I Was Addmitted Not Committed Because I’m Not Crazy


0

As I have struggled over the past few weeks I have been guided to the simple fact that I get a life and personality reset.  A blank slate to build myself, find myself, and who I am.  I can wipe the slate of who I am clean and decide from this point on who I want to be.

I spent a week mostly refusing to leave a bed, unless I was draping myself over a sofa, doing nothing but reading, sleeping and thinking.  There is a lot of thinking that can get done in a week.

During that time I reflected on what I like about myself.  What I like about the corner stones of my life.  What I like about the relationships, family friend and romantic, in my life.  What did I want to keep as is?  What did I want to lose completely?  What did I want to keep but that needed tweaked a little bit to make them healthier and happier for me?

I have this blank slate before me of who I am.  I wiped everything clean.  I immediately pinned back on the things I love.  I love my career and the company my career is with, so clearly I’m keeping that.  I love that I’m caring and giving, so that went back up too.  I’m still not happy with my marriage, so that stays off.  I have a friendship or two that I’m very happy with but that needs some tweaking here and there to make them healthier and happier for all parties involved.  What did I like about the friendships?  Keep!  What did I dislike about them?  Tweak or toss.  BPD traits were really getting in the way.  Interpersonal relationships will always be hard, no matter how stable I become.  Not that I’ve been stable as of late.

I’m listening to myself, my head and heart, as I do this rebuild.  I’m listening to the collective of those in my life.  If the general consensus is that something within myself needs fixed (hey, you  might want to go back on meds) I’m going to listen and take that into account on this rebuild.  Granted, I won’t shape myself to please any one person, but if everyone around me is saying the same damn thing, it’s time to take notice.  Even if it’s just one voice, but they are the authoritative voice, like say my boss and it’s work related, I don’t need to wait for the consensus to join in.  By that point my job is in jeopardy.

I am not the same person that went into the hospital.  I don’t yet fully know who I am, yet, but I’m going to like her.

So, my friend, will you.

1

So on the morning of September the 19th I reported to work at the hour of 7:45 as scheduled.  I helped open the vault, opened drive thru, processed night deposit bags, all as planned.  And I waited patiently until my boss had time to give me at 9.

At 9 I sat my boss down and informed her I was in over my head and needed to seek help, hospitalization, before the end of the day.  The sooner the better, so I wouldn’t change my mind.  I spelled out why, I told her I was so sorry I was abandoning the branch, that I would be back, then made the decision that I was better off not finishing the day.  I was not in the place I needed to be to function as an effective employee.  I sold down my cashbox to zero.  I gave instructions for Sheldon, the ATM I control.  I clocked out at 10AM.

On the way out of the parking lot I called Pat, told him I’d be there within 2 hours, I needed him to drive me to the emergency room and just drop me off.  I drove to mom’s house, packed a bag of clothes and books (let us be honest, mostly books) and then I drove myself to Pat’s house.  Pat and the two youngest kids was ready for me, we piled into the car and he drove me to the ER and as per my instructions and deepest appreciation, he left me there.

I got to the ER at noon and spent 6 hours in the hallway with a minder.  They didn’t have a bed for me and there were a few of us, different reasons, she needed to mind.  Babysit.  I, however, was the good cooperative patient and was allowed both my book and my phone which was against hospital policy but even the shrink who did my intake didn’t see the harm since I was there of my own will and being cooperative.  She even let me fish out the charger and hand it immediately over so when my battery died it could get a fresh charge across the hall, out of my reach.  Which, I mean so much policy was broken there, so I understood the caution around the ease of caution.

6PM I was found a room in the hospital of my choice.  By 8 I was fully admitted, shown my bed, and settled in.  Uh, as much as one can get settled into a psych ward.

I was discharged the following Wednesday the 25th at 1:30.  7 days there including the day at the ER.  It was… Productive.

In those 7 days I read 4.75 books, didn’t attend a single group, and did all I could to self-sooth while meds kicked in.  Naps and books.  Books and naps.  It was effective.

Why did I go?  I was suicidal.  Plan, research, where, when, just needed the tool.  I was working on that.

Step back a bit.

So you may remember I stopped seeing my shrink awhile back, earlier this year.  I was stable, all was good, it was a mutual decision.  Then things spiraled out of control and in the  midst of that I lost my insurance.

So here I was with this mess piled on me.  I have all these amazing coping tools that I was using but it just got to be so heavy and I couldn’t find my way out and I couldn’t find the help I needed.  Not the professional help.  I needed my meds doctor back and I needed my meds back but without insurance and money I didn’t know how to do that.

