I think this is mostly a place to talk when I don't feel like I can talk to anyone around me, and it's pretty much the only site I have that's under a username I almost never use, isn't linked to any of my other social sites, and I've told no one about.
I feel like cutting again. I won't. I can't afford to. I know it's fucking hard to stop once I've started, and I just can't go back down that road. But this is the first time in four years that I've really felt I was on the edge of doing so. I can't tell my friends, because they'd just worry too much, and there's no real way to get someone to believe you won't hurt yourself, especially when you've had such a serious past with it.
I just have so much shit going down right now.
In late September, I got pretty hard hit with depression. I've had depressive episodes off and on for about ten years, but they haven't been too bad or gone on for too long in three or four years. But this time it was awful and it lasted until late October. I dropped out of college. I just stopped attending classes, my grades were going to shit, and I both didn't care and cared too much. I almost quit my job, which I actually really enjoy.
In mid October, I finally decided to try to get help. I called up my school's psychiatric clinic and found out it would be three weeks before I could be seen. I couldn't do that. I couldn't. I couldn't wait so fucking long. Luckily, one of my best friends is super awesome and called another clinic at the university run hospital, and found out I could be seen basically immediately if I went to the emergency room, which would send me over to their in-house psychiatric care.
I got the meds I wanted, but not until after what felt like an extremely dehumanizing process.
When I first went to the emergency room, I had to explain to the receptionist what was going on. Then I had to explain to a nurse, who gave me a bracelet, then peed in a cup and went back to the waiting room. Then I had to explain to another nurse, who asked "what happened to make me so depressed" and didn't seem to understand that there was no one incident, and just because I wasn't suicidal didn't mean I didn't need help. Then I had to explain to a doctor who seemed to give as many shits as the nurse did (though the nurse did come back and tell me where water was if I needed any, which was nice). Then I got to sit in the room the nurse and the doctor saw me in for another half hour before being escorted to the psychiatric wing, which is where I really lost my personhood.
The med student (I'm pretty sure she was one, though I'm not 100% sure), stood in the hallway with me, because the person she was told to take me to was in some sort of meeting, or was somehow occupied, but was going to be right out. We waited for not even a minute when another woman came out and asked the med student what I was doing in the hallway. She then took all my things from me, not letting me text my best friend that I had to give up my phone so he wouldn't worry. I overheard her talking to one of her coworkers about how I was just wandering around the hallway, as though I had just happened by there on my own and had been there for a while. She then got a security guard to scan me with a metal detector. It beeped around my chest, but I wasn't really paying attention since I was too busy trying to not continuously sob. The security guard asked me if I had wires in my bra. I asked what and he repeated himself. I couldn't put together the context of why he would ask, and I really had no idea what sort of bra I was wearing so I said, "I.. Maybe? I think so. I don't know." He laughed and said he hoped I did or I probably did or something, which was maybe his attempt to find humor in the situation, but everything that was happening to me was making me more uncomfortable and on edge. I then had to be weighed and had my bracelet scanned. It felt like that bracelet was my new identity, not my name. Did anyone even ask for my name, after the receptionist?
A nurse came in with a laptop, and I had to explain everything to her, which she entered into the computer. Then a med student came in with a clipboard, and I had to give her the exact same information I just gave the nurse. Then the med student brought in a doctor, who I had to half explain the situation to and ask some further questions. This whole time, I was crying off and on, especially after my stuff was taken from me. I was spoken to as a child was spoken to, which I suppose was supposed to calm me down, but just made me feel less human. Finally, after some deliberation, I was given a prescription for anti-depressants, and was allowed to leave. My things were retrieved from a locker, and I felt like my identity was given back to me.
Another of my best friends picked me up and took me to a late night pharmacy to get my prescription. It was a small step, but it was a good step in the right direction.
By the time I went to my appointment three weeks later, I knew I was going to drop out. I didn't tell the psychiatrist, I just got a prescription for a refill and a higher dose and left.
I tried to push myself to officially withdraw, but the only way I could see to do it was to talk to each of my teachers individually and have them sign a paper saying I get a W or an F. How could I do that? How could I look each of my professors in the eye and say "I can't do it. I'm dropping out. I can't tell you why, but I just can't do it anymore." I couldn't and I didn't. I just ignored that part of my life, and was less depressed for November, probably because preparing for Black Friday in my retail job had me quite distracted from anything else.
I started feeling worse early December, though, and this is really where shit really starts to go downhill.
One of my best friends, the one who picked me up from the hospital, was going on a break from her 5 year relationship. I hoped she'd just dump the guy. He seemed like a bit of an asshole, but I never saw enough to feel comfortable voicing my opinion to her. She faked happy well enough that I didn't think it was any of my business. But after getting into an emotionally intense relationship with another man, she realized she needed to reevaluate her relationship with her current partner and was up front with him about the reasons why (which wasn't just that guy, but their various incompatibilities which would have either broken them up eventually or made them super unhappy anyway). He responds by saying he can no longer trust her to not fuck other dudes (thus taking any blame off of him) and breaks up with her.
Needless to say, there's a lot of drama going down because of this. I won't get into all the details, but there's a lot of literal and figurative shit to unpack and figure out from a five year relationship. One of the bigger ones being: Where is my friend going to live?
And really this is long enough as it is, so I'm going to break this off here and start a second post.
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