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Talk About the Sh*t you Don't Want to Talk About

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.

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