i'm so fucked up relapse here we come :)))))))))))

I know you're trying, to fight when you feel like flying

but if you love me don't let me go

this house don't feel like home

hold, hold on, hold onto me

because I'm a little unsteady



i don't even know what i want to say tonight. that every day i think i'm healing but then at night i remember. what i really am. and i'm so tired. quite literally since i'm still staying awake through my sleep meds. day #5 of little to no sleep. my friend's friend died tonight. she hasn't talked about it, and probably won't to me since our connection isn't deep in that way, but i'm guessing it was weather related. and i was out skating in the ice, laughing, loving it. a small good part of my night while i was in a lot of pain. but there are people out there, hurting. just like there are people out there laughing while i'm hurting. 65/35. it's what my favorite counselor said about my head ratio of transgender related problems/depression and anxiety. all i know is tonight, two of my friends are in pain from telling me, another that i can (always) feel, my mother, my oldest brother... me. i don't get to attend afternoon group tomorrow, or ever again because my insurance won't cover it. after so much healing happened /from/ the afternoon groups today (i was my good self), i can't stand the thought. and that overpass. it sounds really really good right now

please

please don't do it

You are the reddest leaf under the tree, so red you think it might burn you when you touch it

But it doesn't burn you, it crumbles in your hand



don't. hurt. yourself. don't you fucking dare. because then you can't go in voluntarily and you have no control. and don't even think about it with those skates. they are freedom /not/ destruction. don't fucking do it do not do not do not

There was a poem you wrote once

about how we moved from place to place and i never packed it was all just chaos shoved into garbage bags and once a screwdriver poked through one of the bags and almost impaled your eye while you were lifting it

well today i got a knife stabbed into the palm of my hand and a needle stuck in my finger from them being in places they shouldn't while cleaning up your messes so i'd say we're about even

But this hunger, it isn't you

I'm angry about a lot of things today. Let's start with the most irrational... that Mads Mikkelsen isn't somehow in my life realistically. That there's not a entire movie of him just ice skating so I'm watching a bad movie where he ice skates for five seconds in the beginning of it. Why I'm watching the whole movie anyway I don't know, I'm tired. Alright, moving on then. I haven't slept. which would be why I'm tired. Literally have not for even a second. I remember those nights/mornings. I don't want them back. I stayed awake through sleep meds. I had a panic attack about staying awake through the sleep meds. Which was probably triggered by the previous panic attack that was from extreme body dysphoria I experienced very very late at night (early morning? it was like 3am). I don't want to go to IOP. I am terrified all over again to be in any form of social setting. I thought that was gone. I am filled to the brim with self-hatred again when for two days post hospital I was finding so much love for myself. I'm angry about things I want that I can't afford to own. I'm angry I'm not on any kind of meds that will help me. I'm angry that the only med that has ever helped me is hard to obtain legally. I'm angry that I clean the house and it's trashed again within the next two days. I'm angry that I'm tired. I'm angry that my back hurts from my binder all the time now. I'm angry that in order to fix that I have to buy a new one instead of, I don't know, getting the surgery to correct the problem, or just being in the right body in the first place. I'm angry I have a panic attack every time I go downstairs to do my T shot today. I'm angry that I don't /want/ to do my T shot. I'm angry that I /have/ to do my T shot. I'm angry about a lot more shit but I'm tired. Very very tired.

They will all agree, I'm a suffocator

when someone you live with asks you if you're okay because you were walking around downstairs at 4am someone that has to get up for work in a few hours and is asking you this in a state of still half asleep do you say no i'm really not okay i'm thinking about slowly pulling my skin off my body until there's nothing left please stay up and talk to me and keep me from destroying myself
and if the answer is yes what if it's every night what if you are just a disruption of someone else's life

