I'm not new here.
I used to post on the bipolar forum.
I was rediagnosed.

Recently, I decided I would change all my own medicine based on the fact that my pdoc NP is an idiot and doesn't listen to me. It's been six months that I've been filling my prescriptions that I don't take and lying to her. I moved so I could have a valid excuse to see someone new.

Actually, that's not true. I moved in with my boyfriend. It wasn't to get away from my pdoc, but if I knew that was the easiest way to do it, I would've done it a long time ago. My tdoc doesn't listen to me either, but I lie to both of them so constantly that I don't know what's real anymore.

I don't think I need to be on Risperdal because I'm not schizophrenic or OCD...even if I do have SERIOUS picking problems. At least I'm not cutting myself anymore. I haven't been in the hospital for over eight months. I read that hospitalization isn't effective in reducing ideation so I'm never going back based on that. The same study said that suicide contracts were ineffective and may even worsen the depth of emotion. I refuse to promise someone I won't take what rightfully belongs to me.

I'm on Wellbutrin SR 150mg (x2) and Klonopin 1mg (x2), but so often I stockpile the clonazepam for some "event" in the future or because I'm afraid my insurance will run out (which it has as of the first...thanks medicaid) or something will happen and I'll be without it. My anxiety is too high to be controlled by 2mg a day. Often, I take significantly more. And, in that I currently have about 300mg, I think I can maintain this. I know it's addictive, but Buspar doesn't help. Nothing helps. DBT is a joke, but my tdoc "graduated" me from therapy because I said that. She thinks I need group therapy. No men are allowed in the group because we're all *****s, right? I hate this. I hate people. I don't want to listen to other people pretending they understand me with their grandiose visions of self. I read that people who are too far in their crisis hole aren't able to highly function at group, let alone even show up half the time.

I'm rambling. It's 3am. I can't sleep. Yesterday I slept an hour and a half. The day before 4 hours. I have trazadone, but it doesn't work. I'm on 300mg, but I don't take it anymore. I'm not allowed to have Ambien because of my past attempts, but I can have 60mg of klonopin a month? Screw you, Pdoc.

I called my "old" tdoc that I graduated from today and let her know I was in crisis/had called a hotline or used a chatline four times in the last two days, haven't been taking my medication, been habitually smoking marijuana the entire time I've been in treatment (and when I'm high seems to be when I'm most highly functioning and have the least anxiety. The feeling lasts long after I'm over the "high."), that I regularly participate in self harm, that I sleep 20 hours a day or 2 hours a day depending on my mood, that I've been doing reckless things and don't have any regard for my personal safety.

She said she would help me and called my new treatment location to see if they could move up the in take from this coming Friday to...any time before then. My case worker called me today and, of course, I missed the call. She just wanted to confirm that my appointment was on Friday and she didn't feel I needed to be moved up. Of course, MY life isn't an emergency. I don't like her already. So much black and white.

Recently, I met a guy on the internet also on SSDI and with similar problems who I had no interest in at all except that I can't be alone. I got drunk and gave him my boyfriend's address (where I live)...I still can't call it my own home. I was black out drunk. I don't remember inviting him. Sober, I'm pretty sure that I MIGHT make the right decision and meet someone I don't know in a public place with a way to protect myself. He showed up as my boyfriend was leaving for work. I was in my pajamas...I had no recollection of inviting this weirdo over and to make it even better, it was my boyfriend's birthday and it's not like he hadn't just lost his mother and grandmother in the last two months. He was furious with me. Didn't come home from work. Got home around 10pm, drunk, and still sweltering with the heat of anger.

He told me that he trusts me, but he doesn't trust my ability to make safe decisions. He's completely right. I need help. NOW. but that isn't possible. I tell hotlines that I don't have a plan because they will send a crisis van or the police based on how far along I am, but if I don't tell them, they talk for a minute and tell me other people really need help. If only I could tell them about the alley and the newspapers and my problems reduced to milligrams and reasons to forget. I love him so much. He's the only thing keeping me here right now. He's 28 and he'll never hug his mother again. I need to do his laundry and cook for him and give him his pills and remind him to brush his teeth. I can't even do this for myself, but I need to do it for him. He's the only person that's ever meant anything to me. Maybe that's an exaggeration. He's the only person that's ever meant as much to me as I think I mean to him. And still I think he might or is cheating on me and doesn't be around me and would probably be better off without me. Luckily, I haven't even thought about cheating on him...which is weird for me.

They say most of us are in complete remission by 30. I have four years to even out so I can be "normal" in my own subconscious which disregulates me quite a lot.

I don't know how to live. I don't know how to handle my finances. I don't know how to have healthy relationships. I don't know how to make friends. I don't have any idea who I am or how I feel.

But I'm a published writer that got paid for my submission. Most writers don't live to see a dime. I have an AA. It took me 8 years to get it. It isn't good for anything, but my plan was to continue school anyways. I'm too smart to just start, but now I owe a major university $2500 for thinking that I couldn't handle everything I was going through. Also, who majors in psychology just because you know it already and it will be easy? Thanks for the advice, Mom.

She also said the other day that I should follow my dreams and not let my fear of word problems in physics interfere with my plans. I'd like that to be the only reason I can't live up to my dreams right now, but I just can't be in a real classroom. Online degree it is.

I can't go back to a call center with angry people screaming at me all day and sitting in the bathroom stall between the wall and the toilet sobbing uncontrollably with two benzos under my tongue. Mmmmm....mint. That was 2007 to 2009. It seems so far away. Too far away. It seems further away in high school, but I know it's not. I can't remember most of my life.

I'm ashamed of who I am. I just want to be better. I don't know why I can't find the skills I need to get better. I still meditate every day even though I feel mindfulness is ridiculous.

I'm supposed to self affirm in the mirror and recite how I feel.

I am a beautiful empty vessel not capable of living in a body that feels more like a shell than part of me.

That's a good start.

I haven't created anything in years. I have nothing left to say because I sit at home and sleep a lot. Sit outside smoking cigarettes and watching the clouds and the birds. I just want to feel grass. This desert is making me feel trapped. I love this place, I never want to leave.

My name is Amanda. I am not borderline...I HAVE borderline personality disorder. You will not assign me a name and determine that I'm untreatable. I will never stop fighting for this even if it comes to an end as fights often do.

Everything triggers me. It's too warm in here so I'm crying hysterically. Can't wake up the boyfriend. Someone has to work. He expects me to work soon. I don't know how to make it to the end of the week let alone how I could manage a job or school right now.

I'm going to sleep. Someone. Someone say something please. Don't say "I'm sorry." Don't say "I know how you feel." Don't sympathize.

I just want to sleep as long as I can, but every time I stop for a breath and close my eyes, the panic comes and racing and fear. Of what? Of failing. Of being me forever.

I can't ramble anymore. I've taken up too much of your time already. I don't have any friends so I'm writing this letter to you and you and you. My "real" acquaintances are tired of goodbye letters. I am too.

How do you do it? How?