Lol. All the similar threads with this name are from 4 years ago.
I am posting because it is 2:23 am where I am. I can't sleep. I have decided to take myself off the seroquel that makes me feel drugged. But I am here now...exhausted...but not wanting to sleep. I have parts that do not like to sleep. I have parts that are desperate to sleep. I'm trapped in between. Parts that are urging me to pack the damned car and go...parts that say, "NO way! You have to drive carpool in the morning..." Parts that have me scraping knives on my arms, parts that say, "Stop that, you idiot." But I can't ask for help except here. The ask for help was a disaster last week...ended up in a locked psych ward for 6 days that replayed my whole childhood and adolescence of being trapped and just trying to be a good girl until it was over.
I'm 51 years old now. Tired of being a good girl and waiting until it is over.
I told some friends tonight about my Section 12 at the local hospital. Managed it with a laugh as we sat chatting and swapping stories over drinks. My story was the polar opposite of a friend's who had dinner with a former president of the US last weekend. Interesting evening.
What the heck do I DO with this crazy experience I'm having? I think I have all the memory I'm going to get of my past. I have the skills to ground. I'm in my body much more these days. I have support around me if I ask for it. My mother-in-law made a vegan lasagne for us...support doesn't get much better than that.
But I'm sitting here at my desk all messed up and thinking that perhaps I should not have lied to the hospital psychiatrist. Perhaps I should still be there. I ran into one of my fellow "loonies" at Target tonight. Really threw me for a loop. He was so nice, and friendly. But suddenly the whole hospital thing seemed rather real.
And I am wondering, continually, who I am. Parts wanting to shut that down and destroy. Other parts saying, "Go to bed...you'll feel better in the morning." Sigh.
Just venting I suppose.
I am posting because it is 2:23 am where I am. I can't sleep. I have decided to take myself off the seroquel that makes me feel drugged. But I am here now...exhausted...but not wanting to sleep. I have parts that do not like to sleep. I have parts that are desperate to sleep. I'm trapped in between. Parts that are urging me to pack the damned car and go...parts that say, "NO way! You have to drive carpool in the morning..." Parts that have me scraping knives on my arms, parts that say, "Stop that, you idiot." But I can't ask for help except here. The ask for help was a disaster last week...ended up in a locked psych ward for 6 days that replayed my whole childhood and adolescence of being trapped and just trying to be a good girl until it was over.
I'm 51 years old now. Tired of being a good girl and waiting until it is over.
I told some friends tonight about my Section 12 at the local hospital. Managed it with a laugh as we sat chatting and swapping stories over drinks. My story was the polar opposite of a friend's who had dinner with a former president of the US last weekend. Interesting evening.
What the heck do I DO with this crazy experience I'm having? I think I have all the memory I'm going to get of my past. I have the skills to ground. I'm in my body much more these days. I have support around me if I ask for it. My mother-in-law made a vegan lasagne for us...support doesn't get much better than that.
But I'm sitting here at my desk all messed up and thinking that perhaps I should not have lied to the hospital psychiatrist. Perhaps I should still be there. I ran into one of my fellow "loonies" at Target tonight. Really threw me for a loop. He was so nice, and friendly. But suddenly the whole hospital thing seemed rather real.
And I am wondering, continually, who I am. Parts wanting to shut that down and destroy. Other parts saying, "Go to bed...you'll feel better in the morning." Sigh.
Just venting I suppose.