#it’s been over a year since I started sertraline so I’ve got to go for a review soon😂
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Do I Lack Motivation?
I don’t think lack of motivation is as much of a major factor for me now, compared to before I moved out, away from my abusive family (just over sic (6) months ago), or when I got my first job (a year and a half ago), and when I moved back to England to live with my abusive mother, because there was no other way for me to return to England (almost two (2) years ago).
There was no hope for me back then. I was living with my abusive/family (my step-mother and sister are lovely, and I don’t mind my stepsiblings) and there was nothing I could do to improve my life. Before I was eighteen, legally my choices weren’t my own, and when I was living in the Philippines on a student visa, I legally couldn’t get a job. There was no point. There was no hope beyond waiting to get my life. And I waited for more than a decade. All I could think about everyday was getting away.
Do I lack Self-discipline?
Yeah, in many ways I do still lack self-discipline. Not having any hope or motivation back then didn’t exactly breed productivity, and I can’t just flip a switch on those behaviours. I’m definitely improving, though. That’s the point of this whole Virtue Plan thing. And the medication I’m on (Sertraline) helps massively. My physiology is less of an impediment.
Vagueness and Difficulty of My Goals
I have dreams of being a content creator, of being a freelance writer, writing self-employed so I van have jobs of skills I want to learn; such as a woodworking apprenticeship, I want to learn how to make my own clothes. I want to be an ASMR-tist, a YouTube gamer for videos and streaming. I want to go to college for Linguistics, English Literature, Creative Writing, and Philosphy. I want my name in lights and I want to be the best version of myself I can be. I have huge goals, and I’ve very vaguely broken down how to achieve them. But I will achieve them.
Anxiety
Anxiety has been a major issue for me in the past several months, with so much tension in my body, overthinking, and a breathing issue which doesn’t help. But in the last month since I’ve started taking medication, my body is so much less tense. I feel so, so much better, so the anxiety is lessening.
Desire For Perfection
Since I have such big dreams, I get subconsciously scared off by where I see myself lacking right now compared to the future. I want to be skilled, competent, confident, knowledgeable, well-travelled, and strong. I feel like I’m still the same little girl who was trapped and couldn’t stop herself from being abused. The me I idealise has left that life behind.
Negative Feedback
No one’s more hard on me than I am on myself. My colleagues have told me, “[I] overthink too much,” “[I’m] a very sensitive person,” and asked me, “why do you think you’re a terrible person who deserves to be run over?”
And them just noticing these things burn, because I used to have a much tougher persona when I was being abused. I used to intimidate others so they couldn’t bully me,
But now that I’m in the corporate world, I have to be different. I have to protect myself in other ways, I have to be professional. I accepted that I am new at working t olive, and living on my own, and am not that tough with the new me, and that came as a vulnerability which I had to be humble enough to accept.
Notes:
I’m taking a break now to go make myself a healthy vegetable dinner. Since I didn’t use Virtue Map yesterday, I will also do Lesson #3 after I eat. I’ve been listening to my subliminals on loop while journaling this. Another procrastination bird killed with a stone.
This Lesson’s Tasks
COMPLETE -- Reflect on all procrastination triggers
INCOMPLETE -- Join a support group (optional)
- I’m an introvert to the extreme and am literally on meds for anxiety. No thank you. This journaling and blogging is enough for me.
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this is a letter to my best friend who passed away 8 years ago today. tw: suicide
To my other half who didn’t survive
This is the reason why I dislike being called a survivor, and people making that seem better than being a victim. I may have survived, but that doesn’t make me better than those who didn’t.
8 years ago today, you passed away. My other half, my best friend in the entire world, my soulmate. After years of daily trauma your body and mind couldn’t take it anymore. You had tried reaching out for help for years at that point. You had switched schools more times than you could count. You had moved to stop them from finding you again. You had even reached out to a psychiatrist. He only gave you sertraline and some kind of sleeping pills. No therapy was offered. And those pills were the ones that killed you in the end. He gave you a way out of the pain, but not in the way he intended.
I am not mad. I understand why you did what you did. I just wish it didn’t have to end this way. I just wish someone would have helped you. And for years I thought that should have been me. I didn’t do enough to help you. It is my fault that you are gone. I still kind of do feel that way. But we were both really young. At 12 you aren’t even a teenager yet. An adult should have help you. Should have helped both of us.
While I am not mad at you, I don’t know if you understood how much your death would hurt me. I didn’t speak for over a year. I couldn’t. I tried to open my mouth but nothing came out. I threw out all of my stuff. Changed style. Pretended I was a completely different person. Became a completely different person. There is a clear before and after in my life. My self harming got worse. I couldn’t sleep. I still have nightmares where I see your lifeless body every night.
I haven’t been able to hold down friendships since you left. I’m scared they’ll end up like you if I get too close. So I end up pushing people away. Or I’m scared you will think I’m trying to replace you. Which I’m not. I swear. It’s just hard walking through this world without you, especially when I don’t have anyone by my side at all. I just feel so lonely.
I am not mad. It wasn’t your fault. You lost your battle. It still feels surreal that I’m the one that’s still here. You were always so much stronger than I was. Better at handling the shitstorm that is life.
Just know that I miss you. Every day. There isn’t a day where I don’t feel like a piece of me is missing. People say that time heals all wounds but it still hurts as much as day the you passed. I’ve just gotten better at hiding it.
It’s hard to keep going when all of the plans we made aren’t happening anymore. I made new plans, but it’s not the same. I’m studying psychology to help other people in your situation. To actually save someone like you in the future, because I couldn’t save you. I sometimes wonder if you would be proud of me. Of where I am now. Of where I’m going.
The world will never know who you would have become if what happened didn’t happen. You would have been 20 now. I know you would still be as wonderful as you were back then. But I sometimes wonder what you would be studying. Would you actually have a carrier in music at this point? I don’t doubt it, you were so talented already at such a young age. I also sometimes wonder what I would have been studying if this didn’t happen to you. Would I still have gone into psychology? Maybe. Maybe not.
The world will never know how wonderful you were. How much I loved you. How much I still do. You’re still the person I want to call when something new happens in my life. I still get the urge to text you when I’m feeling down. I sometimes completely forget you’re gone. And then I realise and the grief starts all over again.
I love you. And I miss you. But I’m not mad. I completely understand why you did what you did. I just wish your life wouldn’t have ended this way. This early.
RIP 2002-2014
#you made me believe in soulmates#I miss you#I love you#the world sucks#actually cptsd#trauma#trauma recovery#cptsd
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Depression has taken the best of me and from me
I have dealt with depression before. About two years ago it hit me hard and made me the worst possible version of myself: drinking heavily, having sex with strangers just for sport, binge eating, isolating into my own rage. I had been seeing a therapist, although she left me worse than I came in. I just masked the symptoms of depression for about 6 months before exploding and realizing I was fooling myself, I was obviously not feeling better than before.
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, though. I’ve battled bulimia for most part of my life and it just came and went over and over. My lack of self love and self respect left deep scars in my heart that started itching more and more as time passed.
I was lucky, though. I guess having been in therapy several times made me aware that I could get professional help anytime I felt like the world was collapsing. After 6 months of seeing my therapist and realizing she was not helping at all, I texted her saying I was no longer coming back and I was trying a different approach. I had never ‘broken up’ with a therapist before.
I ended up with a psychiatrist, who was also a certified therapist. After a CT scan and an EEG and a few sessions, he recommended I started treatment. Carbamazepine and Sertraline in very small doses, although enough to take that drowning feeling off my chest. I was on meds for a little over a year. That combined with therapy not only got me over my depression, but over my eating disorder, which no longer has a place in my head. I still go to therapy and still pay attention to my mood and my body, but I feel better than ever.
That was until a few days ago.
I’ll spare you the whole story since the ending is what matters. My boyfriend, who happened to be the most supportive, caring, loving person I’ve met, broke up with me because of depression.
He developed symptoms overnight, probably triggered by him recently moving out of his parents house. He said things that resonated in my head and kept pounding against my heart, knowing exactly what he meant: he felt lonely, he felt unmotivated and had no will to do anything anymore; he said he hated himself so much he had been working like crazy just to avoid being alone with himself. He also wondered if he could deal with anything anymore and mentioned how much he refused to become a burden for anyone.
I felt his pain, I really did. I remembered how it felt to be so lost and so fragile. But he wouldn’t ask for help. He isolated, he pushed everyone away with the excuse of “protecting them from his problems and not being a burden”.
I’m the only person in the world who knows that when he was a teenager he attempted suicide. He drank some cleaning chemicals but all that did was burn off his throat and stomach. The day we broke up, he made me promise I wouldn’t tell anyone. And I haven’t. But I’m scared to death he ever tries again and suceeds.
10 months ago, my parents lost a friend to suicide. He had developed a serious bipolar disorder that went too far. His family and all his friends were shocked and deeply hurt. That event marked my family. When my boyfriend said he couldn’t handle having a relationship anymore and he was in a very bad place, feeling so despaired, I panicked.
I called his parents when we broke up and told them he was very depressed. His secret suicide attempt from all those years ago was kept in my heart since it is not mine to share, but I needed to know someone was caring for him while being aware he was at risk of worsening.
Depression has been a teacher for me in many ways, but it has now become a sort of burden. Depression took one year of my life from me, it took my self worth, my self respect and made me lose others’ respect for me as well. I put myself though embarrassing and dangerous situations for it. I was lucky.
Now, depression has taken the man I love from me. My love, my best friend, my confidant, my team, my person.
I certainly cannot help as much as I’d like. I did everything I could by talking to his family and being there until the very end. I understood his decission even if it broke me into a million pieces.
I myself am on meds again. At least for a few weeks, so I don’t go down that hole again and can focus on getting over this in the healthiest way possible.
As for him, I pray every minute of every day that he gets professional help and gets over this shitty situation. I hope with all my heart he regains his confidence and gets his light back, the same light he brang into my life when I first met him.
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“2020, and with it COVID-19, caused severe strife and strain in many people’s lives. Whether the loss of a loved one or a job, or financial issues, it was definitely a tough year. For some of us, though, 2020 didn’t create any problems that weren’t already there, whether obvious or hidden beneath the surface. It simply magnified these issues and forced us to deal with them. Personally, 2020 was the year that my severe mental illness caught up with me.
“I’ve suffered from severe depression and anxiety since I was 16 years old. Now at 33, I’ve battled this often misunderstood disease for more than half my life. Somehow, even with several bouts of depressive episodes, I managed to power through. I completed a bachelor’s degree, master’s degree, 200-hour yoga teacher training, and then two pregnancies. I got really good at compartmentalizing my mental health issues: stuffing everything away, not really dealing with anything, and then just living life in survival mode. No big deal. Nothing to see here.
