
symphony
surving hour-by-hour
- Mar 12, 2022
- 779
Every day in conversations with friends I'm screaming that I'm in so much pain. I'm drowning. Tortured by my own being. Every day I go to therapy (4x a week) I do the same, begging with my every breath for the slightest help. The therapists and patients in my group therapy can see the pain written all across my face. They see my panic attacks in real time. They see it when I cover my ears and pull my coat over my head in hopes I can disappear. They see it when I run out of the room to hide in some corner, shaking. They hear me share time and time again about how I fantasize over death. I'm lost in the tumultuous sea, desperate for even the mirage of a life-raft.
But the thing is, there's no help coming for me. I realized that long ago and yet I'm still crying out. My friends don't know how to respond anymore. Other patients look at me with pity and therapists with concern. On a regular basis I get pulled aside by various mental health professions to talk about "safety planning", and the best anyone can come up with is to keep doing what we're doing. Years of treatment, psychiatry, counseling, hospitalizations, residential - and it all, at the end, comes to this.
And in the end, I'll drown.
Fin.
But the thing is, there's no help coming for me. I realized that long ago and yet I'm still crying out. My friends don't know how to respond anymore. Other patients look at me with pity and therapists with concern. On a regular basis I get pulled aside by various mental health professions to talk about "safety planning", and the best anyone can come up with is to keep doing what we're doing. Years of treatment, psychiatry, counseling, hospitalizations, residential - and it all, at the end, comes to this.
And in the end, I'll drown.
Fin.