Coming back to life - where I've been

I've been away from blogging for a while. I've had a lot going  on. Last Wednesday, the 9th, I attempted suicide. I took an overdose of sleeping pills, painkillers, and anti-anxiety pills. I realized what I had done and called my mom about 15 minutes after wards. I was taken to the hospital by ambulance, forced to drink an activated charcoal solution in the ER to absorb the pills, was put on oxygen, a heart monitor, pumped with IV fluids, and had tons of blood drawn. I had self-harmed prior to my suicide attempt and my arm was patched up with ointment, and a gauze bandage. About an hour or so later, I was transferred to the psychiatric facility next door. I only spent 48 hours there. The first 24 I mostly slept, sleeping off the medications. My blood work came back with my kidney function impaired, and low liver enzymes. I still don't if there was permanent damage done.

After getting out of the hospital, I moved in with my parents, where I have been since last Friday. It's been really hard. I miss my house, my bed, my room, my privacy. My therapist wants me to stay here until Monday, because she's out of town and wants to make sure I stay safe. My parents joined me in therapy on Monday, and it went okay. They know the full extent of my trauma and how painful and hard it has been and how it's affected me (PTSD, dissocation, etc), yet my mom feels it's okay to question me about it. I'm going nuts.

I'm not feeling depressed anymore, maybe a little bit. But no longer suicidal.  My anxiety is pretty high. I guess that's from living at home and...I went back to work today. I will only be at my babysitting job for 2 more weeks. They have to let me go. I understand their reasons. It's the second time I've been in the hospital in 6 months, they need someone reliable. It makes me sad but at the same time I understand.

So, the next couple of months I will just be taking it slow. I will continue to work at the restaurant, and look for a volunteering job.

I feel incredibly regretful for what I did. But I also have made the decision to live, I realize I don't want to die. I reached the ultimate rock bottom with my depression, anxiety, and PTSD. It can only go up from here.

My faith is as strong as ever. I am clinging to God these days, for strength, wisdom, forgiveness, and hope. He makes all things new.

Hospital

On Friday I was discharged from the psychiatric hospital. I was there for 6 days. The story of why I went and how I got there isn't that important, just that I knew I couldn't stay safe any longer and that if I didn't go in, then I would definitely take my own life. I chose a hospital two hours away from me, because they had an eating disorder unit that I was hopefully planning on moving over to. In the end, my shitty insurance denied coverage for me to go the eating disorder unit. It was one of the most frustrating and disappointing experiences. I needed the help with my ED, but my insurance company disagreed.

When I found out about that, I decided to come home. I was no longer suicidal or severely depressed. My medications had been stabilized. I came home and while I still have my job (thank God), I am taking this week off because my boss wants me to get myself situated back home and then return to work on Monday. My therapist wants me to go to a treatment center for my ED. But I declined. I have my job, my vacation, and rent to pay. And if I can get myself together while staying at home, then I won't need to go to treatment. I have two treatment centers in mind, in case things don't go as I hope.

So now I am doing a form of intensive outpatient therapy with my team. I will be seeing my dietitian and my therapist twice a week. I'm not sure if I have a time limit as to when I have to be improving by, or whatever. I saw my therapist yesterday and it was an okay session, although I have some doubts about her and I'm not sure who to talk to about that. I see my dietitian tonight, and I am beyond excited because it has been too long since I've last seen her and I miss her bunches. But I'm also nervous for that appointment because I'm sure she will be giving me a meal plan and other instructions, and I have lost weight so I'm worried about the possibility of weight gain drinks.

My parents are pretty much monitoring everything I do, even though I don't live with them. They supply my meals and make me stay at their house during the day. It's hard to get away from behaviors unless my mom has a really busy day at work like she had yesterday and today.

I guess...it is what it is. And I've realized that it's up to me, and only me, to decide to start improving and eating the way I should. No one can make me. Sure, I have tons of support. But no one can do it for me. I have to decide for myself. Which is honestly, terrifying. I have been reminded that I had a good full year of recovery, so that means I can get back to that. I don't know what went wrong or why, but maybe that doesn't matter now. Maybe I just have to get myself together and do what is right.

Anyway, I will try and keep this blog updated. Hope all is well with everyone.

Heavy

You probably saw the title of this post and thought it was going to be about body image and how I feel heavy. While I am struggling with that, this is not what this post is about.

I am talking about the heaviness I feel on my chest and my heart as a result of the depression I am dealing with. Depression is something I have struggled with for 13 years. It's not new, but it's starting to feel really old and I'm exhausted. I, on some level, always struggle with a mild form of depression, but there are times that I go through periods of pretty severe depression. When I feel in constant crisis mode, in a panic, being a step away from needing to be in the hospital. The thoughts of suicide are up and down. I don't have a plan to follow through on any of those thoughts. But it's scary none the less, feeling so miserable that I just want out.
I returned to therapy this week and it was honestly the best decision I have made in a long time. While I am still hesitant to be going every week, just because I am so scared of it making things worse, I am going to force myself to go. I had a REALLY hard session on Thursday. There was just so much to talk about and process. I didn't feel worse after the session, but I didn't feel better either. I think it brought up a ton of emotions, because the rest of the day I literally felt like I was going to fall apart. There was such a heaviness on my chest, the feeling of tears welling up behind my eyes and the tightness in my throat. It was horrible.

