Put me on your life support

I think some people who have been (and are) in my life have had (and have) some misconceptions about what I mean when I say I want support. A lot of the time, all I hear is "how can we support what you're doing to yourself?"

That's not what I mean. I don't want anyone to support my slow and meticulous self-destruction. I want support to get better - to recover. I just want someone to hug me and tell me everything is going to be okay, and even if I under most circumstances wouldn't believe a word of it, I still would because I needed to. I want someone to hold me when I'm scared and keep me safe. I want someone to just let me cry in their arms and tell me that they love me, and that even though they're worried about me, they won't leave because they care so much about me. I want encouragement and praise when I make progress, and reassurance that everyone can make mistakes and that it's okay to fall down when I relapse. I want to be taken seriously and to have my problems acknowledged, not belittled. I want acknowledgement for trying my best. I want someone to see past my problems and love the person behind these illnesses. I don't want to be seen as a disorder, I want to be seen as someone who has a disorder but who shouldn't be defined by it and is a real person nonetheless. I want help to get through all of this and to recover and find some sort of normalcy and stability in my life. I want to get help to get back on the track of life and to reach the finish line and actually start living.

An update, I suppose

I hardly ever post here. I don't know, there are many things I want to say, things I need to get off my chest... but when I try to write, it always ends up as an inconsistent mess; it makes no sense. Pretty much like me, I guess.

I've been given a one month break from my internship. It's been too hard lately. My mind's been too preoccupied with other things, and I've felt like such a failure even there, a place that's supposed to be therapeutic. My caseworker assured me that they're not supposed to have to rely on me there, that I'm not supposed to answer to them, which actually is a huge relief. I feel like I'm not doing enough and that I'm disappointing everyone, and hearing that, and not having to worry about it and feel so guilty for a while is nice.

I saw my doctor on Thursday. She upped the dosage of my medication again. I don't notice any difference. I told her that I really want to see my medical files and read the notes all the people whom I've met while being a psychiatric patient have written. I've wanted to read it for a long time, but it kind of terrifies me. I'm scared of seeing what they've said about me because what if they've said lots of negative stuff? Maybe they've said that I'm exaggerating or lying... maybe they think I'm stupid... but I want to know what it says. Some of the things in my discharge papers from the last time I was inpatient upset me, but I liked reading it anyway. I especially want to see the notes and discharge papers from the times I've been in the emergency ward, and the notes taken by my most recent male psychologist. I really liked him. I really miss him as my therapist.

I finally got to meet and talk to the guy I like this week, too. I don't really know what to do about that. I feel a bit better now, though, and have managed to keep my insecurities and fears at bay since then (which is only a few days, but that's still a huge accomplishment). I'm still confused, though. Confused, scared, conflicted. About... pretty much everything. I really like him, though. I think I might be falling in love with him... shit. That's not good at all. Everything is so confusing.

Voices

Picture // Unknown

"Who the fuck do you think you are? Do you think you're actually worth something? Do you actually think someone cares about you? That's funny. Everyone hates you, you stupid cow."

"Do you really think they like you? Why on Earth would they? You're stupid. You're ugly. You're fat. You're pathetic. You're boring. You're immature. You're repulsive. You're worthless. You're useless. You're the most pathetic waste of space. You have no redeeming qualities whatsoever."

"They'll be better off without you, and you know it."

"Cut yourself. Do it. DO IT! NOW!"

"DO WHAT I TELL YOU TO DO, OR I'LL CONTINUE TO TORTURE YOU UNTIL YOU'RE CRYING AND SCREAMING FOR THE PAIN TO STOP!"

"Just look... they're all ignoring you. They're all avoiding you. They're weak and pathetic, too, they're too cowardly to tell you the truth. They should tell you the truth. It would break your heart. Wait... that's right, your heart is already broken. You know why? Because you're an idiot. You brought it on yourself. It's your own fucking fault."

"They're gonna leave you just like everyone else has in the past. You're not even worthy of a goodbye or an explanation."

"HOW THE FUCK CAN YOU BE SO STUPID? YOU'RE THE STUPIDEST LITTLE SHIT EVER, NO ONE WILL EVER LOVE YOU! IT'S BETTER THAT YOU REALIZE IT NOW!"

