How is it only Tuesday?

On Monday, I started a partial hospitalization program, an intensive program for people struggling with severe mental illness, meeting for 5 groups a day, Monday to Friday.

It's added a lot of structure to my schedule, since I now wake up at 8 or 8:30am, like I would for work. The days feel longer, and the last 24 hours have been overwhelming, grueling, torturous, yet hopefully beneficial for my longer term recovery.

Yesterday, my program psychiatrist made a huge med change, removing all but 1 of my 5 meds from my medication list. He's keeping a close eye on me, and we're meeting twice this week. But I got no more than 1 hour of sleep last night if you sum up the 5 minute intervals I was actually out last night. This morning, I got out of bed early, having given up on the idea of continuing to try to sleep. I had a nice breakfast of hash browns and eggs that I nearly threw up due to anxiety and nausea, and I bade goodbye to my roommate, who said "have fun today."

I laughed, "I doubt it's going to be fun." I don't think she realizes what these groups are like. It's not like we're painting and coloring and chit chatting for 6 hours a day. We get 1 hour of breaks, spread between 30 minute lunch and 10-15 minute breaks between groups. And for the remaining 5 hours, we're talking about past suicide attempts, difficult relationships with family members, struggles with substance use, traumas growing up, and the way we feel about the stigma around mental health. It's far from a walk in the park, and it was especially difficult today on an hour of sleep.

Everything takes so much effort, including getting to the program in the morning. The commute was overwhelming this morning, pushing through crowds of bankers and office workers wearing their button downs and dress shoes. I had my cap on, and I was trying so hard to avoid running into people I knew and had my head tilted so far down I ran into people walking the other direction. It was packed with people who had purpose in their lives, unlike me.

I want to give up, just go to the subway and call it a life, like people call it a day when they've had a long, rough one and want to throw in the towel.

I hate that this is where I am. I wish I could be working like I should be. I wish I could stop constantly escaping through thoughts of suicide. I want myself to want to look forward to the future, to want kids, to believe that I'll still be around in 10 years' time.