 By the end of the day I was so emotionally exhausted. I had a mild panic attack, mostly due to being so tired. So I just decided to go to bed. I ended up falling asleep at 10pm. I haven't gone to bed that early since Remuda. I slept a full 11 hours and thought I would wake up feeling better. I woke up still tired but with a somewhat clear mind. And then today when I getting ice cream with the kids I was babysitting, that panic, that heaviness on my chest all of a sudden came back. I have no idea what triggered it but it was awful. There was no escaping the situation I was in. I was taking care of 6 kids in a public place. I couldn't run off to the bathroom and take a breather, I couldn't step outside, I couldn't go get in my car and drive home. I texted a friend. I took some deep breaths. It eventually passed, not entirely, but enough to think clearly again. I got off work and just wanted to come home and cry in the shower, just sob my brains out. But I couldn't cry. THAT is not a good sign for me. Some of my lowest points with depression consisted of not being able to cry, so I would self-harm instead. That scares me. I want to cry because it does help me feel better. And especially right now when I feel SO overwhelmed with so many emotions. I started a new anti-depressant this week and I am hoping it will help with just everything.

My dog Sophie was diagnosed with cancer this week, stage 1. She is having a surgery to remove it on Tuesday and will be treated with a new vaccine for it. The vet says it's good they caught it early, that if they are able to treat it that she will be able to live a full life. If it is not able to be treated, she will be dead within a year.

I am looking forward to going to church on Sunday, with my neighbor and her friend, and going out to brunch afterwards. I have been praying so hard lately. Spirituality is so important to me.

I'm just dealing with a lot and don't even want to get into what is going on with my eating disorder. It's beyond frustrating and confusing. I am having a horrible time with my social life/friendships. That is definitely contributing to the depression.

I basically mindlessly rambled in this post and it probably doesn't make sense to anyone else. But it did help to type it all out.

Surreal

This day has been so surreal. 1 year ago today I was admitted to Remuda Ranch East, here in Virginia. I spent the next 30 days at the ranch, and then transferred to Remuda Life Program in Arizona.

I remember one year ago today pretty clearly. I was still in the hospital, where I had been for the past 5 days, after almost attempting suicide. I found out on the 14th that I was going to be going to Remuda. My mom picked me up from the hospital at around 12pm. I remember walking outside the hospital and feeling the sunshine and the cold air on my face. It felt so good, after being in the hospital for nearly a week. My mom took me back to her her house, where I reunited with my dogs. My dad was on his way home with some subs from Subway. I took a long, hot shower and by the time I was done my dad was home. I barely ate my sub. Then my parents told me Remuda was expecting me by 2:30 or 3, so I drove back to my house and packed. It was weird, not having really any time to plan what I was going to pack. I basically put all of my winter clothes in my suitcase, and all the other essentials. Even though I was going to a treatment center, I still wanted to look my best. So I did my hair, and my make-up, and put on a cute outfit. I know that sounds crazy. Then, I loaded my two suitcases into my car and before I drove back over to my parent's house, I texted my therapist, who already knew what I was doing. But she gave me some last minute encouragement and said I could write her.
When I got to my parent's house, I put my stuff in my dad's car and we hit the road. I still remember sitting in the back seat, with my parents in the front. I looked out the window as we left town. I remember thinking that I couldn't believe I was going back to treatment. I had been wanting to go back for a few weeks, but didn't ever think my family could afford it.
On the way there, "M" called. He was my best friend at the time, my co-worker, my friend with benefits, whatever you want to call it. At the time, I didn't think it was an unhealthy relationship. I had a long conversation with him, which was awkward at times because my parents were in the front seat. My friend Karen also called, but I had put my phone on silent by then and missed her call, but listened to her voicemail once I realized she had called. I also texted all the trusted friends in my life and told them where I was going. I also had to call someone at my work to set up getting disability payments while I was away.
Remuda was about 1 hour away from my house, so we got there pretty quickly. I still remember the CD we listened to on the way there. As we got closer, I got more and more nervous, aware of the task that was in front of me. I knew it would be one of the hardest things I would ever do, but I also knew it was completely necessary.
We arrived at Remuda, which looks so beautiful when you are driving down the long driveway. I saw the horses out in the field and the "Expect A Miracle" sign that was right near the entrance.
We pulled up and went inside where an admissions rep welcomed us. The next half hour or so was full of going over and signing paper work. Then I said goodbye to my parents.
One of the BHT's came up and took me down to the lodge where I would be staying. I remember walking in and seeing all the other women, and being introduced to them. I did a bunch of paperwork, and met the other new girl that came that day, Ashley. She was my admit buddy, my roommate, my family week buddy, and my discharge buddy. Needless to say, we formed a special bond. I had another BHT show me my room and help me unpack. I got the standard EKG, blood work, weight, height, blood pressure, pulse, and other medical work-up done.
The rest of the day is kind of a blur. I vaguely remember dinner. I surprised myself with how much I ate. That's about all I remember from that day, though.

The next several weeks were extremely challenging, but also rewarding, and at times fun. Like I said, I can't believe it's been a whole year. I feel like relived all of it today. It felt so strange, and almost nostalgic in a way.
It's also crazy to think of how far I have come since then, leaps and bounds.

What an awesome journey it has been so far.