I haven't updated this blog in a very long time. I actually deleted a ton of posts while I was applying for social security disability. I posted about Cushing's Awareness day earlier this week on facebook, so I guess I'm in a sharing mood.
Anyway, for anyone who even reads this, I was watching a documentary on Netflix about a teenager with anorexia and mental illness who found meaning in her life through yoga. (It's called I Am Maris). It's kind of the reason for this post.
To start - let's go back to June 2018. My grandmother died. She lived a wonderful long life, but it was especially hard on me. She was the reason I got out of bed every day, my best friend, and so much more. I actually don't remember how I got through most of the summer.
In the span of two weeks at the end of August, my mom turned 60, we went on a family vacation to the vineyard, my best friend got married, and I wanted to kill myself. Yeah, you read that right. The day after returning from an amazing 2 weeks, home alone, I was denied for SSDI for maybe the 6th time. I just couldn't handle it. I was at capacity. I didn't want to do it anymore. I didn't know how I was going to get out of bed again. How I was going to face the reality of my life.
But, instead of ending it, I called my mom. She was going to come home and I made her promise she won't (like I expected her to listen to me). She made a few phone calls and told me to head to MGH and she would meet me there. I was alone, very fragile, and basically non stop crying while I waited in the ER. That night I was admitted to a different hospital that specializes in mental illness. I spent 5 days there. I don't even think my brother and sister know this happened, still to this day (They were told I was in the hospital, but no details. Only a few very close friends know.)
I have spent the last 7 months focused on my physical and mental health, and just in the last month was diagnosed with PTSD. I'm not going to get into what caused it, because I don't think it was just one thing. I still am dealing with feeling suicidal almost daily, but I'm working on it. I do have better and worse days, just like everyone else.
I dated someone this fall and winter, which helped bring some meaning into my life, but it has since ended in the hardest way, which has brought back a lot of feelings of being worthless and hopeless. I told my mom maybe 2 weeks ago that I was still suicidal. Even she didn't know it was this bad. I am waiting to get into an intensive trauma program, and will hopefully hear soon.
I'm not sure why I am even deciding to share this. I am still in the thick of this strange illness, and don't know if it will ever get better. But I have gotten out of bed every single morning (or more likely, afternoon) and I don't plan to stop.
Anyway, for anyone who even reads this, I was watching a documentary on Netflix about a teenager with anorexia and mental illness who found meaning in her life through yoga. (It's called I Am Maris). It's kind of the reason for this post.
To start - let's go back to June 2018. My grandmother died. She lived a wonderful long life, but it was especially hard on me. She was the reason I got out of bed every day, my best friend, and so much more. I actually don't remember how I got through most of the summer.
In the span of two weeks at the end of August, my mom turned 60, we went on a family vacation to the vineyard, my best friend got married, and I wanted to kill myself. Yeah, you read that right. The day after returning from an amazing 2 weeks, home alone, I was denied for SSDI for maybe the 6th time. I just couldn't handle it. I was at capacity. I didn't want to do it anymore. I didn't know how I was going to get out of bed again. How I was going to face the reality of my life.
But, instead of ending it, I called my mom. She was going to come home and I made her promise she won't (like I expected her to listen to me). She made a few phone calls and told me to head to MGH and she would meet me there. I was alone, very fragile, and basically non stop crying while I waited in the ER. That night I was admitted to a different hospital that specializes in mental illness. I spent 5 days there. I don't even think my brother and sister know this happened, still to this day (They were told I was in the hospital, but no details. Only a few very close friends know.)
I have spent the last 7 months focused on my physical and mental health, and just in the last month was diagnosed with PTSD. I'm not going to get into what caused it, because I don't think it was just one thing. I still am dealing with feeling suicidal almost daily, but I'm working on it. I do have better and worse days, just like everyone else.
I dated someone this fall and winter, which helped bring some meaning into my life, but it has since ended in the hardest way, which has brought back a lot of feelings of being worthless and hopeless. I told my mom maybe 2 weeks ago that I was still suicidal. Even she didn't know it was this bad. I am waiting to get into an intensive trauma program, and will hopefully hear soon.
I'm not sure why I am even deciding to share this. I am still in the thick of this strange illness, and don't know if it will ever get better. But I have gotten out of bed every single morning (or more likely, afternoon) and I don't plan to stop.
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