"Why are you such an idiot?! Protect your heart, dammit, what's left of it! They're gonna hurt you! Remember what happened the last time! No one will ever love you, no one will ever find you worthy of being loved! Get away from them!"

"They're all gonna leave, you know... I'm your only friend, and you know it."

"You're not meant to be happy. You might as well just end it now. There are no other fucking options!"

"They're just lying. No one's ever going to be truthful to you, you're not worth it. Nobody will ever love you or care for you. They just want to abuse you and take advantage of you, why can't you see that?!"

"IT'S ALL LIES! YOU CAN'T TRUST ANYONE! THEY'RE ALL OUT TO GET YOU!"

"You don't deserve to live. End it."

"You think you can be fixed? That's a laugh. No one can fix you. No one can help you. All people will do is hurt you and break you. That's all you are; a broken, inconsistent mess. No one will ever love someone as broken and fucked up as you. You're a piece of shit. You're not worth all the effort it would take to be with you."

Please, for once, just leave me alone...

I am fucking crazy, but I am free

...at least in terms of being home vs. being institutionalized.

Picture // private

I was discharged from the psych ward I spent almost three months in in December. Diagnosis: "avoidant personality disorder", and "emotionally unstable personality disorder, borderline type". It makes a lot of sense to me. I wish it made sense to other people. It's hard to explain an illness that makes interactions and relations to other people so difficult and exhausting. It's hard to explain exactly how debilitating it is. It's hard to say "it's because I have this and this illness", because a lot of people will say that I have to take responsibility for my actions and stop blaming it on an illness (an illness that in their minds doesn't even exist).

If I was injured, like when I fell/was pushed down a flight of stairs and injured my leg almost three years ago, and said I couldn't walk, no one would tell me to suck it up and stop blaming my injured leg. No one would say I was just exaggerating or acting out or that I was just being lazy. Mental illness is just as bad as physical illness, but that's a whole different entry.

Emotionally unstable personality disorder (BPD) is something I've known that I probably had for a long time (and my previous psychologist said I had it, but I was too young to be officially diagnosed with it), but I hadn't even looked into avoidant personality disorder (AvPD). It caught me off-guard, but at least my mom can't say that I trick myself into believing I have a mental illness by reading about it now. I didn't even know what the symptoms and hallmarks of avoidant personality disorder were.

The diagnoses make me feel less alone. Enough people struggle with the same problems as me for it to be a diagnosis. Other people have the exact same problems as me. It's comforting because I always thought I was all alone about feeling like I do and being like I am.

Picture // private

I'm being referred to an outpatient treatment center where they treat personality disorders. I have to fill out the application myself (above), and I'm almost done, but it's really hard to name and put down my three biggest issues. I've been thinking a lot about it. One is to deal with relations, especially close relations. My fear of rejection and abandonment makes me get way too intense, or makes me reject people (before they get the chance to leave me). Another major issue is to trust others and believe what people tell me. The third is to regulate and control my emotions. I feel like the end is nigh and have catastrophe thoughts over very minor things. I get irrationally angry for nothing. I get upset and hurt and suicidally depressed for nothing. People don't get that, and I try to keep it inside me, but then it becomes too much and I'll just blurt everything out and become hysteric.

It'll probably take a few months before I know if I get treatment there or not, but at least it's something. It's better than DPS, the district psychiatric center. They can usually only treat people for half a year at the most, and I need something stable and longterm. The personality clinic's program is up to three years and is both group therapy and individual therapy. Everyone agrees that would be more beneficial for me. Fingers crossed.

2012 and today

So, 2012... what can I say? My psychologist quit, my dad died, my boyfriend dumped me after one and a half year, and I was committed to, and discharged from, an adolescent psychiatric ward. That's the sequential order of... major events, my dad's death being the biggest one. The only thing I achieved was, well, to not kill myself. I didn't even attempt, although I was very close. There's been a couple of visits to the emergency room and my doctor's office to get stitches, but that's it. No overdose (as that's my usual method when I attempt), no ambulance, no hospital, no gastric lavage, no observation or lying unconscious in the ICU. Is it sad if I say that that's an accomplishment?

