitals around here do it. Originally, the one I have been to had no beds, so she mentioned 2 others. I started crying and said I didn't care because by Monday I was exhausted and had been without meds for days, so I couldn't process anything. I texted my mom something about the options, and she mentioned that my dad wanted me to call my apartment complex and ask to stay another month. I then ended up curled up crying uncontrollably with my poor sitter asking if I was ok. I somehow managed to get my shit together and call. Then the social worker said that the hospital now had a bed. I just waited for transport.

My first day 2 days at the psych ward are a blur. I transferred and did all the assessments and tried to negotiate with the nurse to get my Seroquel. I ended up getting something else and crashing at 8:30. The next day I slept through breakfast. I stumbled out of bed for vitals and to see the doctor. I had a breakdown over lunch because they didn't tell me I had to order vegetarian in advance. This happened after I went for an X-RAY and returned to find my roommate locked out of our room. I ended up just insisting I didn't want lunch and just wanted to go back to bed. They let me in my room. I cried and then slept until dinner. I went to bed by 9 again.

I started ECT Wednesday. I then ate lunch and slept until dinner. Thursday I finally went to a few groups, which was as pointless as I expected. The doctor started me back on wellbutrin. The first sign I was feeling better is that I had enough energy to read. Wednesday after ECT I just sat and stared into space because I couldn't focus on a book.

Today I had ECT again. The doctor had said I would be discharged today or Monday. I pleaded for today. Groups don't help, so I just want to be back with my parents. So I was discharged. My parents are locking up my meds. I gave them the meds in my room that they hadn't taken. They didn't touch the vodka in the bathroom.. I haven't mentioned it. I did drink a bit.

I am still having passing suicidal thoughts, but they are getting better. I just want to be out of the hospital. I have to go back Monday for ECT. I have 6 more treatments before I get a break. That also means I am not supposed to drive, so I am relying on my parents. I am safer than I was. I hope things continue to improve.

Update

I'm still alive. After the overdose, I was in the ER, then ICU, then a regular room. I was declared medically stable Friday but spent the weekend waiting for insurance to approve transfer to a psych ward. I haven't been given my meds since Thursday, so I am an emotional mess. They only gave me ambien and Ativan. I now can't even get Ativan because my brilliant destructive self pulled out my IV yesterday. I have had a sitter the whole time, so I am never alone. The nurses are nice, but this has all been humiliating and depressing. I am transferring today, so I will try a proper update when I get out.

Awful night and awful day

Last night I drank a bottle of vodka, and I took 12 60mg duloxetine and a few extra butter. I fell asleep. Sadly, I woke up. I felt off.. blurry vision, tremors. I went php. I debated talking to the nurse.

Then my therapist pulls me out to work on my treatment plan. But I couldn't walk. My entire body was shaking. She and another therapist helped me into a chair. The nurse came and got the details of what I took. They had me call my dad to come get me, but then they decided to call an ambulance. Everyone has been kind. Well my parents... my dad looked overwhelmed and my mom looked angry. I didn't expect them not to be angry. I just also expected some love and gratitude that I failed

I honestly had hoped the tremors would get better, and I could have gone home. Then I would have done it again. I am seriously considering refusing to go inpatient. Then I will a hotel room and a lot of vodka and pills

But for tonight, I am chilling in the ICU. Getting fluids and benzos (for the shaking)

I will update when there's more to say

Invisible

Things are quite bad. After the minor overdose Sunday, I have been obsessing over doing it again. I've also had tremors and muscle twitches that I think are related to that. I only told one friend about it.

PHP has been upsetting today. The doctor asked if I thought it was helping and how long I wanted to continue. Then she saw that my insurance has only approved through today. She talked to the person dealing with them and was basically told that because my suicidal thoughts are chronic and not getting better, they may not give me any more days. So basically I feel like help just isn't possible for me. I should just give up because even insurance has given up.

