911 this weekend

So I had to call 911 this weekend. I had been prescribed steroids to take care of my acute fungal sinusitis. I think this will be the last time I spend in a 72 hour hold. I think it’s over. But you never know.

I was torn with heartbreak on my birthday. He chose another girl he was dating, that he never told me about. I hate players. Men who don’t reveal too much information, so then, they don’t have to man up and be responsible or honest. I could say a lot more, but what’s the point. He hurt me. That’s what I have to learn from.

He made my heart quack with excitement, I looked so forward to seeing him again, But he broke up with me on my birthday, and they declared their relationship on my birthday. The antidepressants stopped working. Grief is what it is. And I was heart broken.

There are a lot more details to this. I blocked her on social media, and then I blocked him. I don’t want drama, and she threatened me. He’ll just do it to her in the future. Not my problem, not my issue. It’s over. Just plain over. And I don’t want him back. I don’t give people chances much anymore. And if she hadn’t of contacted me first, and he had handled it, I would consider taking him back. But no, it’s over, dead end road. Turning direction.

So I spent the weekend in the psych ward, and officially have an across the Arkansas Medical Board diagnosis of depression with PTSD. The doctor gave me his possible diagnosis and I took it very seriously and openly, and it still wasn’t right. I don’t do the things that it says. Not since i got off Prozac. And we talked, and we shook hands, and I left with a huge weight taken off my shoulders. I felt free.

This ER visit was different. The medical issues with the steroids messing with my hormones, I had a 12 hour panic attack. It lasted so long I had those dark thoughts again, so I did what my therapist told me to do in case. I called the hotline to get me through the night before. I called my therapist that morning. I called her while I was at work, I left, I couldn’t stop shaking uncontrollably, and crying uncontrollably and i just couldn’t stop. I went to her office immediately and we talked, My heart was racing 90 to nothing. I had barely had two cups of coffee and three cigarettes, so it was something else. I went to her office. I tried to reach out to other people. I stopped myself when it wasn’t going well.

She eluded to the fact i had a lot of triggers of familiar things happening that are related to the trauma. The break-up, the car issues, the constant problems of things breaking and having to fix them like my tripod leg, the horrible birthday, my computer, my phone, etc. etc. etc. I was overwhelmed with too much stress. The zine night and my fear of what people think of me.  I was handling it very well though until SHE contacted me, and then I lost my shit. Why couldn’t HE treat me like a human being himself. And I already know the answer, because he is a douche bag. That’s all. Just a douche bag. It still sent me to the ER because of the emotional heartache.

But they treated me like a person this time. The ambulance and police officers heard me out. They listened and we spoke. My brother showed up, bless his fucking heart, I feel so bad. I felt the same way I felt before with everyone, like a burden, like a problem, not worthy of love. But the difference is now I know I am worthy of love, and there aren’t a lot of people saying I’m not worthy of love. I knew it even though I was looking at that highway like it be a great place to make a pancake out of me. I had a warm feeling in my gut about this one calling for an ambulance instead of making the moaning of the road stop violently, this time I just stayed open to a chance for improvement, I have a safety net this time, I can do this.

So instead of going out in the middle of the night to find a home in nothingness. To stop the pain pulling in my skull behind my eyes. A migraine. Just a migraine from high blood pressure induced by steroids the nurse told me. And of course it messed with my anti-depressants’ effectiveness. Makes total scientific sense. I bottomed out. I was going to kill myself so I stayed on the phone with the EMT on duty for the 911 call. All the sirens and people were overwhelming. I hid my face underneath my hat and wouldn’t make eye contact. I just couldn’t stop shaking. I was sweating but cold. Wearing a sweatshirt and jeans and cold yet sweating.

I find that if someone gives me a rational explanation, I get it. But if someone says something that is “just take my word for it,” or “I feel that way is right,” or some lame vague excuse. I’m skeptical. Give me facts. I have a tendency to disagree automatically now, like how I was with the psychiatrist at the hospital. But this time they gave me an I.V., the nurse talked to me like a person. They took my blood pressure and it was dangerously high. I was going to stroke out. They found me a hospital that could take me that I have never been to, to placate any triggers it would bring up. And this time it was like a walk in the park. I knew I was going to be in there with people, suicidal people, drug addicts, felons, homeless people and usually a house wife or two struggling with their menopause, and some woman,  or man with severe anger issues.

That’s exactly what was there. Maybe I should be embarrassed to write this out. Maybe I should. But I’m tired of being embarrassed about the truth of recovering from rape. Sometimes you get suicidal, and sometimes you need help. And sometimes you need to go to the psych ward. My thoughts are not to punish people. It’s because I simply do not want to exist anymore some times. I just simply don’t want to be anymore. I don’t want to watch and understand and know as much as I do, or as little as I do. But that is

I call my therapist in the morning and we are going to discuss scheduling me group meetings to try it out, and other support groups, return to meeting once a week possibly. I just get issues with being in a room full of angry volatile men or women. My anxiety goes through the rooooooooooofffffffffff.

I still click inside when a homeless person comes up to me, especially male. I let them know very quickly that I’m not open at all. I remember a homeless guy tried to take my cigarette out of my hand when I got off work back in April, and I flipped it around, and myself around, grabbed my mace, put my hand on my knife in my pocket, and turned that cigarette towards his face like a weapon and said “Fuck off.” He backed up pretty quick, and apologized. But not all of them will be that way. And I was very fucking lucky he got scared in that instance.

But the truth is the one most scared was me. He had no clue I was on the corner where that  guy had talked to me about keeping an eye on me for William. He had absolutely no clue. But I do, I did, I remember brutally. I remember the smell of his breath. A useless memory, a useless scent. I remember so much. But it’s starting to fade instead of being at the forefront of my mind like it was the year prior, or the year prior to that. And things are calming down, the chaos is easier to visit, to view with an analytical viewpoint. Detached emotionally. That is the blessing.

So they have tripled my antidepressant medication, and prescribed me a non-addictive anxiety medication. I’m really hoping that they legalize pot, for medical usage, cause this zoloft makes me loose weight, and I don’t have much on me, I can’t keep weight on me anymore. It kind of sucks. A lot of my muscle mass went away, but I’m slowly getting it back by eating a high protein diet, with fruits and vegetables. Waiting tables I was walking 5 miles a day. Lots of carbs and I can barely stay at 120 now. Amazing since i used to weigh 186 lbs. at my heaviest. I’m not eating a lot of fried food anymore and that has been helping with my stomach issues (I’m still addicted to their tacos though). I just don’t get hungry on Zoloft, it sucks!!!! But, it is what it is, and that’s that.

So the job…..I pray i don’t loose it like what happened in 2012. It means so much to me. It’s not everyday I can talk about color saturation and the meaning of a gesture used in one painting vs. another painting, and people are Into it.

I’m exhausted it’s time for bed. Pray for me, like I pray for you everynight. I pray that you are okay, and I pray that I’m okay, and for us to be blessed. Every night I’m thinking of you and praying for love to grace all of us, and heal us, to hold us through the pain. I pray.

Goodnight. I love you.

 

 

 

 

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