After my nephew died in 2013, I think what little control and stability I'd had over my ptsd, depression, and anxiety broke. I spiraled, badly. I withdrew from nearly every person I knew. I had daily panic attacks, I only ate if I was forced, I could not focus in classes and overall I was just not functional. My PTSD symptoms got worse due to lack of sleep and the anxiety. I was in a very dark place.
I had even started self-harming again. I couldn't go one day without cutting, bruising, or burning my skin because I just wanted to feel something. I was numb. The one thing I know I had been doing right was going to therapy as much as possible. It wasn't enough though. The cuts and burns slowly got worse. Usually I would never make them bad enough to leave lasting scars but I stopped caring about that. I even started to feel that maybe it would be okay for me to kill myself because people got past my nephew's death soon enough. I started to believe that I really did deserve to die because of the things I had been through and I was tired. I stopped attending classes, stopped eating entirely and didn't sleep much at all. One night I had a plan of how I would kill myself. I don't know what part of me told my friend but I am glad I did. I went to the hospital and was admitted. I stayed in the psychiatric ward for a few days and got stabilized on medication and started to feel better.
I was thrown for a loop when the Dean visited and told me I could not return due to my going to the hospital. So the day I was released from the hospital, I had to begin packing my things from the first place I had ever felt safe. I had to move back with my parents in an area I have been trying to escape for years. I love my parents but we have not had the best past. I was miserable. I'd left the hospital feeling as if I could finish the semester and give myself the chance to do better but that option was no longer available. Less than 2 weeks after leaving my dormitory and returning home, I was in a psychiatric ward again because I felt I'd try something. I was absolutely miserable and depressed living with my parents and I felt pressured into acting as if I were fine when I wasn't. I'd had to leave my therapist, friends, job, and home. I lost everything. I don't know if I've ever been much lower.
After my second hospital visit, I began staying with friends in the area near my university. I searched fruitlessly for jobs and a therapist I could connect with the way I did the old one. As many of you can relate, I do not trust easily and building a relationship with a therapist is not easy. I ended up in the hospital three more times. The final hospital visit was considered an attempted suicide. I'd taken glass to my inner arm and had been trying to cut deeper. Things were very, very bad. I got very lucky, though. I ended up in a different hospital that was better suited to my needs. I was there for a full month but I am glad now I was there. Many times, I had been angry at the friend who took me to the hospital the night I cut my arm. I struggled so much at my last hospital but I worked hard each day (there were many set-backs) to focus on gaining better coping skills. There were quite a few times where I desperately wanted to hurt myself to cope with the pain but in the end I didn't.
It's been over 100 days since I was discharged from my last hospital visit. While I am still very hurt and angry at the Dean for making me leave school, I am proud of myself for my hard work in learning better coping. I have gotten a job where I got promoted in just a few months and I am managing to live with my parents a bit more easily. I am still missing my university and the friends I have there but I visit when I can and am planning to meet with the Dean soon about returning to school. I've had bad days, I won't lie, but not once in any of those days did I consider suicide. The voice that was telling me suicide was the better option has been quiet. I do sometimes have thoughts of self harm but they are not as strong and I have not acted out on any of them. I am even trying to continue working on building a relationship with a new therapist. I am quite proud of myself, which is not something I think I could have said a year ago.
I had even started self-harming again. I couldn't go one day without cutting, bruising, or burning my skin because I just wanted to feel something. I was numb. The one thing I know I had been doing right was going to therapy as much as possible. It wasn't enough though. The cuts and burns slowly got worse. Usually I would never make them bad enough to leave lasting scars but I stopped caring about that. I even started to feel that maybe it would be okay for me to kill myself because people got past my nephew's death soon enough. I started to believe that I really did deserve to die because of the things I had been through and I was tired. I stopped attending classes, stopped eating entirely and didn't sleep much at all. One night I had a plan of how I would kill myself. I don't know what part of me told my friend but I am glad I did. I went to the hospital and was admitted. I stayed in the psychiatric ward for a few days and got stabilized on medication and started to feel better.
I was thrown for a loop when the Dean visited and told me I could not return due to my going to the hospital. So the day I was released from the hospital, I had to begin packing my things from the first place I had ever felt safe. I had to move back with my parents in an area I have been trying to escape for years. I love my parents but we have not had the best past. I was miserable. I'd left the hospital feeling as if I could finish the semester and give myself the chance to do better but that option was no longer available. Less than 2 weeks after leaving my dormitory and returning home, I was in a psychiatric ward again because I felt I'd try something. I was absolutely miserable and depressed living with my parents and I felt pressured into acting as if I were fine when I wasn't. I'd had to leave my therapist, friends, job, and home. I lost everything. I don't know if I've ever been much lower.
After my second hospital visit, I began staying with friends in the area near my university. I searched fruitlessly for jobs and a therapist I could connect with the way I did the old one. As many of you can relate, I do not trust easily and building a relationship with a therapist is not easy. I ended up in the hospital three more times. The final hospital visit was considered an attempted suicide. I'd taken glass to my inner arm and had been trying to cut deeper. Things were very, very bad. I got very lucky, though. I ended up in a different hospital that was better suited to my needs. I was there for a full month but I am glad now I was there. Many times, I had been angry at the friend who took me to the hospital the night I cut my arm. I struggled so much at my last hospital but I worked hard each day (there were many set-backs) to focus on gaining better coping skills. There were quite a few times where I desperately wanted to hurt myself to cope with the pain but in the end I didn't.
It's been over 100 days since I was discharged from my last hospital visit. While I am still very hurt and angry at the Dean for making me leave school, I am proud of myself for my hard work in learning better coping. I have gotten a job where I got promoted in just a few months and I am managing to live with my parents a bit more easily. I am still missing my university and the friends I have there but I visit when I can and am planning to meet with the Dean soon about returning to school. I've had bad days, I won't lie, but not once in any of those days did I consider suicide. The voice that was telling me suicide was the better option has been quiet. I do sometimes have thoughts of self harm but they are not as strong and I have not acted out on any of them. I am even trying to continue working on building a relationship with a new therapist. I am quite proud of myself, which is not something I think I could have said a year ago.
