Yesterday, for the first time in my life, I was given a psych drug. Delorazepam. I needed it. I wouldn’t stop crying. I had to spend the afternoon at someone else’s house, as a guest, because mine scared me and I couldn’t stay there by myself. I was supposed to be given Alprazolam, but we had that one handy. Now I’ve got a small phial of Alprazolam on my bedside.
Just two weeks ago I was at university, with the perspective of studying, working, doing my exams, finishing my second year, and spending the summer making a better me out of myself, getting nearer to gender transition, studying, writing, playing. I had all sorts of plans. Now, different country, different home, and a future that has been erased. I’ve done a few questionnaires and seen a few doctors. I always try to be calm, collaborative, lucid, so that I can tell them properly, explain everything and be helped appropriately. But that only makes them think I’m not feeling so bad after all.
In the questionnaires, I write that sometimes I think about killing myself. I hadn’t seriously felt like that in a long time, but they think it’s a symptom, something to be cured along with the rest. (I wonder if maybe they think I’m making it up, exaggerating, asking for attention.) It’s not. It’s not a symptom, it’s a legitimate thought, it’s what I’d have told someone in my position, if you asked me 3 months ago or a year ago. I’m deprived of all that makes me “me”, unable to study or do anything meaningful. I don’t spend my time “doing”, I spend my time avoiding certain thoughts, distracting myself from my sickness and waiting to be cured. My heart, my mind, they have to be numbed, or it’s torture, it’s impossible to live. I hate people like that, and I can only hope that it’s temporary, that i will get better. Otherwise, it’s not worth living.
I’m terrified of psych meds for the same reason. With Benzodiazepines, there’s a risk of permanent cognitive impairment. I really don’t want to use them, and at the same time, I feel like I don’t have a choice. I can’t live like this, and I don’t want to live numbed down. I’ve started psychotherapy today, and I hope that works. But I’m so scared it won’t, I’m scared I’m hopeless and nothing will make this better. Because I’ve had a counsellor for a year, and it took me 3 days to end up so badly I basically dropped out of uni, left everything and came back here, at my father’s home.
My sickness is a phobia. A phobia of insects. And from those, there’s not really a safe place, if my mind decides it’s not safe. Sometimes I realize how stupid it is, how ridiculous I must look at times. Not that these thoughts help making the phobia go away at all; but I understand how deeply can people not understand.
I’m not sure why I’m writing this. I’m doing because I want to write it, because I hope writing will ease my mind, or even make some order. Maybe I want to make something good out of this hopelessness, leave a (last?) trace. I can’t really hope to be helpful for anyone, even though I wish I did. Perhaps because I hope someone will read it, and think I’m not as horrible as I think I am.
(I swear, I tried my best to try my best. And yet, I still feel like I haven’t tried hard enough)