No anti-depressant for 8 days.
Eight days.
Today the call came that the call was made.
Twelve days after the first fax was sent.
12 days later.
I don't care who you are who is reading this right now but I want to cut so deeply all over my upper body and bleed out the amount of stress I have been under, the amount of mental energy it has taken to hold myself together while not medicated, the waiting and broken sentiments of "I'll call now," the absolute toll this has taken on my psyche, my ability to advocate for myself, my cry out for prayers from friends whom most live a mental illness free life, to learn to breathe through the anxiety, to let the tears roll down my face in utter numbness to a situation I have no control over, to beg God to have there be good news when I call the pharmacist only to be met with the same disappointing words over and over and over and over again until the time when the "good" news comes and all I do is go into a mania state where I can't stop going from one task to another to another to another and I know the medicine is ready but I have one more thing to do and another and another and another and I make a call to my therapist who picks up the phone and wants to know if I am going to cut myself or do anything else to harm myself and my mind can't wrap itself around the question because I was supposed to get her voicemail so I struggle to answer the question because I don't know I mean I don't think so and so I say, "No," but then she asks the next question and I know it's coming because all therapists follow the same protocal so I'm trying to figure out if I know the answer to it or not and I don't know if I can say no to it or not and then she asks if I'm going to harm another person or others and I flashed to this morning when I was going to drive to my doctor's office and grab that bitch who lied to me and didn't call in my prescription last week then she told the Pharmacist the wrong type of medication and the Pharmacist knew the history of the problems in getting this drug refilled yes I said refilled because you see this is not a new drug this is not a let's try it and see drug this is a staple in my daily medication that she fucked with and not matter what I did no matter what I did no matter what I did nothing worked and so was this bitch safe and was my doctor safe to those I had to say yes because I held it together long enough to not drive to the office and grab her and slam her into the wall beat the shit out of her and attack my doctor with my fists not just my mouth and beat the shit out of him so yes I said no.
Breathe.
Tonight I did drag race the other car.
I felt no value of my life.
I didn't care if I slammed into him or lost control and flipped over a few times.
My life had no value in my eyes.
When I was driving home, the faces of everyone who loved me flashed in my mind.
I have value to them.
It didn't matter if I wanted my heart to stop beating.
My life has value to them.
And the cutting? It's either don't cut or hospitalize yourself.
Sometimes it sucks to put self-care into action but you just read it.
I'm on my couch with no cutting.
No cutting at all.
Being committed to my own wellness can be exhausting.
The above writing exhausted me but in a good way.
I got it all out without any interruptions.
I had to get raw with how I am feeling.
Vulnerable? I can't tell you how naked I feel right now.
But I tell you this with a racing heart, tears streaming down my cheeks and a good cry about to ensue: God wants us to heal and to keep healing and keep healing and keep healing and then He wants us to live in the victory of courage through faith when we take these HUGE steps. Because in the end? It's God and us.
Two and a half years ago I would have been drunk, attempting suicide, cutting everywhere I could reach and starving myself as a punishment. Not tonight. I'm sober, I overcame the suicidal thoughts during the weekend, my body is clean and clear and I took myself out to dinner.
Today is a good day.
