I went to inpatient for the first time when I was 19. The details were fuzzy, my vision blurry and clipped as my dad drove me to the hospital. I was asked to pee in a cup. I remember sitting in the stall in the bathroom and forgetting why I was there.
"Are you ok?" A nice nurse knocked on the door. I blinked but it still didn't feel like reality.
They had to take me to the next hospital in an ambulance. I remember being sick to my stomach. Hot flashes lulled over me like waves, as I was strapped to a gurney, pulled away from my parents, and into the strange silence of the back of the ambulance.
I thought maybe I'd experience something of the life changing degree. Someone would create an experience so insightful, so healing for me, that I would never have to go back to inpatient for the rest of my life. None of those things turned out to be true.
I sat in my bed and read all day and spoke to no one. The nurses were quiet, the blood work made me cry, the sleep was full of tossing and turning and tears. There was no way to make peace with sleeping somewhere so far from home. I couldn't even picture where I was on a map of my state - I didn't even know the name of the town.
I was in that hospital for 9 days, and then they let me leave. During that time I finally started taking medication that I am still on today. I no longer suffer through hallucinations, but my paranoia can be intense, my intrusive thoughts debilitating, turning my mind in circles as I am convinced that I am not the person I thought I was.
There was no choice but to go. One month later, I had to go back, because I couldn't let go of my self harming habits. And two years later I went again. As I sit here writing this, my medication in a pink plastic box on my bedside table, all I ever do is hope I won't go back.
But what I think about the most is what it would take to have to go back. What it would take for things to truly get that bad again. The things that would have to change. What would have to be gone. I see it in my mind every day - I live out the scenarios, I cry on the car ride home watching a thinly veiled movie stretch over my windshield as I drive. Watching it all go wrong. Giving me reasons to give up again.
And it's not that I want to. It's that, I fear the inevitability of these events. Knowing some things simply must happen, the gnawing thought that it could be any day now. Any hour. Any minute I could get a call - the world is going to turn upside down, and I along with it. I have more control than I used to. But I'm scared it won't matter. I'm scared I'm going to want to let go.
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Day 232
I was reminded yesterday, or rather I had to remind my father yesterday that I was a hot mess over a decade ago, in my twenties.
Technically, I’m still a bit of a mess. I’ve written before about the joys of trying to be an adult to yourself and be a functioning adult. Which doesn’t always work. I still have piss poor sleeping habits, and have to bribe myself with stickers to clean my place. I’m always spending time trying to build better habits like I’m a computer program that someone is desperately trying to code to work properly.
But, believe it or not, I was worse over a decade ago.
I had just started to fully live by myself without a roommate and only had a part time job, which at the time only gave me 3 hours a day, 5 days a week. It had taken me 3 years at least to get to that point. To top it all off, I hadn’t yet learned how to plan out meals so I would eat well, or make sure laundry was done in a timely manner.
Frankly, I was lucky if I remembered to wash my sheets once every three months.
This was from a time in my life where I couldn’t imagine the kind of multi-tasking I do now for work. In fact, I never imagined myself working a job where I would be talking to random people on a daily basis and keeping someone else’s schedule in order.
So it was really no surprise that when my dad asked me if I had this document from 11 years ago that I told him I did not. He was mildly annoyed by this, and somewhat surprised. But really what did he expect?
I barely knew how to reach out to email someone about something I needed 11 years ago. Did he really think I would have my shit together enough to remember where I may have put an 11 year old document?
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me, circa 2019, listening to tma ep 1: genuinely unsettled/slightly freaked out while listening and for a brief period after
me, 2024, listening to tmagp ep 1&2: completely unphased by the statements, smiling and laughing to myself
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