Well… I cut, not bad but I did. I’ve been isolating myself through music and my mood has been all over the place. I couldn’t get the thought out of my head that if I cut I’d be better. So I did it to prove myself wrong. Well I was wrong. I like it a lot. If I do it again in the next week I violate my crisis plan and my husband calls my therapist and psychiatrist. I do plan on telling my therapist and psychiatrist but I don’t want it to be on the phone. I don’t want them to mention Intensive Outpatient or hospitalization. I don’t know what I want. I want to feel better. I want good mania, not this sucky-ness.

I went to co-op today, so I wouldn’t hurt myself or get paranoid, well that went well. Most of the day I was fighting the urge not to tell people to “go fuck off”. Even after dinner in the parking lot I thought I was being followed and going to be mugged. I refuse to be alone for the section 8 inspection because they may hurt me. So now my husband has to cancel his therapist appointment to be here. He doesn’t go to therapy without me anyway. I think I’d worry what he was plotting if he did go alone. My paranoia is strong. I called the receptionist and got an appointment to see my therapist again in two weeks. So I’m no longer waiting a month just 2 weeks.

 I still have the feelings of bugs on me and kicked in the chest. The sooner I accept these feelings are forever the better off I am.

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