I'm currently not writing. I'm still pretty fragile and wounded from the hospital. It's hard to have any sort of obligations, even when it's something I enjoy. In fact, I didn't even want to write this. I am fighting my apathy and lack of concentration because I need creative outlets in my life. I feel creatively dead, but I am starting to get excited for my creative rebirth. I feel it coming. I know I have good material inside me. I also wanted to write this because there has been a lot of unease amongst my friends and family. Most people can't connect with what I experienced, so they feel distant.
The first hospitalization was not planned, so I received a lot of criticism for not letting my loved ones know how bad I was feeling. I explained that I do not like to burden people, and I can tell who genuinely wants to know how I feel and who doesn't. Plus, I knew they wouldn't understand. A friend of mine said, "You didn't give us a chance to understand." I really took that to heart.
After the first hospitalization, I let everyone know how I was doing if they asked. I told many people I was not functioning, eating, and I was scared that I would have to go back to the hospital. Many of those same people did not follow up with questions of how I was doing after that. They couldn't understand, as I had feared, and pulled away. I felt like I went against my gut-feeling to give people more of a chance, and some of the things I feared came true. Also, my honesty had everyone worried and calling me or my mom a million times a day. I hate to worry people; however, the phone calls were good because they convinced me the only option I had was to go to the hospital again. It is a good thing I went when I did because my first few days and nights in the hospital were my worst ever. I was not sleeping, so I didn't get dressed or shower. I barely showed up for group therapy and didn't talk when I did. I even thought I was hearing voices one night because my brain started dreaming while I was awake. I didn't know what was happening, so I freaked out, thinking I had finally snapped and gone completely insane. I had no hope for getting better. That is why I didn't care about group, or even one-on-one, therapy. I didn't believe it could help me. I didn't believe the doctor could help me. I just laid in bed wishing to die, wondering how I could go on living like this forever. I knew my loved ones needed me to stay alive, I just couldn't imagine where I would find the energy to do that.
After the doctor found a combination of drugs that seemed to, at least, get me out of bed, I finally felt I could fight the depression again. I am still incredibly depressed. I can't be happy or even content anywhere. When I'm away at school, I'm miserable, thinking how I will feel better when I can rest at home. At home, I'm just as depressed, and try to tell myself being back at school with my friends will help. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be there. I don't really want to be. As depressing as that may sound, I'm slowly doing better. I am eating three meals a day and sleeping a little more regularly. I set daily goals like we did in the hospital, and I am successful achieving them more days than not. I am actually doing my homework for therapy, but I'm still pretty discouraged with the whole process. I have so much work to do. I am not yet ready to take responsibility over this sickness. I just want someone to tell me I am sick so I can feel like a victim for a minute--just to lose this guilt for thinking this is all my fault. It doesn't work like that, though. Mental health, in general, doesn't work like that. My therapist keeps urging me to think deeper into my responsibility and things I can change. It scares me, and part of me still feels like I can't do it, so on bad days I wonder why try?
I'm writing this while in a depressed mood. That makes me feel like things are worse than they are. I actually have been doing better, though. I had a decent day today even. I am just discouraged with the way I feel pressure from others, but mostly pressure from myself, to automatically be better and "normal" again. I just was released from the hospital one week ago. I was in there for EIGHT days. That is a long time to be in the hospital. If I was in the hospital for eight days with a physical illness, people would allow me months to recover. Why is it that I feel like I need to be functioning like I was never ill?
People ask me what it feels like: to be depressed, to be awake for days, to have my body ache with every movement, to be in a psychiatric unit, to be recovering, to be where I am right now.
In all honesty, I feel as though I survived a plane crash. The good news is that it can only get better and I'm alive. That doesn't make the horrors of the past or the memories of people lost go away. A good answer that sort of covers all of those common questions is that I feel like an 80-year-old woman. I have put so much energy into life, and I'm tired. My body stopped behaving like it should. I am thankful to be able to get up, walk, and even rollerblade without pain since the last drug adjustment. I don't enjoy loud noises or parties at this point. I don't enjoy playing games. I would rather sit and fall asleep in my rocking chair. Okay, I don't have a rocking chair, but I just feel like such a stereotypical old woman sometimes. I am getting younger by the week, though.
There's hope. It's the first time in 6 months I've believed I will get better. Thanks to my incredible support system for helping me to keep fighting even when my back is against the ropes. I will win.
