I just don’t even know what to do anymore.
I’m still confused as hell about my suicide attempt. I mean, five minutes before I did it, I would’ve honestly said I was fine. I feel fine now, but now I don’t know if I can trust it. I don’t know if I can trust anything that goes on in my head anymore, and that’s a really shitty feeling.
S is really pressuring me to see a therapist in their clinic. I agreed sort of half-assed. I really doubt they have anyone who would have any clue how to help me. I’d scare the fuck out of them. I mean, this agency (let’s call it SN) is so bad that people who work there make fun of it and talk about how bad it is.
S is nice enough, but she has no clue. I mean, she’s maybe 25, probably younger, and she’s in community college. I don’t have the right to be an educational elitist since I never managed to get a degree, but honestly it doesn’t give me much faith in her ability to be at all helpful. I’d do just as well sitting at home watching Supernatural on Netflix. I know way more about the DSM than she does, and she doesn’t understand dissociation AT ALL. Today she asked me, “Well, but you’re safe now, so why do you still dissociate?”
IF I HAVE TO EXPLAIN THAT TO YOU THEN YOU ARE NOT QUALIFIED TO BE WORKING WITH ME.
I even had to give her the super-basic primer on dissociation: “Everyone dissociates, but it happens on a spectrum. You ever get stuck in a boring meeting and daydream about your next vacation? Ever arrive at work but not really remember the drive from home? That’s dissociation. That’s the normal, functional end of the spectrum. I’m on the other ass-end of the spectrum.”
“But you seem fine.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much the point of dissociation. I almost always seem fine unless the shit is hitting the fan.” I couldn’t tell her I was fine until I dumped two bottles of pills down my throat a few days ago. I won’t tell any therapist at SN, either. I’ve been around this block enough times to know that they’d panic and dump me in the psych unit even though I’m fine now (I think). Literally the only lingering effect is I haven’t pooped since Thursday and hey, my gastroenterologist always said it would be good if we could find a med that made me constipated. Maybe failed suicide attempts cure UC.
But I do wish there were someone I could trust to help me figure out what the fuck was going on in my head on Thursday. What’s going on in my head now. I could go back to see A, maybe, but I don’t think she has enough of a handle on DID to be able to help me either. And since the respite situation, I stopped trusting her about hospital issues–she would’ve let them toss me in the psych unit even though she knew I have serious hospital trauma issues. C was the one who saved me from that. A wouldn’t have. And if I go back and see her, we’ll have to spend weeks or months mending bridges. I honestly don’t know if I have time for that. I mean, how do I know I’m not going to try to kill myself again tomorrow when I wake up? Or next week? Or ever?
I can’t trust anyone anymore, not even myself. Especially not myself.
What the hell am I supposed to do? I’m really scared.