demiliciousss:

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Sixty Phone calls, and two days of crying later,

My doctor had to find him for me.  My insurance made my search really hard to find someone fit for me, in my plan, as well as someone who takes patients on Saturdays. 

But we did it.  And I saw him today. 

The downside?  He works at the mental institute outside of town. 

I actually have to drive to the institute every two weeks for treatment.

That’s not what I expected.

See. When you think of a Psychologist, you think of an office building, where you go in and sit in a room on a couch and confess all your problems. 

But that’s not it at all. 

I’m in an institute, a mental hospital office, with a couch, in a small room.  Talking to this doctor, who I’m sure works there.  It’s not homey.  It’s cold, it’s uninviting.  It’s scary, but it’s just you, and him.  Talking about your issues.

It’s not a place you want to go just to get away.

It’s a place you go for help.  and I volunteered myself.

Because I knew I couldn’t do this anymore.
No more cutting.
No more schizophrenic rages where I black out and the other half of me harms myself involuntarily.
No more overdosing hoping I’ll fall asleep and not wake up.

I want to be healthy.

This is my new start.  and I hope I can make it.

No panic attacks, no anger issues.  Just me, and my road to recovery.

It’s not going to be easy.  But I’m willing to try.

that’s what… 11 pills.

I feel numb.

Hurt.  Sad.  Alone.  Depressed.

Damn none of these meds are working.