“Growing up, while most little girls dreamed of having babies and getting married, I fantasized about becoming president, a lawyer or a doctor. By the time I reconnected with my now-husband in late 2014 (we knew each other in high school, and I had a huge crush on him when I was 15), I had resigned myself to being #foreveralone. I had two dogs, and a budding social work and yoga career. I was fine. But life obviously had different plans for me. Really, it’s no surprise that my transition into motherhood and marriage has been challenging.
“Fast forward to February 2020, when I told my sister-in-law and another close friend that I was feeling suicidal. My daughter had just turned 1 in September, and I felt like I was finally coming up for air after a brutal year navigating life with an infant and toddler, and again, living in constant survival mode. Robbyn (my sister-in-law) and Lori (my best friend) immediately came to my house and talked me through what I was feeling, and made sure I was safe. The next day they checked on me and encouraged me to contact my psychiatrist, who had been treating me for antepartum/postpartum depression the last for years. I got set up to see her that week, and she increased my dose of Sertraline (generic Zoloft). After a few weeks, I could sense the darkness lifting.
“Then March and COVID-19 came along. I was working part time for Clear Creek ISD in League City. As the State of Texas came to a halting stop — businesses shuttering, schools closing for two weeks to ‘slow the spread’ and ‘flatten the curve’ — I found myself stuck at home, alone and isolated from family, with a 1 1/2-year-old and nearly 4-year-old. April was grueling, as the virus was still so new and so much was unknown. We were not visiting anyone outside of our home. There was nowhere to go and nothing to do. Finally, at the end of the month, I took my kids on a walk to our neighborhood park. I felt so nervous and judged for letting them on community playground equipment. But my sanity was starting to falter. Something had to give.
“By May, I had to call in reinforcements. My mom and stepdad became my saving grace. Every two weeks, they picked up my kids and gave us a 24-36-hour reprieve. Don’t get me wrong, I love my children. But I was never cut out to be a stay-at-home mom. I am happiest when I’m working and putting my skills to use. So I was slowly dying inside each day, at my children’s beck and call.
“The school district was having us attempt to work from home. That meant I was on Zoom through March and April, while my kids screamed in the background. Then I had to stay up late to answer emails and complete documentation in peace. It wasn’t working for me. It was too stressful, and my productivity was nonexistent. My colleagues and boss could tell. So I turned in my two weeks’ notice and left my position by the middle of May. I began assisting with screening stations at the entrances of the hospital where I also work, as my regular assignment in the case management department was forced to reduce usage of PRN staff. My dad watched the kids so I could go to work two or three times a week, which I looked forward to doing. We powered through the summer months, finally getting used to the ‘new normal’ of social distancing, mask wearing and, for the most part, staying home.
“At the end of August, though, something in me snapped. We had moved into a new home at the end of July (in hindsight, moving in the midst of a pandemic, during the second wave no less, might have been a poor choice). We were struggling with an ant infestation at our new place. One day, as they were marching through our garage, inches from the door to the interior of our house, just a feet from our pantry, I flipped out. My husband and I got into a massive argument over buying ant poison. I stormed inside and locked myself in our bedroom. I was sobbing and struggling to catch my breath. I felt completely out of control. I knew something had to change, and fast. I was either going to hurt myself or someone else. So I texted my best friend, Lori, and told her how I was feeling and that I was contemplating checking into a mental hospital. She encouraged me to pack a bag and go. And that’s what I did. Without saying another word, I packed a bag, got into my car, and drove across Houston to check into Houston Behavioral Hospital. I was shaking and nervous to go inside. But I finally mustered the courage to get out of the car and enter the building.
“While I was going through intake, answering questions from the Columbia Suicide Severity Rating Scale (an assessment tool that I was familiar with as part of my line of work), I started to feel like I had made a huge mistake. Anxiety set in, and my mind starting racing. Did I really want to do this? Was I just being dramatic? Who would take the kids to preschool the next day? Crap! Their nap mats are in my trunk. The mortgage is due, and I’m the only one with the login info. I wanted to tell the staff never mind and just leave, go home, and pretend like everything was OK. I decided to call my husband and let him know where I was and that I was about to be admitted. I told him I would have to turn off my phone and turn it in to be locked away while I was in the hospital. He told me to do what I needed and take care of myself.
“‘Take care of myself.’ What a novel idea. So many times, the needs of women and mothers are placed on the back burner. We take care of everyone and everything else, and we are left with very little energy or time to tend to our own health. It’s a tragedy and an American epidemic. No paid maternity leave, no paid partner/spousal leave, and very little postpartum care/follow-up allows room for a whole crop of issues to arise.
“So 2020 was the year that I finally started taking care of myself again. I can’t be a good mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend or employee if I’m silently suffering, and placing my needs and health at the bottom of the totem pole. It took a pandemic to finally get me to this point. But I’m getting the help, healing and support that I need in order to be the best version of me. I’ve made it my mission to share my story as often as possible to help reduce the shame, guilt and stigma associated with mental illness and with seeking help.”
— Rachel Flinn
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Heartbreak Putting Me Back on Sertraline
I stopped taking my medication last week. The love of my life left me 7 weeks ago because after 4 and half years of telling me he loved me every single day, including the morning of the day he left, he turned around one random day and said he didn’t love me and hadn’t for about 2 years. Every little thing or look he’d given me, where I felt loved or saw love in his eyes, was a lie. I felt every connection every single day like electricity and you can’t fake that. Every time I mentioned something like getting a dog with me, moving out, asking me to marry him, having sex with me, he just said he was forcing it. All the moments I treasured and that gave me a new lease of life were being ripped from me.
One of the main reasons we got on so well all those years ago was because we both felt like we didn’t fit in with our families and that we didn’t care about money. When I didn’t have the money to move out with him, he told me to anyway, that he would always look after me. He didn’t like me buying things for myself, he’d always buy me them and I saw this as love and kindness. He’d even offer me money for things like catching a train and I’d tell him no. He even said his work mates told him he had a golden misses because theirs rinses them for every penny and he can’t even give me money. Then the day he left he basically told me he felt used for his money. Another blow to my mental health. I’d spent years telling him money didn’t matter to me, to stop spending it on me or giving it me. Did it just go over his head?
So I said that when I had the money I would pay him for the furniture he left behind and he made a dig about how I owe him a lot more than that. Another blow, because I never asked for a penny, he always insisted and said he would look after me and then because he’s decided he doesn’t love me, he wanted it all back? Did he want the time spent with me back to? It would never even cross my mind to ask for all the money back for the presents and food I bought, so why did it him? Why was money the main issue for him leaving now, when he’d said for years money didn’t matter?
I got myself a job after he left and when I told him he scoffed. That pain I’ll never forget, it was like a cold sinking feeling that shot from my heart right into the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t get a job before because Loki needed 24 hour supervision and he said whatever job I got it wouldn’t make more than him if he had to stay at home with Loki some of the days, which was fair enough, it was true, so I worked for him from home. I thought I’d done something really good getting myself this job and was proud of myself and I got knocked down with a scoff and a “funny how you can get a job once I’ve left.” Coming from someone I am in love with was a hard blow on it’s own, but saying it knowing I looked after Loki and he told me I wouldn’t earn more was an entirely different blow.
Anyway, so I agreed and said I’d get him the money somehow and he told me it didn’t matter that he was sorry. Why bring it up then? And then because I was left in the shit, lost my job and with rent to pay he offered me money to get me by, which was very kind, but to which I said no, like always and he got offended. It was breaking me that it was being used against me and that I couldn’t win. It was also really mentally confusing. I was trying to deal with the fact he was leaving me, but then also couldn’t work out what he wanted money or not?
It doesn’t make sense? Yes I know, it doesn’t make sense to me either.
It was almost as if in a day he was a completely different person and when I said I feel like he’s just trying to be mean so that I move on quicker, he told me to stop fishing there’s nothing there. He’s never treated me so low in all our years together. I felt confused, broken and worthless. Nothing snaps in a person like that within the time it takes to go to work and come home. I’d literally die for him and that hasn’t changed in the 7 weeks since he left. I still want him back with every breath I take, because at the end of the day I’m not one to walk away when there’s obviously some inner struggle going on.
I assumed it was because he had mental health issues, so I was being understanding. Over the years I’ve picked him up, told him to get help, take a step back from work or go to the doctors, he always said no. One day he got low about his friends, so I messaged them and they said they’d talk to him. They never did. I was the one who picked him up, cared for him, loved him and showed him that I would be there come rain or shine. That I’d hold him when things got dark for him and make sure he knew he was loved. He fell out with his family, I told him he’d need to build a bridge and start talking, he’d tell me no. I just wanted the best for him always, because I am so in love with him. I never felt like it was a chore or a burden, I love him and I love supporting him, always. Then he left and used all these things against me and all I wanted was for him to get help.
It absolutely crippled me. To the point I felt like I was suffocating. Every. Single. Day.
And it’s not him whose made me feel this way. I’ve done it to myself. Everything he said was right. If time had gone by and his friends hadn’t contacted, I should have harassed them again. If he bought me something after saying no, I should have returned it. I should have rang the doctors for him to get him onto medication or counselling. I shouldn’t have moved out until I had the money. I should have done more to work around not being able to work. Maybe find a job working nights whilst he did days. I just know now that I should have done so much more. I am the reason I wasn’t enough. I am the reason now that the person I pictured myself growing old with and travelling the world with has left me. It’s my fault my mental health is so low.
But it’s not like i spend all my time wallowing. I am bettering myself. I booked my driving theory and started lessons, so that I can share in the driving. I got myself a job so that he wouldn’t feel the need to spend money. I’ve got self help to show that I know I can depend on myself. I’m trying so hard to come back as a better person and my fear is that it’s all for nothing.
I still want him back so bad. I forgive him for everything he’s said and done. I don’t believe for a second he means any of it or that he doesn’t love me. He wouldn’t let me out after dark because he wanted me safe, and sometimes the way he’d touch me... just no. I know, even if mental health is blocking him now, I know he loves me.
Anyway, I was talking about medication. The first two weeks was very hard on me. I was dying to know how he was doing and wasn’t getting anything back, so I got myself put onto different medication whilst I dealt with the heartbreak and was on a counselling waiting list. I was having a lot of crippling panic attacks multiple times a day, I lost 2 stone and wasn’t eating and I honestly just didn’t see the point in anything. It’s not that my happiness was dependant on someone else, but losing the person you’re in love with is really mentally damning.
I stopped taking my medication because I still felt really low whilst on it. It’s not that it wasn’t working, but I figured there was no point in the medication since it’s not going to take my pain away, only dull the chemical imbalance in my brain. About four days after I came off it, I found myself curled up in a ball on the bathroom floor at 1:00am, crying my eyes out, legs shaking uncontrollably, staring at my wrists, begging myself not to do anything stupid. I won. It took me 45 minutes, but I gave myself a talking to and picked myself up. He might not even care anymore if i did go through with it, since i haven’t even been asked how i’m doing, but in my head I told myself that if I ended my life he would blame himself and I wouldn’t be able to be here to tell him otherwise. I wouldn’t be able to tell him that I did it because I can’t deal with my own pain. I could never do that to someone I love. He saved me without even knowing. I love him so much that life is worth living.
