I’ve mostly recovered from the colonoscopy yesterday, although I have huge sore bruises from them trying to start an IV. It took 4 nurses and three tries. One of them kept saying I was dehydrated. Well, yeah, I spent all night crapping out everything I’ve eaten for the last 7 years, and then I couldn’t have anything to drink the morning of the procedure. You’d think they’d expect dehydration.
It was good news. I have only mild inflammation and ulcers, which is a huge improvement over the last colonoscopy. It means the symptoms I’ve been having are probably just due to increased gut motility, which is easier to treat–and with less toxic drugs. My GI doc is actually talking about reducing some of the meds I’m on now! Maybe my hair will stop falling out! But he wants to get the biopsies back before he decides anything for certain, so I should hear from him Monday or Tuesday.
Not doing so well emotionally, though. Everything feels empty and pointless. I’m bored all the time, and nothing holds my interest. It’s all just empty. I’m still having a lot of suicidal thoughts, but I’m hanging onto my sister’s wedding. SO and I are going to road-trip it down there, which should be fun, and I honestly can’t WAIT to tell my ultra-conservative family that I work for the Democratic Party. (Describing it to A last week, I phrased it as, “I get Democrats elected, so fuck all y’all.” I then had to explain to her the difference between “y’all” and “all y’all.”) And my sister is SO excited. She texted me today to say that she wanted to move the wedding up so she could see me sooner, and she and her fiance want to come visit me in Massachusetts. My sisters are awesome, and I love them more than anything in the world. And I’m damn sure not going to ruin my sister’s wedding by killing myself before it.
But things are really hard. I feel so alone almost all the time. I have plenty of friendly acquaintances, mostly political folks, but no one I could call when I’m having a bad night. They’re the kind of friends I’d call if I was having a phone bank or a canvass. They’re great, but I can only be part of myself with them.
Even in therapy, I can’t be all of me. A seems to have this concept of DID in which there’s basically the “real me” and then a bunch of subpersonalities and archetypes like “the wounded child” and “the most rational one” and crap like that. To be fair, she hasn’t gone as far as to say only one of us is real, but she certainly hasn’t seemed interested in knowing the rest of us, at least not directly. We feel like the message is that most of us aren’t welcome even there.
And then there’s this DMH crap. We had to meet with them Tuesday, the guy from the community-based support program and the woman we talked to while we were in respite. The guy kept saying the program is voluntary and asking if I wanted to do it, but I didn’t really have any choice because the woman sitting next to me basically threatened to hospitalize us if we didn’t do it. So we had to say yes, we want to do it, but most of us would honestly rather kill ourselves. It just means more people we’ll have to lie to and hide from so we don’t get locked up again. We’d rather be alone by ourselves than alone with a bunch of people who’ll tell us ad nauseam that they’re helping us.
We feel so trapped. We know how easy it is for people with power to do whatever they want to you. When you’ve been diagnosed as mentally ill, they can take your rights away whenever they want. All they have to do is swear to a judge that you’re seriously mentally ill and in need of treatment. Sure, you can challenge it legally, but you probably can’t afford a good attorney. If you get one at all, he’ll be 22, and he’ll talk to you for 3 minutes. The entire burden of proof is on you to prove that you’re not crazy, which is basically Catch-22 in exact reverse. It is impossible to prove that you are not crazy. You have no chance.
The best you can do is lie and hope you’re convincing enough. Take your drugs like a good little patient, cry a little but not too much, tell them you’ve realized how selfish suicide is and even though you feel really bad, you’ll never do it because you don’t want to hurt the people who love you. Tell them you think the drugs are starting to work. Tell them you feel a little bit hopeful. All the lying will make you feel worse, of course, but you can’t let them know any of that.
I just never should’ve asked for help in the first place. Ever. It’s stupid to trust anyone who has more power than you.