Pain has a way of making you think it’s part of you

bags on beach
Lost emotional baggage

I don’t get out much these days, so even though it’s literally freezing outside, I’m sitting here on the couch in leggings and a tank top (and a beanie for comfort). Agoraphobia is a weird issue to deal with. Not a lot of people understand. It’s like the world outside is so oppressive that most of the time I can’t even think about going out there. It’s terrifying. Xanax has been the only thing to jumpstart me to get out the door. I hate having to rely on something like that but at the same time, it works so I might as well accept that and just use it until my skills get better. Continue reading “Pain has a way of making you think it’s part of you”

Some prompts to keep the boredom away


6) “Would you rather be less attractive and extremely intelligent or extremely attractive and less intelligent? What do you think the pros and cons of each combination would be?”

I would definitely prefer to be less attractive and extremely intelligent because I feel like intelligence can be applied in wider ways than beauty, and with more benefit to the human race as a whole. Continue reading “Some prompts to keep the boredom away”

Life, After


One of the weirdest things about a serious suicide attempt is waking up. I wasn’t one of those people who jumped off of a bridge and regretted it on my way down. I was a person who woke up on the floor with a broken neck, agonizing pain, and instant disappointment more severe than anything I’ve ever experienced. I did not want to have survived and was beyond miserable. First there was the physical experience, which resulted in surgery and extensive therapy to recover. Then there were interpersonal issues. How do you interact with your loved ones after an event like this? There is an inherent concern in everything they do and say because, maybe, I come across as fragile. It’s like in the old cartoons when you’re hungry and everything looks like food. I feel like when people talk to me now the suicide attempt is all that they see. Continue reading “Life, After”

The Journal: My Days in the Psych Ward

Brought to you by Crayola

I spent several years going through some deep troubles including two miscarriages, a suicide attempt and several hospitalizations. This is a record of some of my time during that period.

[Some abbreviations used: 9 Garden North, 9GN, a psych unit; CO, constant or 1:1 observation; SHH, Silver Hill Hospital; NYPres is New York Presbyterian Hospitals; MHW, mental health worker; pdoc, psychiatrist]


Last night I dreamt, wildly. Dr. DeWitt was in my dream and other people from 9GN, where I find myself once again. Today we talked about Husband and how he’s probably withdrawing from school for the semester. I feel guilty about it even though he tells me not to. I can’t help it. All I want to do is cry and give up. I told them (Dr. D and Jodie) that I was feeling rather suicidal. I think it has to do with PMS but who knows. I feel massively dissociated. I can’t get in touch with myself. I’m not even sure I know what’s wrong or why I came back here. The ECT has destroyed my memory.


“We have art in order not to die from the truth.” – Nietzsche Continue reading “The Journal: My Days in the Psych Ward”

Stressed Out

This is the song stuck in my head: twenty one pilots: Stressed Out . It speaks to me on a couple of levels, the first being that I simply like the sound of it. Second, I have been hiding myself quite a bit, because I care what people think. Part of Borderline Personality Disorder means being extra sensitive about things. I’ve heard it put as “walking on eggshells,” both by literature, the internet, my mother, and my husband. It’s difficult to manage day to day stresses as it is without having a total meltdown, which is what I am constantly fighting off to varying degrees of success. Last year I did not succeed.

Almost exactly a year ago, I tried to kill myself. I was incredibly depressed after two miscarriages, the second resulting in a D&E because I was at 17 weeks. I never bounced back. I was in the hospital (9GN) for the fifth or sixth time within that last year, and I finally just got so mixed and overwhelmed and caught up that I climbed up on a dresser in my bedroom there and jumped off onto my head. I broke my neck, shattering my C5 vertebrae, which they later reconstructed with mesh and bolts, and my back, fracturing my T6 in three places. I had the surgery for my neck and now I have a scar on both the front and a huge one on the back. I am constantly playing with it and it reminds me of everything that happened.

There is no easy fix for depression. There is no cure for BPII, or BPD, or GAD, etc–only treatments that can ease the pain and hopefully keep people mostly happy and functional. Honestly I just aim for happy at the moment. I need that first. I’m working on functional. I keep saying this to my therapist, but it’s so hard to try and live well when a year ago you were trying not to live at all. It takes me a very long time to process and recover in general. I’ve never had to recover from something like this before. I understand the whole situation leading up to the event, but this post-suicide life is distinctly weird, unplanned, and almost surreal.