My journal

[IncorrigibleMinx]

Today I was brave. Today at my sexual abuse counselor, I told her about my breaks with reality. It's the first time I've said it out loud to another human being. I've given the doctors just enough information to diagnose me as bipolar, but not enough to understand the severity. I lie. Not because I want to lie, but because when I am extremely manic or extremely depressed, I have breaks with reality. I think that things happened, that didn't. When I "come to" I realize that while something feels real...that I have memories of it, it's not. I'm sane enough to know I'm crazy. But then I realize that I've shared these things with other people, and I don't want them to know I'm crazy...and so I lie, to maintain my alternate reality. This creates insane parallel universes in not only my mind, but my life. I need to tell someone in charge of medicating me about this...but I'm scared. It's ok to be weird...but not *that* weird. Right? A person that doesn't know what's real, is a different kind of crazy. But it's my kind of crazy. (Anyone reading this having similar issues, please don't think my self depreciation is a judgement of you, I'm just trying to cope out loud and voice the scariest things I say to me) So...I said it out loud. I want to cry. I'm afraid someone is going to lock me away. It's why I didn't tell my doctors during my hospitalization. I'm so much worse than anyone thinks I am. Part of me is manipulative. I am protecting my mania, my sense of self and my image to the world. This symptom of my illness is the hardest to cope with. Mostly it's hard because I was the victim of violent sexual abuse for so many years. Normal feelings of "did I imagine this...am I valid???" are compounded by the fact that your view of reality is skewed. I know the abuse happened, because the person was physically removed from my home...but the intricacies, the details...I can't trust. I had to tell someone, an intern at a crisis center. I struggled between apologizing for my existence and burdening her with my problems...and yelling at her that I was just kidding, and never coming back. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. I'm so proud of me, but I also hate me. Mostly I'm just sitting around, waiting for someone to knock on my door and take me away to the hospital. It doesn't help that it's Halloween and the door bell keeps ringing. I feel my mood escalating. I can tell based on my behavior with men. I need all of the attention. And I need to make out with a stranger. And I need to fuck in an alley with no remorse. Sexual behavior like this is the worst thing for someone that was sexually abused. The guilt sends me into a shame spiral that I cannot escape from. Usually accompanied by alcohol in my ability to think that I own the world and no one can stop me...and the depressive quality of the alcohol tips me into the other end of my mania, my depression. So I flirt with it. And I hate myself anyway, just like I did the deed. And then I think that I've done the thing, because I'm fucking crazy. And it doesn't matter that I didn't, because I *know* that I did. Because I punish myself. Real or imagined. I just need someone to hold me and tell me not only that it's going to be ok, but what's real...and hopefully what's real is their love. Even if it's just for five minutes.

[manuel_moe_g]

Hello IncorrigibleMinx!

I am proud of you for how brave you were to admit this to a counselor.

What is real is your considerable self-worth! You rule!

[IncorrigibleMinx]

I am going through such a weird thing. My head is befuddled. My life is confused. No one loves me. Any I don't care. I lost my job, and pretty soon I think I may lose my life. I'm resigned. I feel peace. I'm crawling out of my skin but that's because I'm hyperactive. The truth is, I haven't left the place I was at the emergency room. That day I wanted to just end it...that day is still here. I don't know what's real anymore. I just want to go to sleep and never wake up. I just want peace. For me, for everyone around me. I am broken. Someone please help me.

[manuel_moe_g]

What is real is the existence of a small hope that comes with just being human. I wish there was more there for you, because you deserve better, but it is what it is. Somewhere in the huge universe is a truth that can keep you alive and can make life worth living, but only you can find it for yourself. The good news is that there is help - not the overflowing help that you deserve, but there is hope out there. I don't want to lie and make it out to be more cheerful than it really is, but the truth of the hope is certain. I wish for you to have the surge of strength to find it. I hate that you need a surge of strength at the exact time you feel weakest, but that is the way that the universe is set up. Please take care. We here are cheering for you and for your greatest today and tomorrow. Your greatest tomorrow is out there, and it just requires you to soldier on and to seek help. All the best to you.

[IncorrigibleMinx]

Thank you. Thank you for being amazing. Today I talked to a social worker and a doctor. Everyone thinks I'm fine. Today I sat with a razor blade and watched me bleed. I'm not fine, block me for being controversial. Disown me for being a wretch. I don't know. There is something wrong with me. People shouldn't feel this way. That's the truth. I know that. I'd never want anyone, no matter what they did, to feel like this. I'm just having a mother fucking hard time. That's the truth. I need a friend. And apparently bipolar people only have support groups on the third Thursday of every month. I will be sure to hold on to my crazy until then.

[aidos]

nothing like the convenience of support groups. I'm sorry for all the shit you're going through, and i have the bloodstained notebook pages that would tell you i've sat with a razor and watched myself bleed because it was the only way i knew i was alive, could feel, really existed and wasn't a ghost or a figment of someone else's imagination. despite the fear of being locked away (which won't happen long-term; like you said, you're sane enough to know you're crazy) i think you need to tell your counselor or someone else you see about how severe your breaks with reality are. i know that reads like any other sentence, but if i said really, truly, sincerely, i feel like it would just sound fake, and it isn't.

as one person who suffers to another, the only way to get better and start overcoming some of this is to be totally upfront. no one can help you correctly if you aren't giving them all the facts to work with in the first place. you've shown us here that you're strong enough to do so, to come out and say what you need to say. you just need that next step, to tell someone who is actually physically (and medically) there to help you. if it seems too daunting, print out a copy of your original post and just hand it to your counselor next time you meet. it's much easier and can open up the dialogue that needs to take place.

why the fuck is there a smilie of mario riding yoshi but not a simple hug? well then you get this

[IncorrigibleMinx]

Thank you so much for your words. I'm trying. I decided I will talk more to my counselor about it until I get more comfortable with the words and can say them to the doctor. I had another break that night and the next day or so. I called my aunt in a tizzy. I never talk to my family. While I know my past was awful, I'm not sure what I was saying to her was correct. I was hysterical, illogical and delusional. I was verbally attacking her and everyone, and while I know that I need to confront them one day, I also know that this is not the way. She asked me for my address. I knew it was so she could send someone over for a wellness check. I refused to give it to her. How does she or anyone else not know my address? I know part of my illness is my isolation. I'm working on that. I hate feeling so remorseful afterward....I feel that way all of the time now. I am such a huge believer in personal responsibility, it's ironic really. I know this is all repetitive. I just need to vent.
During my first episode I decided to have manic casual sex with my roommate. Tonight he wanted to talk about it while he was drunk. He assured me we were safe. I almost broke down laughing. No part of me was safe. I told him I didn't want to talk about it. He's not a bad guy, but part of me wanted to ask him how the fuck he didn't realize I was out of my mind at the time. I don't blame him at all. But I just can't process it. I can't process any of it. Part of me wishes I wouldn't come down off of these highs. Picking up the pieces afterward is just ridiculous. Reconciling all the parts of who you think you are, how you feel, and how you behave, is just a bitch. He offered me a shot, I declined. It's how I know I've evened out a bit. Two days ago I was sitting on the patio in the snow in my pajamas, drinking an entire box of wine because I could, and no one could stop me. That's quite the feat for a girl my size. Tonight I couldn't care less about drinking. That's good at least. Holding onto the bright side.
Thank you for all the hugs, even if they didn't involve Mario and Yoshi, they certainly made me smile. I hope you're suffering less. If you ever need me to return the venting favor, let me know. I have a decent ear when my mouth isn't running a million miles a minute.