Dear diary,
You’re my best friend.

Seriously. Some days I really want to talk to someone about the things going on in my life but I don’t really have anyone to talk to. Brad knows but doesn’t like to talk, plus there are things I’ve been thinking lately I can’t talk to him about. Morgan knows some, but I feel like it’s too deep for the type of relationship we have going on. She’s probably not ready for all my crazy. And then there isn’t anybody else, really. Sarah from work, but she’s even further on the scale down from Morgan. So I guess I’ll just keep talking here. At least it makes me feel a little better

In Relation

to my last post I talked to my mother. She’s going to do permanent guardianship over Tasselin and raise her from now on. She has an appointment with a lawyer on Thursday to get the paperwork together for it. So I guess this is real. I’m (technically) not a mother anymore.

I want to give my daughter up. I don’t want to be in charge of another life right now. I’m not responsible enough or this. I can’t handle it. I can’t do it. I don’t want her. I want to give her up.

All the Feelings

I want a baby.

I know it’s weird and it’s unreasonable and it’s ‘not the right time’ and blah blah blah. But I can’t help it. I want one so badly I’m about five seconds away from stealing one.

I want a baby.

Brad doesn’t, ‘right now’ he says. I think he’s scared. I know he’s right about not being able to afford it, but I think we could make it work. He says maybe when I get better. Like that’s really a thing that might happen. I’m worried it won’t and we’ll never have a family.

I want a baby.
I need a baby.
I’m going crazy.

So you’ve heard about my life, now here’s a small update on just me.

●Finally got my wedding pictures bought thanks to tax returns. They’re gorgeous by the way. I made three photo albums of them: one for us and one for each of our parents. I also printed extras to hang around the house and anything left over will eventually be made into a scrapbook

●I got my nose pierced. It’s not something I’ve always wanted to do (unlike a tattoo which I still haven’t gotten), but it was cheap and easy so I got it done. Right now I still have the starter stud which happens to be small and blue. It’s on my right nostril and I think I pull it off pretty nicely

●I’ve dyed my hair twice since the new year: once to look like fire (didn’t quite turn out as planned unfortunately) and once to match an ocean scene (which turned out slightly better than planned)

I’m, again, still recovering but I think this time I might be able to make it

The last time I posted it was almost two months ago and honestly the only thing I can tell you that happened in February was that I went and saw the movie Deadpool in theaters (fucking fantastic movie, by the way. You should see it too).

The month of March however has been extremely eventful. Brad talked me into going to the hospital the first of March due to self harm and suicidal thoughts. They brought me to a back room that didn’t have anything but a bed in it and a security guard outside the door. They asked me questions. Took blood and a urine sample. Took all my belongings away and locked them up. They wouldn’t let Brad come to see me. I was there for hours. I ended up getting a psych evaluation where the worker suggested that I commit myself to their inpatient program. That idea nearly gave me a panic attack so I asked for other options. She suggested a partial program that you do for a few hours during the day three or five times a week. It’s all group therapy with some individual therapy once or twice a week. I obliged. But I told her I couldn’t change my schedule for two weeks because of work. It worried her that I would wait so long so she gave me the number of another place, the Human Resource Center, to get in the mean time and of course gave me the number for the Crisis Hotline. I called the Human Resource Center the following morning, but it turns out they didn’t accept my insurance. They gave me the number for the doctor that’s in charge of the partial program and I scheduled an appointment with his office however they couldn’t see me for another week. On the third of March I committed myself to the inpatient program. I wasn’t getting better and I wasn’t sure I could make it to my other appointments. I knew I needed help. They changed up my medication there and I stayed for three days (the third, fourth, and released the fifth). It was boring most times without too much to do, but it helped and that’s what mattered. I convinced the doctor to let me out the third day and was excited to come home. I didn’t go to work for an entire week and kept my appointments. I started the partial program which is very interesting. I was trying to go to partial three days a week for a little over four hours and then work eight hour shifts afterwards and I pushed myself too much too soon and ended up overwhelmed and back at the hospital in the inpatient program on the 18th. I stayed for four days this time (the 18th, 19th, 20th, released on the 21st). I didn’t participate as much my first couple days, but afterwards I tried really hard. They changed my medication again and started considering the possibility of bipolar disorder (for now I’m still just diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder and an Anxiety Disorder, but it may change depending). After my release I started going back to partial the very next day. I didn’t work again for another week. My therapist and my manager both insisted that I start out working small hours and build myself back up. So I decided to go two weeks of 10 hours, two weeks of 15 hours, two weeks of 20 hours and so on and so forth until I work my way back up to 40 hours.

Today was my first day back to work, a five and a half hour shift after partial. I was really nervous, but it turned out okay. I’m still recovering, but I haven’t self-harmed since before my first hospitalization and I haven’t had any suicidal thoughts since my last one. I think this time I may actually, finally, be getting the help I need and I can’t tell you just how excited I am to know that.


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