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Story of a Girl
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2016-08-21 01:39:08 (UTC)

Late night thoughts

At my first therapy session, Allison had asked if I wanted to be placed on meds and I said, "As long as I won't have to feel this way, I don't care. Tell my parents what you think is best, I don't know." She said I'd be much better on meds. Maybe it's something she says to all her clients, I really don't know, but it's been months since that session and now I'm starting to believe that maybe I SHOULD be on meds. The hospital provided meds, but my mom refuses to have me on any kind of medication. She believes it'll kill my brain cells, she believes that they will make me act out and have me all loopy. My dad refuses to have me on meds for similar reasons. He thinks I'll get high off of meds, that it'll do "weird" and "bad" things to my head. I don't really care what effects it'll have on me, as long as it keeps me from feeling the way I do. My mom has said to everyone around her, "How has she been? Well, I personally believe that she's been much better since she was discharged." I can't tell her what to believe, but I CAN say that I think she's got the wrong impression. I never planned on being an patient at that hospital, and my only reason for behaving so well was so that I could go back to school. Catching up in my classes was hell. At the same time, I loved being there. The kids were just like me and I loved the stability of the environment. I didn't miss my parents or siblings and though I had one free call a day, I never used any of my phone calls to get in touch with anyone (although I did miss my bed and PJs).

It was Tuesday afternoon when I accompanied my dad to Henderson, where a Hawaiian couple was interested in the car my dad is still selling. On the drive there, my dad kept going on and on about wanting for me to be better. "You're intelligent, but I want you to be better. I want you to speak up in public, I want you to speak with confidence. Raise your voice, demand what you want." It all started with a phone call I made as we left my mom's house. I told him how anxious I was about making the phone call and it somehow led to a conversation about me not truly being anxious, but me just being lazy. I get so incredibly anxious when I have to speak over the phone. He continues to always ask, "Why are you so nervous? Just dial the number, it's no big deal. No one is judging you, they can't see you." I can't help if the voice in my head tells me that the person on the other line can hear my voice cracking and that they're judging me for the amount of times I had to ask for them to repeat. I know that the person on the other line is judging me for every word that I stutter because I suddenly forget how to speak and the words that come out don't come out in the right order, they don't come out like I had practiced a million times in my head. It doesn't help that my dad continues to look at me, telling me to speak louder and with more confidence. By the end of the phone call, I will be in tears. My dad will scold me for being so lazy & emotional, and he will remind me how my sisters are better than me. The phone call I had to make wasn't too terrible. The lady hung up on me, which made me feel a bit bad. "Was it something I said?" "Was she bothered by the fact that I had stuttered?" "Why did she hang up on me?" I can't help but worry about what others think of me. My dad later then said, "I brought you here to help me but you're only making this situation worse!" I TRIED. I tried to make my anxiousness not so obvious. Was that not enough for him? As we nearly arrived our destination, our conversation took a turn when I said something--which I've now forgotten about--and he replied to my statement with, "You honestly believe that I don't want the best for you?" Is me not going to therapy the best for me? I asked for help, and I am not getting it. My dad was more than satisfied having taken me to ONE single therapy session. That was apparently more than enough on his part. But what about ME? He is not the one asking for help. He is not the one who wants to get better. I'm convinced that if he truly wanted the best for me, he would've scheduled a second appointment for me. I know how he feels about my diagnosis and depression not being a real thing, but I would've thought that he would at least put his personal opinions aside for me. I thought wrong.

My mom, I don't know how much more obvious I can make it that I don't have the best relationship with her. She knows how I feel about her whole religion thing. She knows I hate participating with the cleansing and the chickens and everything about Palo. But you know what? She respects my opinions. She understands that she can't force me to participate in those cleansings if I don't share her beliefs. We've talked to her about it and as of lately, she hasn't forced me to do anything. The most she does is "clean" our room from the bad energy, but it doesn't impact me. Despite me not liking my mom, I appreciate that she can understand my whole opinion on her religion. Of course our opinions clash on this topic, but she's like, "I understand you don't agree with my religion so I will respect you and not have you do anything related to it. I won't bother you." Just once, I would like for my dad to say something along the lines of, "I completely believe that mental illnesses aren't real and if they ARE real, I don't believe that you actually have anything, but I do want you to be happy and if therapy is something you want, I will support you." I doubt I will ever hear those words, though.

It just kind of sucks.

It sucks that I have to deal with these emotions. I don't really know how to deal with them. I feel empty, but I feel sad, and I feel worthless, and I feel stupid, and my 8 year old self would have never imagined that I would have turned out like this. And it's 2AM again but I could really use a hug right now. I had a dream last night where I jumped off a bridge and drowned. I then had another dream where I jumped off that same bridge, but I started wailing around in the water before fulling drowning. Days later, the police were picking out several other bodies out from the water. I don't think my body was one of those that was picked out, though. I felt like I had to mention that, though. While I can't talk to Allison about those kind of dreams, I CAN write them down here. I was planning on sleeping earlier tonight, but it's almost 2:40AM... I'll try again later tonight. Even though it's technically now Sunday, I'm still with my dad. My dad was going to drop us off at my mom's house but she was going to busy (???) and well, my dad will drop us off later this afternoon. He did in fact lose his job. He's got plans. I'm not at all confident in his plans, though.

I don't know where all these negative thoughts and emotions came from, but they're here, tormenting me. I just want to sleep. I've thought about asking my dad to buy me some over-the-counter sleeping pills, but I doubt he'll want to. Despite me not being able to sleep at night, he's convinced there's nothing wrong with my lack of sleep. That's so easy for him to say when he sleeps literally all day.

Also, "Make Believe" by The Burned is a good song. I love the guitar.


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