Dear vodka,

I was supposed to write a goodbye letter to alcohol for IOP.. It's supposed to be about when you started drinking, what bad things happened as a result of your drinking, and a goodbye to the substance. I am not sure I wrote exactly what they want. I thankfully have an individual session with the therapist before group. I might run it by him to see if it is appropriate to read in group. I just felt like being honest for once, and the honest answer is that I am not committed to recovery. I am giving it a try, but I obsess daily over getting vodka. But anyway... feedback is welcome. I wrote like 3 versions of this, and I think this is the final one

Dear Vodka, 

I remember how you came into my life. I was struggling to adapt to the stress of grad school. I had been struggling with depression for a decade at least. I tried to fix it with cutting and with bulimia. Those things never worked for long. I found you, and even at the beginning it was not a healthy relationship. I knew I didn't drink normally. I didn’t drink for taste or for fun. I drank to get rid of my feelings.

But you took the pain away. I got that numbness I searched for. I didn't have to feel lonely anymore. You gave me a way to erase all the anxiety and anger and sadness. You drowned out the constant obsessive, destructive thoughts. You kept me alive when I wanted to die. When I left you, all the destructive behaviors came back. I tried sobriety multiple times, but I always sunk back into depression. I always went back to you eventually.

You hurt me in so many ways. Many nights I would black out and wake up with bruises. My body suffered. I couldn’t keep down food. I was so weak that my legs would give out climbing the stairs. My hands would shake. My eyes turned yellow. All I really did was drink and sleep. You hurt my mind. I was forgetful. I became paranoid that everyone could look at me and know I was crazy. I became incapable of controlling my feelings sober. I cried over tiny things. I became incredibly anxious about everything. You made me impulsive. I had never needed stitches until I cut drunk. It became impossible to keep up with my medications, and it didn’t matter because they know longer worked.

I lost everything: my job, my car, my apartment, my independence. I was a drunken, emotional mess who couldn’t handle any part of my life. I no longer spoke to friends. I left grad school. I was terrified to go out in public, to check my mail, to answer my phone. I moved in with my parents, and there were so many arguments. They threatened to kick me out more than once. I tried treatment after treatment. I knew it was hopeless. I tried more than once to kill myself. You kept me alive.

I cannot imagine life with you or without you. If I drink, I will lose any little thing I have left. I know you will kill me eventually. It might be soon or it could be much later. Without you, I am left with the depression and anxiety and the obsessive thoughts. I chose sobriety because others wanted me to. They wanted me to continue to seek treatment that I am not certain will make any difference. I am depressed. I am tired. I don’t see any hope.

For now I will say goodbye to you. I have to give this a try. That way in the end I can at least say that I gave recovery a shot. I at least tried.

So exhausted

I can't remember what I wrote last time, but I wanted to update. This week has been a bit of a mess. Like I am clearly getting worse and not managing my emotions well.

Monday I went with my mom to update financial information at this government funded mental health service for my county. I spent a couple hours waiting because it's a walk in service (well the financial part is). Then they set me up with another appointment to do the assessment for substance abuse services at 11am. I wasn't looking forward to the next appointment because that counselor is the one who called 911 the last time I had an assessment because I admitted that I was suicidal. He said he was glad I came back and that I looked much better. So he sets me up for an appointment Tuesday to meet with another therapist and start IOP.

Tuesday my parents dropped me off an hour before the appointment because they had to be somewhere and couldn't drive me later. I sit around the extra 1.5 hours. I do the appointment with the substance abuse therapist that does the IOP. I am thinking listening to him talk about it at this point that I should have asked for residential/rehab because this doesn't sound like what I need. I think so many things are more important than just the drinking.. like the inability to function. I agree to IOP and in the hour before it starts I walk to the drugstore (in light rain) to get a Pepsi Max and a protein bar.. I mostly didn't know how I'd survive without the caffeine. I was less concerned about eating lunch and ate a couple bites before deciding the bar was disgusting. In IOP, I just listened to everyone else that day. I go home exhausted and have coffee and more diet soda to keep functioning.

Wednesday we go back to try to get in to see a psychiatrist. We wait 30 minutes to be told we need to go do an intake appointment. Of course, there's many people waiting in that building, but I put myself on the waiting list. I get told we can wait around to see about getting an appointment later. I sit down and cry. We get told around 10 to come back at 11. My mom takes me to McDonalds and I get coffee.. I think my mom was well aware I was breaking down. I go back and see that person and get set up with more appointments.. a psychiatrist and a case manager appointment on top of IOP next week. My mom and I go shopping after this. I had asked her to go with me to buy new jeans (because I am a fatass and have gained weight). I tried on several pairs before falling apart. I was obviously upset in the store, and she asked if I wanted to just leave and not buy anything. I nodded (I wasn't doing too well with words). I start crying as we leave the store. She asks why, and I basically say that I don't want new jeans. I want to lose weight, so my jeans will fit. She tries saying reassuring things on the way home and that we can go back out later. We go to another store later and I get really stressed when she says she is paying. I feel terrible for 1. buying clothes I only need because I am fat and 2. Making my mom buy me fat clothes. I manage to get jeans and bras. Later when my parents are asking about what AA meeting I want to go to, my mom asks if I just want the night off because I have been busy with IOP this week. I say yes because I am just exhausted.