Seriously, how messed up is that? Yay, I didn't try to kill myself last year. Amazing. When I looked forward to becoming a teenager and growing up, this really wasn't what I imagined. Y'know, self harm, suicide attempts, hospitals, psych wards, years of therapy, countless emergency appointments, medications. Severe depression with psychotic features (in my case, those are auditory hallucinations, paranoia, and delusions), personality disorders, an eating disorder, generalized anxiety, panic attacks brought on by the personality disorders and generalized anxiety. Wanting to die rather than staying alive 'cause it's less frightening, yet being too scared of dying. Being so unstable that I mess up every relation I have.

I'm 18, and I'm still as sad and stuck as I was when I was 13-14. I'm worse. I'll admit I haven't always been very... receptive of treatment, but a lot of the time, I've been trying my best. Yet, here I am; worse. I haven't tried to kill myself in over a year, but I'm still at my worst so far.

My emotions are all over the place. They fluctuate from euphoric heights to uncontrollable rage to the depths of depression to crippling anxiety within hours/minutes/seconds. I don't know how to control it. I can't control it. It happens so quickly that I don't get the time to react. It's never been this bad before. I don't know how to cope with it. I want to explain it, but it's difficult. It's complex and hard to convey how debilitating it is. Maybe I'll make a post about it.

2013 has been shitty so far. It's only been eight days, but I've spent the most part in my room; blinds shut, lights off, lying in bed, listening to music, crying, cutting... a couple of days ago, I just couldn't sleep at all, so I tried taking some of the meds I took to be able to sleep before. Turns out that if you take 100mg of Truxal when you've been off of it for a while, you'll wet yourself in your sleep and pass out whenever you try to get out of bed when you wake up (and then you have to sleep some more to feel better), even though you've taken higher dosages daily before. Fantastic. Well, at least I got some deep sleep. I don't have much of a reason to stay awake anymore.

I honestly don't think I'll live through this year. That's not a threat. It's more of a realization. I know I'll be the end of me. It's both terrifying, and somewhat a relief.

Picture // private

Two handfuls of reasons why

(Right forearm, July 2012)

This entry contains one graphic and possibly triggering picture hidden under a spoiler-button.

Both of the pictures in this entry are of me. This is a very personal matter to me. 

Please read with respect.

I first cut myself when I was about 12 years old. I had heard about it, and I was curious as to how cutting your own skin could help when you were sad. I figured I might try it. Dumb decision. If I had known what I know now, I wouldn't have done it, but what do you expect from a 12 year old? As I've grown older, the reasons for why I do it have increased and changed. Reasons for why I resorted to self harm as a way to cope.

I say that I started at age 12. I had been biting the skin around my fingernails and pulled my hair out since I was maybe 8-9 years old, first as a bad habit, and then due to the relief it brought, but age 12. At that age, I was aware of what I was doing. I've beat myself up with objects or my fists. I've banged my head and fists into walls. I've burned myself with matches and lighters. I've verbally abused myself until I made myself cry. I've pulled my hair out. I've bitten the skin around my fingernails and on my knuckles until it bled.

What stuck with me, though, was the cutting. Cutting brought the best relief. I've cut myself with any sharp object at hand, ranging from shards of glass and scissors, to razor blades and scalpels. Scratches first, barely drawing blood. I rarely did it in the beginning. Cuts drawing blood, cuts bleeding like they would never stop, cuts needing steri-strips, glue, or stitches. Gashes in my skin. Scars everywhere. More frequent cutting, escalating in periods.

But why? Why would anyone practise self-destruction and permanently scar and damage their body?

I can give you a handful (or two) of reasons why.

Instant relief from overwhelming emotions

I'm extremely sensitive to most things around me. I react strongly to the smallest things, and I've even been told my my previous therapist that I have more overwhelming and intense feelings than a lot of people. Self harm puts my focus on something else and helps me forget the emotional pain for a few short moments, especially the nagging, sickening anxiety I feel all the time.

Feeling something rather than being numb

Then again, I'm not always struggling with intense emotions. Sometimes, I'm completely numb and get desperate to just feel something. Feeling physical pain is better than feeling nothing at all.

Physical pain > emotional pain

It's easier to deal with physical pain. Simple as that. I'm in control of the physical pain. I'm not in control of the emotional pain.

