Things have been hard. They’ve been really, really fucking hard. I guess my blog is well overdue for a life update, and so here it is:
I believe last post I talked about the onset of a depressive episode. Well that depressive episode combined with a whole heap of other environmental factors and turned into a really big problem. The condensed version is that I overdosed, tried to drink bleach, drown myself in the shower and cut my wrists with a kitchen knife, and now I am back, obviously, in hospital.
Treatment has been difficult this time. Initially this stay was proposed to be three weeks to a month. However, after being here two and a half weeks, the suicidal thoughts are still intense. I spend 90% of the day sleeping because I can’t manage my head, and then stay up until 3 A.M. at night despite masses of seroquel because I can’t silence my brain from making suicide plan after suicide plan, accompanied by graphic imagery. The only thing keeping me sane is journalling. I’ve never written so much in my life; words, poems, drawings. I plan to post about this soon, but as to stay on track, my progress has been stagnant. After some difficult conversations with my psychiatrist and her calling in a few other psychiatrists for second opinions, we have decided to start a four week course of Electroconvulsive Therapy; ECT.
I start my first session tomorrow and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t freaking out just a little. I’ve felt totally calm up until now, but now I’m nervous. Deciding to try ECT was a big step to take, but necessary considering where I’m at with my mental health at the moment.
With everything going on at the moment I’ve come to feel like I’m going through a metamorphosis, of sorts. I look back at who I was and I don’t recognise that person; I feel so disconnected from who I was and I know that person is gone. That person is not coming back. And I’m okay with that. At the moment I’m trying to build my coccoon; I need to build my coccoon. I need to let go of all the pain and hurt I’m feeling and surrround myself with things that are safe and healing – the hospital, my psychiatrist, my psychologist, medication, DBT, CBT, ECT. If I can do that, if I can build my coccoon and heal, then maybe I’ll be able to emerge a new person. A person who has confidence and self-worth and who has wings to carry themself. At the moment that person feels far, far away; untouchable and unrecognisable. But my psychiatrist told me I need to take this one step at a time, and so I’m going to keep focusing on building my coccoon and maybe I’ll finally be able to complete my metamorphosis and emerge as a new version of me; not the old me, but a new me, a healed me. I have to. Because I can’t do this version of me much longer.