quirkytizzy: (Default)
[personal profile] quirkytizzy
This part is so frustrating. Where all you want to do is drag a razor across your skin, but you also fully realize the futility of doing such a thing. It won't make me feel better. It won't get me treatment that I need, because the psych ward is a place to stabilize, not treat long term behaviors.

Marya Hornbacher once called this the boring part of treatment. Where you are healthy enough to recognize the uselessness of self-destructive behaviors, but where they are still plenty present in your thoughts.

What would hurting myself do? Nothing. Nothing but rack up another $5,000 medical bill to stay in a place where I can't smoke cigarettes. For any momentary relief seeing my own blood seep out might give, there are then the days following, when the wounds sting like hell and you realize you've given up again.

And I'm tired of giving up. Tired of doing things that don't really help. I'd say it's a fight in my head, but it's more a resignation that what I was doing wasn't working and so repeating it would also not work.

So Jesse's making dinner, and I'll have a full stomach, and that will make me feel better, and then there's the bed that's been eluding me all day, if I really need to pull the wool over my eyes for a little while.

Also, uhm, I need your guy's help on something.

Because I hear them. I've admitted this in passing before, but always relating it to pareidolia, the phenomenon of the brain trying to make patterns out of things that have none. Like hearing music when there's white noise on. Or seeing dragons in the clouds. I always thought it was fairly common (and it's not NOT uncommon, either), but as the months go on, sometimes there's no white noise behind what I'm hearing.

I can never make out words. It's not like they tell me to DO things.

It used to be just the sound of people talking, or of music playing. It used to sound like the din in a restaurant, dozens of people's voices rising into a lilting tune. Nowadays, it's usually one or two people, and I hear them so much more clearly than I have ever before. It's usually an argument of some kind.

Has my brain just decided to filter in and increase the volume on the internal monologue?

I like it better when I hear music. So much of what I hear is beautiful, violins and pianos and haunting voices. But the fact is that they are now here even when there's nothing else for my brain to try and cast patterns on.

Do I even need to worry about it at all, since they never say bad things to me? Can I just chalk it up to another faucet of being crazy in general, since it DOESN'T get in the way of my daily, functioning life.

My grandmother was a schizophrenic who heard voices.

My mother hears voices.

Cassie hears voices.

And so do I.

How do I tell people that without coming off as...much, much crazier than I am? (Or at least want to believe?)
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