I deserve it, punishment, self-hatred

I hate myself. I hate my body, and I hate my thoughts and way of thinking. I hate what I've become, and I need to punish myself for it. I have to punish myself if I do something I wasn't supposed to. I have to punish myself for being like this. I deserve the physical pain, the cuts, the scars, the condescending comments, the disgusted looks, the stupid jokes, the nasty remarks, and the pointed fingers....

It's beautiful, it fascinates me

I think cut and scars are beautiful, same with blood. I like the taste of blood, too. Also, I have a perhaps unhealthy fascination with the human body, and I'm curious about it. I'm eager to learn and explore. What's beneath my skin is intriguing, and I'm curious to look at it. When I had surgery on my leg, I watched as they changed the bandages. I had a huge, deep hole in my leg. Nerves severed. I'll probably never regain feeling in that area. The pain was excruciating even though I was given morphine, but after the worst pain had subsided, I couldn't help but to sit up a bit and look as the hole in my leg filled with blood before they put new compresses into the wound and bandaged it up. Now, two years later, I still wish I had a picture of that hole in my leg...

To validate emotional pain

I have a mental illness. No one can see the constant pain I'm in. It's not fair that how I feel and how much I hurt should only be on the inside. It damn well should show. People have to see the pain I'm in. Actions speak louder than words.

To "separate" myself from "pretty" people

I bet this needs some some explaining, for sure. What I mean is that I try to make myself ugly and permanently scar myself and forever give up the hopes of joining the "pretty", "happy" people. I feel less worth than them, and in a way, I want to destroy every chance of "joining" them.

To make myself unwanted

As if my body didn't make me repulsive enough already. It's a bit backwards, I guess... 'cause I need to feel wanted. I need to feel loved. I want to be with someone. Yet, I try to make my body as disgusting as possible to other people by scarring it like that... why? I'm not actually sure. Punishment? You tell me. 

It's become an addiction

Regardless of my state of mind, I want to cut. I can be perfectly fine and still have that nagging urge to hurt myself. It feels like I'll never be able to live without it. I can't imagine living a life where i don't hurt myself on a regular basis. I could write page up and page down about this, but bottom line is; it's an addiction. It's a compulsion. Addictions are hard (although not impossible) to overcome.

(Right forearm, July 2012)

"Punishment"

Sometimes, I get into this mindset of "if I have to suffer, then so do you" and "if you make me suffer, I'm gonna make you suffer." Essentially, that I have to punish someone. It usually derives from getting hurt by someone, obviously, but at times, I have no reason to start acting like that.

I'm a very sensitive person. I'm extremely sensitive to people's actions and words, and I often take things the wrong way or start over-analyzing. Catastrophe-thoughts often follow.

I think my boyfriend is the one who has experienced that the most. I easily overreact, and can get very hurt and angry even if he didn't do anything wrong. So because he made me suffer, regardless of if he actually did me wrong or if I'm just overreacting, he has to suffer, too. Logical? Not really.

Once again, I'm divided into two parts.

I usually hate fighting with people. A part of me just wants to make things okay and be happy and positive, but then there's that monster that just won't let me. It feels like I'm either going to explode or cave in in my desperate attempt to work against it and control it, 'cause both sides are so incredibly strong. Regardless of how much I try to push that ugly mindset away, I most often can't. I can't even make myself type out a happy smiley on msn. I can barely make myself tell my boyfriend that I love him, even though I really do. I can't make myself write long replies or say anything positive. I can hardly make myself reply at all. It's like this huge wall that I can't knock down. I know that it's no one's fault but my own, but it's really hard.

Also, this "punishment" always backfires. I know that it backfires, and yet I keep doing the same thing. I'm the one who gets hurt, not the person I'm trying to punish. Eventually, I feel so hopeless and desperate that I just start crying. Everyone just thinks I'm in a bad mood, and they can't really pick up on it. It's not just a "bad mood". It's an internal war between a monster and the real me. I always cry and cut and beat myself up over it afterwards and vow to control it better the next time, but I highly doubt that I can.