I’ve spent the days since battling with myself on whether I want to go back on my medication. The fact I’ve been waking up everyday feeling numb and crying was a big selling point. So, I took the leap this morning and went back to my old medication, Sertraline instead of the new one’s I got put on and I’ve never felt so ill. About a couple hours after I started taking them again I just went really dizzy and have thrown up twice.
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So anybody who follows me will know I started taking sertraline (Zoloft) to help with my anxiety and depression and that I’ve now survived the first week on them with the side effects. Being on antidepressants has made me think about my relationship with Jack who was also on them.
We broke up because his mental health problems caused us to lose communication. It was no one’s fault. However, since I’ve started taking antidepressants I think I finally understand what was going on. The relationship started when I was 19 and in my second year at uni. I was young and excited because I’d never been in a romantic relationship before, so naturally I wanted to rush into things. But he was too caught up in his own demons that he could not give back what I wanted from the relationship. It was a total mismatch.
Over a year ago, we got back into contact on the pretence that we would remain friends. We enthused over Legend of Zelda, a mutual interest I didn’t know we had. Yet even our friendship was doomed to fail. We were friends, yet we kept agonising over the phone what went wrong and mourned our respective failings, him even more so. He said he was a friend, yet he told me he loved me. When he would call, he’d make sure to tell me that he’d had something to drink.
Eventually we lost contact with each other because it always seemed as though I would be the first to initiate contact, and when I let the ball roll into his court, he never contacted me again. It’s been a year since we last spoke, the year I was my most self-destructive. This year I finally started getting help and looking into therapy. Time and medication has made me see much clearer.
Jack, I understand what you were going through. But I cannot let you consume me. It would never have worked. I will always cherish the short time we spent with each other, and I’ve learned so much about myself. Thank you for the time and the memories. I hope you’re okay.
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My names Mary Tidbury, I’m 21 and I was diagnosed with Systemic Lupus Erythematosus and Antiphospholipid Syndrome when I was 14 years old. I’ve written my story; I really hope you all read it. Thank you in advance.
On July 20th, 2012, my 14th birthday, I started to get bad pains when I breathed/ sneezed/ yawned/ laughed. I was away with my nan on one of her bowls holidays and I had a go at playing. On the final night of the holiday I started getting these pains when I breathed in and me being a young just turned 14 healthy child surrounded by all these older people who had aches and pains of their own, I bit my tongue and smiled my way through the night. Fast forward a couple of weeks and I’ve told my mum and dad about these pains at this point, so mums booked me a Drs appointment and dad has told me there’s nothing wrong I’ve just pulled a muscle from playing bowls. At this point the pain has increased I’m only taking short breathes, I learnt how to not sneeze, yawn and definitely not laugh. I went to the doctors and one of the first things they said to me was “it could be lupus, but then again you’re too young for that so we won’t test for it”. I would just like to point out in this moment that Lupus can affect anyone of any age. However, It mainly effects women of childbearing ages from 15+. I was one year younger than that age. Anyway carrying on, when I went to bed I had to find a comfy position so I could breathe normally and every night I would wake up and not be able to get comfy again so I’d wander the landing whimpering and crying about being in so much pain but not wanting to disturb anyone but also wanting everyone to wake up and take this pain seriously, I ended up having to sleep sitting up in a corner leaning against a pillow, it was the only way I could fall back asleep. Fast forward again a couple of months to end of October, I think I’d been tested for pretty much everything possible except for lupus. They finally after almost 4 months decided to scan my lungs. To which they found multiple blood clots on my lungs and it was extremely serious. It was then that they did the lupus test and found that I had SLE and APS. I would just like to say at this point I was only aware of the SLE. I was immediately referred to see a rheumatology Dr and the haematology Dr; I was but on Hydroxychloroquin by my rheumatology Dr and Warfarin and Fragmin injections by the haematology clinic. For a good few weeks I was making daily trips to the haematology clinic to check my INR it then turned to weekly when my INR was put in a range of 2-3 and I was taken off of the Fragmin injections. The clots had finally gone away and I was back to full health but left with an illness that no one knew about and so I felt very isolated and alone. I would play down the symptoms I was experiencing daily as no one around me knew what it was like to live with a chronic illness. So, it was a very lonely period of my life.
In between 2012 and 2015 I started to fully get symptoms of lupus. I started to get bad joint pain, the worst of this was when I woke up one morning before school and I couldn’t move cos my hip was in so much pain. This does still happen occasionally, but I just need to take pain killers and it can usually help.
Moving on to the end 2015, I’d left secondary school and I was working as a horticultural apprentice at a garden centre. I had been put onto Rivaoxyban in replacement of Warfarin. I started to get twitching movements in my right arm, I thought nothing of it at first I carried on with my life as usually over the next few months and into 2016 the movement I was getting in my right arm was worse than ever I had no control over it and my speech started slurring and my right leg had started moving involuntarily. I was signed off work and was undergoing tests left right and centre to try and figure out what was wrong with me, at first they thought it was a stroke so I was referred to a neurologist where I underwent numerous MRI scans and CAT scans but everything was coming back clear. I went back to my rheumatology Dr and was told that I had something called the Chorea movement. This is a flare up of lupus, I was put on Quetiapine which is an antipsychotic drug, and this suppressed the part of my brain that was telling my body parts to move and my speech to slur. By June 2016, I was back to full health and back working again and was taken off the Quetiapine.
In this time also I was having double vision with my eyes. We think it was part of the chorea and I went to plenty of eye Drs but nothing. I still occasionally feel the pressure of it on my eyes, but it did slowly fade away in the end. But I’m still not 100% sure what that was as it was never confirmed.
Moving on to 2017, now this next part I literally just don’t talk about because I find it very embarrassing but to be honest it was one of the scariest months of my life. In July I had been put on Sertraline, the Antidepressant. I was at a very low time in my life, and this was helping. Moving on to September of that year, being completely honest I also have PCOS (polycystic ovaries syndrome) so I never know when my periods are going to come, and I usually go 2 months between them. So basically, I started my first period since going onto Sertraline at the beginning of September. To cut a long story short, I bled for 4 weeks constantly and extremely heavily. I remember my mum and dad were away for the 1st 2 weeks and it was when my mum came back that I told her that I was worried because it just didn’t seem to be stopping, at this point I was very tired and had very little energy. A week later it was still going on but me and my mum had way before planned to go pick my brother Stanley up from Paris where he had spent a year as a cast member in Disneyland. 2 days before this trip I was sent home from work as I just wasn’t ok and my manager (who is luckily my bestie Lucy) saw this. However, this didn’t stop me from going on this trip with my mum.
On Thursday 28th September me and mum travelled to Paris by car I pretty much slept the whole way, we got there late at night, so I basically just got out the car and then got into bed at the hotel and slept the whole night through. The next morning me and mum went off to spend the day at Disneyland Paris as Stanley could get us in for free, we went to Hollywood Studios where Stanley was and when he was on his break we went to queue to go on Crush’s Costa, we went through the backstage area and as we were 3rd in line I suddenly became really sick and dizzy. I turned to Stanley and I think I just looked at him ran back the way we came and threw up in the backstage area and went back outside to meet my mum. It was this moment I knew I seriously wasn’t ok. We carried on though and we stayed there for the entire day, I ended up in a wheelchair and I only went on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride but all in all I still had a really great day being surrounded by the Disney magic. I can’t really remember the next day I had very little energy left and just know that we went shopping and I got the cosiest trackies and slippers.
On the Sunday we came back home. I have flashes of what happened in this journey and my mum has always told me it was the longest and scariest journey. We had to make a detour on our way home to drop Stanley off at Warwick where He was starting Uni, I remember just sleeping the entire way. I literally had no energy I was so tired and felt so ill. I remember having to get out of the car so that they could unpack all of Stanley’s stuff but then I carried on sleeping. I vaguely remember waking up when it was just me and mum in the car and saying, “don’t take me to A&E, just take me home I’ll just sleep it off”.
Next thing I know we’re at the JR, mums telling me to get out the car and go book myself in she’s just going to park. I didn’t make it to the reception, mum ended up finding me in the ladies bathroom. I can’t remember how long I was waiting in A&E for, but I remember just wanting to lay down and sleep. They kept on taking me into rooms and getting me to lie on the bed so they could review me and then send me back out to sit on the chairs back in the waiting room. The 3rd time they did this I remember just thinking fuck off and let me sleep, I closed my eyes and he was like ‘ok you can stay there’.
That night I was admitted to hospital and proceeded to have 2 blood transfusions, they immediately stopped my blood thinners and was taken off of Sertraline as they believed that this had interacted with the Rivaroxyban and caused this to happen. I was in there for around a weeks’ time until I started to feel a bit livelier. It took me around 3 weeks to fully recover. I was now completely off the Sertraline and they changed my blood thinners to Apixaban.
I’ve never said this to anyone, but this scarred me really badly and still does to this day. The fear I have whenever my period comes around and is really heavy. It stops me from doing anything, I panic constantly and for the week it goes on for my anxiety is sky high. I panic if it goes on for a little too long or if it doesn’t look to be slowing down. I remember the time I was literally knocking on deaths door and makes me really emotional every time I think about it.
On the 3rd January 2018, I was at work which at the time was in a restaurant so lots and lots of walking around and long hours. I was half way through a 12 hour shift just finished my lunch break and went back to work when I suddenly started to get cramp in my calf on my left leg, it would build up after I’d walked a while and I’d ignore it and it would eventually become unbearable and I had to stop what I was doing and wait for it to go.
