The Night of The Cut *Graphic Self Harm Trigger Warning*

******TRIGGER WARNING: Anorexia somewhat and EXTREMELY GRAPHIC SELF HARM******

DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU ARE EASILY TRIGGERED BY SELF HARM ESPECIALLY IN GRAPHIC DETAIL.

You have been warned.

This is probably the single most important story in my life. It led to a cascade of events: hospitalization, my correct diagnosis of bipolar, getting kicked out of school, and finally getting the real help I needed.

It was 6am when I finally asked my ex-boyfriend for my knife back. We aren’t on speaking terms and we are clear that we can never be. We’re either together or not. And together is awful, dangerous, addicting, full of love, full of hate.

Today I see him to get it back, so I stress out about it of course. I overthink what I will wear. I felt the need to show him how much my appearance has changed, how much have changed. Both of which are major improvements.

Should I go laid back in my cute dorm-room college girl get up all from Victoria’s Secret? Or should I go with my traditional assemble which people describe as “edgy” because its boots and leather jackets and what not?
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Unseen Contributor to Teen Mental Illness?

It has been bothering me for a few years now. The surge in young teens who seem absorbed in mental illness.

I first noticed it after I’d had my iphone for a while. Probably over a year after (I was 18 when I got it). I’d been diagnosed when i was 17, and was probably 19 when I noticed. I was on instagram when I got the random desire to see if there were posts about mental illness on there.

And what I saw horrified me.

Kids as young as 12 were posting horrible photos. Typically it was just the cliche depressed quotes over and over again. But there were also photos of other things… there was “thinspiration” where people would post skinny girls who were their “goal” look in terms of thinness. And then there was the pencil test to determine if you really are thin or not, so people posted pictures of those. And pictures of thigh gaps. But I can’t relate to eating disorders, never had one and don’t think I ever will. Then there were ones that flooded my search and were even triggering to me- self harm photos. They were everywhere. I was horrified.
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Self Control

Hello all, this is drunk Quinn. But don’t discount me now- I have some things to say and being drunk shouldn’t turn you away. I want to explain myself, my drug use and bipolarity. Specifically I want to discuss self control.

There are two opposing parts of me. It is slightly difficult to explain. I am both very in control of myself and very out of control. I am incredibly impulsive, I can’t stop myself in many situations, but if there is one thing I cannot stress enough is that I know exactly what is happening and the consequences of it.

Tonight I went out drinking with my friends. I was essentially a “third wheel” but this is my little group of friends- just the three of us. I don’t have any friends I hang out regularly with until I met them. I talk to a few people but we never hang out. These friends I actually hang out with. And tonight, we went drinking at this pub.

I had been there before. I had to drive and I had class early the next morning. I figured just one drink would be fine. I was wrong. After they closed I had to sit in my car for quite a while until I was “safe” to drive. I had one drink, a Mai Tai, and I was gone. It is rare that I get that drunk. I learned though. That drink at that pub will do a number on me.
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Focus

I wake up and throw myself into rants about how I am irritated with a multitude of issues in my life that are all intersecting to make my day frustrating and uncertain.

After ranting for two hours to various people, I start studying. I am fixated trying to complete problem after problem with undying devotion. When I get stuck I force myself to turn my attention to what is more important- the assignments due tomorrow.

What should have been a half hour at best of work, turns into what feels like over an hour. I write an abstract for my lab report and spend an immense amount of time editing it until it is “perfect.”
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How Far Would You Go?

We are quick to judge someone who abuses drugs. But shouldn’t we evaluate what led them to use such methods in the first place?

The first time I smoked weed was because I felt depressed and wanted to feel anything else. I didn’t know I was in a depressive episode at that time.

I no longer use it, I actually rather despise the substance.

But it is not the only drug.

I want to feel guilty about abusing my psychiatrist’s trust but I am not the type to feel much remorse.

The powder can work better than the whole. Your nose may ache and the initial rush is so heavy you feel like your heart will explode out of your chest. But I found if you balance the drug with another… then you can excel.