I tried to call my psychiatrist. They claim I have multiple no shows, so the psychiatrist wants to talk to me before deciding to schedule anything. I only remember cancelling the last appointment at the last minute. I've spent most of the past 3 months in treatment, so I couldn't make another appointment. It's not my fault nobody contacted him while I was in treatment. So I may not have a psychiatrist anymore.

After finding all that out, I go back to group and everyone is talking about suicide.. a patient's husband's suicide, their attempts, their thoughts. I sat there silently thinking of my own plans but seeing no point in telling them. The therapist asked toward the end for people to say someone who was quiet in group they wanted to hear from. They mentioned me and another man. The therapist called on him and spent the rest of process group on him. I never spoke, and this may be my last day.

So I may be beyond all help now.

**Edit** I was extended until Friday for php. I made a psychiatrist appointment for next week after the awkwardness of him saying how I owed $40 for the appointment I cancelled at 3am the day of. I did this. I acted normal. I pulled a ton of weeds from my parents garden.

I also finished a 375ml bottle of vodka. Then I bought more. I took a lot of pills (duloxetine, buspar, and my usual Seroquel). I went to AA. I called my ex sponsor to say how well I am doing. I guess I will see what happens. I truly appreciate everyone who reads this. I am so much more able to write if someone cares. Whatever happens, thank you.

Staying alive

I am mainly writing to say I am still around. If anyone has read my recent posts, I didn't want to worry anyone by not writing.

Things are still pretty rough. Yesterday I went back to my apartment. I went to AA first, and I cried pretty uncontrollably. I was still very much in my head and not sure what I could say. I didn't want to say I am suicidal. I haven't really told anyone that. But yeah.. uncontrollable crying.

My friend B was there, and she asked me to hang out afterwards. She pretty much insisted I get in her car. We did an errand she needed to do, and we went to my apartment. I picked up my tablet and some more clothes. We discussed what to do with the apartment.. what I am keeping and what I am getting rid of. We didn't actually clean anything. Then I spent a few hours hanging out at a house she is petsitting at. I think the plan is to work on the apartment Tuesday.

I don't remember if I mentioned the conversation with my parents last week. It was basically that they talked to my counselor from rehab about wishing there were more resources to help people with severe depression. I made a comment about how having insurance means that I might not get much assistance. My mom said that I will lose my insurance. I don't know if they are assuming that I am not going to get a job or that I am not able to work.. or I am just overreacting. In my mind, it made me feel lazy. Like I should be looking for work, which I planned to start soon. I wanted a week to focus on treatment and getting used to being home. But of course my reaction was to apply for a bunch of jobs. I assumed that I wouldn't hear back right away, but I received an email from one company asking me to come do a typing test Monday morning. That would mean skipping php. I ended up deciding to reply that I couldn't come Monday and see if they respond. Then I got an email about a cashier job I applied for. They want to schedule an interview for Monday. I panicked and cried while debating if I should go. Honestly, I don't think I am well enough to work retail. I don't think I can handle php, cleaning my apartment, and that. I called B and she agreed that it was ok not to respond. It feels selfish but what I did afterwards is further evidence that I am not well.

I swear if my parents looked at my recent Google searches, that would be a bad conversation. Basically, I have searched repeatedly about the effects of overdoses on each of my meds. After the conversation with B, I decided to go ahead and take 4 or 5 extra wellbutrin. I am not sure how many and 3 buspar. Nothing happened. So I later took 3 duloxetine. Still no problems.. although I am sure my liver isn't happy with me. I didn't expect to die. I think I did it on the off chance that I would have a seizure and end up in the hospital.

I know I should be in the hospital. I spend too much time thinking about self destructive things, and it was far too easy to convince myself to take the pills. Still, I don't want to go. I don't want to seem like this is about attention or avoiding responsibilities. I also know that I do have things I should be doing. I do wonder if I feel more comfortable inpatient than out in the real world. There is something really appealing about it. I get to be surrounded by crazy people, so I don't feel different. The world becomes tiny and controlled. I don't have hope or dreams for the future, so it is easier to focus on the present when I am locked away. I don't know if I am going to tell anyone what I did.

