I’ve liquid fasted all day today, unintentionally. Just mug after mug of black tea, using the same tea bag, adding hot water over and over, mustn’t let the cup run dry. The air is rancid with the scent of my co-workers’ food. People are worried about me. B is worried. Mom is worried. I am yellow-colored today, thanks to my spiked bilirubin. My coordinator gave me a hug and told me to get a medical leave of absence on file, just in case I need to use it. I’m dizzy, bumping into things, can’t focus, I keep mistyping and having to correct myself.
In all of this, my energy is in that strange high place again. My mood is, well, I have no mood. I am impartial, not defined, I am…. not.
This is how it felt the day my therapist told me to pull my car over and she sent a crisis worker to pick me up and take me to the emergency department.
If I could check myself in as a medical patient only, (not psych) with a diagnosis of insomnia, then I would. But the risk is too great. I cannot go inpatient again.
Something is about to happen. I’ve contacted my pcp again, to tell them the Ativan didn’t work this weekend, I’ve called the psychiatrist again, I have my medical leave of absence info on my desk.
This could all be easily remedied by popping that little pill… Remeron. But I can’t. What the FUCK is wrong with me? Do I want to be like this? Am I just a nightmare of an attention-seeking little brat who refuses to fix herself?
I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t
It might be time to start lying to B, just to convince him I’m ok. Yes, I did take a Remeron, finally. I feel so much better.
I want out.
