So I had to give another Intake Interview this morning to begin the process of therapy. This is about the 12th or so interview I’ve done in my life. I’ve been in and out of therapy since I was 12 years old and the last time I saw a therapist was back in 2010. So I’m long over due to see someone for all my “issues”. The interview itself only lasted about 2 hours, relatively shorter than what I’m used to. Which was nice. I think I overwhelmed the poor woman with all that’s happened to me. Being a ward of the state at 11, being abused as a child and being raped repeatedly from 9-16. I’ve endured abuse nearly half my life, from 4 to 16. Ridiculous. Isn’t it?
The bad news about my interview this morning, is that my therapist won’t be able to see me until the end of July because she’s on vacation. Why they couldn’t give me someone else, I have no idea. But her name is Tiffany, thankfully it’s a woman! I can’t handle male doctors. No judgement, but my body, my thoughts, my emotions are all very vulnerable and I want no man to take advantage of that ever again. Especially since I have a tendency to be hypersexual, I don’t need some sicko doctor convincing me to do something I don’t want to. Plus I don’t need any fuel in the delusional fire, if you know what I mean. I have totally anxiety about situations that haven’t even happened yet. I’m totally paranoid too.
Speaking of paranoia, I see my psychiatrist today too. (Yay for days full of mental health!) I have to tell her about me being paranoid about the medications being placebos and I’m getting better only because I think I’m getting better. Plus I think I’m thoroughly convinced that I’m not sick, that it’s all in my head and that I could stop it if I wanted to. I feel guilty about being “sick” in my head, which is why I think I’m so convinced I’m not sick. God, I hope that makes sense. I am totally paranoid now after watching Side Effects. (Good movie BTW). Especially the scene where Jude Law’s character gives Rooney Mara’s character a drug to make her sleepy and it turns out it’s only saline. What if my pills are only “sugar pills” and my doctor is laughing at me behind my back because I’m faking all my symptoms?
I just so desperately want to be “normal” or baseline, with a random hypomanic episode here and there. No mania, no depression, just happiness and hope. I feel so hopeless at times because I’ll have to be on medication for the rest of my life to have some sort of stability. I can’t really see a light at the end of my tunnel. I have no idea why the urges to cut are coming back so strong. It’s been such a reoccurring thought for the last month or so. My scars are fading and it makes me sad. Like real, physical, hurting on the inside sad. Like a part of me is disappearing. I’m becoming invisible again. A nobody. I want to feel again. Just a reminder that I’m alive, a somebody, with feelings and I bleed just like everyone else does. I don’t want to commit suicide like I did last month, no, I just want a release.
I have no idea what I’m talking about anymore. I don’t really believe anyone reads these anyways. What’s so important or meaningful about a self abusing housewife with lots of mental health issues? I feel like I’m just rambling on and on, hoping someone will tell me that I’m not Bipolar, it’s not my life, it doesn’t control me, but nope, no one is there. No one calls me to check on me. No one writes me an email to ask how I’m feeling today. No one asks about my psychiatric appointments. It’s lonely when you have an illness like this. Everyone wants to be your friend when you’re manic because the money and the good times and the alcohol are flowing, you’re on a high, life is GOOD. But the “friends” disappear when you’re depressed, when you need them most. When you just need a friend to say, Can I stop by for coffee and to see how you’re doing? Where are those friends?
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