I don’t care. I do care.
So what if I feel horrendous? Big deal. Just shut up and get on. I can’t even imagine how bored everyone must be of my shit.
I cut my wrist the other day. Not attention seeking I just really wanted to do it. It felt great but afterwards but I was worried about explaining it. I needn’t have bothered. No one mentioned it last time I did it on the other wrist and no one has mentioned it now. Good?
No one has checked my DBT diary sheets in weeks. Lucky really because this way I don’t have to discuss why I’m rating my suicidal urges at 4/5 – the highest I’ve ever rated them. I don’t have to explain my self harming or self medicating or the little notes that I’ve been in crisis because fortunately no one is looking or asking. Bit weird when they make a big deal about my – apparently – life threatening behaviours but whatever, at least I’m left in peace. I should just start lying on the diary card, tell them what they want to hear. It’d be easiest on all of us I think.
No one has actioned my quetiapine prescription. Apparently the pharmacist rang the GP on Monday but there’s no record of it so I need to actually see a GP and explain the whole fucking saga and hope that she actually believes me – Ha! That’ll be 50/50! Last thing on a Friday too!
I wonder if I should see the psychiatrist again and then I remember there’s no point. My diagnosis hasn’t changed and clearly I’m on my own with my medication. What can he do? Same as everyone else – nothing. It’s funny cos he told one of the ladies in group to call him rather than struggle. She’s been in mental hospital before though so he considers her proper ill; not like me who’s basically fine…
Yup. Don’t care. Whatever. Do care. Help me. Never mind. Go away. I sort of wish I could just go away. Just go somewhere and see what happens when I stop trying to hold it all together. But I can’t.