Psychosis and delusion... all in one week.

I've always had in mind that self-harm is more than intentional physical injury, so please note that when reading what I have to say.

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I had a psychosis last week. It almost made me hurt myself with the same pens I use to journal and write down everything that comes to mind and happens through the day. Yes, those same bold and brash pens. Even one page in my gaming journal got overwhelmed with scribbles because it was just too much. I was yelling. Crying. Panting. Isolated.

Everything because of a videogame I've loved since launch day (9 years ago); I keep telling myself that there's no wrong on admitting it has no future (despite getting updated last year with graphic enhancements), but I can't trust the community either. In fact, they rejected me just for being myself. I was even banned from its three art sub-communities. I was too much for them, sure, but they left so much for me to load on my back.
Speaking of which, for two nights in a row, I had a panic attack and experienced delirium. Last thing I remember from the latter, I was dining Oreos. Then... I detached from reality and my own consciousness, waking up to a late night bathroom trip with no idea of what happened before bed.

Before now, I underwent 11 months of a mental health crisis, and I had used 7 Cups (under a different alias) to supposedly cope, but ALSO during a crisis, I had deleted my old account. I remember when I threw a tantrum out of nowhere and accidentally hurt myself with a notebook spring. However, I have not exposed myself to intentional physical self-harm. 
The crisis began around these days, last year, when I traveled to Europe (from Amsterdam to London, including Frankfurt and Paris); by day, I was having my fun, taking pictures, and respecting the locals; in return, they were welcoming. But, by night, at the hotels, I broke down into tears. Returning home, my war against suicide started. It did not worsen until this year, when my school performance dropped for two periods; there were days in which I couldn't even be productive. I tried brushing it off because I'm not the only one who's failed at least once; fortunately, I saved my subjects on the final days, and I'm recovering my steam right now.

I did call my country's helpline, but it was useless; in addition to my experience, many folks out there had several (and severe) issues with it, including it redirecting to something completely different. I couldn't even say anything. I never went to therapy. I never told my family. I don't have time for friends, just like they would never have time for me.

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And yet I won the war. Alone. It hurt. It made me tearful. It scarred my mind. It's still sending its soldiers to continue hurting me, through panic, isolation, delusion, psychosis, and maybe even amnesia. It looks like I get my 7.5 hours of sleep, but I can't rest. Since the battle is making me hungrier, I might end up gaining more weight, over the weight I gained during the crisis.

For this, however, I'm already fighting back by exercising, even if it's just deep stretching; since the delirium, I'm going to do what I can to avoid refined sweets, even though there are M&M's in my trail mix bags, and I'm also eating dark chocolate bites with 70% cocoa; after a blood test from not too long ago, part of the reason I'm feeling close to mental self-harm habits comes from iron deficiency, which has affected my energy and memory. It's probably why I can't remember anything about the delirium.

I'm just afraid it's going to happen again. I don't have a safety plan, no one IRL to talk to, no manner of transport, no window of opportunity, and, just like I said, my journaling tools can also become weapons against my integrity, and I heavily distrust helplines. An autistic mind like mine has no margin for generic advice, grounding techniques, or deep breathing. 

Let alone, when I'm doing my social service at a kindergarten and dedicate focus sessions to homework, either at home or my school's library...