Subject is experiencing recurring thoughts of suicide, though no formal plans have been made. She has noted a twinge in her wrists that she claims to be comparable to an itch to drag a razor blade across them. This has been experienced before. Subject feels as though he could make it all better, though part of her mind knows it's not true. The other part feels as though it is worth a try. Subject would like to scratch all of her skin off and laugh while she is doing it. Subject just started crying again. She would like the voices in her head to stop before she completes her ride on the road to insanity. Subject would like to give everyone a reason to stop saying "She's taking it well". Subject would like to cause everybody the pain she feels. Especially the people she loves. Subject is crying once again. Subject would like to start cutting on her hands again so people can see it. Not for attention, but just so they stop talking to her. She feels a pull towards the idea of becoming a recluse and refusing to come out of her room. She would like to scream and cry and punch and kick and have him hold her and make sure she knows he will not let her go. Subject would like to think she would believe him when he said that.
Subject knows she would not.
Subject would like to contact his friend herself to let him know she is not imaginary as he believes her to be.
Subject feels that if she were thin and attractive she would have already met his friends.
Subject feels a mischievous sort of happiness at the thought of getting a ride to his house and introducing herself to his parents.
Subject feels a strange alienation from her friends and family. She would like to run into her aunt and uncle's room, jump on there bed and explain all of the ways she would like to murder them. She would like to be committed.
Friday, October 9, 2009
god fuck shit cunt dammit.
So I think I may have begun my breakdown.
The psychologist part of me is observing the rest of as I slowly degenerate into the most primitive of the human emotions:
Anger
Grief
Happiness (however brief my current experiences of it are)
Subject has spent the past 4 hours breaking into seemingly random fits of tears and aggression. As she has no one to physically take out her anger on, it reverts to her in the form of cutting and chewing on her lips. Subject did not eat with the rest of the family until her fit was over, and even then just had two pieces of buttered bread and sat down to watch I Love Lucy.
Subject has been exceedingly rude to her significant other, accusing him of not listening to her, not caring, and generally making him feel like crap. The words "I am sorry I failed you love" were sent through text to her, at which she began to sob uncontrollably. Subject plans on not eating for a while except for the family meals that will be a necessity as to not get in trouble or have any suspicion cast upon her. Subject has described feelings of having her world crashing down upon her. She cannot go 10 minutes without crying. She feels her only retreat without Zach there to text throughout the day is sleep. Subject is distrustful of everybody, including her boyfriend. Subject feels the need to curl up into a ball and let her situation float over her. Subject wishes he were here to hold her as she curls into a ball. Subject wishes she wasn't so "damned reliant" on him. She is beginning to hate his parents for being so suspicious of him that he won't come see her on his weekend off.
Subject will finish this later.
The psychologist part of me is observing the rest of as I slowly degenerate into the most primitive of the human emotions:
Anger
Grief
Happiness (however brief my current experiences of it are)
Subject has spent the past 4 hours breaking into seemingly random fits of tears and aggression. As she has no one to physically take out her anger on, it reverts to her in the form of cutting and chewing on her lips. Subject did not eat with the rest of the family until her fit was over, and even then just had two pieces of buttered bread and sat down to watch I Love Lucy.
Subject has been exceedingly rude to her significant other, accusing him of not listening to her, not caring, and generally making him feel like crap. The words "I am sorry I failed you love" were sent through text to her, at which she began to sob uncontrollably. Subject plans on not eating for a while except for the family meals that will be a necessity as to not get in trouble or have any suspicion cast upon her. Subject has described feelings of having her world crashing down upon her. She cannot go 10 minutes without crying. She feels her only retreat without Zach there to text throughout the day is sleep. Subject is distrustful of everybody, including her boyfriend. Subject feels the need to curl up into a ball and let her situation float over her. Subject wishes he were here to hold her as she curls into a ball. Subject wishes she wasn't so "damned reliant" on him. She is beginning to hate his parents for being so suspicious of him that he won't come see her on his weekend off.
Subject will finish this later.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Kinda cut the last one short...
So I was completely serious when I said mom had od'd.
I had gone into the bathroom because mom's bath was taking entirely too long. So I opened the shower door and found her with her face partially underwater. After several unsuccessful attempts to make her sit up I called Mitchell in who realized she wasn't just drunk as I had suspected.