This went on for 2 weeks before I was adamant that something was not right and I believed it was a blood clot, I’d had a previous clot, so I knew what it felt like. My mum took me to minor injuries in Abingdon and they refused to review me because I wasn’t injured. They booked me an emergency appointment with my GP, and we went straight there, I went in and I said to them I think I have a blood clot in my leg. They asked me several questions and did a Doppler test on my ankles to test if they could hear my pulse. They could. The Dr turned to me and said you haven’t got a blood clot we can hear your pulse fine; you’ve probably just got a sprain and should be fine in 8 weeks’ time. 8 weeks come and go and I’m still in absolute agony when I walk, I’ve been diagnosed with social anxiety anyway so social situations become non-existent because I became so terrified of having to tell people I needed to slow down or stop completely that I didn’t got out. I carried on working and bit my tongue and got on with it because that’s what you got to do! I went back to the Drs after 8 weeks as I was still getting cramp when I walked a short distance. I go through a Doppler test and they are now struggling to find my pulse in my left ankle. A week later I get a call from the Dr to say that they are referring me to the Vascular unit at the John Radcliffe. My appointment was booked for the 18th April but was cancelled and they had scheduled a new appointment in May. I couldn’t make this appointment as me and my eldest brother Will were going away for a month from the 10th May - 10th June to travel round Europe. I tried to get an earlier appointment so that I could be well for the trip, but this didn’t happen. The week before we went away, I went out for dinner with my parents and when I came home, I started to get a dead right leg and after about 20 minutes it finally went away. The next day at work I found that I was no longer getting cramp in my left leg, but I was getting it on my right. I carried on as I would as I was going to see a specialist after I got back. This trip was the best month of my life and despite being in agony I took plenty of codeine and powered through. I think this was the first time I didn’t let Lupus/APS flare up win (at the time I didn’t know it was a lupus thing but still) but usually I hole myself up and become very depressed (even more so than usual). But this time I was outside every single day and night and getting fresh air constantly. I got back on the 10th June and my appointment wasn’t scheduled until the 18th. Me and my sister Annie went to see Ed Sheeran at Wembley stadium on the 15th, coming out of that show I think it was the first time in the 6 months I’d been experiencing this pain that my sister actually realised how much agony I was in. We were walking back to the station I was powering through and pretending I was fine and speed walking; I just couldn’t do it I was on the verge of bursting into tears and sobbing and Annie looked over at me and she made us stop.
At my appointment with the consultant on the 18th he performed more Doppler tests and he came to the conclusion that I didn’t have a blood clot everything felt and sounded fine. He was going to set up a scan for me just so they could look at my veins and arteries, but he was 100% positive that the scan results would come back clear...
Fast forward to the 10th July, 3 days before I was due to have the scan me and my brother Stanley were going into Abingdon to do some shopping, we’d parked on the 3rd floor of the multi-storey car park. We got back to my car after walking up 3 flights of stairs and my right leg was fully cramped up, I sat in the car and said to my brother that we’re going to have to wait I need to let my leg to stop cramping. A couple of minutes turned to 5 and it still wasn’t going if anything it was getting worse. I’d gotten out the car tried walking it off, taken my shoe off but none of this worked, I was in complete agony I turned to Stanley and told him he would need to drive us home. I remember sitting in the passenger seat of the car with my eyes scrunched shut because I could feel tears coming but I just breathed through it, we finally got home and I hopped over to the sofa and as soon as I sat down I lead there and just remember letting out a huge wail of a cry and continued to cry my eyes out. I was in so much pain Stanley called my mum and dad and they came home from work. I remember thinking I can’t see an end to this pain, I was so scared, and I was even begging everyone to just make it stop. I was vomiting because of how much pain I was in.
The only way I can describe this pain is imagine getting cramp in your calf muscle, and imagine it not going and getting more and more painful, that’s what it was like.
My mum had rung 999 and an ambulance was on their way. They finally got there, and they ran some tests on me and took me away to the hospital. I can’t remember how long I was waiting in A&E before a Dr saw me but I know before they did I had a cat scan of my legs, I was wheeled into a room where the on call vascular Dr told me I had 3 clots in the arteries in my legs. One on my right groin, one behind my right knee and one on my left groin. I was being admitted to hospital and needed emergency surgery to take the one out of my right groin. The next morning, I was first on the table. My mum was stuck in traffic trying to get to the hospital and I was sat in my room with all these Drs and nurses coming in drawing on my leg about what they need to do. I remember being absolutely terrified that I wouldn’t wake up and that I’d die without telling my family how much I love them. This without a doubt was the most terrifying hour of my life. Not even 5 minutes before they take me down my mum walks through the door and although I was terrified of what was to come, I’ve never felt so much relief.
The surgery luckily went really well. Later, that day they do a few more scans on me so they can figure out where these clots have started. They did an echocardiogram on my heart and saw something there but couldn’t get a good look at it, so they decided to look at it with a camera. I was heavily sedated so I would fall asleep and they could stick a camera down my throat. Knowing my luck of course the meds wore off 5 minutes to quickly and I woke up whilst they still had the camera down my throat. I was a very panicked experience and I think my throat was cut up for about a week afterwards.
As a result of this scan they found a massive clot on my heart. At this point I was having infusions of heparin and was back on warfarin. Trying to get these clots gone.
I was in hospital for 16 days, one of which was my 20th Birthday. I spent 6 days in the vascular ward and 10 days in the heart centre before I was finally given the all clear to leave. This isn’t where this story ends though, I was still getting cramp in my right leg so In January 2019 I had minor surgery under local anaesthetic to sort out a narrowing in my artery behind my knee. I’ve also been left with scarring on my heart from the blood clot and will need to have my aortic valve replaced at some point in my life.
Once my right leg was sorted and the cramp was no more, I realised that my left leg still was cramping up. I went for more scans and it was confirmed I needed major surgery again to remove the last clot.
I went in on the 6th of November 2019 and was out by the 8th. Surgery went very well, I also can’t thank the nurse who was on every night I was there enough for how much she got me through, I was very distressed for the time I was there, and she was an absolute godsend to me!
I had a very tricky recovery from this op I was signed off for 2 months in total as my wound became infected.
I’m now happy to say that I’m fully recovered and in no pain.
I just want to say I know there are a lot of people who are worse off than me but this is my story and it’s fucking shit and has left me both mentally and physically scarred. The last 8 years have been incredibly hard but I’ve hopefully come out the other end of it now, but I still find the memories painful and writing this has left me in tears as for some stupid reason I feel like I’m attention seeking when I talk about all this stuff and I’m really panicking about putting this out there.
Anyway, thank you for reading...
Peace out ✌🏼
https://www.lupusuk.org.uk/
https://www.mind.org.uk/
https://www.aps-support.org.uk/
#lupus#lupusuk#sle#systemic lupus erythematosus#lupusawareness#lupusproblems#lupusfighter#aps#hughssyndrome#antiphospholipid syndrome#invisible illness#chronicdisease#chronicillness#autoimmunedisease#autoimmunewarrior#autoimmune#chronic#hospital#sister#family#bloodthinners#warfarin#hydroxychloroquine#rivaroxaban#apixaban#rituximab#anemia#polycystic ovarian syndrome#depression#mind
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CBD for Anxiety and Depression
So, first off, I’m not really going to get too much into exactly what CBD is, you can check out the Wikipedia page for that. But mostly, just my experience with CBD and how it has impacted my mind over the last 3 months.
I’ve always been a skeptic of new products, new exercises, new this and that whenever a study or researchers show that thing ‘x’ can reduce anxiety and depression! Like woah, but like can you quantify? Does it reduce it by 90%, 80? Even 50%? No, you don’t have a number for me? Hmm, dunno how much I should trust this claim then. CBD was just another one of those things to me.
Now, after some research and figuring out that CBD contained no hallucinatory properties like THC, I was getting a little more convinced. But seeing all these drinks and crap with trace amounts of CBD only added to my skepticism. But after an account I follow, on Instagram, started talking about their anxiety and depression and how CBD has helped them I decided to delve even deeper into my studies.
This particular account stated how as an influencer they were sent dozens of different brands of CBD all the time and asked to share it. She never did though because, like me, she thought it was all bogus. But after experiencing a major panic attack, she gave one a try, according to her the one with the purest ingredients and most % of CBD extract in the product. She said it helped! She felt better after about 30mins to an hour.
Now, that got my gears spinning. Here’s someone with a similar view to mine and has now shared first hand her experience. Sure, I could just assume it was all a part of a good marketing ploy, but wth, I’ll give it a shot. This was in November and Cyber Monday was approaching so I said, ‘eff it’, if I hate it and don’t think it works, I’ll just never buy it again. But if it does work? Oh man, won’t that be a treat?
So the particular brand she introduced and I studied up on is called Medterra. It seems legit. Whole ingredients and pure extracts. No fillers and byproducts. I’m not an affiliate so no worries. As my disclaimer states, I’m no professional and do not recommend you put anything in your system before talking to your doctor. But as someone who used the CBD tincture oil from December - February, I did notice something. I felt a lot less body tension. A Lot less body pain when I woke up each day. No more ‘tiredness’ I guess. Physical exhaustion so to speak. My mind was a little bit more focused and I was able to get things done, whereas before when I was only on an anti-depressant (sertraline) I was motivated but directionless and lacked focus. Now, this stuff is expensive. It’s not cheap. But typically if you do find cheap stuff, it usually means it’s filled with crap that won’t really help you. So, if you can’t afford it, no worries. It’s definitely a luxury. I can live with or without it. The reason I recommend it is because I feel it does improve my life.
I stopped for the month of February to do a test on myself. To see if the previous two months were just ‘placebo’ effect. And after February ended, I noticed all those previous symptoms came back! I was tired, despite working out, taking my meds, etc. I couldn’t focus, woke up sore, even after days of not working out. It was surprising. So I stocked up when another deal came around and now moved from 500mg to 1000mg tincture oil. I would only assume that my body would become more and more used to it so a stronger tincture is what I decided on. I’m seeing the difference already now though after another week back on. I mean, crap I wanted to start this blog for a year and didn’t get the motivation until I got back on CBD lol.
In summary, CBD helps relax my body, allow my mind to flow in a focused direction, and help calm me down from all my anxieties and depressive thoughts. It’s not so much directly noticeable, like a caffeine rush, but it’s something that you notice a lot when it’s gone and you actually take time to think about it if that makes sense. It’s a great supplement. It won’t replace your anti-depressant, it won’t replace therapy, it won’t be a cure-all. But I wanted to try it since weed is still illegal in my state (except medically) and I would more than likely become too dependant on weed myself if I ever went back to using it for coping reasons (my therapist’s words, not mine haha). Everyone is going to be different though, some people could get by without prescriptions, some just weed, some just CBD, it’s about identifying what works and doesn’t work for you. For me, therapy, sertraline, and CBD work as a part of a system of tools and supplements I can lean on to help me function in the world.
I hope this helps, and if you’ve got any questions there’s always the anon-ask or just straight up ask spot on the page!
#CBD#anxiety#depression#anxious#mental health#cannabanoids#tinctures#medterra#betterlife#betterhealth#improveeveryday
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My name is Jordyn, and I have borderline personality disorder. Throughout my life, I’ve constantly struggled. It seems that each time I start to recover from something, a new horror occurs. When I was 6 years old, I was diagnosed with generalized and social anxiety with OCD tendencies. My parents shoved medication down my throat, and I started seeing a therapist, but I never spoke to her about anything. She just observed my behavior as I played with the toys in her office. I didn’t even know that I had been diagnosed with a mental illness until I was 12. It really did explain a lot, but I was still able to manage everyday life.
