I Hate My Treatment Team

(This is really more of a solutionless rant)

"You look good!"

Thanks.

but since I finally showered this morning and still, miraculously, am breathing, I guess I'm fantastic. I guess these past 4 months of HELL have been because last Friday there was confusion with the housing authority. I guess all the fking struggles I've had in my life are because I signed a piece of paper saying "look at my criminal record if you want" today. Yup. All of it. The reason I freaked out in 7th grade history? Because I don't know what kind of blender I want to get when I move... if I move. The reason I started making myself throw up when I was 16? Clearly because I have some decisions to make soon about which books I should bring.

Jeez... no, you know what's stressing me out? NOT moving. NOTHING happening. This whole friggin process taking SO DAMN LONG! The fact that NO ONE is giving me any hint that I have to do anything other than "we need your criminal record." Well, how do I get it to you? "Call this number." I did, they transferred me to you. "Let me transfer you." Ok. "We have your criminal record." Sweet. Then yesterday "we need your criminal record." Wtf. It's not like I have copies laying around and it's not like y'all have given me an address or phone number or email or website or ANYTHING. You just say "call NH housing" and we start this merry go round again.

You know what's stressing me out? Having to go to that ******* office every day and getting behind a bunch of school busses (triggers for me) and dealing with total morons on the roads (including, today, tweakers in the middle of the street... WELCOME TO SPRING BABY!)

What's stressing me out is trying to decide which of the three knives I have in my backpack I should slice my throat with, and you saying I look great because I took a fking shower and put pants on.

I give up. Not going back for meds anymore. Not showing up to anymore appointments. I'll answer the phone when they call so they don't do a wellness check, but that's it. The only reason I'm doing shytty is because I don't have any environment that feels safe to be in. If they can't help me with that--which apparently they can't because, what, three years now they've been saying they'd help me?--then I don't need them.

Obviously, I'm not a professional, but it sounds like you're spiraling. Have you considered in-patient to try to get to a more stable baseline? It sounds like you're going through some stressful stuff. I've found that when I'm not doing well, I'm not able to tolerate any kind of additional stress. Maybe if you can get more help, not less, it will make tolerating the stressful things a little easier. Does your treatment team know how much you're self-harming and that you're using drugs. I'm making an assumption you weren't talking about prescribed meds, so sorry if I'm assuming wrong.

They do know I am self-harming (not really how frequently, but they know when I do it, I go hard--before my last admission I showed up for med management needing medical attention for the cutting which they wouldn't even have known about was I not ridiculously messed up that morning) and they know I am using. They were actually encouraging me to smoke weed to stay away from harder stuff and also stay out of jail/the hospital until today I reported hallucinating after a single hit over the weekend.

Inpatient's not really an option. I've gone a bunch before, and all I need is a safe place to live, not a week of a place to sleep and be told I need a better place to live only to be discharged here. I was inpatient in December and my housing case got closed (then reopened) because of it, and I can't let that happen again.