I knew the office I see her at has government funding but I know the wait-list and the bureaucracy and my head was spinning in circles and I couldn’t see straight and all I could see was that I just wanted it to stop.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stop.  I just wanted it done.  It being me.  My existence.  My pain.  My life.

I knew I needed help but I didn’t know where to turn so I finally decided my best bet was an emergency, short term fix, aka the psych ward, and that they were never going to release me without help on the outside world.  They might even be able to get me back to my established team.

They did.  Oh they beautifully and amazingly did.  Not the in-house shrink, no he’s a pill pushing idiot, but my caseworker got me my team back.  No matter I don’t have insurance, I have history, I was in emergency, I needed my team and I have my team

That alone…  I can breath.  And life can start.

Why?

Pain.  I feel like such a weakling admitting the day-in and day-out pain is getting to me.  I know people, specific person, who has it so very much worse than I.  But we all have our breaking point.  For some it’s how much pain, for others it’s how long.  I was reaching the deadly combo of both.

My hands.  I’m losing my fine motor skills.  All of them.  Some days are better than others but I can’t grasp, I can’t manipulate fine tools, like you know, pens.  Rock bottom there hit around the time I dropped my camera.  I destroyed my portrait lens and I may have damaged the camera itself.  I don’t know.  I’ve tested it, but I don’t yet have the heart to look at the test results.

I walked out on my marriage and my family.  And while I do not regret ending my marriage, the pain I suffer over the kids staying with him, however right that decision may have been, is suffocating.  I’m also struggling with the fact I broke his heart.  I can’t rule my life by his heart but he is still… Patrick.

I’m also not sleeping.  Still, even after the hospital.  At least not at night.  The Cymbalta knocked me out during the day while there.  I’m working on the sleep thing but it’s so very hard to function on no sleep.  It turns molehills into mountains, and my mountains into the Himalayas.

So I’m out now.  And while I’m not yet awesome, I’m within sight of the light at the end of the tunnel.  I have hope and a plan.  A life plan.  I hit rock bottom.  But after a week in the psych ward I’m ready, finally, to find myself and build who I want to be post rock bottom.  With so many life changes in the works, I’m at a blank slate of who I want to be as I approach 30 and look to the next decade.  I can decide who I am, who I want to be, what I want in life, and how I want to get there.

And I’m finally ready to start building.

4

1. Not having to choose between scalding and freezing water when showering.  Seriously, they want you showering daily as a sign of mental competence, but the water does not recognize that warm is an option.  I even love hot showers.  Really hot showers.  This was burning.

2. Bath towels larger than a hand towel.  I get it.  I really do.  But with no real privacy from the roommate and checks to make sure you aren’t hanging yourself with said bath towels ever 15 minutes, being able to wrap myself in a towel and have it cover more than a single boob would have been nice.  Luckily I was allowed to be brought my bathrobe.  Had to leave the belt at home.  Obviously.

3. Unlimited pop, not a single tea bag in sight.  We Americans have such fucked up priorities.  I got funny looks for requesting bottles of water.  They use those for giving out meds.  I informed them I use them to stay healthy, which was supposed to be a mutual and primary goal.  If you can’t be sassy in a psych ward, you can’t be sassy anywhere.  That might be why this stay was longer than any of my others, in retrospect.

4. Not waking up every morning to the sound of the gentleman in the next room over hollering at the top of his lungs about everything he could think to holler about, or threaten over.  My favorite was when he woke the entire ward screaming about how rude it was they banged his door open on the 8AM check, waking him up from restful sleep.  Can’t make this shit up.  Earplugs were provided to any and all.  We shared a common wall though and ear plugs can only do so much.,

5. 3AM snack raids to a kitchen with unlimited snacks.  It’s a bloody shame orange sherbet only tastes that good inside a psych ward.  I mean, yes it’s good on the outside but not this is the only thing I actually enjoy about this place, good.

6. Ladies, I don’t care how annoying shaving can be, but trying going a week without it no choice.  M’kay?

7. Q-Tips.  Shut up, I use at least a half-dozen of them a day.  I have issues, we know this.  What’s your excuse?  Not you, you have issues too, the other you.  But apparently despite the fact I had some in my purse, because the package outright says they are not to be used in ears, I was not allowed to have access. Liability and all.  I seriously considered asking someone to smuggle some in to me.  And then I realized how insane that would sound.  Then I realized where I was and what great company I was in.