Picture // Tumblr

Mental Disease

(Mental Disease - Licia Chery)

A side of me wanna be free

A side of me wanna stay a prisoner

A mental disease is destroying myself

I wanna live long, wanna live free, wanna be healthy

But I'm spending my time doing my best to destroy myself

I know what I'm doing is wrong, but the disease is strong

Stronger than my will of going on

And I do my best to destroy myself

I'm destroying myself, but I do admit I may need help

Can somebody get me out of this nightmare?

I'm destroying myself, but I do admit I may need help

Can somebody get me out of this nightmare?

I thought I had the control

I thought I could hold the ridges of my life

But I failed, and I need some help to rebuild myself

I hate this new side of me that never can see the abyss I am putting myself in

This new side of me that likes to destroy myself

I'm destroying myself, but I do admit I may need help

Can somebody get me out of this nightmare?

I'm destroying myself, but I do admit I may need help

Can somebody get me out of this nightmare?

A side of me wanna be free

A side of me wanna stay a prisoner

A mental disease is destroying myself

Here in the darkness I know myself

Picture // Tumblr

"I wanna stay in love with my sorrow, but I want to let it go..."

I'm terrified of dying. I start crying and panic if I think too much about it. Why is it then that I still want to die? The smallest thing can send me into a dark spiral that leads to one single thought; I have to die. There is no other option.

I want to experience the future. I want to turn 18, graduate high school, get a decent education in my chosen field, eventually move in with a partner... and at the same time, the future terrifies me. I can't do anything, I can't live up to anyone's expectations, and I'll never reach my goals. I'll never be able to function like I should in the adult world, and I'm too afraid of everything.

I want to stop self harming. I don't want even more scars that bring out people's bad sides when they see them - prejudice, stares, whispers, pointed fingers, obvious questions... I want to be able to cope in healthier ways, and I sometimes get scared when I realize what I've done to myself. Yet, I don't want to stop. I don't care about the scars, I just want my pain to be visible. Nothing is good enough, nothing is deep enough.

What I need the most is closeness. I just need to feel close to someone, and that someone can look past the facade and the walls I've built. That someone comes up to me and asks me "how are you really?". That someone holds me and takes care of me. That someone sees me. However, I can't deal with it. I usually don't mind talking about my problems, but once someone starts digging and close in on something very painful, I withdraw. I can't cope with having someone too close. They're gonna leave me anyway, and that pain is unbearable.

I'm divided into two parts. Two very contradictory parts. The sick me, and the healthy me.

Picture // Tumblr

The sick me doesn't want to recover. She doesn't want to get better, 'cause then she'll disappear. The sick me is being controlled by a monster that keeps pulling her down. Lucifer, the monster, thinks that she doesn't deserve to get better anyway. She's been tricked into liking everything that the depression and its friends bring along with them, all the while not being able to cope with how painful it is. But this is all she knows, and she's had it like this for so long. She's terrified of being abandoned and forgotten. To be sick allows her to be visible, and Lucifer keeps her ill. The sicker, the better. She wants scars and other visible signs, 'cause it isn't fair that her pain has to be only on the inside.

Then we have the healthy me. She's small, but she's there. She's whispering - desperately - that this is bad. She does her best to make the sick me understand that there are other things in this world and that she doesn't need to cling to Lucifer and the illness to be seen, but Lucifer drowns her out. She wants to show the sick me that there's hope; that things can change. That she'll recover and be able to live a good life. However, Lucifer won't allow it.

It's difficult. The sick part is the biggest one, and she doesn't want anything to do with the real world. It seems too difficult to take care of herself. There's so much responsibility, and the world is a huge and scary place. She's a small child trapped in a growing body. She can't do it on her own, and though the healthy me tried to prevent it, she let a monster take the control and lead the way.

Lucifer's Hands

I wrote this poem when I was in a psych ward in July/August last year. I had reached out for help without extreme measures, and was heard - in a way. They were condescending and kicked me out after four days, but it was something. I was lying in bed there, thinking about my boyfriend. I've been asked how it's possible that he's helped me if I still struggle with the things I do even though I have him. This is what came of it. It might not be a big thing for others, but it is for me. It was originally written in my native language, so I'll include the original below the English translation.

