This is a Really Real Mental Health post.

TW: Suicidal thoughts with plan and intent.

I’m not safe.

I mean, I’m safe right this second. The thoughts are quiet and my day is going well.

But, I’m not safe.

The most dangerous time for me is when I go from “fine” to “not fine” in wild swings that come at random. When I have these rapid cycling mixed episodes that give me the hopelessness that builds a plan, and the energy to follow through with a plan.

Those times are dangerous.

Yesterday was scary, partially because it wasn’t scary. I had a plan, I had the intent, I had a time. Actually, I had multiple times. I knew if I couldn’t follow through when Wonder Woman was in an appointment, I would have plenty of time to follow through when she went in for her evening meeting.

It took everything in me to stay in bed through that first appointment. The bed is safe, the floor is lava.

It took everything for me to read through the loving comments on facebook and let some of that in. It was hard to hold on to.

And then it took everything in me to get up and attend my Monday night group. I wanted to stay in bed, and then I wanted to do the meeting from bed.

Fortunately, when I set up the computer on my bed, I looked ridiculous on the camera while laying down.

So I got up and came out to the living room.

Fortunately, there was a technical error with the zoom meeting, and the people in my group started joking around, and joking with me while we were waiting.

Fortunately, my friend kindly bullied me some. The good kind of bullying where she made sure I did what I needed to do.

Fortunately, She wouldn’t let me walk away just because things were running late.

That’s a lot of events that lined up, and made it so I had a safety plan by the time group was over.

It could have gone very differently.

So, today I have a virtual appointment with a mental health hospital. They have lots of programs. I’m not sure how they are all being run right now.

I’m not sure what their outpatient php looks like. Is it virtual? Is it in person? How many hours a day? Do they help with transportation? It’s obvious that my normal php, the one that has kept me stable countless times, isn’t doing it in its shortened, virtual format. Would their program be a better fit? Is it even running?

I’m not sure what their crisis inpatient unit looks like. I’ve heard great things about it, but right now we’re living in a different time. I know at minimum I won’t be allowed visitors. But what does the program look like? Will I be kept in isolation so that there isn’t a covid outbreak? Are they still running daily programs that would help me heal and find solid ground again after this latest trauma?

I’m not sure what their longer term units look like. I’m not even sure that’s what I need or would be eligible for.

I don’t know what I need right now.

But I want to be safe.

And I want to take some of the load off of those around me.

I want to give Wonder Woman a break.

It’s exhausting caring for a loved one who is in crisis. I know, because I’ve been on both sides of this coin many times.

And I will be on this side of the coin many times in the future.

That’s so daunting to look at.

Even without trauma, other triggers occur and send me in a spiral. Intrusive suicidal thoughts are just a part of my illness. Mixed mood episodes with thoughts that grab hold are just a part of my illness.

This isn’t the first, and won’t be the last, time that I go through this.

There will never be a last time.

Until there is.

Until it either wins or I die from some other cause.

I finally messaged my individual therapist today to let her know about the upcoming appointment. I haven’t seen her in nearly a month because of her own life situation and the way that appointment times worked out before that. It’s been shitty timing for a break in that kind of care.

But at least I’ve had other care.

I guess this could have happened at a worse time.

I feel defeated right now, while still trying to go about life as normal.

I keep trying to give myself grace that this is a normal reaction to trauma.

Or at least my normal.

This is hard. So very hard.

But I’m still fighting.