In a way, it is typical cliche college student. They say a ridiculous amount of college students abuse stimulants but I’m not sure of how accurate that is. I have yet to meet any who do but then again- I don’t have many friends and I’m sure it is not something most will announce to the world.

It is not something I do that often, at least not anymore. It is something I do when I’m desperate. I felt so stressed out that I couldn’t function- I couldn’t focus, I couldn’t get started- and the seconds were ticking away.

The pressure to never fail. Not a single class. You want to go to grad school, don’t you? You want to be a success, you want this career because for some reason you have equated it to happiness.

You’d do an awful lot to get this, wouldn’t you?

There are some who would go further than I am. Sabotage their peers even. I am not so devious.

Shouldn’t I feel bad that I have to use these methods at times? I should but I don’t. Like I said earlier, I’m not the type to feel guilt. Would I feel more accomplished if I did it the “right” way? Eh. Maybe. But I’d probably see no real difference. Either way I got the work done- that’s what matters, right?

I’m driven to these methods by expectations. Expectations that were put on me by family and by myself. Ever since I was little it was like my whole life revolved around my future career. Was it my fault? I don’t know. My siblings are all older than me by quite a bit. When I was old enough to start having a good concept of the future, my siblings were all determining what they wanted to do in this world. It made me ask myself the same question. And for as long as I can remember I have had a career goal. I revolve my life around it. But I don’t want to. I want to be happy and have fun.

So I come to be between a rock and a hard place. I can either spread out the time spent studying by not going out drinking or I can get it done in one night by working excessively (and perhaps with a little help) and go drinking.

I’ve done this to myself. I feel trapped in a world where career is everything. But to get to career, I have to get through college. And let me be honest- I hate college. Or at least, I hate the pressure. The deadlines, the high marks, everything. I wish I could learn in an enjoyable way. But let’s face it, I hate my major. I love my minor. Both are useless unless I can get into grad school. I’ve given up on med school, which is what I have completely devoted my college classes towards and it is too late to go back. I am shifting my goal but it doesn’t exactly align with what I’ve done.

What a mess.

Stability… does that word even truly apply to me, ever? You would think so. But I don’t think so. I am always a little up or down. Always have some unhealthy addiction. Am always a little self destructive.

Tonight I used unethical means to get some school work done.

But will you judge me before you even consider what made me want to?

Don’t call me lazy. But if you want… you can call me desperate.

-Quinn

Yet Another Post- Finding the “Me” in “Meds”

After missing my meds the other night, and then taking them last night, it was like a transformation occurred.

I went to class today and was able to focus the entire time. I was energetic enough to seek out potential professors seeking research assistants. I got stuff done and tonight I plan on going to a club. Most of all- I felt happy to be alive. Maybe a little too happy and productive, but whatever I’ll roll with it.

But my friend texted me something. She said, “With meds. Without meds. Completely different. It’s both terrifying and amazing at the same time how much of an affect they can have on you.”

And I have to agree with her. The times I’ve gone off meds I’ve turned into a nervous wreck, unable to function, vomiting from anxiety, and apparently dangerously suicidal as last night proved.

But what I told her is that, yes, it is frightening. But what frightens me more is that I don’t know who that person is. I’ve only been on meds 3 years (which isn’t a long time compared to some people) but it is weird to me not knowing who I am without them.

I know for me, when I’ve quit my meds spontaneously, part of my reasoning was that I wanted to see who I was without them. And every time I did I was scared beyond belief. I wish there was a way to know that person but it is simply too dangerous. Part of me wants to see just how bad I can get. I want to know. I want to see the difference medication has made.

I do see it, sometimes. If I think back to high school before I turned 18 and got meds, I was a nightmare. I was suicidal, I was erratic, I was pessimist beyond belief… In all honesty, I was really just a horrible person. I won’t deny it, I didn’t like that person. That’s why I wanted to kill her.

Meds changed my life, even if the antidepressants did later further my problems. They started off helping before I descended again. But it was different than before, when there was no meds. On them I was still somewhat sedated. I can’t help but wonder anyway.