8. My dad may be schizophrenic but he doesn’t think he’s the messiah.  That probably sounds really mean but well… perspective.  I got some.

9. How amazing my real world shrink is.  Oh yes, we all know I adore her.  She listens to me, works with me, and consistently values my input and feedback on my treatment.  See, I’m annoyingly informed and intelligent.  A shrink can see this as an advantage, a tool to be used which I gladly offer up.  Or a shrink can decide they know best because they are the doctor no matter how intelligent my assessment is.  What do I know, it’s only my history and mind.  Let me demonstrate.  This is not, and I repeat NOT an exaggeration.

Shrink: I want to put you on Lamictal

Me: Why?  I’m allergic to Lamictal and Cymbalta has always worked amazingly for me

Shrink: Yes but the allergy might not happen (It doesn’t always, it’s hit and miss but can be deadly when it hits) and Lamictal won’t kill your sex drive

Me: … I’m going through a divorce.  I don’t need a sex drive…

Shrink: Well it won’t make you gain weight either

Me: Yeah… I’m going through a divorce, I don’t give a fuck how I look.

Shrink: …

Me: Know what, consult (my real world shrink) and get back to me. I’m not going anywhere.

That night I started a 20mg dose of Cymbalta.

10. I’m nowhere near as crazy as I think.  And neither are you.  Oh, and depression lies.

 

Look, depression really does lie.  It always gets better.  It takes work work more work, support, sometimes meds, then a little (lot) more work, but it always gets better.  Please get help if you need it!

 

 

1

#1 best thing about moving into an actual house in a month?  When I hear random stomping, pounding, banging, etc I will know 100% for sure it’s coming from my house and not the house connected to me house.  Currently listening to what sounds like a cat running back and forward above me.  There is not a single cat inside this house.  So it’s something involving the neighbors and that shit echos bad.  Sometimes I swear this place is haunted.

For my 14th wedding anniversary, I want a year of dance lessons, with Pat, so that on our 15th anniversary, when we renew our vows (was going to be 10th, but we want Sammy older) we can do our equivalent of the following.

There is now a possibility he is considering a divorce lawyer, but he’ll get over it. 10 years we’ve been together and not once have we danced. 28 years I’ve been alive, and I’ve never (seriously) danced. We’re going big. Suck-it, bitch!  (Yes Pat, you’re the bitch in reference.)

I was only vaguely aware he existed before today (I don’t watch tv, sorry) but suddenly I really like Jon Hamm.  He is a man who deserves respect.

I was planning to vote Libertarian, this coming election.  Because mainstream politics are starting to annoy the hell out of me, and this way no matter who won, I would have voted against them.  Granted, I like Obama. A lot, even.  But the nation refuses to give him a Congress that will work with him.  And I really like Gary Johnson and most all he stands for, though I don’t honestly expect him to win.  Then Obama pulled out this:

Do I think any Congress will let it be federally passed?  Not really.  Do I think future presidents will let it remain even if it does?  Not really.   But I think he has a better chance with this than Johnson has of winning the election, and well, this is a big one for me.  Even with Johnson supporting it, the Republicans flat out don’t, so I’m going to vote for the stronger of the 2 who do, even though he isn’t my first choice over all.   I will even go through the process of legally being able to wed others to those they love, if this gets passed, just to be one more person against a shortage of those willing to do this.  Because you know many who can, will refuse.

Today, as I was telling my best friend Stacy, the plans for when I leave this world, it really sunk in how well my husband knows me.  First off, I’ve shared I’m going to be turned into a tree, but I hadn’t picked out one yet.  Pat has told me he’d have me become a Ginkgo Biloba tree because they let loose stink bombs and it’s very fitting of me.  My next question was, where should I be planted?  He’s decided the nook right outside the sitting room window of the first mental hospital I had a stay in, where he and Willy made me snow angles while waiting for visiting hours post blizzard, would be the perfect spot.  Yes, I quit agree it is rather fitting for me to spend my next life as a tree on the grounds of a mental health facility.  Then the life insurance from my work?  It’s 10 times what’s needed to ash and plant me.  So while my main insurance plan will be for securing my family’s future, the remainders of the work policy will finance an epic D&D game, that will be my wake, where everyone has to play an awakened monkey in my honor. (Think an actual monkey, that has the brain and speech ability of a human, but the impulse control and self discipline of the monkey.  So basically, me, only hairy and with a tail.  Bells of all sorts will be standard issue.)  This plan almost makes me want to be the first to go, many many many decades from now mind you, just so all this can happen.  If that isn’t the case, well the plan will be in my will and I will haunt all 3 of my kids and any grand kids if they drop the ball.  Oh!  And the number #1 gaming snack combo for this game will be blue (and only blue, you can special order those) M&M’s and Mt Dew.  Be there or be square!

