Incentives for the Insane

Yesterday, when John and I were lost while going to yard sales, we were both extremely stressed. So much so that I took at least 4 clonazepam because I was making the situation worse whenever I interrupted and suggested an alternative route. I pretty much sedated myself. 

John left to either call David or get money. I don't remember. I think I got money and he called David. At some point (maybe not during the time I described) when he wasn't in the car I wrote what I was going to put in my diary the next day. John noticed. I asked him if he wanted to hear it then, or read it later in my diary. He wanted to hear it then. This is what I wrote:

Sometimes I want to take a knife and rip myself from stem to stern.  As my guts would fall out, maybe so would the pain.

Sometimes I want to take a knife and pull back my flesh which burns underneath, but never penetrates the surface. Maybe that's why I cut myself that time or burned my hands with a cigarette. Perhaps I hoped the pain would ooze out with the blood. But, then the pain from the destruction heals and traps the pain back inside.

Well, John freaked. He didn't know about the cigarettes. We had an argument because he was going to tell David - which I didn't want him to do. I agreed that if the shoe were on the other foot, I would do the same. I tried to explain to him what the pain felt like. I was impetuous and shouldn't have told him. I think another fight occurred that I should tell him these things. I don't know. It was horrible when we got back home - missing all of the yard sales because we couldn't find them.

Another "intervention" took place. They came up with 6 things I had to do:

1. Stop talking about the depression. This comes from some psycho-babble that you can talk yourself out of it and talk yourself into someone happier.

2. Stop drinking during the day - only on social occasions.

3. Cut back on the clonazepam.

4. Don't hurt myself.

5. Set a schedule and stick with it.

6. Do things I hate to do, like mopping or doing the dishes.

Now, who do I talk to when the pain gets so bad? They were my life preservers. My therapist won't even call me back. I am so alone. That night I was so anxious when I woke up, I took a clonazepam right away.

And some of these things don't make any sense. When the pain gets bad while I'm working on Ebay, I'll do crafts until the pain subsides. Why do I need to do that? And why should I do things I hate to do? It makes no sense.

We talked about incentives which worked before. If I stick to my deal, the first week I can buy this clock I want at Target. Second week, the Chuck Taylor's with the flames. I feel so childish asking for incentives. But, how do I keep myself from surviving the pain without one? I remember even as a little child I wanted to commit suicide. I would tell myself, "Hold on until Xmas. Then you will get presents."

I guess I will talk in this diary if I need the words to come out. What else can I do?