Life? Even I don't know anymore.

My mom keeps mentioning this instance of this teenaged guy killing himself because she read about it in the newspaper a while ago. And she goes on about how he had scholarships to great colleges and how she doesn't get how he could go through with killing himself even though he was getting psychiatric help.

I don't know, maybe she's just trying to get me to back away from my suicidal ideation. And it's great that she's trying but the fact she just doesn't understand what it's like to have a mental illness often leads her into stupendous blunders. 

I kind of just want to sit her down and explain exactly what I go through day to day (emotion wise) but I'm afraid that it would make her worry even more. And if she worried more she would probably get even more antsy about my mental state. I'm glad that she gives a crap about me but I don't want her to constantly be breathing down my neck asking me how I feel. 

And there's no real way of explaining how I feel in "rosey" terms. 

*shrug*

I don't know, I'll still probably sit her down at least to explain how angry I get sometimes. 

School starts tomorrow. . . 

*exasperated sigh*

I keep worrying about not waking up on time or forgetting something or just generally making a fool of myself. 

I don't know.

I meant to write about this yesterday but then life some how happened and then I needed to do some course work so, yeah . . .

Anyway, I went to see my therapist again yesterday and I've got to say she really does seem like a nice person and everything. 

We mainly talked about my self-esteem issues and she helped me make a list of things about me that are good. And she said that I should repeat those things to myself everyday even if I have to physically write it down on paper to get it out. 

I tried it on the car ride home, and though from the start I could see how it might help, I just felt really stupid telling myself, "You're smart, you're a good friend, you're funny, you're strong." 

I don't know . . .

She also asked me if I would like to join a support group that they were starting at that clinic and I said yes. Because, truthfully, I'm always up for bonding with people over our shared emotional problems. 

Another thing is that last night my mom told me that I have until Halloween to tell my Grandma about my mental illness. This is apparently because she doesn't want Grandma to go on thinking she did nothing this summer when actually my mom spent a good part of her time driving me to dentist appointments and looking around for a therapist and psychiatrist. It's mostly because my grandma has really been on my mom's back about her not doing anything. 

And while I know I'll have to tell her (or at least some other members of my family) eventually I just don't want to. I really think my grandma will have a heart attack or something.  Not even to mention the fact that I don't really like my grandmother and that she's quite a tyrant and will probably make my illness her business. She'll think she being helpful when really she'll be invading my personal space, trying to make mo do things I don't want to, and tearing me away form the things I truly love. 

Here's a scenario: She'll ask me how I'm doing. I'll answer, "Well I'm quite depressed right now." She suggest I go out to some church function or other event that I really don't want to deal with. I'll say, "No thanks, I really don't feel up to it." She'll ask me how I expect to feel happier if all I do is sit in my room. I'll explain, "But I like reading and going on Tumblr and listening to music." She'll criticize the amount of time I spend on the internet and suggest I'm depressed because I read a book about the holocaust or the gulags. At this point I'll probably be quite exasperated with her because reading doesn't make people depressed-illness does-and I actually really love reading about the holocaust or the gulags. And then at some point she'll try to make me feel guilty for not accepting her offer because she's just trying to help. 

Not even to mention that telling people I don't trust is fucking hard. It took me eight years and tremendous pressure from my friends for me to even tell my parents-and even that conversation was started via a note rather than an open discussion. 

I can barely imagine telling my uncle Jeff whom I love very much. 

*sigh* 

All of this is so stupid. 

Why don't I just tell them I'm atheist and bisexual while I'm at it that way my grandma really will have a heart attack and die before I'll have to even deal with her. 

*put head in hands*

Tomorrow I was going to get a psychiatric evaluation but today the clinic called us and said the doctor I was going to to see was ill and wouldn't be able to take me. 

It's not such a bad outcome but it's still an inconvenience since I now have to go back to the drawing board as far as finding a psychiatrist is concerned. Though, it might be for the better because I've been thinking about it and I'm not too sure the therapist I saw is the best fit for me. 

I don't know. 

Also, my school called today and said that I needed to call my guidance counselor to talk about my class scheduling. My mom tried to call the school back but we weren't able to reach them. We're going to try to reach the school again on Monday since they're not open Friday, Saturday, or Sunday. 

I'm a bit worried they're going to end up shoving me in classes I didn't request because of some screw up with the scheduling. 

I've been feeling kind of low lately.

It's not full blown depression but I just don't feel so good about myself. 

Like, the last night I was redoing this picture and I just  . . . 