You want to know if you're to blame, babe

Well my night. has been totally fucked. it's 330 idk what I'm doing but I know that my brother had me cut out return labels for a few packages and when I realized I was holding scissors nearly had a panic attack. (he understood when i said i wanted another task) then we had a talk about do I tell my dad I was in the psych hospital if i see him tomorrow? if it matters, its worth. to me, to him, whatever. which just evolved to a talk about me being (previously?) suicidal and how that's upsetting for any parent to find out about their child but he should know. how could he not was my argument. it started when i lived with him. if he ignored it that's not my problem. or it was part of the problem but if he doesn't realize now the person i am because he refused to acknowledge it,...... and now i cant sleep due to hospital flashbacks life is peachy as fuck guess who needs a cigarette and doesn't have one guess who threw out their blade and wants it very much right now guess who filed down their nails so they couldn't tear at their own skin guess who wants to put on their skates and glide right into oncoming traffic i'm so fucked 80% chance of relapse, it was nice while it lasted

And I run from wolves

I just realized - my blade is gone. I threw it out. Yesterday. I impulsively tossed it in my bathroom trash. The whole thing. And I figured I'd probably break down and retrieve it. Not break down to the point of using it but just that I wouldn't be able to let go of it. Without even thinking about it this morning I combined my bathroom trash with the kitchen trash and took it all out to the dumpster. It's gone. And I'm... free?

It's really not a funny story (day 1)

Not even once it gets better. At 1pm tuesday the 8th I was supposed to be at a psychiatrist appointment. I had been struggling a couple weeks prior to this, due to news of my workplace closing down as well as stress I was creating in my home as well as a dozen other things. I knew my last day at work being the friday before, I would revert back to the depressed state of when I moved here (to Chicago) 6 months ago and couldn't get out of bed and self-sabotaged the hell out of myself. I knew. I know myself. I've struggled with depression for more than half my life, and you can tell me "well just don't do that" but it's not how it works and I know better. However, I had a plan. Knowing this was an advantage. I was going to seek help at this psych appointment. I was going to discuss my options. I had already reverted back to self-harm and I needed guidance. Do I go inpatient? Do I just get a regular therapist and go from there? Would changing my meds (which I was sure at this point weren't helping) make a difference quickly enough? This appointment was important. And yet, I missed it. I woke up a few minutes after my bus left that connected with my L trains to get me there on time. (I hadn't been sleeping normally in days.) So I threw on my skates and skated to the train station in hopes that would cut down enough time to get me to my appointment within the fifteen minute grace period that I could still see my psych. No such luck. I was twenty-five minutes late. And when they told me I couldn't see my psych I told them I couldn't leave without speaking to someone. I was headed into a deep panic attack. So they gave me the "closest thing" they had to a crisis counselor.

After filling him in a bit and discussing with him what I wanted to discuss with my psych, he stepped out to confer with colleagues and then came back to suggest I voluntarily go inpatient at a hospital nearby. Voluntary meant leaving my hospital, walking the couple blocks to this hospital, and checking myself in. I was scared, of myself, so I told him the truth: I wouldn't do that. I would just go home and I didn't know what would happen from then on. (Or maybe I really did know, and that's why I spoke up.) That led to us agreeing to send me via ambulance which I wasn't aware made it involuntary. I would've assumed that except that the way this doctor explained it made it seem like it would still be a voluntary check in if I was compliant. And I was so there was the miscommunication, and there was a lot of that between the two of us, as well as nearly everyone I talk to from here on. If you even want to call it miscommunication - to me (and my sister-in-law who dealt with a lot of this) it was incompetence. 

I was terrified of having to ride in an ambulance. It was flashbacks to riding in them with my mother when she was stroking out or having a seizure, whether that was due to her illness or over-dosing, I had a lot of very scary and uncomfortable ambulance rides in my teen years. Thankfully I had an amazing group of doctors that did my ambulance drive. They made sure I was as comfortable as I was able to be being strapped to a gurney and scared out of my mind. But the driver talked to me about my skates, which were settled between my calves on the gurney, and how cool he thought it was that I played hockey. And the other two that rode in back with me were incredibly kind and considerate. They even made me laugh when we showed up to the hospital because apparently my order to be there wasn't received so we had to wait a while and they joked about how they must've sent a carrier pigeon is why it was taking so long and I just started cracking up.

