I had a much needed day at the river with two good friends. Previously before River day, I’d been off my meds for a bit and wasn’t entirely honest about it. I was still going to therapy, but more so was just processing all the good life changes happening of moving and starting a new job and being superficial about it. They were good things going on. What I didn’t realize or acknowledge was that it was a lot, and even too much, for me to handle at a single given moment. Ending relationships, moving, and starting a new job, all within about a month timeframe, the moving and new job only being two days apart, it was a lot. Good things, but just a lot. Good things, but just a lot. I experienced mania, and then I
crashed mentally. I lost motivation to anything and everything. I quit the daily hygiene, the eating, the sleeping. I’d lay there and not sleep, toss and turn at times and other times lay there as still as a log. I managed to still get myself to go to church, that was about the only thing I got myself to do. Church and therapy. I expressed my negative thoughts to my therapist when they started to arise once again. They were minimal and not strong, so we decided to try and process and push through. The thoughts very rapidly got worse and so intrusive. I got to where I didn’t want to exist, but at the same time I didn’t want to die. It became a constant battle in my head. A battle I know all too well. A battle I’ve dealt with too many times. And a battle that hasn’t always ended happily. A battle that has landed me in the hospital or residential treatment numerous times. A battle that has ended in me trying to end it all seven separate times. A battle that I am tired of trying to fight. A battle… a battle that almost ended badly once again. Rather than letting it end in making an eighth attempt to end it though, I got help and made it my ninth inpatient stay. As much as I fight the idea of going inpatient once again, I knew I needed it. I got to the point I wasn’t even able to function to work. I was calling in at work and even the unprofessional no call no show, costing me my job. My treatment team strongly recommended and encouraged me to go inpatient, get on meds, get regulated and stable again, and get through this low. I ended up going. I had someone take me and drop me off, and I spent seven days in an inpatient acute care. I got on medications again and got the intrusive thoughts to go away and became a somewhat functioning human again. I started doing hygiene and eating consistently again. I got discharged and was able to come home. I hated having to go in the first place, but I am thankful and grateful that I did. I am thankful to be alive today and although I know it’s not an easy road ahead, I am hopeful for the future. I am set up with my treatment team and I’ve added in some outpatient group therapy that I’ll do three times a week. As of today, September 5, I am one week from being discharged and being at home, two weeks back at being consistent on meds, and feeling good. Recovery and healing is possible and I will reach that point. If you are struggling, don’t give up. Keep going. Reach out. Use your support system. There is hope.
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