My entire childhood was lonely and bleak. I didn’t have any friends, and I know a lot of people say that, but I seriously didn’t. I was too shy to approach other children, and even when I did approach them, they thought I was odd, so even though I desperately wanted a friend and I’d cry constantly from how alone I felt, I didn’t make any friends for a majority of my childhood. Instead of playing with other kids, I’d stay at home and watch films and TV shows or play my favorite video game The Sims. I also played with dolls by myself. I’d always ask my mom or sister to play with me, but my mom always said no, and since my sister was 7 years older than me, she found it annoying and childish. I’d always try to bug my sister when her friends were over, and I know most younger siblings do that, but my reasoning was a bit different in the fact that I was so lonely that any opportunity for human contact was worth more than words could describe. I’d often say outrageous things to other children in school in order to try to make them laugh, to make anyone at all notice me, but it just drove even more distance between me and others. At the age of 8, I found out what depression was. I immediately deeply resonated with that word. I saw it on the internet, where I spent all of my childhood. I saw it from videos and comments from others online speaking about their experience with depression. I so closely felt those same things, but I knew I couldn’t tell anyone how I felt. No one would probably believe that an 8-year-old was depressed. No one would take me seriously, and I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to speak about how I felt. All I really wanted was a friend or someone that cared about me, but at the rate I was going, that didn’t seem likely. I also learned what suicide was. What a wonderful thing it sounded like. I could make all of my pain and loneliness stop if I just killed myself? That sounded amazing. But I didn’t know how to kill myself, and I don’t think I had the guts at the time to do it. I think I still had some life left in me, hoping desperately that things would change.
As I grew older, I did make some friends, and it was nice. Still, I struggled with feeling this ache in my chest at random times even when I was with people. A lot of my friendships growing up were unstable, and friends would often be my friend one second and then hate me the next. Middle school is kind of like that, I guess. My first panic attack was when my best friend at the time said she didn’t want to be friends anymore. It sucked. I was hyperventilating. I couldn’t breathe. So many times people had left me. More than half of my life I had been alone, so why was I so affected by this now? I guess I didn’t want to be alone again. Not only that, but this girl meant a lot to me. We had so many inside jokes and fun moments. It was hard to think of all of that ending, me never being able to send her a snapchat of a picture that related to a joke only she and I would understand. Eventually, we made up, but once we entered 7th grade and moved to a new school, we slowly grew distant. I sort of made friends, but life felt pretty lonely. I admit that I wasn’t the coolest kid, and I was pretty dorky and annoying, but life felt really lonely. Once again. But this time, I tried to just continue on with life, and what kept me going was my dog, God, and my favorite films inspiring me.
8th grade was what I call the worst time in my life. Nothing particular happened, but this was when I slowly started falling into severe depression, and my social anxiety grew worse and worse until I became selectively mute. I could speak at home, and I could speak to my only friend, but in certain situations, I couldn’t open my mouth. I wanted to. I wanted to so bad, but I just couldn’t. I felt the loneliest I’d ever felt during this time in my life. I had a single friend, and she meant a lot to me, but I still felt lonely. I thought that if I maybe made more friends, I’d feel less lonely, but I’m not so sure now if that would’ve been true. During this time in my life, I was obsessed with death. It inspired me. Reading poetry online about depression and suicide was one of the only ways I could cope with how I was feeling. Oh, how death seemed so beautiful. I thought about it almost every day. I couldn’t, however, bring myself to do it no matter how miserable I was. Some days, I’d tell myself that this was the day, and others, I held onto hope that things would change. I suppose I still had, though small, a little bit of life left in me.
I opened up about my OCD getting worse to my psychiatrist, and he prescribed me Sertraline aka Zoloft. It’s an SSRI commonly used to treat OCD, but since it’s also used to treat social anxiety, maybe this was what helped me most. Sometime between the summer of 8th grade and right before I started 9th grade, I became entirely new. I went to an event with my friend, and I, for once, could talk freely. Oh, how freeing it felt to be able to open my mouth without feeling afraid of what might happen. I danced and I laughed and others were surprised at how outgoing I suddenly became, but how surprised was I? I didn’t know why, but I didn’t question. Suddenly feeling a bit happier, a bit more optimistic, a bit freer, oh, it was wonderful. It felt like I overcame the most horrible things in my life.
In 9th grade, I was about to go to a new school. My old school was just too much for me to handle, and going to my new school was probably the best decision I ever made. For a few months, I felt so happy. I was talkative, and I had all of these ideas. I’d come up with poetry and thoughts in my head during class, and I’d write them down, and my new favorite color was yellow because it stood for happiness, and I decided that I wanted to become Catholic, and I felt so wonderful, so, so wonderful. But of course, it crashed. I began to feel depressed again. It was inevitable. It wasn’t for any particular reason. I just did. And it sucked because I felt happier and on top of the world once again, and then it crashed, and then I felt happy, and then it crashed, and it was a constant cycle. It was annoying, but at least I wasn’t always miserable. I still had so much life left in me. For once, I wasn’t thinking about suicide.
The summer before I started 10th grade, I spent it alone. I didn’t do much. I mostly just listened to music and watched films. I mean, at the beginning, I hung out with a few people, but they had left to go places, and I stayed in my town in my house in my room in my bed. I didn’t do much at all. 10th grade started, and my school changed entirely. They got an entirely new staff, and the entire structure was redone. It sucked. But I was trying my best. Even so, my depression was horrible. I decided to finally open up about my depression and my apparent manic symptoms, and I was prescribed Lamotrigine aka Lamictal, a mood stabilizer. It helped a lot even though I didn’t necessarily realize it at first. I’d go through phases of taking it and not taking it, and I guess I realized that when I didn’t take it, I’d become irritable and sad much easier, and I guess that was worse than being able to feel manic.
So many things happened between then and now. I changed so much, and I’m sure I fought hard. But things are different now. I’ve been feeling weaker and weaker each day as my borderline symptoms keep growing worse.
The first time I heard of borderline personality disorder was from my dad. He worked in a hospital, and most of his patients were there because they were dangerous to society or had committed violent crimes. He spoke of borderlines as if they were evil and manipulative and would only seek attention from others. I later found out that this isn’t true. I also found out a lot of things. So many people judge others for their actions, but you cannot say you wouldn’t do something if you weren’t in another person’s shoes and you didn’t have their brain. I do stupid things sometimes because of how horrible I’m feeling inside. And each day, my emotions grow stronger and become harder to deal with. Each day, I lose the life left in me. And the one person in this world who I trusted, well, I don’t know anymore. I don’t just feel alone this time. I feel hopeless. I feel weak. It’s been so difficult to deal with my feelings, and I just want to give up. I don’t want to live this way anymore. I don’t want anyone to blame themselves because it’s no one’s fault. It’s my choice. If I decide to kill myself, that’s on me. I think I’m just growing closer to giving up. I don’t know what I believe anymore, if there’s some place you go after you die, but anywhere can be better than me right now feeling how I’m feeling. I just want to make this pain stop. If what doctors say about me is true, I’ll be fucked up for the rest of my life. A lot of articles say borderlines are manipulative and difficult to deal with. I don’t do it on purpose, but maybe it’s true.
God, I’m such a failure at everything. I always ruin things. I always fuck up. I should have given up a long time ago.
I don’t know. Will I kill myself? It’d be nice. If I do, I just hope that God forgives me. I know I’m doubting Him right now, but I hope He forgives me.
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Well my mood has been better, thank you Prozac! 10/10 feeling better than when I was on Lexapro. Meds make such a difference.
School is going fine, it’s had its ups and downs. I got passed over for quite a few things that I applied for and my grades are still slightly below average, but I’m doing alright regardless and still overall happy with my performance. I’ve started transitioning to more Step studying than class studying (not that I was ever really on top of it anyway LOL) so I’ve been doing buttloads of Kaplan questions. I also took the AMBOSS self assessment today & scored a raw 77.5%, which isn’t too bad for not being in dedicated yet. I definitely would have done MUCH worse without Zanki/Qbanks.
ECs are also fine, I transitioned some of my roles to the M1s. I’m now a clinic manager for our free clinic, and the textbook chapter I co-authored has been sent for final revisions. I’m also working on my research paper - I went over all of it except the discussion with my PI and so I have some good direction and she seems excited about it. My poster also got accepted for a presentation at ACOG! A couple of my classmates got oral presentations, but I’m honestly just thrilled to be able to attend a national conference. I’m also going to DC in March for an advocacy workshop with one of my friends.
Also we got our third year schedule & I seriously can’t wait for M2 to end
Socially I’m doing better, again THANK YOU PROZAC. Lol. It’s been a lot of ups and downs since the sertraline stopped being effective but I’m getting there.
Struggling a little with weight & I had to cut back a lot on drinking. That’s probably my biggest gripe right now cuz I’m finding it really hard to find the motivation to exercise amidst school + step. Plus I’m REALLY into the witcher and try to play every night for relaxation
anyway hope ya’ll are doing well med school is wild
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Chapter 13: I'm sad because I'm depressed and I'm depressed because I'm sad.
In which Sans remembers why he doesn’t talk about his feelings anymore.
*Sans's POV*
"Do you, by any instance, have suicidal thoughts?"
"i... not that often"
"But you have?"
"i would be lying if i say no"
Papyrus asked (Y/N) yesterday God-knows-what and he ended up knowing what a psychiatrist and a psychologist are, and here I am, talking with a psychiatrist. My brother said that it would be better if I had a new treatment started by a professional on the topic and not by a random monster that calls itself a doctor. Considering that in the Underground we only had general doctors, it was difficult to talk about these matters and get the help needed. Therefore, this seemed like a better option.
Papy spent the night (and this morning) looking for the best option to me, considering that discrimination it's still present. And so he went, asking multiple people if they were open to listen a depressing skeleton being depressed (he obviously didn't say it that way... I think). And so he finally found someone willing to help me, and we head off as soon as possible (hell, we didn't even eat... should I say I'm hungry?)
"Do you have a specific plan to commit suicide, Sans?"
"uh... no?"
"YOU DON'T SOUND SO SURE, BROTHER"
"it's just... i haven't thought about it that deeply. i just sometimes think that i want to disappear and that's it. no idea how, no idea when. just disappear.
"I see..."
The old man went over his little notebook and wrote something down. He was bald and had a white beard almost as pale as my skull, and had a sternum and serious look behind his rectangular glasses. He would be intimidating... if he wasn't a psychiatrist willing to help a monster. How bad could this man possibly be?
"Sans, do you sleep well? And I mean at nights"
"no, sir. i haven't been sleeping well since last year. i mean, i can easily fall asleep, but it's difficult to me to stay that way."
"I see, do you nap at day?"
"heh, a lot if you ask my brother"
"Ok..."
I freaked out for a moment, returning to an odd silence only filled by the sound of his pen writing down my weirdness. I became nervous, not knowing what he was going to ask next. But, honestly, I've been kind of unused to these unpredictable events the Surface has to bring. I was used to hearing the same dialogues and to say the same jokes, but know... everything it's fresh and new. It's scary, but quite a reliever.