I felt like my drawing was complete shit and I had to keep stopping because it was just so hard to keep trying. 

Even writing this is hard for me because I just . . . I don't know.

My energy is sapped and I just have this pervading anxiety that I can't quite shake. 

And I keep thinking about my friends and trying to contact them because I kind of want to hang out but then I just get anxious and think, "Well maybe I'll try to contact them tomorrow. I didn't want to get dressed today anyway." 

I just . . . I don't know. 

I'm probably thinking too far into the future-as I often do-but I'm a bit scared of being put on medication for my mental illness and having to take it in public. 

I just keep imagining myself taking out a bottle of pills at lunch and everyone at my lunch table asking me if I'm some kind of addict. Of course, I'd then explain that I have a legitimate mental disorder but the prospect of having to explain it makes me rather nervous. I don't think I'll come across anyone who will discriminate or won't understand my illness but that doesn't stop me form pondering the million and one "what if's".

Moreover, my fear is even more irrational since I usually sit with my friends at lunch and, while there are a couple I've yet to tell, most of them already know about my struggles. But then again, people who are friends of my friends and don't know about my illness often sit at our lunch table too so, yeah . . . 

I mean, I could lie and say I'm just taking a pain killer for a headache or toothache or something but I think that lie wouldn't be very convincing. Especially since I'll probably be taking whatever medication it is daily and I might be put on more than one pill. Also the pills might not look anything like any kind of over-the-counter pain killer. 

Another thing that I'm really scared of as far as being prescribed medicine is concerned are my fleeting and sometimes not-so-fleeting suicidal thoughts. 

I generally don't think my suicidal ideation is so bad because it's been with me for such a long time and I've never acted on it (though I have planned on occasion). Nonetheless, one of the reasons I never acted on it was because I had no easy and relatively painless way of extinguishing my life. So obviously, if I had large amounts of pills at my disposal then I'm afraid my severely depressed self might act on her compulsions. 

Of course, this might not be a problem at all if whatever they decide to put me on is really good at treating my illness. On the other hand . . . it might increase my lust for death as that is one of the more common side effects of anti-depressants. 

I don't know.

I'm actually making myself very anxious about all of this. 

 . . .

Okay, I just took a some deep breaths and listened to some music so I'm a bit calmer.

Anyway, I could just ordain my parents as The Keepers of The Pills but that would be a pretty big inconvenience because we all have varying schedules and I wouldn't expect either of them to remember exactly when I need another dosage. 

Also, if I was genuinely looking to kill myself I think I would be able to find the pills with relative ease. I do have years of experience finding hidden Christmas presents and my dad's secret stash of candy. 

I don't know.

Let's just hope I fear death more than I think I do. 

Well, I'm back from my first visit to the mental health clinic. 

Turns out I was seeing a clinician and not a psychiatrist. 

But we did make an appointment a the same clinic for me to get a psychiatric evaluation so they can see about putting me on medication. 

I think the clinician I saw, Allison, thinks I have Major Depressive Disorder and not Bipolar Disorder. But yeah, she kind of just mentioned it offhandedly so it's not a formal diagnosis. 

Also, for practically no reason my mom told Allison that I was Bisexual (I am bisexual my mom wasn't making that up or anything) and Allison seemed to think that it was something I'd have issues with. She wasn't discriminatory, it's just that she thought it was something I was or might be struggling with when I really don't think so much of it. 

It was kind of weird telling this random person I'd only just met about my life-especially since I had to do it while my mom was in the same room.

Still, I'm glad I was able to go to her. She seems like an okay person. 

I wonder if I should tell her about this blog. It might help her get a better feel for what my illness is like. 

I'm going to the psychiatrist  tomorrow, or rather, later this morning and I'm rather nervous. 

My nervousness isn't so great that I can't focus on anything else but it's still there. If I was to use a metaphor then I'd say, "My nervousness is on the back burner of my brain and is ever so slowly coming to boil-and thus my full attention." 

Poeticness aside, I'm just not just worried about meeting my psychiatrist but that I won't be able to get any sleep beforehand and that she may misconstrue my lack of sleep. She may mistakenly think it a symptom or cause when, for the most part, I just often think drawing, video games, or the internet is more important than sleep. And because I end up sleeping during the day I'm not tired at night and it's really just a vicious cycle. 

Of course I had thought I had gotten my sleep cycle back to relative normality but then last night happened. I was tired but at the same time I felt like I needed to do something. It was weird because I was like, "I want to draw stuff!" but at the same time I was so beside myself with how I draw and just kept saying, "Why the fuck do I even try. I'm just terrible at everything." I'm pretty sure I was having a mixed episode.

