So in my Glimmer of Hope post, I know that I was bullshitting the world, because I felt as if I had no hope. It was all for K, because I love her dearly and want her to remain safe.
I am tired of fighting. I’ve been fighting for a very long time. I was truly hoping that things were finally getting better, but in a blink of an eye my entire world crashed down again.
I’ve planned suicide before. I know how accessible pills are. I could take a bottle and slowly drift away in my dorm and it would be awhile before anyone noticed. I’ve been seriously considering it. I got to the point where I texted someone to ask for them to sell me some, but then later never responded. I have been cutting (my inner thighs are an absolute mess right now) and I feel like I’m in the days of a angsty teenager, not someone who is considered an adult. I’m supposed to have my shit together this semester, but I feel like I’m being smashed under the reality of my trauma.
What was probably fortunate was that I finally had a counseling appointment last Tuesday. I actually opened up to my counselor, making her the fourth person in the world to ever know about my issues with self-harm. I told her exactly how I was feeling because maybe subconsciously I wanted the help, but I feel like the one thing I have to live for is that I have to be here to help other people. I have to be here to support K. She needs people. I will always be her person.
Of course, my counselor was worried. She and I talked for probably three hours and then it was decided that I was to be sent to the hospital because I have a tendency to isolate myself and I couldn’t even come up with one person I wanted to tell about my suicidal tendencies. I was terrified. I was terrified when my counselor called my mom to pick me up, while my mom watched me eat my lunch, while I tore apart my cuts in the bathroom, and while I was in the emergency room. I didn’t feel like I belonged there. I didn’t want someone’s world to stop just because I wanted mine to end. But maybe getting help was a step forward.
My psychiatrist increased my medication and has ordered me to go to day treatment three days a week for the next three months. I am at home with my mom. I desperately miss my friends and miss being able to function in school which has always been my passion so I’m not sure being at home is a step forward or a step back. I wish I could maybe believe that things will get better, but I feel like I’m a person who deserves for the bad things to happen. I feel like I deserved the pain my dad caused me while I was growing up. I feel like I deserved to be dumped by my boyfriend of two years. I feel like I deserved to get raped because I didn’t kick him out. I feel like I deserved getting dumped by a wonderful man on Valentine’s Day. I don’t feel like I’m worth being cared about or loved and I don’t understand why certain people want to be there for me. Aren’t I just a burden? Who wants to hear about this shit all the time? It’s exhausting.
But I’m alive. So maybe that’s a start. I would never end my life at home because then my mom would find me and that would be much more heartbreaking than just a call from the hospital, or something. I’m here now for others. It’s all I’ve got to grasp onto right now. I’m sure I’ll continue with the updates, especially if I don’t get to return to classes for the rest of the semester.