Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

I guess I don’t really need something dramatic to fill up this space every time I write. I notice that is usually when I write-when shit hits the fan. I’ll write about family today, and the aspect that everyone seemed to negate in my life namely therapists.

I’d often complain or be sad that I don’t have a family, saying that’s who is supposed to help me through the rough times. Therapists always gave the generic, “Your family’s toxic, you need to find friends who you can utilize as your support system”. Then I went to Denmark, and prior to my arrival, during my last appointment with my dietician, she said I could stay here (at the treatment center) for a really long time, and that I’ve built a support system here.

I told her that I’d be living with a host family and she said, “That’s not the same, they’re not going to be your family.” Those words dug at me deep because I knew that DIS (where I study abroad) hooks students up with amazing host families and that the experience was more than a traditional host family (not that I’ve had much to compare to).

Still,  I didn’t have much to retort with to her aside from, “it’s different”.

Fast forward to four months later, my last night in Denmark before I was leaving on a short break. I walked through the doors after completing my last final exam and found that my host grandpa died unexpectedly. I felt compelled to stay and not leave the following day, though I had business to care of in the US.

Before she went to bed, I gave my host sister a present. Her mom, “our” mom Katja was around as I gave the gift.

Months earlier, Victoria had seen my harmonica and really seemed to want her own. This was the gift I gave to her that night.

Katja began tearing up, saying that her father played the harmonica. I had unknowingly kept a tradition going while making my 9 year old Danish sister satisfied.

Serendipitous moment.

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What did I do wrong

What happened to my life? I started to get better over here, at least emotionally. I was welcomed by a most amazing host family, and felt a part of their home within the first 24 hours. We had ups and downs, mostly ups and downs were external forces for the next four months. We shared secrets. Then I got sick. They visited me every few days in hospital. Then I got well. Then I got sick after the first day, and was re-admitted. Fortunately, I was discharged days later after fighting a severe infection.

I moved out of the house as planned, to start another term. They had already planned on having family friends move in, before I decided I’d stay the whole year. Ever since that point, I have made the effort to go see them on at least half a dozen separate occasions, on public transportation mind you, while they own a car. They said they’d visit me and never once made the effort to do so.

Graciously they lent me their extra bike for the term. My youngest host sister and I have begun to exchange daily texts. The one I received from her today was odd. She had just asked if I was going to be coming by to see them before I leave and I wrote that I have to see her so yeah.

She responded in a rather adult way saying I have to confirm because I have the bike. The bike. Not me. Why see me? Why make an effort to come out to see me? I have not once seen them even attempt to come to where I live. Never mind the fact that finals, packing, and reverse culture shock are looming. Never mind I’ve been in hospital six times in the last four months. It’s always about monetary value, not people. People don’t matter. I don’t matter.

This is a mere extension or reflection of what I’ve been feeling over the past few weeks. Being neglected at the hospital that seemed to be the only decent one left here (I’ve been to four in this country), literally the hospital doing nothing but observation after I found blood in my tube.

The friends I’ve made where I live suddenly became absent from my life a few weeks ago as well. One, he was going through some stuff and wouldn’t let anyone in. He wasn’t responding to any of my texts and had very little contact with anyone. The other, I’m guessing it was his girlfriend who has been occupying his time over the past weeks. I just found out about the girlfriend over the past weekend at a gathering for a friend’s party.

The person who organized the party is at the same level of friendship as the person who the party was for. I hope this makes enough sense to get across. My birthday also was a few weeks ago, the organizer (friend) said we’d do something for my birthday. That never happened.I went to this party not bitterly, attempting to celebrate the special occasion for the friend. It was hard to not feel slightly jealous.

The cycle of neglect and abandonment and utter devastation surface and replay. Broken promises, broken heart, no family.

My father who only has contact with me for financial reasons as he has no emotional availability for me in his life just sent two horrifyingly nasty e-mails to my home school. You see, my home school is attempting to charge me their tuition even though I’m abroad and received a significant discount on tuition. If I don’t pay, they won’t give me my grades, will de-register me from classes in the Fall, and yes even remove my ability to check out library books. The money they want me to give them was to be my housing money for the summer. Hello homelessness, goodbye life as I knew it, for those few amazing months.

The person who I’m supposed to put my life in the hands of nearly killed me.

That explains why I felt half alive, half dead. His error caused me to have sepsis, for the second time in less than three months.

He didn’t listen when I asked if it was placed properly. The nurses didn’t listen when I said I was in too much pain for the procedure. No one really listened, until it was almost too late.

I was prepared to die.

The only way I’ve thought of to describe sepsis is an ache unlike any I’ve experienced.

Ever had the flu? The ache is kinda from the inside out. Sepsis is somewhat reverse. The ache starts at the core and then spreads deeper and deeper throughout the body.

There’s a reason some people refer to it as blood poisoning. I felt nausea, and not from pain. Nausea because my blood felt like a substance that didn’t belong in my body, like it was defective, dangerous, and poisoned.

I lost count but I think it was at least seven rounds of strong antibiotics through IV that was administered to me, using an antibiotic that is prescribed and reserved for severest of infections

You know yourself better than anyone, even a doctor knows you. Don’t trust these people who act like paragods, they too are human, and they too can make detrimental mistakes.