I am probably going to take a break from job hunting. I probably should ask my doctor if I should be working. I need to only apply for jobs that I am interested in. Cashier at an electronics store sounds miserable. I am also considering trying ECT again because I don't think my meds are helping. I can't really work and do that. I am trying to not get overwhelmed by everything I need to do. So for now I am just going to sleep.

Why bother?

I went to my assessment for PHP today. I was about 90% honest, and so I just barely managed to convince them to give me a shot. I knew from the beginning that I was taking a risk when the form asked if I had a plan to harm myself, and I checked yes. I met with a doctor and social worker. The doctor asked what the plan was and how I could be sure that I would stay safe. I pretty much just said that I wouldn't do it. The social worker talked to me longer and asked the same thing. I told her that I doubted that the plan would kill me, and I would have to face my parents after. I did say that I was trying to come up with ways to make it work (so at least I end up in the hospital). I was honest about feeling totally hopeless. She agreed to let me try day program. She said if I hadn't just gotten out of treatment, she would say I need to be in the hospital. I could tell both her and the doctor weren't very comfortable with the suicidal thoughts. I can't say I blame them. I really can't promise that I won't do something stupid. I just don't think that going inpatient will help. I don't think outpatient will either, but at least it leaves me with the ability to deal with the apartment. I honestly don't know why I am bothering with anything. No matter how hard I try, I cannot see things getting better. I see myself relapsing. I see myself in and out of treatment. I see my family being angry. I see myself dying young.

I hate this. I hate being different. I hate being fucked up. I hate the very real possibility that I will always be depressed. I hate not feeling like I have any way to fix this.

The jumping off place **TW**

"Some day he will be unable to imagine life either with alcohol or without it. Then he will know loneliness such as few do. He will be at the jumping-off place. He will wish for the end."

I am back to my parents house now. I am still not feeling mentally well. The drive gave me too much time to think. I thought about conversations in rehab. I thought about how my counselor said I probably had more secrets than I told them. I really don't. Other than the extent of the self harm, I'm a bit of a mystery even to myself. I can't explain how I developed such a strong belief that I am worthless and hopeless and somehow different or defective. I can't explain the origin of the depression. It just is. I thought about when she asked if my intention was to leave and kill myself. I said no, but I wasn't really sure at the time. She asked if I had a plan, and I kinda laughed (which felt a bit sick) and said it isn't hard to come up with an idea. Like seriously, the plan has been the same for a couple years with few variations. But I guess normal people don't have that sort of thing?

I spent the drive thinking about the plan. I remember in treatment having these random thoughts.. "brilliant ideas" I called them sarcastically. One night I lay on my bed and calmly commented that instead of cleaning my apartment, I could set it on fire. My roommate (who was used to me by then) asked if I had renters insurance. The other was the hotel room.. which actually was the plan I had back when I was a year sober. My other idea was to ask people what they would have for their last meal.. like ask the staff this. Because I couldn't decide what to eat to help keep the vodka down. Obviously, I didn't ask. I didn't want to end up back on suicide watch. I have also spent a lot of time wondering if I would need to not take my cell phone because my parents might be able to track it and find me. The police could see by my credit card, but hopefully I would be dead before I was reported missing.

Then in the car, I returned to the practical issue that I am supposed to go to a partial hospitalization program for the depression. I am very much afraid that if I am honest, I will get stuck in a psych ward for all these thoughts. I also know that the constant dishonesty in rehab was probably an obstacle to my recovery. I can't simultaneously ask god to remove my character defects and when my counselor asks about self harm say I just have thoughts (instead of saying I am doing it everyday). So I probably shouldn't lie about this.

Still.. I have an appointment Tuesday for the assessment for partial. I had to call and get it moved to a closer location than where my counselor set it up. I am going to do my best to give myself a week to see if this feeling goes away. I will give myself a week to try life.