"Ok Sans, do you by any chance have any specific dreams or nightmares?"
I froze and cough out the water I was drinking in shock. A quick flashback of the "Genocide Run" went all over my mind, the part of my brother dying repeating itself horribly. The empty look of that kid, the Judgement Hall being my new space... the kid giving up and resetting in front of my eyes, not before giving me a vengeful look.
"Sans? It's okay if you don't want to talk about it yet, but I need to know..."
I sighed, knowing that it was for the best. If I want to enjoy the future, I have to get rid of this fucking trauma.
"i... i do have specific dreams, sir. nightmares, actually. i... i don't want to mention them right now"
Papyrus let out a sigh in disappointment and I gave him a weak smile. I know he always wanted to know what's on my mind... but I just couldn't tell him at that moment. He smiled back to me, making me feel less pressured.
"Don't worry, Sans. We'll go step by step, no need to run all over the details. Still, the fact that you've been having constant nightmares of the same topic it's quite alarming, that's why I needed to know"
He then picked a piece of paper and scribbled some things down.
"This is for the drug store..."
He picked another one, not before drawing a small asterisk on the top.
"And this one is for you"
He then gave me the two pieces of paper and I glanced over them with Papyrus, curious about the medicines.
"In order to deal with your depression, Sans, you'll take a pill of Prozac (or fluoxetine) every morning, okay? I'll determine later for how much time"
We nodded, then glanced again at the paper, reading the next medicament.
"For your insomnia, Sans, you'll take a pill Restoril (or temazepam) every night before going to sleep. This is one of the best pills to not only falling asleep but also keeping you that way"
Before I could even nod, I noticed an uneasy look in the doc's face. I raised an... eyebrow, startling him for a second.
"I'm sorry" he stated, then sighed.
"IS THERE SOMETHING WRONG, DOCTOR?"
"Nothing it's just... the fact that Sans is having constant nightmares worries me. Do you also have constant flashbacks of said events?"
I slowly nodded, and his face got worst.
"DOCTOR? IS IT REALLY THAT BAD?"
"No, it's just... it breaks my heart to know that the Underground may not have been a better place than the Surface"
A better place?
"what do you mean, sir?"
"..."
He just sighed and gave me an apologetic smile, trying his best not to break down. I noticed he was on the edge of tears, and I felt panic running all over my body.
"Sans, there's a high chance you have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or for short, PTSD"
"PTSD?"
"Yes, it's kind of a serious condition to deal with. It shows that Sans had a really traumatic event in his life, and it may seem impossible for him to have a normal life with all the fear he gained from that moment. Or am I wrong, Sans?"
I shook my head, and he gave me a sad smile. Just as he said, just as it is. I never thought it would be that serious, though.
"You'll take Zoloft (or sertraline) for that, Sans... but I also recommend you to go to a psychologist. I can directly put you an appointment with a friend of mine if that's what you want. What do you say? He'll be more than open to hearing your case"
Papyrus nodded excitedly, while I was not too sure. I felt like my normal balance would break down if I started to go to therapy... but then I looked to Papyrus again. I don't want him all worried about me, I want him to have a normal life. And for that, I also need to form a normal life myself.
"sure, may we have the address?"
"Sure, I'll give you an e-mail with it"
We gave the doctor a quick goodbye and a thank you, then head off to our home. I insisted to Papyrus that we could eat something first and relax, then go to the drug store. He groaned slightly and muttered a "lazybones" but took my offer.
When we arrived, though...
"Hello, my children! Where were you?"
Oh fuck.
I glanced over the living room and saw our small group of friends gathered cozily, including an almost smashed (Y/N), an annoying flower screaming, a suspiciously staring father, and more!
...I gulped, knowing I could never say the truth. (Y/N) is a new person in my life, the flower is a bitch, my father is another bitch, Undyne doesn't take anything seriously, Alphys takes everything seriously, Frisk is a dirty betrayer, Toriel worries too much, Asgore would go and make everyone check themselves with the therapist, Mettaton would go and check himself with a therapist, Napstablook would feel all sorry, and Arial would be highly disappointed.
...
Saying the truth sounds pretty awful at this point.
"OH, WE WERE AT THE DOCTOR, MOTHER!"
Oh crap
Papyrus seemed to notice my signal of begging help and came to the rescue immediately, never mentioning anything about a psychiatrist.
"SANS, BEING ALL STUPID, GOT SOMETHING STUCK IN HIS CHEST AGAIN!"
Ouch.
"yep. guess i need some spare ribs at this point, huh?"
Everyone groaned and so I successfully got away from the problem. I tried my best to keep my cool, but I easily spaced out a couple of times and ended up startling myself. They were doing rounds in Super Mario Bros., and (Y/N) seemed to be an expert on it, considering she was on World 6.
"Oh c' mon, when are you going to die?!" Flowey annoyingly exclaimed, foreshadowing a bit. I almost smacked him over before I saw Toriel's face, then I lost myself again on the videogame.
(Y/N) continued playing until arriving at the final castle. Surprising, to say the least. Everyone else was getting enthusiastic about her defeat, but it never happened. Instead, (Y/N) went to play all over again, making everyone groan.
"Oh my God, let us play as well!" Undyne roared, giving a death glare to the older human.
"You said you wanted me to prove how good I am..." She innocently answered, putting the controller aside.
"Ok, you've already proven yourself. Now, please, give us a chance this time" Frisk sighed in defeat, feeling vulnerable and probably fooled.
"Ok!" (Y/N) cheerily got up from the couch, then waved at Papyrus and me "Hi guys! Anything serious happened?"
Shit.
"IT'S NOTHING THAT CAN'T BE HANDLED, HUMAN!"
"I'm glad, how do you feel Sans?" She looked at me worried and made me feel like the worst person on Earth.
A huge part of me wanted to say the truth and confess my problems at that moment, but that was me feeling horrible. I always hated lying, but that's what my life has come to. At this point, I can barely feel sorry for lying...
Except on this topic.
I've always been sensitive with this stuff, and that's how Papyrus ended up knowing. It has become something really messed up that I want to let all the people I care about that I'm not okay. I want them to help me feel complete again. To feel safe. To have hope.
"Sans?"
"HUMAN... SANS... IS IT OKAY FOR YOU IF I TELL HER WHAT'S GOING ON? I TOLD HER SOME THINGS YESTERDAY AND SHE WAS REALLY COMPREHENSIBLE. BESIDES, MAYBE SHE CAN HELP US MORE WITH THE SUBJECT!"
I glanced over her, and she gave me a small and recomforting smile. Out of all the people, I never knew she would be one of those who know what's going on.
"If you don't want me to, Sans, I understand. Just know I'm here to support all of you, ok? And don't take that as an associate... but as a friend. I'm more than willing to help you out in any way I can... but that depends on you"
A deep pain went all over my soul, but then I nodded. If she was so understanding as Papyrus said she was when she heard what problem I have... maybe telling her a bit of detail won't hurt.
"we'll tell ya later, ok? now it's a little bit crowded"
"I understand, thanks for trusting me"
"thanks to you, kiddo"
Thanks to you...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Your POV*
It was a while after the small gathering ended, everyone having to go earlier than expected. I already attended my work-hunting business and find a convincing and small company. I sent them an e-mail, and so I'm waiting for them to text me back. But for now, more important things were on my head.
I feel really sorry about Sans's case, and how desperate Papyrus seemed yesterday when he told all about it. I suffer from some things as well, and I know it isn't easy. It's never easy to deal with yourself...
"HUMAN, SANS, SHALL WE DISCUSS NOW OUR LITTLE SECRET?"
Sans chuckled a bit and I nodded, preparing myself from what I was about to hear.
"OK, SO... YOU REMEMBER THE TALK WE HAD YESTERDAY, RIGHT HUMAN?!"
I nodded again, and he smiled and reassured his brother that he was in good hands. I giggled softly, and the short skeleton just scratched the back of his head out in embarrassment.
"I FOLLOWED YOUR ADVICE, AND I TOOK SANS TO THE MOST ACCESSIBLE PSYCHIATRIST I COULD!"
I smiled, glad that Sans accepted any help.
"What did the doctor diagnosed you, Sans?" I asked, hoping he would be the one answering me this time. After all, this is Sans's main problem, not Papyrus's. He tensed up a little but quickly relaxed as he remembered the presence of his brother there. He took enough courage silently, then spoke with that characteristic deep voice of his.
"depression, insomnia, and... well, something called ptsd, which is-"
"PTSD?!" I interrupted abruptly, not believing what my ears just heard. Sans having depression is hard to admit, but PTSD? Oh lord, what has this poor guy endured in his young life?
"uh... yeah, i... eh..."
Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap.
"Nonono, don't think that way, Sans. It's just... a bit surprising, coming for you. I never expected you to have such a problem, but I guess appearance is quite a bi... beach."
"BEACH?"
"Uh, yeah..." Please come with a good excuse, (Y/N) "You know, beaches may be all pretty on the photos, but the dangerous creatures and natural phenomenons they bring show that they are not that perfect. I guess that's the same for Sans. He easily can go on and hide perfectly with jokes and laughs, but that doesn't mean he's that careless nor happy on the inside... sorry for putting you that way, Sans"
"it's okay kid, i think i get it" he jokingly winked at me, noticing what I was going to say at first. I sighed, feeling pretty stupid at this point.
"Anyways... what has the doctor prescribed you, Sans?"
"this thing called 'prozac', another one called 'restoril' and the last one being 'zoloft'..."
Huh, I have all of those at home.
Maybe I can give him some, considering I have a ton of them...
"HUMAN! SANS MAY BE ON TREATMENT AND ALL, BUT I DON'T WANT YOU TO THINK LESS OF HIM! HE'S AN EXCELLENT MONSTER, EVEN IF HE'S WAY TOO LAZY, BUT HE'S A GOOD BROTHER!"
I saw a slight hint of blue hue spread all over Sans's cheekbones, and I assumed it was blush. I smiled softly, knowing that would be the kind of brothership I would want. Instead, I had the goddamn curse to have no brothers or sisters, and here I am. Alone.
"I would never think less of anyone by this reason, Papyrus" Then I came up with a wild idea, but that mind instantly approved. My smile grew bigger, and I continued "Actually, now that you're confessing me something quite touchy... I guess I should do the same. It may help you to feel a bit more comfortable, Sans"
He raised an eyebrow and I returned to my soft and small smile, preparing myself...
Now that I was thinking about it, it was a bad idea. It was a bad idea to show my weak points, to show my problems, and to show how vulnerable I actually am. But that didn't stop me. And it will never do.
"I... besides from dealing with, well, anxiety, I also suffer from depression..." His eyes widened and tensed up, staring at me with the same shock I felt when he mentioned PTSD. I continued "I have insomnia as well, and... a psychiatrist said I probably had PTSD, considering some constant dreams I have..."