A lot of people think the meds strip you of personality. Make you numb. Make you a zombie.

And the right ones in the right dosages don’t.

I know who I am on the meds.

But I can’t help but wonder anyway…

Who am I underneath this safety blanket?

-Quinn

The Dangers of Online Mental Health Quizzes

Alright so this is a big topic for me. A fellow author posted a link to a ridiculous quiz on Facebook that I feel the need to (and was asked to) write about.

I am going to take this quiz, step by step, and report exactly what I think about it. And after I will tell you why these quizzes aren’t just silly or stupid, but dangerous (with my anecdote evidence- reliable I know).

Alright, so when you click on the quiz, it starts off by saying, “Are you prone to dramatic and unpredictable mood-swings? What about anxiety and frustration? What’s your level of uniqueness? Find that all out right here.” Right off the bat I am annoyed. This perpetuates the stereotype that bipolar is sudden changes in mood. Going from happy to sad and back in a second. Unless you have extremely rapid-cycling bipolar, this is very unlikely. Bipolar is experienced in episodes. Generally meaning they have to last at least a few days. Although I do have little spikes of bipolar feelings, they aren’t full episodes and are mostly just annoying.

And for anxiety and frustration, yeah those can happen. I have anxiety that is sometimes correlated with my bipolar. But bipolar itself doesn’t specify that you need to have anxiety. Additionally, “frustration?” Really? Who doesn’t experience that? And lastly- “What’s your level of uniqueness?” That makes me want to hit my face on my keyboard. Being bipolar is unique in a sense, because a small amount of the population experiences it. But in this context it is taken in a positive way. In the United States we have a culture where individualism and self-expression is very important. If you’re unique, then it’s usually considered a good thing. But as far as I’m concerned, bipolar is not a good thing.

And then, of course, it adds that this should be used as a diagnostic test. And I’ll explain later why that really doesn’t matter.
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Loser Who Thinks Too Much

square844Both those terms have been used to describe me. An insult just doesn’t stab, it leaves a wound — not a scar, but a bleeding dripping lesion that comes to you in your worst depressions and sometimes — like now — when you are feeling just fine. I am a loser because I have not worked since I was 33 and do not have kids. I did not make a million in Silicon Valley and no one buys my photography or my writing (which I haven’t tried to sell in a long time.) Never mind that I have been married 27 years to the same woman, never hit or threatened to hit her or called her a vile name. I am a loser, a pariah.

The isolation of bipolar disorder is hell, but the isolation of my personality is worse. When I take tests such as the Myer’s Brigg, I keep scoring in the rarest categories. Less than 1% of people out there share my characteristics. We wander around, seldom meeting each other. The way we see the world, the things we strive for just aren’t appreciated or discerned by the rest of you out there. You come onto my blog, read my accounts of my illness or other aspects of my life and you don’t get me. I am a cipher, a shadow on the wall swept by the wind, a curiosity that cannot be. I, like others of my kind, feel alone. No wonder so many of us end up in monasteries or convents.

An article from a 2010 issue of The Guardian cites a pundit who believes that the InterNet has destroyed our ability to think deeply. All the shallowness of our political talk, our inability to concentrate works of art that encourage us to probe our minds, the simplistic and self-serving grasp of religion — those things I believe have always been there. InterNet debates are only emblems of a longtime tendency for their participants to refuse to engage with people who disagree with them, to damn new ideas with oversimplifications and patronization, to mock differences. People have always told me that I think too much, even educated people. They twisted the gifts of my mind into a curse. So I hide from them. I do not speak of my cogitations in any place other than here. Yes, I pretend to be something that I am not, but what am I supposed to do when I am so alone and the mass of human beings cannot and will not trouble to understand me?

Bipolar disorder with its wild antics and chilling depressions hogtied me for the longest time. I’ve come out as a new person, but the rest of you remain the same. Freak is how you thought of me when the disease ran my thoughts and freak is how you think of me now that I am in my right mind. Was it worth it?