What ‘social’ clubs even exist anymore? To get out of the house when can’t work, can’t volunteer, and no third spaces near by // a vent / rant

FountainHouse denied me. VentureHouse denied me. I’m being ‘graduated’ from PathwayHome (aka kicking me out) and because they haven’t been able to push me to another program because a borderline personality disorder diagnosis is just ‘too much’ for any club / drop in club.

“What about a skateboarding club?”

With peace and love, I’m not paying to skateboard for 2-5 minutes before my body physically cannot anymore.

I don’t have money to just spend on courses :/ I did a writing course once (paid for by someone else, but it was like $600. For 8 days over 8 weeks….

The only other options for me are more mediocre therapy from an incompetent therapist (last one was even worse, one before even worse like falling asleep during sessions or calling in while driving to traffic court bad), medications that don’t work (treatment resistant), insurance denying me everything and denying all my appeals, and bloodwork for said medications which … I just can’t tolerate anymore.

Bellevue had collapsed all of the veins in my left arm in less than a month during a psych stay which turned into a cardiology stay (long story). I went from hearing about how beautiful my veins are to now they can’t find any of them and have to use my right arm.

I will sooner let them draw blood from my right eye before I willingly let anyone put an IV or needle in my right arm / hand. Last time Weill Cornell did and promised not to leave a bruise, my hand was swollen and bruised for 2 weeks (: as someone whose hobbies rely on having functional hands (“writing”, “drawing”, complaining in my journals about how much I hate being alive, using a computer mouse, and fingerboarding) and who absolutely hates passive activity and hobbies (movies and tv), it was a miserable 2 weeks because I just risked injuring myself by pushing through the pain because I was not about to force myself to have a movie marathon. I can’t. That sounds like torture. I’m bored and waiting for the movie to end so I can go home 2-5 minutes after sitting down at the cinema and I’ve just walked out and not even bothered asking for a refund/raincheck because I couldn’t fathom having to sit there for 2-3 hours.

(I can’t see well out of my right eye so idrc about it. I’m more concerned with my left eye.)

I’ve threatened making inpatient court order me to get blood work done. They’ve never called my bluff yet which means I just went inpatient and they never drew blood.

I have nobody to go with me for blood draws and I have no way to destress after bloodwork so I just stay angry about it for 3-10 weeks after (but my favorite part is nobody knows so they literally do not give a fucking shit.)

See when you’re loud about your distress, it’s often seen as abusive and you never get help.

If you’re quiet about your distress (but talk about it and ask for help, if you’re not acting like a crazy violent and aggressive person I guess, your anger isn’t seen as real because it’s not effecting them).

I don’t have the energy to lash out for no reason even if I’m pissed about literally everything that happened for the past month.

So many times in this respite home, I’ve warned them I’m likely gonna bug out.

Them: you say that and you never do.

And it’s like yes the f I do. You don’t see it. You don’t see that I’m looking like Alex Jones in his seat on InfoWars jumping around doing fucking gymnastics, screaming, spitting, shitting, pissing, turning bright red, bouncing off the inside of my skull. That’s how extreme the analogy is (the analogy ends at the animation of that pig, I mean man. Morals and values are vastly different thankfully. 😭😭)

But like yes I do. Everyday. Constantly. I have a migraine most of the time because I’m just so angry every single day.

Literally what else exists outside of the same old therapy that cancels last minute and is just: r u feeling the same ? Dam that sux. See u next week maybe :3

I can literally only afford the therapists and psych that have a co pay of $0. I can’t even afford sliding scale and that’s ON disability (SSI). I don’t get the full amount cos they think mom should pay for everything for me.

All of the hobby groups that exist are so expensive and so far away (I’m currently stuck on Stranded Island in NYC. Hardly NYC. Even getting around Staten may lead to 3-4 bus transfers and a 2-3 hour commute one way. And getting into the city would be about $8 one way (can take up to 3 hours for the bus to show up but it’s an hour or so to get to the financial district traffic crawl. 3 hours is the longest I’ve waited) or to get into Brooklyn (Bay Ridge) in 30-60 minutes.

The other 2 options being thrown at me are PHP and IOP.
I did PHP before. At Mount Sinai. We weren’t allowed to talk between groups (fine) but ‘talking’ also meant if staff passed by and saw you looking up at someone because they coughed or moved suddenly and broke the dead silence as = both of you are talking. That’s a warning for both of you.

They’d scream at us everyday. It was a mess. I learned nothing. I got zero coping skills. I did learn that one woman has an anxiety of the passing of time. Cool. We never went over skills or anything.

Cost me $14.90 everyday to get there to be told how it’s maybe not a good fit and to just go home and >!kms if I want to so badly and that they wont stop me!<. I was told this twice. Once by the med provider and once by my one - one therapist during my time during PHP.

I’d go home feeling even more angry and then I’d just smoke weed (wasn’t supposed to during the group, but it was that or I was genuinely going to max out my credit cards, destroy my computer, break all of my stuff, and do something stupid). Or I’d spend hours and hours and hours with the most pointless chats with 988 and 741741 because there’s nothing I can do to destress and decompress after PHP or therapy pisses me off.

I can’t do PHP again. Not only that, but I had 3 options for food.

1. The food there that I didn’t like. So no.
2. Over priced sandwich or pizza and coffee. Can’t afford that. No. EBT won’t cover hot food. Deli is weird about cold sandwiches and EBT. The only ones that they say are EBT there are the prepackaged ones. Can’t eat those. It always has an ingredient I cannot eat. They can’t just do a simple 2 ingredient sandwich. Instead of turkey and tomato. It’ll be turkey, tomato, bacon, arugula, red onion, mustard, and fucking goat cheese. Instead of a ham and cheese it’s ham, cheese, feta cheese, blue cheese, and spinach, and crushed pecan. (Bacon, red onion, mustard, mustard, and allergic to pecan) because artsy. The sandwiches you order at the counter from them are not applicable apparently.
3. Box of dry Cheerios and a bottle of water because thats what EBT covers. Or a candy bar. Wow. Amazing.

If I didn’t have food poisoning as a kid from a ham, cheese, and pepperoni sandwich on a school trip while in a different state, I’d make my own sandwiches and take them with me, but mushy sandwiches would likely just be tossed when I’m outside and it’d go to waste.

Or more of nothing but trying to keep busy, bored, nothing clicks, therapy once a week if my therapist doesn’t cancel last minute and forget to reschedule until I text them saying hey?

And the same 10 meds I’ve trialed that haven’t even given me withdrawal effects or side effects or symptoms. Which means blood work for those same 10 meds again.

I’m at the point where I’m just not gonna get a physical done this year if I have to get labs for a psych. They can group them together and do all the tubes at once for everything.

Can’t they just stick it in my ass check or my hip or my waist or anywhere that isn’t my right arm/hand if my left arm is really so impossible?

As a kid I turned into spider-kid when it came to blood draws. I’d somehow stick to the wall and would scale up it and they could not pull me off the wall. It would take my mom, brother, nurse, the receptionist, and a bribe to hold me down so the phlebologist could draw blood. And I’d still fight tooth and nail because no bribe was worth it.

Them: “Don’t look.”

Me: absolutely not. You’re taking too long to just get it over with so I need to know absolutely everything. If I’m not looking and seeing where and when to expect the needle, good luck not snapping it in my arm when my muscle inevitably twitches and good luck dodging the blood squirt. (Every. Single. Time. I always manage to spray them or the wall with blood because it always shoots out of the vein.)