She said she took 30 trazadone (sleeping pills hat she has a prescription for). Or rather, mumbled that she had. She couldn't really talk and I don't think she knew we were there. So I called Roger and then dad called 911 who took a ridiculously long time to get her ("You need to mark your driveway better" yeah, we'll get right on that. Now could you go get my practically comatose mother to the god damned hospital please?)
So we went to the hospital after the ambulance left. Basically we waited there for a few hours while they ran tests on her and asked us dumb fucking questions ("How do you know she drinks if you don't know where she keeps it?"- some dumb ass EMT that I wanted to punch in the idiot mouth if he hadn't been 2 feet taller than me) Then Ginger and Roger showed up and sat with us in the waiting room. They also invited their minister to come sit with us which made me want to go up to the maternity ward and kick every bassinet and stomp on the enclosed babies after I heard what she had to say ("We pray to you, great Lord, that everything will work out. While we may not understand your plan all the time, we trust in you to show us the way"- paraphrased, but seriously? No, fuck you. This great fucking god of yours has let both of my parents attempt suicide before I can even legally drive. So fuck you, fuck your sermon, and fuck your great fucking plan for us all because I want no part of it.)
So then they admitted her and dad spent the night at the hospital while Ginger and roger took us home because Bubbles and his friend Jimmy were already there waiting for us.
She's in ICU, sedated so she can get through the DT's. Her blood alcohol level was 2.61 when she was brought in, so if she was n0rmal, she would have been fucked up even without the trazadone.
And we're losing our house. That's what started the whole thing. I found he letter in the mail, showed it to Mitchell who went out and asked mom what the fuck it was about. Apparently she hasn't paid the mortgage in 9 months. She told him to kill her so we could use the insurance to buy the house back. He declined her offer, so she took it upon herself.
I'm constantly on the verge of breaking down, but for some reason I won't let myself. I'm not sure what will happen when I do. I told Zach I would try to warn him before I did so he could take cover. He's being tremendously supportive and I appreciate it. I haven't really cried since I found her and realized what was going on.
Maybe it hasn't hit me yet? I dunno. It will in its' own time and I'm not sure if I'll be ready when it does.
I had gone into the bathroom because mom's bath was taking entirely too long. So I opened the shower door and found her with her face partially underwater. After several unsuccessful attempts to make her sit up I called Mitchell in who realized she wasn't just drunk as I had suspected.
She said she took 30 trazadone (sleeping pills hat she has a prescription for). Or rather, mumbled that she had. She couldn't really talk and I don't think she knew we were there. So I called Roger and then dad called 911 who took a ridiculously long time to get her ("You need to mark your driveway better" yeah, we'll get right on that. Now could you go get my practically comatose mother to the god damned hospital please?)
So we went to the hospital after the ambulance left. Basically we waited there for a few hours while they ran tests on her and asked us dumb fucking questions ("How do you know she drinks if you don't know where she keeps it?"- some dumb ass EMT that I wanted to punch in the idiot mouth if he hadn't been 2 feet taller than me) Then Ginger and Roger showed up and sat with us in the waiting room. They also invited their minister to come sit with us which made me want to go up to the maternity ward and kick every bassinet and stomp on the enclosed babies after I heard what she had to say ("We pray to you, great Lord, that everything will work out. While we may not understand your plan all the time, we trust in you to show us the way"- paraphrased, but seriously? No, fuck you. This great fucking god of yours has let both of my parents attempt suicide before I can even legally drive. So fuck you, fuck your sermon, and fuck your great fucking plan for us all because I want no part of it.)
So then they admitted her and dad spent the night at the hospital while Ginger and roger took us home because Bubbles and his friend Jimmy were already there waiting for us.
She's in ICU, sedated so she can get through the DT's. Her blood alcohol level was 2.61 when she was brought in, so if she was n0rmal, she would have been fucked up even without the trazadone.
And we're losing our house. That's what started the whole thing. I found he letter in the mail, showed it to Mitchell who went out and asked mom what the fuck it was about. Apparently she hasn't paid the mortgage in 9 months. She told him to kill her so we could use the insurance to buy the house back. He declined her offer, so she took it upon herself.
I'm constantly on the verge of breaking down, but for some reason I won't let myself. I'm not sure what will happen when I do. I told Zach I would try to warn him before I did so he could take cover. He's being tremendously supportive and I appreciate it. I haven't really cried since I found her and realized what was going on.
Maybe it hasn't hit me yet? I dunno. It will in its' own time and I'm not sure if I'll be ready when it does.
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