Please excuse the silence.

A few nights ago, there was an internal shift which sent me into a seizure. These have happened before; the convulsing, the blood coming from somewhere in my mouth. I’ve been tested numerous times for epilepsy,diabetes, etc. There’s really no medical reason other than stress. I was released from the ER around 6:30 am. My girlfriend and I went back to her apartment, slept for a few hours, then she was off to work and I was off to group.

Yesterday morning as I drove to group, I felt extremely different and movie-like. I feel this quite often. Usually, the movie revolves around a victim and a detective. I’m almost always the victim. However, this time, I was the criminal. I had- or we had?- fleeting homicidal ideation.

There is a security gate to the hospital building. You need to be buzzed in. When we approached the gate, *I* was pulled out of my body and began watching everything as a ghost. The door buzzed. He smirked. Loud music thudded in my head as I watched this. It was as if he had just gotten away with murder as he pushed the gate open and walked through the therapy bungalow.

Whenever this happens, I watch the movie as if I’ve watched it a hundred times before; I always have an idea of how it “ends.” This particular movie was about a serial killer right before a rampage. I don’t get the feeling that it is a pointless rampage. I feel an underlying current of vengeance.

Today I’m speaking to my doctor about Abilify. She recommended Abilify and Latuda to stabilize my paranoia and hallucinations.

I didn’t sleep last night. I was so convinced that someone was in the house with me. I could hear footsteps and breathing. My dogs are here and logically I know that they would notify me if anyone were actually in the house.

Anyways, it’s not all negative news. I do feel that I’m gaining more strength from therapy. My girlfriend came in for a quick family session and I found it to be very beneficial. I also found how strong our relationship actually is. Not that I didn’t know that before, but talking it out aloud really opened my eyes.




Saturday morning was spent well. I woke up next to my girlfriend, my face buried in the back of her neck.

Yesterday was difficult. We found ourselves in a slosh of wine and Seroquel. Somewhere between the tears and hallucinations, my girlfriend hovered above me, shaky pupils.

I was okay. I don’t think I was okay a few hours prior. I would have been admitted on the spot. Scissors in hand, 176 capsules of seroquel, and melodramatic goodbye notes… quite an atrabilious scene.

However, here I am. I’m alive.

Fuck, this is some scary shit. Going through all of this. This is probably just some really awful psychosis from the beauty that is Bipolar Disorder. The hallucinations have started since a few days ago.

Something good…. I had Thai food this afternoon with my uncle and my cousin. It was nice to catch up over food. I’m about to see my lady.

Tell Me You’ve Gotten My Charts All Wrong

I came to a nervous realization last night. I preface this with a disclaimer- I’m not self diagnosing, nor am I trying to evaluate my own mind because lord knows I am not qualified. However, after researching DID, some key points and symptoms began standing out to me. The ground beneath me shook.

“…Other symptoms include voices heard, self alteration, derealization, depersonalization, flashbacks, trance, identity confusion, and awareness of other states. They also experience… voices arguing, voices commenting, thought withdrawal, thought insertion, made impulses, made feelings and made actions. Finally, these individuals with struggle with auditory hallucinations, which are not psychotic, but the symptoms imitate psychotic symptoms…”

The obvious question that immediately entered my mind was: What if I was misdiagnosed with Schizoaffective Disorder? I suppose that doesn’t necessarily cover the paranoia, the visual hallucinations… it was just a thought. I have an appointment with a new doctor on July 1st.

A couple of hours before I fell asleep, the all-too-familiar suicidal thoughts began pervading my mind. However, this time, I didn’t feel that I MYSELF was suicidal. Yet, I still had the feelings. I’m unsure how to describe it.

Actually, early yesterday, I felt as if I was fighting myself just to stay here.

While we were sleeping, my girlfriend said that Senka kept coming out. I can’t remember if I’ve ever mentioned Senka on this blog or not. I’ll write about her later. She’s 5. That’s about all I know.

I’m going to talk to my therapist about seeing her more frequently. I feel as if I am on the threshold of making some kind of progress or breakthrough…

My Hypnotist is also a Hellion

The past few nights have been really difficult. M has been here, prominently occupying my daily life. He alerted me of his presence with a, “Hello, Sibyl. Good morning, Bitch.”

I can feel him injecting black dye into my organs. I can see it flowing through my veins. They’re darker. I am clouded with it. He shuffles through obscene pictures of my girlfriend fucking other people, of my cousin mounting me… he wants me to know how absolutely worthless I am to anybody’s health.

I feel quiet and helpless. Two mornings ago I found myself hidden once again beneath my covers, crying into my mattress. I feel that at any point in time, someone is going to break into the house and kill me.