"i... how?"
What?
"i mean, how can you have all those things and still want to help others instead of yourself?"
I stared at him, dumbfounded. Then I sighed with a smile on my face, trying to feel as confident as I could.
"Making others happy is what makes me happy, Sans. And that's what I need the most..."
"To be happy"
#sans x reader#sansxreader#more than i thought fanfiction#more than i thought#chapter 13#sans#x reader#undertale
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HAUNTING GENEVIEVE / CHAPTER ONE
(full chapter under cut)
Contrary to popular belief, the Catholic Church does not believe that the mortal sin of suicide automatically sends the performer of said act to hell. In fact, the Catechism itself says, and I quote, that ‘we should not despair of the eternal salvation of persons who have taken their own lives. By ways known to him alone, God can provide the opportunity for salutary repentance.’
The internet is handy for little titbits such as this. A personal favourite that’s been gnawing at my soul recently after trolling question and answer forums the three weeks prior has been ‘one doesn't attend a funeral out of respect for the dead, but for the living.’
I’m new to the funeral scene, the mourning scene in general, actually. Hell, I haven’t even lost a grandparent. And while some of these bits of information come as absolutely knee shaking, leg buckling, hand sweating, anxiety inducing; sometimes you can find something on these sites to calm your nerves a little. Still, there’s very little online about attending the funeral of your best friend who you were knees deep in an illicit homosexual affair with, hid far from both your parents, friends and loved ones.
Point is, I’m doing as much research as I can for my first funeral since it is such an impromptu and particularly confusing one.
One thing I can say, however, that I didn’t need to find affirmation for online, is that this was the first day I didn’t wake up crying my eyes red raw, and, for a matter of fact, the first that I didn’t wake up and immediately have to rush to the bathroom to throw up, which I have been routinely doing since I found out about Molly’s death. This time I rushed and gagged till I had tears in my eyes. It’s involuntary by this point. There’s no other way for my body to cope and catch up with my mind at the same time apparently.
Each morning has been the same since the day I got the damned call. I wake up, check my phone for a text that is not there nor will it ever be, see the texts that are almost always there, then rush to the bathroom and try to make it to the toilet bowl before last night’s dinner spews up onto the hall carpet. I didn’t realise a death could affect you in such a physical way until the end of Molly.
The difference in today, or so I’ve speculated with the limited brain power I’m able to sacrifice for the cause, is that the stress seems to have completely balled up inside of me and made it impossible for me to do anything but think about the funeral. This includes effective vomiting.
I close the PDF I found of the Catechism I never once thought I would find myself searching through and return to my google tab. All the questions I could ask and yet none would explain the clusterfuck of a situation I’m in.
I saw Molly’s mum two days after she found her daughter in her bedroom unconscious. At first she thought she was asleep, then when Molly wouldn’t get up for breakfast, not even when her mother shook her shoulders and screamed her name trying to wake her up, she realised exactly what her daughter was. The empty packet of sertraline gave her enough information for her to piece together how it had happened.
I didn’t find out till the afternoon when Lillian, Molly’s best friend, called me on Molly’s parent’s behalf. (See? The best friend role is taken, what am I supposed to grieve in front of people at the funeral? The one who found out second? The second-best friend?). Ever since Lillian’s call, ever since she said the words and I froze and she asked if I was still there and I hung up, I’ve been ignoring her attempts to talk to me. Dread is not the word I’m feeling to face her again. Or Molly’s parents. Or Molly’s aunt and uncles and favourite cousins I never got the chance to meet over the short-lived school year and summer we were dating.
After typing in a few ‘do I have to cry at a funeral?’ and ‘how much crying is too much crying?’ questions into google, not having the motivation to read a single answer to them, I shut my laptop on my desk and spin round in my chair.
My phone sits perched on my bed beside my pillow, sheets sprawled out in a mess on the bed after my hasty escape to the bathroom this morning. I move to sit at the end of my bed across from my phone. I had been using it less now that I hadn’t anyone to text except for my parents. Still, I seemed to keep it close by and check it out of habit every few minutes. I don’t know what keeps me repeating this ritual knowing full well my lock screen will be the same as ever. Worst of all is whenever I catch myself looking for new texts with that familiar name at the top and I start to feel a little queasy, which is making me worse for wear considering how my mornings have been going recently. I’m thinking of getting a watch instead of a phone.
The contemplative eye contact I’ve managed to hold with my phone shatters when the thing starts ringing and vibrating its way off the pillow onto the sheets. I pick it up and switch it off. It was my second alarm, the one I set last night telling me that I had two minutes till I had to leave for the funeral, in case I ignored the first one telling me I was T minus twenty in hopes of making the event disappear from my calendar altogether. But, and I’m sad to say I’m quickly coming to this realisation, ignoring something doesn’t make it go away. Not even when you wish it with your whole being.
“Genevieve!” I hear my mum call from downstairs. T-minus 0. My alarm had tricked me.
My mum holds my hand through the whole funeral. At first I pull away, but after the third time she grabbed a hold of my sweaty palm, I try and settle into it.
We sit in the pews, deep in the middle of the congregation, on those god-awful cold hard benches, and I try with all my might to pay attention to the words being spoken by the priest. Love, peace, great tragedy – it all sounded the same. If I really needed comforting, I could google the exact transcript he was speaking from. In fact, I had been doing exactly that for the past week. Every so often I glance around the rows of faces, trying to catch an eye of someone, anyone really, to ask are you getting any of this? To find some kind of connection so I didn’t feel so lost in it all. The only one I manage to find is Jesus hanging on the back wall, right above the priest.
I watch Jesus hang over him, as I do every Sunday morning, feeling strange that today is actually a Tuesday, and feel those same shudders crawl down my spine that I always feel when I look too carefully at the hanging Jesus. Gruesome, it is; I had always thought so. A dead man hanging from two planks of wood, for everyone to see – and the large crucifixes intended for hanging above the altar in churches are detailed things too, they’re created to be a spectacle. The blood dripping from Jesus’ hands are always too real a shade of red to be just paint, and if I ever looked at it for too long, it would look wet.
My eyes shoot down again to the priest, love, peace, love, peace, CRASH! The bloody crucifix could fall and crush him like a bug at any moment. I wonder if he knew. It doesn’t fall. Of course, it doesn’t – it never does. They’re sturdy spectacles, crucifixes are. Detailed bloody sturdy things.
I don’t manage a single bit of contact with any of the attendees. All of the faces remain locked on the priest. They don’t need the contact with me as much as I need it with them. I am alone, even with my mum’s hand to hold onto. Not even God himself will give me a sparing glance to lock onto. I squeeze my mum’s hand harder.
When the mass ends, I find myself standing by the exit, expertly avoiding the priest’s handshake as well as eye contact with the church goers who had done their duty by attending and were now leaving the church to go on with their lives. I fear that I’m going to be stuck in this church forever, hovering around and waiting for my mum who is near the altar, giving her condolences to Molly’s family and trying to make eye contact with me as a last chance at getting me to come over and speak with them.
Molly’s mum had already seen me earlier and smiled, which I returned, and that was about enough as I could manage. We both understood, or at least I hope we did.
I look down at my hands and start flicking my fingers off of one another. Ah, yes, the perfect distraction. Simple enough to not get convoluted and stress me out, but quiet and subtle enough for it not to draw attention from anyone and have them wisecrack something about it to get me talking to them.
As soon as my mum had wished well, we would be leaving.
I look back over to them, but something is different – different as in my mum is waving at me, beckoning me over. Not only that, but Molly’s immediate family is looking at me, too. Only me.
I drop my hands to my sides and dart my eyes to the side. Was someone calling me? Someone in the church foyer, perhaps?
I take a sharp breath and shuffle out of the church and into the foyer, making myself hidden deep into a new crowd. The same church goers – but now not seated and in perfect formation for my hideout.
I glance back through into the church and run a hand down my face.
Yes, it seems at only aged seventeen, Genevieve Walsh has ditched her first funeral and its own grieving family to save her own selfish feelings. Not even a goodbye!
A wash of relief washes over me, an emotion I wasn’t quite expecting to feel today. Then comes a tap on my shoulder.
“Genevieve?”
Oh! Wasn’t I too quick on the relief front? The voice is recognised immediately, it’s the same voice that said the words that tore my world apart just three weeks ago. The voice I had been ignoring ever since.
I stand frozen. Perhaps I didn’t feel the tap, maybe I didn’t hear my name, maybe… maybe someone was calling me in the church now too? I side eye the main church hall again, no… it was too risky. Trading one tricky emotional situation for another when I had just ran tail between my legs from the first? No thanks.
Then something hitches in my stomach – shifts in a way its not supposed to. I feel it. It’s happening. Of all the mornings, I have been training for this. I look dead up and make eye contact with the bathroom. Finally, the morning vom sesh has come to take me.
“Sorry,” I whisper back at Lillian, or I maybe don’t. I can’t be sure. All I know now is that I’m saying excuse me’s and I’m sorry’s at people as I push them out of the way and stumble to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me.
I lift the toilet seat, kneel before it and see salvation as chunks of Weetabix come pouring out of my mouth, splashing back the holy water at my face.
For a moment, I am not scared. I have not just run from my mother and a grieving family. I am not someone who hides. I’m not connected to the pain that waits for me outside of this cubicle. I am alone, I am safe, and this old wooden door gives me the sanctuary I need to be fine.
If only for a second, I am free.
#: haunting genevieve :#writeblr#wip#my wip#my writing#I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS ! pls enjoy !!!
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07/26/2018 HELP
Hello, fellow followers and other valued individuals who may be reading this. I dislike stooping to ask for help, but I'm currently at a loss. I'll be real with you and try to keep it brief. About a year ago, as you see in this instagram post I hit an extremely low point. I was losing everything. My family had broken apart. I lost my step-father, the one man who finally gave me a father after being abandoned by my biological one very young... and no, he didn't pass away.
The person I trusted with everything, my secrets, my fears, my hopes, and dreams... cheated on my mother after ten years and had been actively cheating on her for several months prior to when my mother found out. My best friend of nine years and our other mutuals abandoned me. They couldn't deal with my disorders anymore (psychotic depression, generalized anxiety disorder). My boyfriend at the time had been supportive as possible, but I knew deep in my heart that my depression was consuming me. I didn't like who I became when depressed... how could I put him through that side of me? I couldn't imagine a life without my family together. It shattered me and the only joy I had left was my daycare job. Even that was hard to hold onto, considering I worked a second job where employees, including myself, were sexually harassed.
