So yesterday wasn’t a great day. I wasn’t going to write a blog about it but I feel that if I’m going to be completely truthful on my blog I might as well tell you. My original plan that way was: get up, do dad’s eye drops, watch CSI whilst eating breakfast, get dressed, go shopping, come home, watch CSI, eat dinner whilst watch CSI, wait till dad goes to bed, revise some science, do my RE homework, attempt sleep, sleep, wake up, realise forgot to brush teeth, brush teeth, dad wakes up, Sunday starts and hopefully hypomania is more prominent.
That’s not how it went. Everything is the same up to watch CSI whilst eating breakfast. I continued watching CSI after breakfast and didn’t realise the time. Five minutes before we had to go my dad tells me we have to go. Not knowing the time I said “What? I’ve got 5 minutes before I have to get dressed?” He replied saying: “yes”. So after CSI finished I began listening to some rock and roll, well just one song before I had to get up and dad told me to hurry up. I then realised I had some emails so I told my dad to bring my clothes into my room so I could change. I usually wear the same clothes I wore on Friday on Saturday just because I don’t see anyone I know and I don’t see the point of only wearing clothes only one day. So I tell him every Friday not to wash them and usually he doesn’t because he forgets they are there but this week he told me he washed them. I don’t offer this as an excuse but I was in a mixed episode and lost my temper and told him how he doesn’t listen and how it’s just been in the last few weeks, just before everything with his eye. So he told me he didn’t want me to come and asked my brother to but my brother wasn’t dressed and said he would come but he’d have to get dressed but my dad lost his temper, went out the door and slammed it whilst shouting what bad children we are.
I was angry. I mean, punch a wall angry. But with the current state of my hands I managed to rationally think that if I was to punch a wall that’d be the end for my hands and so I needed to take this anger out. The thing is though, I usually take anger out on myself and it is on the rarest (and most horriblest) of occassion my anger stays onto another person. So I cut and I knew I was being weak but I cut and the anger went away and I felt happy again, hypomanic happy and this mood continued for a while until dad arrived home.
I went to get a chocolate bar and no one said anything. The next time I went to get a drink and this time I asked if he wanted his drops done because it was about this time and he said he didn’t as he’d done them himself and so I asked how long he was going to continue to be childish, he laughed in that way that says “have you looked at yourself recently?”. I calmly pointed out that I am 16 and can be childish. I’m really confused to how he feels bad about me not having a childhood but when I act the least bit childish now he thinks I’m the worst thing on the planet. Whilst I was arguing with him this searing pain came into the side of my head and I began to cry and dad told me not to “use that ploy” that ploy being crying to get him to forgive me. He doesn’t need to forgive me, I need to forgive him. So I yelled “Don’t think yourself so fucking lucky that I’d cry over you, I have searing pain in my head and a fever!” to which he told me to go lie down. So I did and amongst crying that the only people who care about me and I mean truly care are on the internet, I cried from the immense pain and fever and chills I was currently experiencing. So I did something arguably stupid. I got up took a migraleve (it’s a main to relieve migraines), went back to bed, no effect, so I figured I needed to sleep or at least relax. So I got up and took 7 2mg pills of diazepam. I was taken off the dose after no sleep effect at 6mg, so I was over double that. I’d done research on how much would kill me before and I’d need a lot so 14mg wouldn’t do my any harm. It just made me disorientated, little light on my feet and imitating the signs of intoxication. But it didn’t stop the pain, it did lower the fever. I took another migraleve and then my dad kept getting involved. I would get up for a drink, he would tell me to go back to bed, I went to the pill drawer and he kept asking what I’d taken (I told him the truth) and took two painkillers.
I don’t really remember every detail but I made a lot of comments about commiting suicide, my dad telling me that I sound just like my mother (which rather lends more evidence to the fact she has an undiagnosed mood disorder) and to me kicking my door open whilst lying on my bed so as to annoy my dad. By doing that he said “I really didn’t care about anyone but myself” to which I retort “I care about AB” < My brother. my brother, my internet friends and the mustered prospect of a future are the things keeping me alive. It’s hard to care for someone who is emotionally and mentally abusive. If anyone is this forsaken house is like my mother, it’s him. My biggest fear though is that my brother turns out like me. Whether he has the depression (not manic depression) like I had when I was younger, anorexia like I had, anxiety disorder which I have/had. I swear if that ever happened I would get my brother out of this house so fast. Only two and a bit years until I can leave for university.