I lost my mind. It sucks. I have been fighting for the past 4 years to regain my sanity. It was bad. I did bad things. I’m not proud. I said lots of crazy shit when I was dropping my basket. No one knew what to do with me, other than take me to the crazy hospital. I swallowed a handful of Tylenol PM meds in an effort to go to sleep. Not the sleep of the dead, to actually go to sleep. The doctors didn’t believe that I hadn’t tried to kill myself. My husband believed me, but he was, at the time, clueless to how very far I was actually gone.
I was gone. I flew the cuckoos nest. I did bad things. I am not proud.
You see, the problem is that I have regained my sanity. I am sane. I take my meds. I visit my doctor. I talk about what is going on with my doctor. I don’t see a therapist right now because my last one was full of shit and made me do workbooks, rather than talk to me. Maybe I should find someone better, but who has time when you are working full time in construction and you have a deadline and are already a month behind on completion.
If you have been following, I am still having a hard time sleeping. I talked to my p-doc about it and he associates it with my anxiety. I have been fired from every job I have had since I got sick. I actually like my job. I don’t want to get fired. But, being extremely sleepy doesn’t make me a good employee. I can’t sleep at night but I’m falling asleep at my desk in the mornings. Something isn’t right. I will get it figured out. Things have been improving.
But, you see, I was talking to my husband tonight about being okay and being sick, and he pretty much admitted to me that I am not ever going to be trusted for my word. If I make a joke about something, I will receive a raised eyebrow until I explain that I was making a joke or being sarcastic, or making an observation about something that might be a little out there. I used to be allowed to be silly and make jokes – it was part of my charm. But that has been stifled. I cannot make jokes when it comes to my sanity because “what if she needs to go back to the hospital.”
I will be the first person who knows if things don’t feel right and because I don’t ever want to feel as bad as I did when I dropped my basket, I will announce it to the masses. You guys will even know. If my meds stop working, I will be the first person to admit that I am not feeling okay and need more help. I will gladly go check myself back into that hell hole so that I don’t end up damaging everything that I have built up since my first break. I simply do not want to ever feel as scared as I did.
My husband and I have been through the wringer. I cheated on him. He forgave me and treated me like shit for about 2 years. This is my blog, I can say that. It came to a point that I couldn’t apologize any more, and finally things have gotten better. But, it hurts when he says to me that he will never fully trust what I am saying when I say something a little “out there”. Even if it was my personality prior to having my break. I am quirky, I am silly, I used to be funny.
I am not those things anymore because I have to watch everything that I say to all the people who are closest to me. They will always have in the back of their minds that maybe I’m losing it. So, it’s like a chip on my shoulder that I never put in place. I will never, ever, ever, ever be the same person that I used to be because I cannot be trusted. I might “lose my mind” again. I am not to be trusted. Because even if I feel firm in my recovery and how I am feeling, I will always be questioned.
It is stifling. Trying to get back to the person that I used to be has been my goal. But, I am met with resistance because, “WHAT IF”. What if I drop my basket again? What if I cheat again? I’m sure it will probably happen again in my lifetime (not the cheating), but I’m not doing anything to help that along. I take my meds. I go see my doctor. I’m fighting to get enough sleep. I’ll get it figured out. The sleep thing, that is.
I should be trusted. I should be allowed to make a joke and my sanity not be questioned. I am a human being. I am better. I should be trusted. It is just very frustrating. I am frustrated with this road block in my recovery. I want to be trusted. I haven’t done anything wrong since my trip back to Texas. (More on that soon…)
The only person who has not questioned me, to my knowledge, has been my mom. Perhaps it’s just her encouraging spirit and fighting for her daughter, but she has trusted me. She gave me space when I needed it back in Texas. She gives me space now. Our dynamics have changed, but she is truly my #1 cheerleader. Not that my “peeps” aren’t my cheerleaders, they are just very quick to not miss anything.
They say they were too close to see what was really going on. I suppose that is true. They don’t want to miss anything on my journey now, because they love me and they want to help. Bottom line, they don’t want to miss what they missed before. So, I forgive them of their questioning – to a certain degree.
But, when it stifles my continued improvement, I get a little angry. A little resentful. Don’t you know me? Don’t you know that is how I used to be? I’m coming back! I’m fighting and I continue to fight! I should be trusted, but I am not fully trusted.
That makes my heart hurt.