 

 

Please note, I am combining two blogs. If you are following The Mental Health System; Friend, Foe, or Folly? (link- http://lockedupandinstitutionalized.wordpress.com) please continue following my thoughts at:

 

https://iwishiwaslying.wordpress.com

Thanks for your support! 

The final product may take a few days, thanks for your patience 🙂

 

 

Image

See that one over there?

The one walking with a limp…  no one actually cares.

Wearing clothes that are hand-me-downs,

because face it, no one like her ever wears ball gowns.

She has always had trouble fitting in.

Her siblings, they just grin.

They watch her get hit, or shoved or threatened.

Standing by, they have their lesson:

“As long as we set her up,

We won’t get beat down.

As long as she gets the brunt.

Only she wears the frown.”

The little girl keeps trying to tell people about horrors abound.

No one believes her unless they witness it for themselves.

Or perhaps in a gutless act of mercy, just protecting oneself.

 

These kids grew up in the same town,

Two look up while one looks down.

One goes home at night, unable to sleep.

Yet, all who are able to help, do not… and the girl, she just weeps.

Locked behind doors because her eyes won’t shut.

Praying to the sky that this isn’t a permanent rut.

As the thought of kidnappings or murders in the night leave her frozen.

She wonders each time, “why was I chosen?”

Chosen to live a life full of love, devoid of chaos.

She pours her heart into living each day.

As it gets harder and harder to live, she sways.

Always on the brink between life and death.

Emotions long gone, she’s told she’s insane.

In a journal entry from age nine, she acknowledges the pain.

In a vain attempt to let others in,

She climbs further and further into the hole, hoping someday she’ll win.

 

If I don’t care about my life why should anyone else? I once heard that you learn to love yourself through the love others show you, namely the supposed unconditional love one is meant to receive from their primary caregivers. This is bullshit. I don’t think I’ll ever love myself, because the people who conceived me can’t seem to do so. Fuck this and fuck my current mindset because I’m so fucking sick of rejection. Whoever said that all it takes is one person to believe in you must have had a superhero who checked in on him or her a lot. Someone who truly cares about me would do that right? It wouldn’t take money for caring to ensue, would it? I’m so damn sick of this game of life and the rejection and the pitiful looks from those around me when they get a peek at the life I have to live day after day. Why didn’t I die at birth with my twin? Why am I still here? Right now it’s fucking painful and I don’t want to bear it much longer. It’s not fair, who’s there to reach out for me when I need help? I’m in a state of despair right now and yet I know I’ll keep fronting that optimistic attitude I hope one day to actually embody, not fake

Considering I’ve never been a fan of lying, I have to set some things straight on here. I’m currently studying abroad and it has been one of the best experiences of my life. I’ve dealt with some major issues, all within the first few weeks of arriving. To make this readable, I won’t include the gritty details right now. I will sum it up as such:

-I found out the day before coming here that my brother was going to have brain surgery in a few weeks.

-Right before his surgery, my biological family insisted that I see him, didn’t believe I was studying abroad and harassed me about not seeing him.

-I asked my biological father (the only person I talk to on occasion to not tell anyone that I was here as I didn’t think it would ameliorate the situation.

-Said person did in fact break his word and tell people I was studying abroad. His relaying this fact did more harm than good as I had initially suspected.

-Prior to the surgery, my grandpa became sick suddenly and died. When I asked my father if I should attend the funeral, his e-mail reply was “no need to disrupt school”.

-No one told my brother about my grandpa dying until after his surgery. My dad didn’t even make it to his own dad’s funeral.

It’s no surprise that my motility disorder only worsened throughout my time here. I fucking hate food. Every single time I eat I either become nauseated, regurgitate food, throw up (unintentionally) or have gurgling in my esophagus and stomach indicative of the spasms.

Over the break, I hope to see some therapists and doctors that I had over the summer prior to coming here. My friends already say I should be in treatment again. I know that I do not want to end up in the cycle of treatment. Plus, I’ve been offered an amazing opportunity to extend my studies here doing a neuroscience internship at a hospital. These sorts of opportunities don’t just happen upon someone in the States, they are hard to come by. When presented with the possibility that I could become sicker while here, my honest response is “so what?”.

Bluntly put, I’d rather die at least trying to get ahead in life then return to my basically nothing life in the States. I’m sick of missing out on opportunities because I’m physically or emotionally unwell. I crave having a family and the host family I have here is the closest thing I’ve experienced to a “normal” family. I just have no desire to appear sad in front of them or express my negative emotions. I judge myself, thinking that they expect me to be level-headed because of my age. After all, their two older kids are younger than me and out of the house and supporting themselves from what I know. One even has a two year old. I believe in my twisted world I must come across as stable and without issues and this is how I portray myself to most everyone.

Sometimes, I see the school psychologist and lately she’s been questioning my mood. I know she can pick up on my sadness even though I assure her repeatedly that I’m FINE. FINE = fucked up, insecure, neurotic and emotional. Yeah, I’m fine. I don’t want my experiences to be halted by psychiatric treatment. Not here, not now. I just don’t know how much longer I can keep this jig up.