Resurfacing

 

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Well, I’m back on the outside.

This is my first night home since I was admitted to inpatient care one week ago.

Last Wednesday night, I downed 20 pills – not even half of the quantity of my overdose a month and a half ago – but it was enough to scare the hell out of me and everyone around me. So, I told my doctor and he sent me to the emergency room. From there, I was readmitted to the same behavioral health center that got me back on my feet last month.

I think I’m only on one foot this time, though.

I have a meeting with HR tomorrow, and I’m pretty sure I’m losing my job because I’ve missed two weeks this year due to hospitalization. My relationship with my family is not just on the rocks – it’s hanging off of the freaking cliff. This depressive mood swing has yet to lift, and I definitely don’t feel near as safe as I did inside the hospital, so my anxiety is through the roof.

I know I am not alone, because I have amazing friends – one particularly incredible one that I know I would be dead without – but I feel alone.

My heart feels broken, my eyes won’t stop filling with tears, and my hands are shaking. I want to crawl into bed and not move again until 2017. Everyone keeps telling me, “You choose to feel this way.” I just want to scream and shake them.

I don’t. I don’t choose this. 

What I do choose is how I cope and whether I fight or not. So, I’m trying. Dammit, I am trying. They may be the smallest baby steps, but I want to live just as badly as my BP and my BPD want me to die.

Keep fighting with me, guys. I think we’re stronger in numbers. If your arms are getting tired, it’s okay just to tread water for awhile – and then? You start swimming again.

Just keep your head above water.

All my love,

Emma

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