Welcome to apartment living, asshole

What a night.

I talked ALL DAY to Jesse about my head space; the cutting, the triggers. I didn't realize it, but there's SHIT TONS of old family space coming up. Maybe there's more there that I hadn't worked through over the last 20 years as I thought.

It was getting pretty bleak in here.

By bedtime I was feeling confident about my ability to keep myself safe. Jesse even promised to stay up until 6 AM. 3-6 AM is my danger spot. But by 2:30 AM, I couldn't sleep and I was desperate and I wanted to hurt myself.

Off to the psych ward we went. I wasn't admitted, to which I was relieved. I didn't really want to go there. It's become so routine that the separation from home, from Jesse, from the cats have become a sharp ache. I was given emergency resources.

I came home, couldn't sleep, and am now on my way to emergency walk-in with my psychiatrist. My meds are fucked up. I need to up my sedative, add something else. An antidepressant. Lithium. Something. I don't know what. All I know is I'm drowning and my life-raft, the chemicals that keep my head on my neck are unglueing themselves.

Coming home from the hospital was a hell of a thing. I lived in a "gated community." Outer locking doors. I had no keys. I had to beg two people walking to their cars to get me into the apartments.

Jesse had on earplugs and couldn't hear me knocking, which quickly became me pounding on the door, which quickly became kicking and full on, forearms slamming on the door trying to wake him up. One neighbor woke up and asked if I was okay. If I needed help.

Another wandered out and admonished me that it was 6:30 and people were trying to sleep. I was in no mood to be polite. I snapped at him "Yeah, I just got out of the hospital. Life sucks for everyone." I turned around and resumed attacking the door with every inch of my 5 foot frame.

20 minutes later Jesse opened the door. I had two cigarettes. I tried to go back to bed. I think I got another 3 hours. Maybe 4. Not enough to get through the day unscathed.

I'll go to the professionals. They'll know what to do. Jesse is coming with me. They'll know what to do, because I am out of all ideas, all clues, and all energy to figure this out on my own.

My skin remains unharmed. I had no suicidal thoughts or idealization.

That's supposed to be the positive. I guess it is.

I didn't mean to be a dick to wake up everyone in the building at 6:30 AM. But I also didn't want to sleep in front of my door for another 5 hours till he woke up.

I did just get out of the hospital. So yeah, life sucks for everyone. I almost added "Welcome to apartment living, asshole." Good thing he'd walked away by then.

Even I can only handle so much dickishness from myself.

This entry was originally posted at https://quirkytizzy.dreamwidth.org/1082553.html
As those deciding years pass now, it sometimes makes you want to open up a huge international self-help group for dealing with the shits that come up...
I love you and I miss you. I'm sorry I didn't answer when you called me from an unfamiliar phone number. Please, get in touch with me. Husband and I want you to know you are loved. I promise to more available if you promise to reach out to me.