Lucifer’s Hands 

Lucifer’s hands 

lay around my throat 

He tightened his grip, 

and made it impossible to breathe 

He created 

a chaos of thoughts and urges 

That ended with cuts and blood, 

pills, and all that followed 

I tried 

to run, escape, flee 

But he always caught up with me, 

and dragged me back into the abyss 

He trapped me 

in an eternal vicious circle 

The pain was the only way out, 

although it never lasted 

A slave 

of the forces of darkness 

All light was bygone, 

leaving only my biggest fear 

But then, 

you were there 

Reached out a hand, 

offered to listen 

From you, 

I received help when I fell 

You got me back on my feet 

without asking anything of me 

You, 

who also had suffered, 

you cared for me, 

without an ounce of selfishness 

And I 

wanted to give the fight another go 

More determined than before, 

for you 

For Lucifer’s hands 

lie around my throat 

But you made him 

loosen his grip

Lucifers hender 

Lucifers hender

lå rundt halsen min

Han strammet grepet

og gjorde det umulig å puste

Han skapte

et kaos av tanker og trang

Med følger som kutt og blod,

piller og alt som hørte med

Jeg prøvde

å løpe, rømme, flykte

Men han tok meg alltid igjen,

og dro meg ned i avgrunnen

Han fanget meg

i en evig ond sirkel

Smerten var eneste vei ut,

selv om det ikke varte

En slave

av mørkets krefter

Alt lyst var svunnet hen,

og etterlot kun min største frykt

Men så

sto du der

Rakte ut en hånd,

tilbød deg å lytte

Av deg

fikk jeg hjelp når jeg falt

Du stablet meg på beina,

uten å be om noe i gjengjeld

Du

som selv hadde lidd

tok meg til deg

uten noe egoisme i tankene

Og jeg

ville gi kampen et nytt forsøk

Mer bestemt enn før,

for din skyld

For Lucifers hender

ligger rundt halsen min

Men du fikk ham til

å løsne grepet 

"Attention-seeker"

Picture // Tumblr

"She's just doing it for attention."
"Ignore it, and she'll stop eventually. If you give her attention, she'll just keep doing it."

Things I hear all the time regarding my self harm, suicidal thoughts and actions, and my other mental issues. Things I hear from friends and read online - not about myself, but about others.

Yes, I do want attention. Is that such a bad thing? Why is it that wanting attention has become so negative, such a derogatory term?

I've been ignored and put down my whole life, so much that I even prefer negative attention rather than being invisible. If I had the option between being beaten, and being ignored completely, I'd choose the first. I've provoked people into hitting me.Terrifying, but still better options than being ignored. It was better than being invisible.

Yes, I am partly doing what I'm doing to myself for attention. Not because I want people to pity me or baby me, but because I want someone to really see how much pain I'm in. Because I want someone to acknowledge my issues for what they are. Because I need love and attention and encouragement, just like anyone else.

No, I will not stop if people keep ignoring me. Quite the contrary, I'll scream louder and louder in the only ways I know of - worse behaviour, worse cuts, worse overdoses, worse suicide attempts. It's true that I get encouraged to keep destroying myself from the attention I've gotten after overdoses and suicide attempts, but only because the kind of attention I've been given has reinforced the fact that I need to do these things to be seen. If they had listened to my words, I wouldn't have to take to such extreme action.

I need reassurance. I need to understand that I can be seen and heard - using words alone. I need someone to hear what I say before I do something really bad. I need someone to see and hear what my thoughts can make me do - before I do it. I need people to care. I need people to encourage my recovery and utter concern for the reasons behind what I've done if I first do something drastic.

Wanting attention is not a bad thing. It's human nature. Babies scream and cry to get it if they're ignored.

"S/he just cuts for attention."

"His/her problems aren't real."

"Attention-seeker."

In my opinion, people who say things like that, their voices condescending and filled with venom, are ignorant. Who can decide what problems are real or not? Do they not understand how much pain someone has to be in to drag a blade across their own skin? Even if it's "just for attention", if someone is so desperate to be seen and for someone to care that they permanently scar their own bodies, isn't that a sign that something is wrong?

I do not cut only for attention (I could list almost a dozen reasons, and I will in a later entry), but it's one of them. For people to see my pain. Until I learn that it's okay to not do it, that people still see me and my problems, it will probably remain one of the reasons.