Lots of personal updates lately. That will happen, I suppose, when I’m experiencing a major mental health episode. That’s the point of this blog, after all. I’m sorry to those close to me who have been hurt by hearing some of the things in my head during these episodes, especially my mom. I hesitate before every harsh post because I don’t want you to stress and worry more, or hurt about how you can’t help me. Being helpless to helping those you love is insanely painful, as plenty of you know, I’m sure. Just know that I have been through much worse than this particular episode. And if I could make it through what I’ve been through, frankly, I can make it through anything, no matter how strong the urges get or how much I want to call it off.
Something that I think is sad about me is that I stopped caring about my own place in my life when I was about 8 or 9 due to these mental illnesses. In a way, the psychotic symptoms saved me from the depression. Extremely depressed in 4th grade, I considered suicide for a time. The voices were what really stopped me, telling me I didn’t deserve such an easy escape, that I deserved to live a long life of suffering. I believed them, and now I am still here. However, that also has caused me to grow up with this idea that my life isn’t about me. It’s about the people who love me. The people who need me. This includes my family, my friends–even if I don’t think they should love me, the fact is that they do, and I feel like I have to respect that. I have to respect that they love me because I love them, and if I love them, then I don’t feel like I can just tell them they’re just wrong for what or who they love.
And my little dog. He would never understand, whether it was me never waking up or me never coming home one day. He would be okay with my mom, she would take care of him. But he would always be watching through the fence, waiting for me to come back. And that is only part of the reason I need a dog with me.
When I was 18, my best friend had been my best friend for maybe 4 years. He’d heard it all at that point. He knew I had self-destructive urges almost constantly at the time, and he knew that I lived exclusively for the people around me. He had me promise that I wouldn’t hurt or kill myself. For him, for everyone else. It was a painful promise for me, because damn those urges are strong sometimes. But I couldn’t exactly say no to him. He and I don’t talk nearly as much anymore, we haven’t for a few years now. But I’ve only hurt myself maybe once since making that promise almost 7 years ago, and I stopped myself before it got worse.
Anyway, with that all being said… I can feel myself coming out of this latest depressive episode. I haven’t showered in 12 days. Haven’t even brushed my hair in 6 or 7 days, the same amount of time I stopped changing clothes. In the middle of the episode, I went 7 days without eating more than maybe a slice of cheese per day. I’ve spent the last two weeks lying in bed, alternating between sleeping and staring at the ceiling with a YouTube video playing. I’m supposed to drink 100 fluid ounces of water every day since I’m on the lithium, I’ve been drinking 32 max except for maybe one or two days where I got to 64.
Yesterday, my mom asked me to do a few things around the house. Easy things. I almost couldn’t do them. The first one she asked was for me to take a shower, and that’s the only one out of four I couldn’t do, by the time I finished the other three. My heart breaks for her, that she has to see me like this. Just when we think it’s gotten better, like we had the last half of 2022, it hits again, and I come back to this. Constantly stressing out the people who love me. I know it’s not my fault. But I do wish I could do more for myself. The imposter syndrome I covered last post doesn’t make it any easier to be debilitatingly sick because I’m always wondering if it really is my fault after all.
I wasn’t sure if my guy was still interested in me–even just as friends–or not, and the feeling of uncertain abandonment did not help with this incident. I still don’t really know what’s going to happen long-term there, but I think he and I are okay for the time being, and that is helping to stop the intense spikes of depression throughout the day. Those kind of uncertainties are especially difficult for people with BPD, as you may have figured based on my past posts about BPD. I’m glad to have a more solid idea of where he and I stand right now, even if he just tells me he doesn’t know. That’s better than silence.
I’m going to take a shower today and try to do BioLife plasma donation again. Not sure how the last month has affected my physical health, but I’ve been eating again and am drinking water. Hopefully they won’t find yet another stupid reason to temporarily defer me. Money is not quite as time-sensitive right now as it was last month, but I still need to build my new computer so I can start streaming, and I am unable to earn income. I’m not sure if I could make streaming into a satisfactory career or not because it still requires some level of consistency… but I don’t know what else I could manage, to be honest. Even with writing, if I get into the traditional publishing world, contracts will have deadlines and stuff. But right now, it’s all I can do. Other things require finances before I can build my computer, like my car needs some work, especially if I ever plan to take it out of town again. So we will see, in time.
Hopefully this is the last personal update on this episode. It’s only been a month, but it’s felt like so much longer. I’m exhausted and discouraged. Maybe this means I won’t have an episode next month over my birthday though, which has happened just about every year since at least the 4th grade. One can hope. Thanks for reading through these personal updates.
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