I'm stagnant in my transition, still a girl trapped in this disgusting fat body covered in scars, bruises, and burns. I've been diagnosed with Bipolar and clinical depression, the meds they have me on are powerful but don't do a thing but give me side effects. Antipsychotics, anti depressants, mood stabilizers. They make my hands shake so much I can't draw or write anymore. I can't think right, my hair is falling out, and I'm gaining weight like the pig I am because I have no self control. Cutting isn't working as well as it used to so I've had to resort to burning and beating myself again. The lighter gives me this bubbly red skin all over my arms and my remote, hairbrush, even the hammer sometimes gives me giant bruises that make my fingers tingle and my muscles stop working right. I'm just about at the end of my rope. I hear voices and hallucinate bugs and animals. The people in my head never shut up and are always so mean. I only leave the house to get to therapy appointments. I've gone so far as to plan my death. Pills, wrist, throat. I just don't know when it could be. Nothing is working, not therapy, or medicine, and I'm too far gone to help myself. I don't know what to do
That'd be the fifth visit for suicide. I doubt it'd make a difference, everyone at that hospital except for the weekend staff are dicks. None of them give a rats ass if you're in hell. They've even overdosed me and called me a drama king (I went in wearing a bra, panties, and skirt by the way) when I was nearly passed out on the floor in my own vomit. I know the schedule too well, being in that hospital gives me too much time to myself just to think. It'd be way too easy to just hang myself with a pair of pants or something at night when the checks are 30 minutes apart. Regardless you're right, I should probably be in a hospital but I don't want to be... again.
