I've spent a long time trying to figure out what I want to say in this post. I, for the most part, know who reads this and most of you I don't mind you knowing this. I'm still hesitant though. But, I know that this is related to stigma, and I shouldn't be ashamed of what's going on. As you probably all know, or have figured out I have depression. Pretty severe depression. I have moderate to severe persistent depressive disorder, recurrent severe major depressive disorder, and anxiety disorder unspecified. While that's only three diagnoses, it can be a lot to handle. Despite it all, I am grateful that I do not have it worse.
So, here's what you probably don't know. I've been to a psych ward. I've been in the psych ward a lot this year. Why this year and not before? I couldn't tell you. Maybe I'm getting worse. Maybe I'm accepting that I need help. Maybe I could have ridden it out, like I've always done before, but maybe not. Maybe going in saved my life, or at least a trip or two to the ICU. I don't know. It's hard to say for sure.
I call them part one, part two, and part three. And I might write more about them later. I spent half of February in the psych ward, on two separate occasions. I spent half of March in partial hospitalization, and I spent a week in April in the hospital again. In part three we joked a lot about how I should write a book. After all It's Kind of a Funny Story was written after a much shorter hospital stay. And I have way more experience than that.
The worst part is, my treatment team is not sure what to do with me anymore. I mean they weren't sure what to do with me before I went in all those times, but they thought we could work something out. But now the counseling center at my school says it's unethical to treat me. Because after all I've been through clearly they're not helping. I offered to switch to a new therapist at the counseling center but they say it's not enough. They don't think their level of care is good enough for me because of the hospitalizations and partial hospitalization.
I have started therapy with a new person. He, I guess, is more qualified. He specifically does DBT, dialectal behavioral therapy. I've seen him several times, and I do like him. I guess this therapy is replacing therapy at the counseling center. All I ask is that I can continue to see my psychiatrist, who I adore. In a few weeks I'm going to start a DBT group for two hours per week. I'm pretty nervous about that, but talking in groups is getting easier for me. And later this summer I'm taking a public communication class. Which just thinking about speeds up my heart and makes me want to cry. But as strange as it sounds (to me at least) I am getting better. I'm sure it's all the talking, not only in therapy, but in the groups in the hospital and partial. This has changed since I've written it. Like I said, I've been sitting on this post for months and months. I'm now taking organic chemistry two instead of public communication. But, I still have to take public communication eventually, so I decided to leave that in.
The title of this post comes from the song "You've Got Time" by Regina Spektor. It is, as many of you probably know, the theme song from Orange is the New Black. Which I watch. Just like everyone else who has Netflix and is (hopefully) above 18, which I'm sure stops no one. Despite the triggers it brings up in me, I pushed through it.
I chose that song quote because it accurately sums up my hospital experience. It really is "different" the second time around, especially for me. Part two I even made a friend. Who I still talk to a lot. Part three they called me the welcoming committee. And I wish I could know how my fellow psych patients are doing. I've talked to one person once from part three since I got out.
My dad said it must have been easy to talk to everyone because I felt better than them. My parents know about part three, and ONLY part three and partial, because of insurance reasons. But I told him we were all there for a reason. And I didn't feel better than anyone. And I really didn't. How could I? He then asked my reason and I replied to change meds, which is my story that I'm telling to my parents. And he was like why? And I said because I wasn't doing well. And he asked if I had bad thoughts. And I said yes. So he at least knows that. I hope my parents never find out how close I've been so many times - even this past weekend I had to lock myself out of my room. But as they said in part two "it is what it is." They even had a huge sign that said it in the group room.
Another thing has happened too. This is not something we want to be spread around. So if you know me in real life, please don't tell anyone you know. It is only half my business. My dad left my mom. That's right. My dad left my mom. It is a big shock because they weren't fighting or anything. He told us he's leaving because he wants a romantic relationship, something he and my mom were lacking. My baby sisters have seen him once this week. It's been really hard for all of us.
I'm not sure if I have anything else to say right now. I think I'm going to finally publish this post. I'm open to any questions you have about the hospital visits or my parents or anything else. If you have them leave a comment or email me at cassandra.cassandrascurse@gmail.com. If you get this in an email, just a reminder, do not reply to that email, because I will not receive it. I know a few of you need this reminder. Anyways, as always, thanks for reading.
The title of this post comes from the song "You've Got Time" by Regina Spektor. It is, as many of you probably know, the theme song from Orange is the New Black. Which I watch. Just like everyone else who has Netflix and is (hopefully) above 18, which I'm sure stops no one. Despite the triggers it brings up in me, I pushed through it.
I chose that song quote because it accurately sums up my hospital experience. It really is "different" the second time around, especially for me. Part two I even made a friend. Who I still talk to a lot. Part three they called me the welcoming committee. And I wish I could know how my fellow psych patients are doing. I've talked to one person once from part three since I got out.
My dad said it must have been easy to talk to everyone because I felt better than them. My parents know about part three, and ONLY part three and partial, because of insurance reasons. But I told him we were all there for a reason. And I didn't feel better than anyone. And I really didn't. How could I? He then asked my reason and I replied to change meds, which is my story that I'm telling to my parents. And he was like why? And I said because I wasn't doing well. And he asked if I had bad thoughts. And I said yes. So he at least knows that. I hope my parents never find out how close I've been so many times - even this past weekend I had to lock myself out of my room. But as they said in part two "it is what it is." They even had a huge sign that said it in the group room.
Another thing has happened too. This is not something we want to be spread around. So if you know me in real life, please don't tell anyone you know. It is only half my business. My dad left my mom. That's right. My dad left my mom. It is a big shock because they weren't fighting or anything. He told us he's leaving because he wants a romantic relationship, something he and my mom were lacking. My baby sisters have seen him once this week. It's been really hard for all of us.
I'm not sure if I have anything else to say right now. I think I'm going to finally publish this post. I'm open to any questions you have about the hospital visits or my parents or anything else. If you have them leave a comment or email me at cassandra.cassandrascurse@gmail.com. If you get this in an email, just a reminder, do not reply to that email, because I will not receive it. I know a few of you need this reminder. Anyways, as always, thanks for reading.
