Time flies when you’re falling apart

Everything is great but I wish I was dead. My mood was better. I’d stopped engaging in certain behaviours. I’d been reconnecting with friends and getting out of the house. Everything was great but I’m not doing well at all. On the outside, I can engage in conversations, I am almost at a healthy weight and there are days when my smile returns. But none of this means as much as people think it does.

I’m struggling to come to terms with the fact that my time with my mental health service is coming to an end soon. I should have been finished with them a while ago but they’ve been stretching things out and there’s only so long that they can do that. I won’t be left without support and I’m being referred to the ed service but I can’t help feeling abandoned and let down. Let down because this type of therapy hasn’t helped me and now everyone seems to think I’m doing better but appearances aren’t everything.

Recently I told my therapist about my plan to not be here soon but I wouldn’t disclose any specifics and she responded by saying that the very fact that I was telling her this meant there was a part of me that wanted help. I agree but I don’t think it’s because I wanted to be stopped but that I want someone to help me die. I want someone to help take the pain away. None of this makes sense. None of this is logical.

In other news, I met for the first time with the disability service at uni and have registered in a summer class and am planning on doing three subjects a semester (if I make it that far). My case manager was so happy when I told her that I had enrolled, she looked so proud but I still don’t know if I want to go back.

My experience with the disability liaison officer was not a pleasant one. I had to take my mum along with me to my appointment because my anxiety would not have allowed me to go otherwise and I’d been putting off making this appointment for two years. The lady I saw really did not like that I brought my mum into the room and seemed to think that she shouldn’t be there but I really needed the emotional support and this was a really big step for me. I feel hurt that a service which is meant to make things easier left me feeling worthless and like a failure. She didn’t seem to understand the ‘severity’ of things putting it down to just normal anxiety or something whereas in actual fact the pressure from uni is what led to my last suicide attempt. This is probably because my diagnoses weren’t disclosed to the uni for privacy reasons but I had a letter from my doctor and I feel like she should have taken that as it was and not questioned the existence of my illness.

After I come up with some adjustments that I think are adequate I need to go back again to make an adjustment plan/statement which I can email all my professors and will allow more leeway with attendance and due dates. I am definitely going to see a different advisor if possible because I don’t think I could cope with that hostility again and I shouldn’t have to.

This year is almost over and I’ve accomplished nothing but accomplished so much at the same time; I’ve had two week long admissions to psych wards and one to a medical ward, I’ve completed 6 months of uni, spent 6 months holed up in my room and have completed a year of therapy. It’s not much but I’m alive so I guess that’s something.


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