My first time in a psych unit was during summer vacation after 6th grade. Two weeks before starting junior high, I was locked in a pediatric unit because I self harmed. It was stupid. Superficial. I hid the evidence from all but one friend. I desperately wanted to go home to her parents. That’s not what happened.
My mother brought me to my pediatrician. I was transported in an ambulance to a facility that was more like a holding tank than a hospital. I met a psychiatrist once. There was no therapy. They asked about my home life once. My parents were present. The rest was arts, crafts, fake school, yoga, and cooking therapy. Cooking therapy was a scam. I was the only diabetic. They just wanted my help. Fortunately, I like to cook. This began my life on SARIs and other psychiatric medications. 12. Buspar, Prozac, and something that started with a T to sleep.
My mother used psychiatry as a weapon. If you think I’m crazy, she’s safer. That’s fact. I have been inpatient 6 times. I think.
Family therapy always centered around my issues. They blamed the diabetes. It wasn’t the gidamn diabetes making me do this crap!!! It was his violation Damnit.
I’m so tired of being the crazy one. My dad is crazy!! But everyone wants me to want him dead. I can’t ok? I think the man is sick. I’m anti death penalty so please don’t. But I don’t believe you can fix this problem. You have to put them on a list cuz they’re sick. So how can I not take that into account?
I completely stopped taking meds this year. In 2008, I stopped the as needed stuff for anxiety and sleep. In 2016 I started having anxiety again. But I stayed on my buspar and lamotrigine until last month. I was already spiraling. They weren’t helping. Plus, my stomach problems made me miss doses too much. I need the ativan but I can’t have it anymore. I don’t want to take medicines because I’m certain my problems stem environmentally. Plus I’m unable to hold stuff down regularly.
I think that one reason getting help feels so hard is because she weaponized it. But I don’t want drugs unless it is ativan to help the self harm urges. Too old. Toooooo old for some of these thoughts. Ativan was a crutch. A crutch I can no longer have. But if I had worse cuts maybe theyd give… I’m not sure.
I love my husband very much. He is not the problem. But I really wish to hide. Not from him. I don’t know how to explain it.
My thoughts feel very scattered and I’m easily triggered so maybe ill start a separate entry. This is about medications.