Something second hand and broken still can make a pretty sound.
So, six weeks ago, I became severely depressed. The sort of depression where you self isolate, don't eat, don't shower, over sleep or under sleep, consider self harm, and hate everything. I always get depressed around my birthday, so the timing was right, but the severity of it caught me off guard.
Then things happened: the doctor completely ignored new, severe pain following a tearing sensation in the ankle where I had the torn ligament. Instead he chided me for not letting the medication take effect, and basically told me it was my own fault for being fat. My mom got told she doesn't have a year (again) which was basically you know, the worst thing ever. And it was my two year college reunion and I didn't graduate. Again. Which sucks.
Three weeks ago yesterday, my therapist wanted to put me in the hospital, so I would have some support and what not. I didn't want to go, so we contracted for safety. I wouldn't engage in self harm or attempt to end my life without talking to her, and she would call me every other day for checks and supported. In the therapy program I'm in, it's pretty normal for this to happen.
So, she called me for checks every other day, then last thursday, she cancelled therapy with me via text message. Her dog had gotten hit by a car, and needed to be put down. Legit reason to cancel therapy. She told me she'd call me early in the next week.
But I had just found out I was moving to a ranch. A ranch that is half the size of my other house and moving into a room that is legit a third of the size of my old room. I mean, we're talking like smaller than my moho dorm room. And we had five days to do it. Fourteen years of shit and five days. We had no idea that we were going to moving, so we hadn't had boxes or packed or anything. It's been... fucking insane.
So, I told her that I had a lot going on and asked her to get in touch with me sooner. She told me that she would call me the later on Thursday night or Friday. She didn't. She didn't call me Saturday or Sunday or Monday or Tuesday or Weds. She called me Thursday at two o'clock to cancel my therapy with her that was at three.
Yeah, yeah, from bidaily checks to fucking not seeing her for three weeks. So, I'm angry and upset about that.
Especially considering more shit happened, like I suddenly developed a stutter again. I say again, because I developed one after taking topamax three years ago. I had it for months and they couldn't figure out what was wrong with me for while. Then they did, and took me off it and it fixed itself save for when I'm really tired.
I haven't been sleeping lately, because of the move. Like Sunday and Monday I was packing late, and then my dad woke up early and woke me up with his packing/shouting about moving. (He didn't want to move at all, and called my mother a cunt and told her that this was all her fault. Which was great, let me tell you.) And then Tuesday night I stayed at the old house because the net here wasn't getting turned on until Weds, and someone tried to break into our house. We'd had sketchy people going through what we were tossing. Like they took all the handles off the dresser drawers and like took the bedframe wood and shit in shopping cart. Anyway, I was in the shower (we don't have hot water over here yet) and I heard our front door open. It's a distinct sound. So, I called for my sister, and she didn't answer. Instead I heard the front door close again. Quickly I got out of the shower, grabbed my phone and headed downstairs to see. Someone had definitely been in my house, but they weren't there when I checked. Needless to say I was sketched and didn't sleep that night.
But then I passed out Weds, slept for nine hours and woke up with a stutter and a shit ton of pain. My therapist didn't even apologize or mention not calling me back, and basically just told me to go the ER for my stutter. Nothing about being depressed or wanting to kill myself, and she didn't even ask me if I was safe or anything. I'm just like furious with her.
I really hate this room. I hate being so close to everyone else (my room is off the kitchen) and I can hear everything. And they can hear everything too. Like, I was on the phone last night and people heard me, and I can hear everything. I can't even like... masturbate or anything.
I'm not writing this to go "oh pity me." I'm writing this to explain in more than the 144 characters that plurk and twitter provide. Also to rant in a safe space of my own. Because seriously my life blows right now.
I really just need a new one. And to stop stuttering.