So I’ve been here for over a week now. I’m fairly confident that I’m going through some stage of grief, pertaining to the 3-5 months of treatment ahead of me. I’ve perhaps just passed from the denial I had been floating around in for some days into anger and bargaining. However, there’s nothing really to bargain with. I’m struggling minute by minute through a markedly difficult, confused, and angry time of my life, while trying in vain to conceal and restrain the fact that I’m still freaking the fuck out, feeling like I’m emotionally shutting down.
I’m really not trying to be dramatic, but carrying through with my venture to write more about what’s actually going on. I’m not even sure what I’m writing- or even if I want to write right now. I’ve lost my motivation, inspiration, and all feeling that it even matters anyways- but I’ve been left with absolutely nothing else to do but sit week after week with these horrendous emotions, while watching my fears realize themselves. I’m ping-ponging back and forth between dissociation, aggression, and weepy, disarmed state.
My irritation is unprecedented, but so is my timidity and silence.
I’m supposed to be functioning as a day time person, but it’s not working yet.
I’m fighting flashbacks in my head of the results of previous treatment centers and perpetually meet with the irrational desperation that evokes within me. I’ve had the intense urge countless times to simply walk out the door with no formalities, but feel disinclined to be hunted down by the police, placed in a psych ward, and then brought back here again. I was informed that if I acted up enough- I could potentially go through the same process as well, of which I eventually decided against as well. I honestly contemplated the offer, but determined the wards all too familiar with the “hide the antipsychotics under your tongue trick,” and I need my mind at least sane. Being an adult, I can check myself out, but don’t know anyone in the area to stay with, no plans after that, and have no financial means but bumming or prearranged prostitution (kidding- kind of).
Don’t get me wrong- the staff and treatment team are mostly all very patient and kind, so I’m constantly apologizing after most things that I say or do in an impulsive flash of anger or sarcasm. However, anxiety and depression is only growing and always boiling just under my withered facade. I’m not sure that the other patients are having any more fun than I am, but are mostly all here voluntarily. I’m having inordinate difficulty engaging with any investment in my own therapy because I’m so shut down and distraught.
I’m actually quite fond of my therapist here, but it’s a shame I can’t seem to improve my disposition to really enjoy conversing regarding anything- much less myself in this state.
Because I’m not myself here.
But who is? It probably comes with the territory.
It’s so extremely difficult to show the real me- for any therapeutic benefits and purposes- because I’m so stressed out my blood pressure’s up 30-50 points and my hair is coming out more than I’ve ever seen. I feel guilty that they’re trying to make little accommodations for me, but I still feel miserable.
It’s so indescribably frustrating having my whereabouts, physical activity, food, water, coffee, vitamin, medication, restroom use, and smokes all monitored, controlled, restricted, or enforced right down to condiment use. The value of a Starbucks at this point is up at 40-50 dollars, and a long walk in the hills missed just as much.
I feel like my concerns about my being here’s impact on the near future are often only met with mechanically calculated positive statements for the sake of therapeutic antonymy. I want to just fast forward one year, to when this whole painful ordeal is over. I know I need to try and make the best of this I can, and learn what I’m here for, but I’m not in that place right now.
I want to breathe without the gnawing, deadening misery growing any more. My mind feels slow , my senses dull, my intuition blunted, and my energy even more stagnant and dead than before.