Vent

For those of you who actually read this, I'm sorry for not updating. I don't think this is going to be a consistent thing, but I just needed to write this somewhere and I couldn't find anywhere else to do it.

I spent ten days (six in one stay, four the second) this summer in a mental hospital for suicidal thoughts associated with ongoing bipolar disorder.
Though no one knew about it except for a handful of people, and only a few more know about it now, it's a humiliating experience. To realize you can't hold your own life together and need to have it structured by techs in their late 20's and early 30's who think they're better than you is a devastating experience.
In some ways it was a growing experience. Through my therapy sessions, I became more assertive and was able to tell my parents more about how I felt. But my social anxiety has increased and I still get anxious in public places. Even the classroom, where there is normally less than 20 students, can be challenging.

Before I took my semester off, I was only beginning to slip off the peak of my academic tenure. Even in England, it had more or less only impacted my emotions and not my academics. Before England I was taking upwards of six or seven classes. Now I can barely handle four. I am by no means the same student I was as a freshman, sophomore, or junior.

It's embarrassing, to have to go to professors and tell them you need extra time on assignments. It's embarrassing to not be able to hang out with friends not because you don't want to, but because you physically can't. It's embarrassing to sit in a classroom and grip your seat arm so tightly your knuckles turn white just to stop your hands from shaking.

Yes, I'm on medication. And to a degree, I'm stable. My mood swings are less frequent and more in control. But not my suicidal thoughts. Some days I stare at the computer, knowing that there's a pair of scissors right below my hands in a desk drawer. And, yes, I have pulled them out a few times but I've always stopped myself. Except for punching a concrete wall, I have never done anything to harm myself. Do I want to live? Yes. Do I always see it as the optimal solution? No.

So why am I posting this? This is scary stuff. For everyone, both you and me. For my sake, I ask that those of you who read this don't share it with anyone. Everyone who I want to know about it already does, and those find it anonymously can read it as well. But for right now, all I needed was a place to vent. And that's what this is. I don't want to have to shut it down like I did my last one.

Thank you.