Exhaustion has befriended me. I hope it’s as simple as a med adjustment. As the days progress, my itch for opiates intensifies; the release of warmth and comfort. I’ll be okay, I’ll be okay.

L’appel du Vide

Yesterday, my day was comprised of authoritarian voices telling me not to step outside, that the rain was acid, I would burn alive. There’s acid in the food, don’t eat the food, they all know…

I am in a movie, a film. I have already died, most likely. The room is very quiet. Mourning and silence suffocate the air around us.

The film focuses around the last few hours of my life, before I am brutally murdered, or before I have taken my own life. Within these last few hours, major changes occur. Changes that could have severely reconstructed my life, had I not died. In the end, what a shame it was that death had taken me so soon; if I had only been alive just one more day, my entire human purpose and outlook would have shifted for the better.

Sometimes, I am replaying my final hours from the grave, displaying the cynosure of the plot to my audience (or perhaps only to myself).

Often, I feel as if something is wrong during my final hours, though my innate sense of danger is marred from depression, or the like. There is frequently a soundtrack that plays in my head to go along with whatever scene is happening at the moment.

When I was younger, I thought that I just had a very vivid imagination and that I was just a natural born raconteur. Which is all fine and well, until it began to really control me. It would get to be overwhelming. I would feel as if I was stuck inside of a snow globe- sometimes for days at a time. It’s similar to the feeling you get after you’ve seen a phenomenal action film, and you feel as if you’re IN the film for a couple hours afterwards… does that happen to anyone else? I call it Film Dysphoria. Perhaps it stems from feeling that I am constantly being watched.

Which reminds me, when I was a teenager, I was absolutely convinced that any home I went into, there was hidden cameras.

I would search and search relentlessly for the cameras. I became so uncomfortable that I would refuse to go into rooms alone. Every now and then, I’ll still have the feeling, but it’s not ruling me.

I think I’ve mentioned this before… whenever I have night mares that I can’t wake up from, I kill myself in the dream. Sometimes, I feel as if I’m dreaming when the dysphoria becomes unbearable. I have fleeting thoughts of, “What if I kill myself to wake up?” This is a very genuine thought in the moment, I’m sorry to say. It scares me.

L’appel du Vide.

It’s 5:52 am. I woke up about 50 minutes ago, washed up, prayed, meditated and watched the sun come up.

My body is tired and I look beaten. I shook through the night in wet sheets from my sweat. The hallucinations became malicious and frightening. Im nauseated and weak. I didn’t think withdrawals would be this intense? I 900mgs of lithium and 75 of seroquel? Does that sound accurate?

Last night I decided to get out of the house and go to trivia with my cousin and his friends. It was fun and was a great distraction. I rocked at the Ancient Gods portion of trivia. *dusts shoulder*

Tomorrow is my psych appointment, thank god. My hands are still shaky. I guess it also doesn’t help that I’m also menstruating, now that I think about it. I’ve always had a super hard time with my cycles. 

Looking towards another long day. Hoping for some relief. 

Cheap Cabernet and a Covetous Colossus

I had a minor setback last night. Relapse, thy name is cheap cabernet. What’s even cheaper is I disgraced my loyal apertific gods and drank the great plum juice from a square glass. Heathen.

The wine, of course, was just a distraction from the inevitable phantasmagoria that would soon set in. Which it did. I was decently plagued with my mind’s purgation of forgotten voices or forlorn clicks and clacks. Schizoaffective Disorder is a godamned bitch named Betty (no offense to any Betty’s out there in the blogging world. I’m sure you’re peachy)

It’s not even the hallucinations that get to me the most- at least not this time. That house. All I see is trauma. I try my hardest to truncate my memories and salvage the good parts; cooking with my grandmother, dancing in the living room, painting, journaling in my bedroom. Yet, still, just like everything else, the golden light is gobbled by some monstrous colossus.

Growing pains, I suppose. It wasn’t all bad, though. I lowered my dosage a bit on both meds so that they can hopefully last me longer.

This morning I awoke to Allie sitting on my bed, gently pawing at my legs. My head was a bit spinny and I felt groggy. I made coffee, read my book for a little while in the sun, and got ready for work. I drive 40 minutes now to get to work.

Other than my small step backwards, I have nothing else to report. My body is subtly telling me that I need my medication. For now, I’m distracting myself with long phone conversations, my coloring book, and my dogs.

My Peculiar Orchestra and Learning to Give Myself Credit

A few minutes after I took my medication last night, I began to hallucinate. It grew very loud and chattery. I noticed the narration a lot more. Nothing was real. Instead, I felt that I was a mere observer of a well-written film. I could not get the narrator to stop speaking. As we walked from her car to her apartment complex, my body shifted back and forth like sand being pushed and pulled from the ocean. I felt very fuzzy.