When I was finally headed in, I took a deep shaky breath and flipped my septum piercing up into my nose in hopes they wouldn't notice and have me remove it. I met my first of six people I would speak to during my intake/evaluation. He was there to get a brief history and summary of why I came in and to check in my belongings in case I did end up staying. He was beyond awesome, also made me smile a lot in a very scary moment of my life. I brought up my septum and he put his finger to his lips and said to just keep it flipped up and no one would know the difference. Then he told me about his boyfriend, who was a "hot daddy" in his words, and that he was a really big piercing enthusiast and wanted his septum done next. I laughed and blushed through the whole story and it was a nice relief from the fear for a few minutes.

Next was the security guy who brought me food and soda and made sure I was "comfortable" while I waited to be evaluated. I wanted help so when I did speak to my first of two counselors for the intake, I was honest. About my past and present struggles. I had been honest to all my doctors up to this point. That went smoothly. While I waited for my second counselor I called my sister-in-law because earlier while waiting in the ambulance I had worked out a plan for her to get me a couple items that would help for the immediate time being until tomorrow when my brother could visit and actually bring me stuff from home. (I requested pj pants and a stuffed animal for the first night.) She told me she was there, just figuring out where to park. The security guard went out to help and in the meantime my second counselor took me in to talk and said we could pause once my sister arrived. So when she came in, we did pause, regardless the eval was almost complete, and she told me this place was not a good place, a feeling that had just started to creep in before she showed up. She said, if I was okay with it, she really felt I needed to be transferred to a better hospital and one closer to home, and I knew she was right. So she spent the next four hours or so advocating for me to be transferred. They refused to do so, so she called her boss who had resources to help and she fought for me for all those hours trying every plan we could come up with to get me out of that place. It didn't happen. Around 11pm, she left me with a hug and promises of good things when I got out of this incompetent dreadful place. As well as two pairs of cute boxer briefs and pj pants and a stuffed zebra. They told me I couldn't have the stuffed animal. As she was leaving, I asked the "liason", as he called himself, what would happen to me right now, immediately, He told me they had a room ready for me and someone would be in in a few minutes to take me up... that did not happen.

I was sitting in the intake room, alone, no security of any kind, with the bag of what my sister brought me. Which included the clip hangers that the sleep pants were hung on. After a half hour of waiting, I decided to wander the hallway. There were painting on the walls in frames, that I tapped to find out if they were glass (they were). Then I noticed electrical outlets. I went back to my room. Hung out for another half hour. Then I pried the metal pieces off one of the clip hangers and wandered back into the hallway. I noticed the nurse's office was left wide open, no one in it. I stood in the doorway for a bit thinking how there would be something in there that I'd be able to hurt myself with. I was worried I'd get caught before the deed was done so instead I was on my way to jab the piece of metal into an electrical outlet when the head nurse (the reason I know this is because my sister demanded to speak to a "medical professional" which they claimed they did not have on staff for the first hour but they did, and it was her) asked me what in the world I was doing out of my room. I shrugged. Told her I was stir crazy. She scolded me, like it was my fault they had no one to enforce I didn't wander like they were supposed to. I was sent back to my room, where I sat on the floor, against the wall, in the dark. The security that was supposed to have been out there the whole time came through, stuck his head in my room, gave me a look I can't even explain, closed my door, and disappeared again. For a moment I thought I had been locked in and crawled over the the door and lightly touched the handle to see if it would move. I wasn't locked in. I reopened my door halfway, as it was before. After some more time waiting I took the metal piece from the hanger and started to slash at my arms. No extreme damage done, it wasn't sharp enough, just small welts that stung enough to relieve some of my emotional pain for a few seconds. Some more waiting once I got tired of hurting myself....... and then a guardian angel showed up. I met her briefly during my encounter of having my belongings accounted for but we had no real significant exchange of any kind. She asked me why I was sitting on the floor. I replied with only a shrug. She said she would at least hang out on the uncomfortable lounger thing they had in the room. I started crying and told her it didn't matter. And she said, "they should have a room for you... let me go see what's going on with your room." I thanked her through my now heavy crying.