August 6th, 2017 my mother and three younger siblings packed up to leave. A friend of my mother's and their family was allowing us to live with them while my mother worked her ass off earning money so we could move out and get away from what toxic environment our home had become. I stayed home and told them I'd make the drive later on my own. I didn't bother making up any excuses and they didn't push me to follow. Part of me was waiting for my stepdad to come back because I knew he would be showing up eventually... well, I was hiding in my room, waiting for him when I heard the door open. I heard him open the front door, then go into his bedroom and leave again. I wanted to call out and beg him to fix what he had done. I wanted him to confess all the wrongful doings he had done by cheating on my mother who loved him so unconditionally. I also wanted to scream at him for ruining what family I finally had in my heart. But, I didn't do any of that. I went out there and he offered to talk. I told him I didn't have anything to say. He left and I assumed he wouldn't come back. I wish he would have stayed and acknowledged the pain in my eyes.
That's when I lost myself. I realized I was home alone, I had alcohol, energy drinks, and my three prescriptions in the kitchen. I went into the bathroom and brought all of that, a hello kitty blanket, notebook, pen, and shut the door. I sat down and started to take the pills, counting as I swallowed them. I took twenty-five antidepressants including 25mg lamictal, 150mg wellbutrin, and 150mg of sertraline. I don't remember how many I took of each, but those were the dosages for each individual pill. As I took the pills, I tried to create a goodbye on the paper. I couldn't focus and my hands were so shaky. I tried to write how sorry I was and how I loved everyone. I ended up getting frustrated and scribbled all over the page. That's when it really set in. I was fucked. I was going to do severe damage to my kidneys or actually die if I stayed there. My mom and siblings were out of town by then. My stepdad was god knows where. I was alone and I was going to die. I didn't want to call an ambulance. I would be alone with strangers, then. So I walked outside, sat on the porch steps and started calling my stepdad. He didn't pick up. I tried over and over and he didn't pick up. I texted him what you see below. He almost hadn't come... which still scares me to think about what would have happened if he hadn't come.
I walked up to the car when he pulled up and got inside. I sat there and stared at the seat with my blanket wrapped around me. I then mumbled for him to take me to the hospital. Through the corner of my eye, I could see he was confused and I felt like he was angry at me... he asked me why and I told him what I had done. He said my name. I felt hopeless. He took me to the hospital and they made me change into a gown while a lady with glasses watched. They took my belongings and the lady laid me down on the bed. She started asking me why I did what I did and what I had done while my stepdad sat in a chair and watched them hook me up to different machines. Everything was so fuzzy to me. I felt like I was in between being alive and dead. My mother was called and she sped over an hour of distance to be by my side. She sat next to my stepdad and maybe this is twisted... but part of me hoped my failed attempt would bring them back together. At least, if I couldn't die... maybe my stepdad would realize how terrible of a decision he had made and would fix his mistake... but that didn't happen. He stayed in the room while they made me drink activated charcoal. Never fucking again... let me tell you. I've never tasted something so foul. Eventually, it made me throw up. The doctors told me I needed to throw up several times before they could do tests on me. Once I had thrown up many times, I fell asleep on and off in that room. When I woke up again, I was told I'd be going in a different hospital room. They moved me and explained I would stay overnight to be monitored. A guy was assigned to monitor me. I felt so uneasy. I couldn't sleep with him constantly staring at me. I wanted to disappear and every time I tried to pretend he wasn't there my heart rate would rise which only attracted more attention. I was stuck... and at one point, my stepdad and mom weren't in the room. I overheard that they were arguing in the parking lot... my mom came back into the room and confirmed that my stepdad had left to go talk to his girlfriend (who he had cheated on my mom with). My mom was fighting for him to get back in the room... she knew how much it meant to me for him to be there and he ... just... abandoned me for some whore. No different than what my biological father had done to my sister and me as kids.
I am twenty now. A year has nearly passed since that day. I am doing better than I ever imagined I would be. I teach toddlers at a local daycare. I have my first in-person lesbian relationship with someone who really clicks with me. My mom has a new boyfriend who treats her like a literal queen. He even took in my dog since I'm not able to pay the pet fee in our trailer. I am happy with my job and my new girlfriend. My biggest concern is money. While I love my job, I am not paid the best. I drive a 2002 Volkswagen Jetta that I have spent well over 1,000 dollars in repairs since March of 2017. I really need to save for a new vehicle and due to my suicide attempt, am trying to pay off hospital bills. I currently owe $1,571.83. It was over 2,000 dollars but I have been paying when I can to pay it off. I also have to pay for college. I cannot sign up for classes until I pay a 278 dollar fee because I dropped Summer classes due to stress. I could really use the help. On top of that, I pay for other bills and my car is unreliable...
Anything helps and if you are unable to donate and managed to read this far... please take this experience of mine as a reminder. Your life is never worth taking. You should embrace your life. No matter how gloomy things look now, you never know when you'll get a positive plot twist. You ARE capable of living a great life. I believe in every single one of you. My inbox here is always open as well or you may dm me at come_aliv3 on instagram. <3
Link to Paypal.me: paypal.me/SydneySutton
#support#donation#donate#suicide#suicideawareness#medical#signal boost#help#love#depression#paypal#bills#hospital#thank you so much
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Health Updates
Been a while since I've talked about my health stuff (I like to keep people up to date on things) so here's a post about it
Physical Therapy:
Started physical therapy early August. I have 3 sessions left
Physical therapist found that my hips are constantly locked up and move side-to-side when I walk due to stiffness, so my exercise help loosen them up. They were also the partial cause of my lower back pain when I do dishes
The root cause of these issues is how much I sit around. I don't do a lot of walking and the most exercise I get is riding my bike for work for about 2 hours Tuesday-Saturday, which mostly requires sitting
Depression and Anxiety:
Started taking Buspirone late June, early July for anxiety bc my Sertraline wasn't working as well as it used to (I started Sertraline the start of 2018)
Buspirone started causing my sleeping habits to worsen drastically. Before if I went to bed at 12-1am, I'd wake up at 5-6 to use the bathroom and then go back to sleep until 10am or noon. Well the buspirone only allowed me to sleep in 1-2 hour intervals at night and I'd still feel tired, but couldn't stay asleep for a while. Eventually I could sleep 3 hours but being tired all the time made me stop taking it
I titrated off Sertraline and started to take Escitalopram, aka Lexapro over a month ago with a 5mg dose. I've started taking 10mg since the 5mg wasn't working as well as I wanted it to (I did stop feeling hungry all the time and my interests like writing and hanging out with friends came back)
My doctor and I decided to try Buspirone again, but at half a pill in the morning and seeing how that goes before I decide to continue taking it or quitting
Endocrinology for PCOS:
I had my last Endocrinologist appointment on Thursday and had to say good-bye to my endo doctor, who I loved
I could transfer to a new endocrinologist if I want to, but I decided not to bother, especially since the Finasteride didn't help get rid of my facial hair completely like I was hoping it'd do. The best effect it had on me was slowing down the speed of growth, lessening the amount of area effected with hair, and it got rid of my boob hair
I think that's all for now. I think my current anti-depressant is going to help me even more than Sertraline did, so we'll see how that goes for the rest of the year
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Long time, no blog. Same partner; new doubts.
It’s been over 6 years since I’ve last needed to vent on here. But, yet again my partner has triggered so much doubt within me, I need to vent before I significantly hurt myself physically or psychologically.
I am so low by this that I don’t even care if he finds and reads this anymore; maybe it’ll catalyse a long and overdue conversation.
With the start of July and until September, OU has finished with another year!
Between the pandemic, my universal credit being revoked and sod's-fucking-law; it's been a mess of an academic year.
Now the academic modules are out of the way; it's time to look to my future (career-wise, but fuck me, the social pressure to "breed" is breathing down my neck too).
- As if my continued unemployment cannot be justified without a wailing, slimy-producing infant to show for by the end of the process. This pressure is mostly enforced by my mother and societal expectations. Still, I don't see my partner going out of his way to research into adoption or, fuck me, simply advocating for me in a medical setting either.
That is if he's gotten me pregnant and the medical professionals are using my autism as an excuse to not listen to me directly.
This was a discussion for another day on a different blog platform, but more and more these days, it feels my partner and I are on borrowed time.
Not just the natural vs adopting kids thing, but every other thing I say or even simply react in my body language seems to piss him off.
And after nearly 7 years together, he only now tells me doesn't want to get married. Ever.
Fuck, but getting him to anything but lie in bed should be noted in the calendar! Look, I get he's most likely got undiagnosed depression with a large helping of anxiety, but he doesn't do anything to help himself; I've suggested getting help, both socially and medically, but "nada".
The only thing that seems to help his mental state is going to his family.
I have to admit, the complete disdain (yes, it's disdain and not “distain”, I looked it up) towards marriage has hit me hard.
It means that if this relationship is going to go beyond the foreseeable future, I will have to accept that he, and therefore us, a couple, will never be.
- Be a part of the local community
- Make friends with other couples nearby. Fuck that. Simply have friends together.
- Regularly go out to do activities outside the house together, even if it's to go on a simple walk.
-- Now, to top it off, there's no chance in hell of a wedding to celebrate and look back on as a symbol of sharing our life together.
To just keep him and keep him even partially happy (especially when he won't get help), I'm going to have to compromise and give up on nearly everything I want in life. E.g.
- Not wanting to have natural kids / give up any expectation, he'll look into adoption.
- Be part of the local community
- Pursue further education/training after my degree
-- Give up all dreams of a bohemian wedding I've been brewing over the last few years; I'm not naturally a wedding-y person, but the longer you're with someone, the more you dream about your future together and deeper your love for them and that life you imagine becomes. Now I find out he's omitted for the last 7 doesn't believe in the concept, effectively misleading me under misdirection and false intentions. At least I said from the get-go that I didn't want kids.
When we've broached the topic about being more social, he claims all that will change when we live in London and/or when we have a kid.
Honestly, I wish beyond what is healthy for that to be true, but I feel I'm going to end up being dealt with the same shitty hand but in a new location.
- A location unfamiliar and overwhelming my autistic senses. Stuck with in-laws which are lovely, well-meaning and honestly a lot more accepting/accommodating than my own, but I believe I should go along with anything "Mr Man” wants to do with his life over mine.
This probably includes having to cave in and push out a sprog too...
How can you be so in love with someone but miserable with your life together?
Where did we go wrong? Or is this where and/or how we naturally part ways?
I keep on hoping it’s the irregularity of my minimally prescribed dose of sertraline (50mg) that is making me feel like this, but I don’t think so.
- Maybe it is just that, or maybe I’m the food for taking 7 years to finally see things clearly.
My friends keep on telling me he’s “the best thing that’s ever/ could ever happen to me”, and in a lot of ways, they’re right.
But should our life together make me feel so miserable?
Or is “growing up” as a woman mean giving up all the aspirations you want in life?
#i'm not okay#I'm self-harming just to not give in to crying#am i projecting?#or is this the shitty hand I've been dealt with?#relationship doubts#patriarchy sucks
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