Today I start at the Columbia University Day Treatment Program, I'm not sure what group I'm going to first, but in the afternoon I'll be going to an anxiety management group I think. Or that might be starting next week. I got a phone call yesterday that outlined the rough treatment schedule but it was too confusing to follow, since I think they wanted to get me in early and then stabilize the schedule as groups become available over the next two weeks.
I'll be going five days a week, which is a lot. Like, a lot a lot. But that might be good; structure can be.
Yesterday I went to my first drawing studio class of the semester, Advanced Life Drawing. It looks like it will be great, but I couldn't handle it, I dissociated and derealized hardcore when the male nude came out at around 7:30. The class runs from 3-9, so it's going to be tough staying .. well, together, for that entire time. Seeing the male nude model triggered my derealization after having spent the entire class prior to that one foot out the door just trying to convince myself it was worth staying instead of just freaking out. Gaffney, the professor, saw me staring vacantly at the model - I had sort of hyperfocused in on the guy's leg, which had these bizarre muscle movements going on since he was holding a tough 5 minute pose - and he said I could take a break if I wanted, so I did and I sat in the bathroom for a few minutes before coming back and trying to draw again. It was very strange to draw in that state, none of it mattered, I just made lines and didn't care about them at all, didn't care if it was nowhere near accurate. I stopped lifting the pencil when I finished making marks. After a few minutes I stopped even looking at the paper or the model, I don't know what I was even looking at. I just doodled with my eyes unfocused until the model broke pose and I packed up and snuck out of class an hour early.
Today, depending on my Columbia schedule, I may be late for animation class. I don't really care, but Marty, the prof, seems to be a little unsure of himself and I don't want him to think I'm blowing it off. If I'm late it's because of an anxiety management group, which to me seems far more important. I plan to talk to him about maybe working it out so every other week I'm an hour and a half late. It's another six hour class, it shouldn't matter that much.
Those are the only two classes I'm taking this semester, and I'm glad, because I don't think I could handle much more. I'm really, really unstable. It's so awkward to accept that I am at all mentally ill, but a century ago I know I would have been placed in a hysterical women's ward under lock and key. I got close to that when they brought me to bellvue, which was the first time I got to try out handcuffs. What I remember of them wasn't so great, which is too bad. I've always been curious what they'd be like with sex, but the thought of it totally freaks me out now.
That reminds me. Last night I had this song stuck in my head after I left class. It's funny to me now, but last night 'stop freaking out' was like a voice on repeat in my head and I kept trying to change it to something more soothing like, "it's okay" or "calm down" or "bejuyfhakjhdsskjkasfkj" sorry, just started mashing keys there. I hate having to deal with this. If I could just drink it would be so much easier to deal with.