So I don't think I am doing too well. I have been staying sober from alcohol. Emotionally and physically I am so very tired. It doesn't help that it has been cold all week.. and even before that I was cold enough to need a sweatshirt all the time in the house and outside. I have also been purging some meals.. not everyday, but several times in the past week. I am struggling to talk to people.. and still with ever answering my phone. I basically leave it on silent all the time because I get so many collection calls. I hate getting mail because that's all it is. I am not actively suicidal, but I have been entertaining the idea again. When I am in the car with my parents, I am looking for hotels and trying to gauge the distance from a liquor store because it would preferably be in walking distance. I won't get into other thoughts. I am hoping the case manager next week will be able to help more with the depression and the thoughts and just not being able to handle life. I don't know if I will end up in therapy or end up inpatient/residential. I wouldn't mind that so much. I really do nothing but sit with my laptop on a few websites or playing Sims 3. I would rather be asleep. I have been finder to myself and going home a bit earlier because I don't really care if my parents judge me. Maybe they have begun to realize that I cannot handle huge amounts of activity. It makes me question if there's any point in looking for jobs right now. IOP at 3 hours 3 days a week is a lot for me. I also know last weekend I snapped a little when my dad was discussing going to breakfast at 8:30 or 9. I mostly made a displeased face and said I would eat at home. I felt bad later, but I also know that getting less than 8 hours sleep is harder on someone with a mental illness than it is on my dad.. and my mom naps later in the day. I don't nap.

I am rambling.. my brain is past full functioning. I hope you all have a good weekend.

2 weeks

I was discharged from rehab on January 15th. I knew at the time I was suicidal, and so did they. Still I was sent home to fend for myself with no referrals. I managed to keep it together enough to set up an assessment for services at the government funded services for my county. I had it all planned out that I would kill myself the day after my parents wedding anniversary because I didn't want to ruin their anniversary. The day after happened to be my appointment for the assessment. I drank the night before and a couple drinks that morning. I don't know if it was the alcohol or just the depression that made me completely numb. I felt detached from myself as I was answering questions, including when asked if I had suicidal thoughts. I said yes.. and that I had a plan. So the counselor called 911. A cop showed up. I answered questions. I said I was planning to do it that night or the next, and then I was in handcuffs in a cop car. My mom was pretty understanding. I do remember her asking if the rehab place knew about all this.. which they did. I went to the ER and was admitted to inpatient.

They kept me 2 weeks. It honestly didn't seem like things were getting any better. I was depressed and hopeless and sleeping a lot. I met some nice people, but I also spent a lot of time in my room. Last Wednesday I was supposed to leave.. the doctor put in the order, I packed my stuff, and I filled out paperwork.. being an idiot I was honest on the paperwork. This included saying I was still having suicidal thoughts. I didn't think they would look at it before I was gone, but they did. So right at the time I was supposed to leave, the nurse told me I wouldn't be leaving. They called the doctor and decided I should stay. I might have said some not nice things about the doctor to the nurse (called him an asshole.. or a jackass.. to more than one person). I had self harmed pretty bad prior to that and again after it. I honestly didn't start to feel better until a few days ago. This past weekend the doctor working the weekend (not the jackass) added another antidepressant, and I started to feel better. I had been too tired to stay out of bed.. I had started skipping meals. I couldn't focus to read or color or do anything.

But I am home now and feeling a bit better. I am still pretty hopeless, but I am not so desperate as before. I am happy to have real food and diet soda. The options for vegetarians there were 2 frozen meals, a gardenburger, or a grilled cheese sandwich.. and a couple times I didn't order any alternative but was pressured to eat something by one of the techs. He's a nice guy, but I wanted to throw a fit when he threatened to tell my nurse (and they would tell the doctor) last night because I had skipped lunch and was trying to skip dinner. I will give him credit. He did sit down and asked why I was really skipping meals. I basically said it was because I was self destructive, which he said he noticed. I really self harmed way more than I admitted to anyone.

So in a couple days I have an appointment with a psychiatrist at the state funded services. I am a little afraid that I will be put back inpatient. Honestly, I am not that afraid of it. I really feel like at this time I would benefit from a long term program that could help me learn to do life ( pay bills, make decisions, be independent) again because at some point I ceased being able to function. Unfortunately, I doubt that exists or if it does that it is not enormously expensive. I just think I do best in the hospital. At home I anxiously sit around watching TV and thinking of everything I should be doing. I think I am a lot more broken than I was a year ago.

At least at home I have better food, and I have cats. That's something. Oh and I have vodka.