I'm also worried that if I don't get to sleep I'll end up sounding like an idiot. Sleep deprivation doesn't usually make me lose my cognitive abilities but I sometimes say weird things when I haven't gotten a lot of sleep. 

Anyway, with any luck, the visit will go well and my anxiety will stay at a low boil. 

I don't know.

I'm tired but also energized.

I don't understand. 

Maybe this is some sort of mixed episode?

It's just terrible.

Why can't I just be normal and be able to actually sleep at night with out having to put up with this shit?

My mom just asked me if the kids at school talk about suicide and then she said it was fascinating . . . ?

I think she's trying to tell me I'm interesting and trying to make me stop thinking about killing myself but she's doing a pretty awful job of it. 

It actually made me pretty angry because I'm not even depressed/suicidal right now. Even though I'm pretty clear about everything she somehow still doesn't understand how my moods work. 

So, I ended up telling her to go away-I was just really pissed-and she said she was going to water the plants. Then, she asked me if I thought the plants dreamed about suicide. 

What the literal fuck? 

Maybe she was just trying to make me laugh but that really just made me angrier. 

She doesn't know I get so angry with her because there's no real way to explain something as irrational as my anger.

I just wish she would just treat me like I was normal instead of going on about suicide. No mom, you can't help and don't understand exactly how I feel so please just shut your mouth already. 

Just leave me alone because you can't fix me. You broke me years ago and you can't put my pieces back together even now that you've finally noticed my breaking. 

But, of course, I can't say that. It would break her heart and even though half the time I feel like stetting her on fire she could be a lot worse. Regardless, she's still an idiot.

Depressive

Feeling like I'm a terrible person

Feeling like life is hopeless

Loss of interest in my hobbies

Extreme sadness (obviously)

Drastic loss of energy

Suicidal ideation

Self-harming (in the past)

Becoming depressed for no apparent reason

Insomnia (occasionally)

Feeling worthless

A great deal of social anxiety

I care far more about others and I do about myself

Hypomanic

Fits of rage

Increased productivity  

Generally feeling quite good about myself

Racing thoughts

Moments where I feel everything around me has slowed down

Becoming very angry with others over very trivial things

I also go through this strange-sort of in between-state. When I'm in this state I'm not really happy or sad. I don't even feel numb so much as it's just very hard to elicit any sort of emotional reaction from me. It's also hard for me to believe that I was ever depressed or ever felt anything other than what I feel at that moment. I do my everyday activities but it feels like I'm just going through the motions rather than doing them for any real reason. As well, when I look back, time almost feels distorted and I have a hard time remembering things that happened when I was in this state. 

Because I'm thinking about doctors and medical stuff I just realized there's less than a week until my first appointment with a psychiatrist. 

I'm a bit nervous about having to basically giver her my entire history because I'm really not so good at first time social interactions.

Also, I'm kind of worried the person I'm going to see is one of those psychiatrists who only doles out medication and doesn't preform any sort of psychotherapy. I mean, I guess that wouldn't be a huge problem but it'd be quite an inconvenience. Besides, my family's insurance might not cover a therapist or psychologist in addition to a psychiatrist. I don't know.

I just want to get help for fucks sake. I really wish I just lived in Canada or some other country with socialized health care. It might be harder for me to get a speedy diagnosis in a country with socialized medicine but at least my family's income wouldn't weigh so heavily on my conscience and ability to get medical help.

Today I went to the dentist to get two of my teeth pulled.

It actually wasn't so bad since my mouth was so numb and I was allowed to close my eyes and listen to music during the procedure.

I mean at one point it felt like I was bleeding quite a bit and I started worrying I might die of blood loss or I'd choke on my own blood but those fears were were rather unfounded.

Another thing is that for the pain they prescribed Tylenol 3 and the bottle says people with mood disorders should be careful if they take it. I was a bit worried about that but I looked it up online and it seems as though it doesn't have very bad side effects for people with Bipolar Disorder. In some people it seems to trigger hypomania or mania but I would really only be worried if it triggered episodes of depression. 

Another thing about my mom is that she'll start off trying to cheer me up but then she'll end up droning on about her life. It's probably because she doesn't have any friends or anyone to talk to.

She also tries to personify my moods which is a bit odd since I tried to do a similar thing in something I drew a long while ago. 

My mom has started to call suicide "The Big S"-which I think is also a bit strange. 

This morning I ended up telling my mom that I used to self harm and showing her my scars.