I always feel like I'm dancing about my own issues here in this group, partly because I'm able to feign some measure of sanity up until the point I crash and burn entirely and somebody has to scrape me up off the street.

Shoes? Who needs shoes? I am Superman. Pay no attention to those bloody feet. (Self truth, there have been days in my life I need to feel something beyond voices and night terrors, even if it hurts bloody bad. Because hurt is real. The voices and night terrors are not.)

I even posted on DU a few times in the midst of my crisis, reasonable posts I believe, until they sent me to the locked ward, no internet allowed, no cell phones allowed, all phone calls in and out directed through the nursing station, some of them denied. More than three days of that.

Locked up we didn't even have any control over the single television in the community room. (Our rooms had no televisions, but they did have cameras. There wasn't any privacy in the toilets or showers either, no locks on the doors, and if you were too quiet for a few minutes somebody would immediately be pounding on the door asking if you were okay, and opening the door if you chose to remain mute. Big burly nurses, the sort who have seen EVERYTHING. Hey, I'm just taking a crap here...)

But partly it's a matter of pride too, and an effort to maintain some small measure of DU anonymity, maybe not so much for myself, but for those who have suffered me.

Haven't had any voices of dead people in my head for a year, or any night terrors, but this anniversary is hitting me a little harder than I think it ought to.

Yeah I know that one.
A slogan ...Fake it till you make it, never took for me.
I shower, groom appropriately, drink a coffee or water @ the mental health center/appointments, the whole time my agoraphobic anxiety brain is going .....ohhhhhh nooooo....

What you are going through is tough, but you are strong

I've got bad experiences trying to power through both asthma and a mind gone awry in my late adolescence.

If "strong" means a willingness to seek help, I haven't always been good at that.

Bouncing in and out of the E.R. unable to breathe, or psychotic, that's not strong.

It's not true "that whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger." The bad shit just leaves you scarred.

Strength is found in the acceptance of that which you cannot control and dealing with your issues in the most practical way you can find.

I fucking hate my meds, all of them. "Normal" people don't need meds, but the alternative no-meds, me Hunter, is worse. And I've tested those limits multiple times to the extent I'm clearly an incorrigible idiot.

Does that make me strong?

I think "strong" means a willingness to accept things you cannot change and deal with them in a practical manner. I'm not very good at that.

Been there, done that.

they know you are a good person; yes INDEED

Thank you, your ass kicking awesomeness.

*always*

I am up all night every night

I know that sounds like an old TV commercial, but the stuff I've seen you post makes me sure of it.

Thank you.

i wanted to post, but i didnt want to do an op and feed the cave dwelling trolls.

my 26 yo son is in the psyche ward, thank fucking god.

he has been taking up space in my basement since he dropped out of school at 16. he took a few classes here and there, but then lost interest. he did some traveling which did a lot for him, but didnt solve the problem.
he was a roiling ball of rage who might love his mom one day, and be screaming in her face the next.

a few months ago he finally confided in me that one of the neighborhood kids had raped him at age 10.
ooooooh. ptsd. this stepped up the effort to get him some help, but he is a conspiracy theorist who thinks big pharma is an evil cabal, and doctors down know shit.

the last week or so he started to get manic. his rage really picked up, and he decided to move from stealing money for weed to breaking into my locked closet and taking shit that was personal and worthless to anyone but me.
of course, he finally stepped over the edge and came into my room carrying a 3 lb hammer.

after some wrestling i got loose and called the cops. by the time they got here he had disappeared, but thankfully reached out to his dad, who called his sister. tho they were pretty estranged, she stepped up and talked him down and got him to agree to go to the hospital.

thank ja for the trained crisis teams of cpd. he wanted an ambulance w no cops, but that aint a thing when you were last seen a big hammer in your hand.
tho trying to tape the whole thing didnt go over very well, they sat through a lot of mouth waiting for the ambulance.

i hope he can stick to the program. he is such a bright kid. so funny and sweet when he is in a good place.
his family really rallied around him in spite of a lot of shit that he had thrown around.

he was giddy in the er, relieved, no doubt.

what a weekend.

you are a good person. you deserve the support you are getting.

i think one of the tough things on this path is sorting out the person from the illness. and sorting out the way the illness can wreck relationships.
i pray to dawg that at some point my kids realize that the focus of your illness isnt the same as the cause of your illness. it seems that you get that.
it keeps me a step back from the anger and the sorrow to know just how hard it is to keep that straight.
but sometimes.....