Five minutes later I was taken up to a room.


I met the sixth person here. I was told I needed to strip and put on the scrubs I was handed - something I had been lied to about earlier, hence why I requested pj pants from my sister. I told them (as nicely as possible) I refused to strip completely due to being trans and it would be triggering for my dysphoria. They agreed that that was acceptable. First was the pants. I had a large bandage on my thigh so that was the first question. I explained it was a pretty serious dog bite. I was next asked about a large scar to the right of that. An anxiety related self-harm one. I had dug my nails into my skin and pulled and pulled until there was about a three inch gaping hole in my thigh. It's healed but as a nasty scar, one of my worst. (Almost funny that when I originally did it, it was coincidentally in the shape of a heart). Next was "what are all the rest" because I have a lot of little scars all over my legs and thighs. Some were work bruises from the dogs, any small circular scars were from dermatillomania (usually bug bites or small scratches I picked and picked at), and any deep scars that were cuts were from self-harm (except the current open one on my knee, which was from falling up the stairs onto the hardwood floor landing prior to leaving for the psych appointment that same day).

Next was my shirt, and I told him, be prepared for the worst of it. My shoulders are my go to for self-harm now. It had been my inner arms when I was young (pretty typical place) but I knew better than to cut somewhere so obvious as an adult, I had turned to my thighs (all those scars covered by boxer shorts) and biceps now, places that were easily hidden. And my upper arms felt the best, so they were a mess. The right one had a dozen of healed scars, from a few months ago. The left had the same amount of healed scars from a few months ago, plus a handful of new, very deep ones from less than a week ago. Plus a long cut running the length of my shoulder front to back from my cat. The person shook their head and sighed my name and said okay and took me to my room.

I wasn't given a pillow and handed an extra, scratchy blanket and told to use that in placement. I was given my usual sleep meds, which I was convinced wouldn't work considering how upset I was. I asked if I could have the boxers my sister brought me and was told no. I was confused since I was wearing my own boxers currently and was explained to that wasn't really supposed to be allowed. I accepted that but inquired if /they/ had boxers because it's not like I could keep wearing the same pair. I was told they had unisex underwear and they asked if I needed some and I immediately said no thank you, it would only trigger my dysphoria. So I took off my pair, hand washed them, and laid them on the heater (which was blowing out cold air by the way). I washed my hair in the sink with hand soap because there was an obviously clean towel on my desk (at that point I would've used a dirty one anyway, I hadn't showered in over 24 hours due to oversleeping for my appointment and my hair gets incredibly greasy unwashed). Upon investigating my room, I found two very dull pencils and a few coloring sheets. I had snuck in two things with me: one of the metal pieces from the hanger, and I had ripped off the tail of the stuffed animal so I'd have something soft to rub to help me sleep (it's a stimuli for my anxiety as weird as it may sound, but this whole thing is weird so who really cares). I sharpened the pencil somewhat using the metal piece and started to write on the back of one of the coloring pages about the horror I had just experienced and that I had thought all this time prior to being here I was dying but that this was really what dying felt like. That I wouldn't get help here. That I was scared and going to drown.

There were fifteen minute checks on our rooms so I went to bed as I did start to feel drowsy from the meds. I was on the fourth floor, the highest floor, the most restrictive floor, and was going to drown there.

I have a very good friend, who has been a lot of my inspiration to start writing publicly rather than privately, that uses music in her posts to connect how she's feeling and strongly focuses on lyrics in relation. I have decided to use music in my posts as well, but in a slightly different manner. The songs might not seem connected when listening closely to the lyrics (or they might), but it's more that they're songs that were with me at the time I was going through these particular events.

A short intro

My name is Milo. I'm male/possibly agender but I use male pronouns (he/him/his). I suppose if I'm male I'm ftm transgender but I find this irrelevant to everything. I am who I am. Normally I would be doing this on tumblr but I've currently separated myself from that site for trigger reasons so here I am starting fresh...