I was diagnosed about last Wednesday. I don’t even really know what to say to be honest. Except that I missed just being depressed. I got a scholarship to my first choice graduate school. Full ride. I was cautious about it. I was sure I would mess it up and end up having to pay the tuition. Then I went to Boston. It was great. Getting to see all the robotics company and a new city. Getting to meet people that had my same interest and that I could find that I could talk to. I just wish it didn’t screw with my brain so much.
When I got back home, I couldn’t stop seeing things. I was paranoid to the extreme. I was convinced they only picked me to try and make me work for them. In the scholarship it says I don’t have to, but I couldn’t reasons out why they would just give me money to go to school. I was convinced they were spying on me. Through the phones and tvs. They can technically do that if they want. Alexa always hears you even when you have it off. It scared my parents alot. So much that I had to go to the ER. I hated it there. I can’t really remember a whole lot. It all kind of blured together. All I knew was that I was locked inside a small box and couldn’t leave. It was my own mother’s birthday and I missed it. I was so angry and sad. But I didn’t want to hurt or panic anyone. Even the nurses there. I felt like I would never leave. Like I was going to be their test monkey forever. They studied me in ways you aren’t supposed to study people. They brought out nursing students and potential new social workers and security guards to learn from me. Learn what to do with a case like me and what not to do. I hated it. It was scary. I was so scared. Even now it makes me want to cry. Then I was transferred to a behavioral hospital. It was a little nicer there, but you still had scheduled times where you could see the sun. More just waiting around in a room and not being able to go anywhere. More doctors and nurses trying to screw with you. It was frustrating. I remember when the nurses messed with the time on the monitor and not the clock. They kept changing it so I couldn’t tell what time it was. I could hear them telling the other patients that’s what they were doing. More people treating me like some sort of experiment. Not a person. It made me so mad. It made me so fucking angry. I hated it. I never want to go back. Ever.
Now I’m on like 6 new medications and they all have to have alarms and refills and I can’t do certain things anymore. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. I just want to go back to just being depressed. To go back and feel like shit everyday instead of being afraid if I’m going into another manic episode and go back to the hospital. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t. It’s not fair. Worst of all I didn’t get to see her this summer. Maybe the timing just didn’t work out or maybe she’s afraid of me now that I have this. Maybe she figures it would be too much of a pain to deal with my illness when she has her own stuff going on. Maybe the last time she texted me was the real last time and she just doesn’t want to talk to me anymore. I don’t know. Of course I would make this about me. She probably just had a lot going on. Every fucking person that knows about her is just telling me to get over it. That’s why I wanted it to be kept to myself. I don’t need a damn lecture about how I should just forget about her when for the past 6 years all I’ve been able to do is think about her. I don’t need it. It’s not like I don’t wish sometimes that I could just move on. It’s not like I like not being able to get up in the morning and wondering if she’s ok or if I’ll ever see her again. The problem is that she was the first one to give a shit about all the bad stuff in my head. I can’t just forget that. I know she probably regrets it and that she probably only did it because she felt sorry for me, but it is what it is. If she really doesn’t want to talk to me anymore, the only real thing I can do is just sit and be sad about it. Maybe in the next year or two I can just let it go, but right now all I can do is just sit and be sad.
1 comment
That really sucks, I can relate to preferring the limitations of depression to the limitations of medications
disclaimer; mental health politics
Bi polar is in my estimation an at least partially BS diagnosis. It’s because the current DSM doesn’t know what to do with someone with depression and psychotic symptoms (“mania”). I believe some people actually do have mania of some kind, but it’s become the latest “catch all” for people the system doesn’t want to be accountable for.
The worst part is that there was a time it wasn’t like this. There were six or seven different kinds of depression, and polar depression was a fringe lunacy…. now this is where I speculate; drug companies wanted a reason to prescribe anti psychotics to normal people, and applied their pressure with the APA
Suddenly the DSM says that if you have psychotic symptoms and depression, you’re bi polar. Meanwhile a better diagnosis at least for the kind of symptoms I get exists; psychotic depression. It’s a brief episode of psychosis in a reaction of being so depressed you want to die, but not being allowed to.
I’m just spitballing here, but maybe psychosis isn’t the problem. Maybe the problem is a society that would rather throw another pill at you than treat you like a human being.
But that’s me, a mental health profession wash out, resenting a system that I’m trying to avoid returning to. It was my passion, and that wasn’t a good thing either.
Congrats though on the full ride grad school. I’m thinking about trying to go back to grad school, the question is what for and how….. hmmm.
I’ve been to Boston a few times, it seems like a very stressful place to live….