Okay, so three times a
charm. It’s Friday night and I’m in the hospital- Psych ward again.
I went to the Doctor’s for my check up on meds, hoping to get a med change-
well I got that and more- He asked if I’d be willing to go upstairs (to the
adult ward), said, he’d really like me to, so I obliged. He said it was the
right decision to make. So here I am for my “med check” and break from life.
By the third time its not so bad. First time I was nervous, 2nd time I was angry,
3rd time I’m pretty passive. Just going with the flow.
I think my defense mechanisms
are running pretty high. I’m protecting myself from what I’m really thinking.
I get glimces sometimes and its not good- suicide is very prominent. I just
want to be normal! And not in the adult ward. Only two people my age, wish there
was more. Staff is very different from Adolescent ward too. Less interactive,
more administrative. Not sure what to think.
Saturday night- everything is hitting home. My cuts, they’re starting to hurt,
Depression is descending and suicidal thoughts are returning. I’ve sorta let
them know, but not really. I know I can handle it on the outside. My thoughts
are goin in a vicious cycle of how I need to die. I had visitors tonight. My
friend Danni and her mom- I’ve become pretty close to them and it made me very
happy to have them come. they’re awesome.
Everything would be better if I was dead. Suddenly it’s a cold hard fact.
Dying- nothingness, no more depression, no more cutting, no more burdens. Suicide-
A way out of misery, the final way to cope.
*Will I eventually kill myself?? I can’t say. It’s a possibility sometimes of course. The only thing that keeps me here sometimes is my family, what my death would do to them. And what I can accomplish- I know I can help others…but I gotta be better and that doesn’t seem to be happening soon. And God I’m sick of all this. It’s just shit after shit after shit. And things happen in bunches, never one at a time. Do I want to die? I don’t know. I really don’t know. And that is scary. My mom is scared about receiving “the phone call,” but I’m scared of making that truth.
God, I look at my arm and its bad. I cant’ believe I did that- and I couldn’t stop myself. That is fucking scary.
It’s like every time I look past my defense mechanisms, past what I know is my mask, I’m scared shitless. If I tell any of these counselors though, I’ll have to stay here. Definitely don’t want to do that. I’m caught in limbo here. The full magnitude of what’s happened has begun to sink in. My arm has started to hurt. I’m getting the first glimpse of what the scars will look like. Damn it, why can’t I just be normal, have the right kind of thoughts, the regular kind of stress. Instead I fight cutting, I fight dying and I’m always fighting myself. Can you say, “tiring”? 3 times. 3 times I’ve been admitted to a psych ward. What the fuck is wrong with me. Apparently a lot. I know life’s not fair blah blah blah, but I’m not saying it’s not fair to be me, but not fair to my family. They should not have to go through his. They deserve a daughter that is beautiful, smart etc and with NO MENTAL PROBLEMS. They are perfectly fine and don’t need me in their life to fuck up everything. That’s what I am, one big fuck up. And that is why I deserve to die.