Death Sentence

Today I had to call and cancel my appointment with my psychiatrist that was scheduled for Friday.  It had been scheduled since May but the fact is that I can't afford the $125 it's going to cost.  And I needed to have lab work done before this appointment anyway, but I couldn't afford that either so fuck it anyway, right?  And Jenny can't help and no one in my family can help and obviously Corey's not an option anymore.

No lab work and no appointment means no medication refills.  My antidepressants are gone and I have one week left of Lithium.

And it hit me: I can no longer afford treatment for my disorders.  And until someone calls me for a full time job, I will not be able to afford treatment.  (And untreated the chance of me getting a job are slim).  And chances are, that phone call's not going to come, because I spent 2 years job hunting in this fucking town and got nothing so . . . yeah.

It is basically a death sentence.  And that might sound overdramatic but it's actually the truth.

For 3 years I suffered without treatment and I was beyond miserable.  I wanted to die every single die, each morning that I woke up I wondered why I had to live another day with my head the way it was.  And even though I wasn't perfect on the Lithium I was doing a fuck of a lot better.

And now that's gone and I know based on a few med lapses over the past year and a half that all of that shit feels worse once you've gotten to be a little bit normal.

So . . . yeah.  I'm terrified, I really am.  I want my life and I want to get better and be well, but over and over and over the fates seem to be against me.  And I know that this will end in my suicide.  Maybe not right away, but . . . within the next year, I'm sure.  I think I'm meant to die that way; I think it's meant to be in my hands.  And y'know, it probably will be.

And this has nothing to do with Corey, really.  I know very well that I could live my life without Corey, that if things didn't work out with me and him I would be well able to get over it and move on.  The thing is, with these disorders out of control, there is no life to be lived, with or without Corey, and that is just the simple truth.

The bipolar and borderline make it impossible to live.  Even with treatment they were hard to deal with; without treatment . . . well, I just can't imagine going back to that life and that much misery.

It is a strange feeling to suddenly know that you're going to die and how.