Life Without Hospitals

I don't know my own life.

After spending countless weeks in various psychiatric hospitals, I've managed to stay out for 6 months. Probably my longest stretch ever. And it makes me highly uncomfortable.

My friends were traveling the world and I was pacing the hallways trying to get out of my own head.

My friends were trying new restaurants to Yelp review later and I was learning the menu schedule. It's cookie Tuesday, everybody!

My friends were getting married and I was making bad relationship choices with the person across the hall.

My friends were graduating from college and I was gathering info on how to fill my days after my stint.

The disparities in our life choices have led me here, sitting on the sidelines of life while everyone figures it out as they go along. I can't even "go along". I'm too far behind to just pick up and start. I'm at the age where I need to have a decent plan. In the words of one of my favorite TV characters, "I don't even have a 'pla'."

I'm in Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT) now. One of the promises I made before beginning is that I would not consider suicide an option to my problems. I would stay out of the hospital. But if I'm not in the hospital, what life am I really living? I'm on my own without a single idea as to what I should be doing. I'm learning all these skills to handle stress and accept my life as it is, but I don't accept my life as it is. I'm told to just "go out there and try something, anything!", but...how? How do you do something?

This is where I am.

Every plan requires money. All money comes from jobs. Jobs are for competent workers. Am I a competent worker? I don't know. I feel like I am. I can type. I know most basic computer programs and if I don't, I've been known to teach myself. Not to be conceited, but I'm really smart. I have great insight, I'm always on time, I smile a lot and make people laugh despite the angry churning of uncertainty inside. But on paper, I'm just some loser who's only worked two months in her whole life and doesn't meet the minimum typing speed and doesn't have any school history - just a GED - and hasn't held a job in 6 years (never mind I was taking care of my grandfather that whole time).

There's no place for me anywhere.

Except in the hospital. Where I'm told when and where to be, where there are people like me looking for answers or maybe just to stop the screaming for a few days, where it's understood I'm nothing in society but there's a reason why.

Now there's no hospital. There's no refuge from the world. There's only the world in front of me, daring me to jump in so it can swallow me whole and spit out the broken, discouraged remains.

Do I jump?

Or do I stay in bed?

When I Said "New Experiences", Universe...Not EXACTLY What I Had in Mind

I'm writing this post on Saturday night, 3 days after my last post when I said I'd come back and tell you about derby practice. Well..I'm back...

I've been a bit busy.

Yep, I fractured my ankle Wednesday night. My first ever broken bone! Let's take a moment to, er, 'honor' this bucket list moment.

All right, moment's over. This is the worst.

The first hour was splendid! I hadn't been at practice for a while, so it was nice to see the ladies again and get back into drills instead of just aimlessly skating. I did alright for having been gone so many months. Of course, things were going too well, and while I was practicing my crossovers, I slipped and fell on my ankle. At first, it REALLY hurt, but then the pain started to lessen, so I thought I just hit my anklebone on one of my wheels. I don't know what a broken bone feels like! I got some help from my teammates and friends getting home. Sure, I couldn't put any weight on it, sure I had to crawl on my hands and knees up my three porch steps and to my room (and I live in a single-story home), but who knew it was broken?

Well, my dad, for one. To which I replied, "...and you didn't want to share that information with the class?!"

Having a broken body part has taken me through a lot of emotions in 72 hours. I've cried because my ankle hurt so bad, I couldn't get up and pee. I've crawled from the kitchen to my room with a plate of food (a personal life lowlight). I've screamed at no one in particular because of crippling frustration with the medical field. Not only am I almost out of pain medication, but because of my fantastic HMO, I can't use the ER referral for the orthopedic surgeon. No, I have to wear a splint that's meant for 1 to 2 day wear for FIVE DAYS until I see my primary physician on a walk-in appointment - which could take up to 4 hours - and get the referral from him...oh yeah, and then I actually have to MAKE the appointment with orthopedics!

I've laid in bed and felt completely alone on this excruciating journey. But I know I'm not.

Through it all, my derby sisters have been absolutely amazing. It's been overwhelming to see how much these women (who I've known maybe a year at most) have embraced me as a true sister, more so than some people I've known for years or even my whole life. I've asked for what seemed like the world, and they responded like I asked for a pencil. I truly love them, and it's heartwarming to know that they truly love me.

Anyway, it's been 3 days and I am 300% done with having a broken ankle. I'm bored, I feel useless, I need to clean up, I want to take a bath, and I WANT TO SKATE, DAMMIT.

I would also like some Ben & Jerry's ice cream. Any combination of those will do just fine, please and thank you.

Have you ever broken a bone? Tell me about it! Any tips on how to survive this HELLISH NEVERENDING NIGHTMARE?!