Things have changed in the very short time between the last time I posted and now. Things are almost unbearable, and the idea of being in the real world for potentially another full week feels impossible. Because of that, tomorrow will most likely be the day that I begin this intensive treatment. Our insurance still has to go through a complicated process in order for me to go to the trauma disorders unit that will facilitate much of my stay, so until that can be completed, I will most likely be headed to another psych ward to wait for that to be all clear. I will then be transferred to the program in Maryland.
I’ve gotten a lot of inquiries about whether or not I will be able to receive mail. Honestly, I don’t know if mail can be sent directly to the trauma unit, and I don’t know where I will be going before then. To make it easier for everyone, my mom and I have created a gmail account that she will be in control of. If you wish to send me a letter or message, feel free to shoot an email to that account, and my mom will be able to print those messages out and bring them to me when she visits.
That account is LettersToJocelyn@gmail.com
Thank you to everyone who has read my blogs in recent weeks, and a special thanks to all of you that so compassionately reached out to me during my continued time of need.
I know that eventually, the goal is for me to recover for myself. But until I get to that point, I’m doing this for all of you.
“They say that if you really want to kill yourself, no one can stop you. There are too many ways to do it. You can jump off a bridge or a building. You can hang yourself. You can crash a car or slit your wrists or swim out really far into the ocean until you drown. Sometimes I wonder why I’m not dead, if I really wanted to kill myself.”
This exactly what I ponder as I sit here fighting tears. Why am I still here? Why am I not dead? How much could I possibly want to die if I’m still around?
Especially now as things continue to get worse and my admission date to the hospital continues to be pushed back, this question echoes in my mind. Now we’re looking at early to the middle of next week by the time insurance will be in order. Another full week. The longer it takes, the more hopeless and desperate I become. Desperate for death, desperate for anything other than this. I know that I need help right now. I know my odds. It’s not likely that I’ll make it much longer like this. I don’t have any idea what to do.
There are two ways that offer me the option of leaving right now. One, is suicide. Two, is treatment. I feel like I only have two options. I will either die or go to a hospital. Ironically, living like you’re going into treatment is very similar to living like you want to die.
You see, there are two ways to live like you want to die. In Option A, you do reckless things like driving drunk or having unprotected sex with strangers or shooting heroin. That’s not what I’m going to be referring to, so if that’s what you came for, sorry. I’m not about that life. I’m more about Option B. In Option B, you do things like hugging your friends and family more often or saying goodbye or giving people things or hanging out with people for the last time. This is because there’s hope. Yes, there is hope in wanting to die. There’s hope in an escape. There’s hope in the idea that maybe the next time I try to cross the street, a car will come. There’s hope that maybe today will be the day that I cut too deep. But most importantly, there’s hope that when I’m gone, things will be okay.
I am in the bizarre position of knowing that I’m about to go to inpatient. This provides the equally unique opportunity for me to “get my affairs in order”. This is pretty much the same as getting things in order when you want to die. You give everyone hugs, you say goodbye to people, you exchange things with people to remind you of each other, you hang out with people for the “last time”. There’s also hope in going to treatment, even though I can’t see it a lot of the time. There’s hope that maybe this place will really help me. There’s hope that I’ll get connected with wonderful people. And most importantly, there’s hope that when I’m gone, things will be okay.
Living like you’re leaving puts a lot of things into perspective. It helps you realize who would do anything for you, who you’re going to miss the most, and who to use as your inspirations.
This picture basically encompasses the difference between my twin brother and me. What’s going on here is Joey displaying the first official paycheck he’s ever gotten, and me displaying the first official pomegranate I’ve ever eaten. Get the idea? He’s a successful, productive member of society and I’m, well, me. If you need more evidence of this, another example would be our travels in 2012. I went to Massachusetts and spent five weeks at McLean, a psychiatric hospital. That same year, Joey toured Ireland, Wales, England, France, Belgium, and the Netherlands for three weeks with a student ambassador group.
Recently the extreme difference between us has been illuminated. You see, Joey is a senior this year. I am a junior. I will be sitting in the crowd, watching him walk across the stage at graduation. That’s a few months from now though. Nowadays, Joey is trying to figure out what college to attend, while my mom, therapist, and I have been trying to figure out what psych ward I will go to. He was applying to schools while I was applying to a specialized treatment program. And while he gets accepted to colleges frequently, I’ve been accepted to said mental hospital.
Clearly, we are on very different paths in life. If we were just siblings, it might still matter a little bit, but the fact that we’re twins just enhances the contrast between us. It probably doesn’t bother Joey at all, but I’m on the lower end of our twin spectrum. It sucks. I know that most people aren’t as judgmental of it as me, but I still feel like everyone is comparing the two of us. I know I am. It’s like I am the Solange to his Beyoncé. No matter what I do, I will never catch up to him. Even if I ever get to the point where I’m in the place that he is now, by then he’ll be even farther ahead of me.
I guess in the grand scheme of things, we’re both trying to get our shit together. It’s just that while he’s trying to create a future, I’m trying to survive the present, and while he’s trying to build a life for himself, I’m just trying to live for myself.