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- #13
Thank you for your kind replies. I feel a responsibility to update this thread. It's now two months that I'm at the psych ward. I'm home over night today. The terror isn't that oppressive, but I still feel that gnawing sense of doom a lot, like every wrong thought could trigger another dark, terrifying flashback attack. I'm afraid of my own out-of-control thoughts and the hell they can create.
Since I got home, I've just been lying in bed, hoping the neighbors will keep it down, because I'm feeling quite without skin again.
Two weeks ago, there were some more suicide attempts. I think the suicide attempts themselves have traumatized me further - staring death in the face with the monsters from my past breathing down my neck. Which way to go? Which way to go? Scary. But those memories have been made and I have to live with them.
One helpful thing I have reminded myself of is that "Death is certain, but time and way of death are uncertain". So I'm facing something everyone will have to face at some time. If I died in a car accident tomorrow, what difference would it make compared to suicide? If I got diagnosed with untreatable cancer, death would probably be on my mind a lot then.
Hm... Am I rambling? Anyway, the hospital is helping less than I wish it would. Nurses are doing their job asking me how I am, doctors are prescribing meds (first Venlafaxine, then Sertraline, now back to Citalopram, also Lorazepam and Zyprexa to top it off.), social worker teaching me more coping skills, but it's all a bit clueless. Meanwhile I keep suffering.
I'm sick of suffering. I feel insane and wobbly, I don't have any good hope left. Thanks for reading. At least writing this makes me feel a tiny tiny bit less alone.
Since I got home, I've just been lying in bed, hoping the neighbors will keep it down, because I'm feeling quite without skin again.
Two weeks ago, there were some more suicide attempts. I think the suicide attempts themselves have traumatized me further - staring death in the face with the monsters from my past breathing down my neck. Which way to go? Which way to go? Scary. But those memories have been made and I have to live with them.
One helpful thing I have reminded myself of is that "Death is certain, but time and way of death are uncertain". So I'm facing something everyone will have to face at some time. If I died in a car accident tomorrow, what difference would it make compared to suicide? If I got diagnosed with untreatable cancer, death would probably be on my mind a lot then.
Hm... Am I rambling? Anyway, the hospital is helping less than I wish it would. Nurses are doing their job asking me how I am, doctors are prescribing meds (first Venlafaxine, then Sertraline, now back to Citalopram, also Lorazepam and Zyprexa to top it off.), social worker teaching me more coping skills, but it's all a bit clueless. Meanwhile I keep suffering.
I'm sick of suffering. I feel insane and wobbly, I don't have any good hope left. Thanks for reading. At least writing this makes me feel a tiny tiny bit less alone.
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