The voices came back vociferously, weaving in between the ridges and pockets of my delirium. I quietly tucked my body beneath the safe waves of blankets and pillows in an attempt to silence them.

Before the return of my peculiar orchestra, I was at my grandmother’s house, dropping my dogs off. My cousin will be watching them until I officially move in the weekend. We had dinner together whilst enjoying a good episode of Intervention. I spent some time with my grandma as well. She has cleared a lot of space for my belongings and such, which is nice. I’m looking forward to staying there.

All of this sudden change is really, really getting to me. I’m having dreams of failing and panic attacks. Although, I suppose I should be giving myself more credit; I’m not turning to drugs or alcohol. I’m not caving in (although emotionally, I’ve introverted, most certainly) and letting the stress consume me. I’m asking for help, which is something I usually have a hard time with. I’m making it work. I’ve come a long way and I’m still improving. Instead of sulking in the darkness, I am actively finding resources to cheer myself up. I know I’m going to be okay.

After all of this, I think I’m going to take myself to karaoke and sing my little heart out.

Lesson Learned, Take Your Meds

Good morning everyone, good afternoon for some. I am tired, yet in a much better mood! This weekend was difficult. As my recent posts have indicated, I have been feeling rather floopered and suicidal. This weekend was no exception. Friday night….I don’t even want to discuss Friday.

Saturday, I woke up on my sofa, still drunk from the night before- I hadn’t taken my medication (or the night before) and I decided it would be a good idea to drink an entire bottle of wine instead.
I had been throwing up hours prior to this. Every 15 minutes I would wake up, disappointed that I was even in existence. After I woke up, I tried to pull myself together and drank some water. My ex came out of the bedroom, already dressed, and said, “I’m staying at my mom’s for the weekend.” Off he went.

I was alone. I flew into panic mode. Separation anxiety I suppose. I closed all of the blinds in the house, threw sheets over them to make it darker, and listened to the saddest damn music I could find. I sobbed and paced circles in my living room clutching scissors in my fist, pausing periodically to etch bits into my wrists and thighs. I crumbled into a ball on the floor, shivering with depression, really thinking, “Why can’t I just kill myself already?”

My girlfriend continued to text me throughout the day. Half of me felt bad and I didn’t want her to know that I was once again so close to placing my head in the oven. The other half of me believed she was angry and really didn’t give a flying fuck what the hell I was doing- which made me feel worse.
I was home alone, felt to deal with my suicidal thoughts and the hallucinations. How the hell did I survive that…?

She came to my house later in the afternoon on Saturday. I felt better with her there. It took a while for my insides to stop feeling so tormented, but sure enough, I began to feel more stable.
Sunday morning was much better. I felt more grounded and actually felt motivated to do something. The morning was a little tough, physically. I hadn’t eaten in two days nor had I been on my meds. I took 300 mg of lithium in the morning and my body freaked out, shaking hard and involuntarily. After a few minutes it passed. I was also sweating through the night on Saturday, even though I was freezing.

But- Sunday got better. And I felt happier in the end. We did some laundry, and she helped me find a pill container to help me take my meds! Hooray! I also wrote down some affirmations to counter the negative, “you are so worthless, nobody loves you” thoughts.

I really do want to get better. I want to be able to be me again, to feel strong and secure in myself, even through muck. I think I can do it!

Rainbow Tutus and Combat Boots

During group, the therapist asks us what our goal for the day is. My goal was to stay happy for longer than 5 minutes.

I don’t know why happiness has been so fleeting, so transitory. As of now, I am beginning to feel the high wear off from the day’s joyful excursions. It’s not an awful crash by any means, but it is a crash.

My mother called today. Yes she did! Unfortunately, I was at work covering reception so I quickly asked her, “Are you safe? Where are you? Can I call you back?” Yes, she’s safe. She’s back in her home…I called her back 40 minutes later and no answer. She’s alive and she sounded well, which is all I cared about.

The hallucinations got just a little bit gnarly tonight. They are just now beginning to dissipate.

I saw my doctor today. She said she’s proud of my progress with group and with the meds. So far, so good.

I was able to wear my rainbow tutu at work today, thanks to my girlfriend for purchasing said tutu. Yes, I was well equipped with my combat boots. The office helped me celebrate my birthday a day early, so that was fantastic.

Overall, it was a fantastic day. I’m very fortunate to have the people that I do.

Like I said, the high is wearing off now. However, I’m still doing alright. I shall report back tomorrow or Sunday morning about the general tom foolery I encounter on my name day.