Finally, and this is a tack on oh hey, though how that happened I’m not sure: A few weeks ago I filled out the application and sent in the money to the Columbus Bar Association to become a Notary Public.  The application has been approved and a study guide has been sent.  Now I have 90 days to pass a test with the Bar.  Once that is complete, I have another wait for results and then I get a nifty official stamp.  Once I have that thumbs up from the bar, I get to go to city hall and be sworn in by a judge.  Then I’m all official!  It’s something uber useful I can do now (well, by the end of summer) for my current job, but long run it’s really nice on the resume for future positions.  Also, I’ve seen the stamp in action and it even sounds official.

2

I’ve had snippets of thought run through my head on what I could possibly say to really get across what I’m thinking and feeling.  But nothing seems to come close.

I’ve been married for 9 years.  That’s almost 1/3 of my entire life.  Really, mostly all of my adult life.

9 years.

There are people who can’t even make it a year.  Or a month.  Or a week.

Pat and I, as messed up as we are individually and even at times, many times, together, have outlast couples far more stable than us.  Perhaps the glue that holds us together is the understanding that no one else would put up with the shit we put up with?

Or maybe it’s the mutual understanding that no one, NO ONE, can get me like my husband does, and I’d like to think I do a pretty damn good job of getting him too.

9 years.

9 years and he still loves me.  It isn’t just what he says.  It’s what he does.

Like doing his damnedest to make my poor, decrepit desk chair usable.  I didn’t ask.  He just figured out a way to “fix” it and did it.

The way he encourages me to start watching Dr Who knowing full well he’ll lose his wife to the telly for a month (at least) but also knows I’ll love it and it’s worth it.  Plus, it’s something we can share.  After he loses me to the telly for a month (at least) while I catch up.

Plunging the toilet almost every time I use it even if nothing more than just pee is being flushed.  I’m fairly sure our toilet downstairs hates me, but thank god my husband loves me.  And can use a plunger.  It’s basically a requirement for being married to me, really.

The fact I’ve carried and birthed 3 babies now and things, uh, don’t exactly work the proper fashion anymore.  But he’s patient, understanding, and willing to accept the fact he’s partially to blame anyway because he is the one who knocked me up, after all.

He’s seen me through 2 mental health hospitalizations and was able to keep me laughing the one time with the Ativan that made me out-of-it.  You had to have been there.  You weren’t.  It was just me and Pat.  And the lesbian nurse who had the hots for me that Pat swears up and down wasn’t a figment of his imagination, leaving me to question just which one of us was on the Ativan.

Hell, Pat literally saved my life that one time I was carrying furniture up a flight of stairs, hit the wall at the top, got pushed back down the stairs with the furniture riding me the whole way down.  Only a few more steps and my neck would have snapped like a twig, but he caught me.

He humours my love of my final course at Mongolian BBQ being a plate of nothing but pineapple and Teriyaki sauce.  Then started to make it for me at home because it’s so much cheaper than going to BD’s for just pineapple and Teriyaki sauce.  (I always have a couple of plates of real food to get my money’s worth, but I’m not going to lie about my real reason for wanting to go.)

He laughs at my biggest fear (of being locked int he vault at work overnight) because really if he doesn’t laugh, that’s because he thinks it’s plausible and the only way I’ll be able to enter said vault is if I don’t think my fear is rational.  Even though it totally is.  Clearly.

9 years of putting up with my shit.  Literally.  And I will never stop being thankful.

9 years.

No really!  I’ve been married for 9 years!

Not that long ago I was asked on twitter how my husband copes with my destructive behavior.  My husband pointed out that he’d let me/them know when he figured out how.

And yet?  9 years.

0

Day one hospital:
1 orange sherbet lunch
2 orange sherbet dinner

Day two hospital:
2 orange sherbet lunch
4 orange sherbet dinner*

Day three hospital:
2 orange sherbet breakfast
2 orange sherbet lunch
2 orange sherbet dinner

I had a thing for orange sherbet.

*Bella and Rya had both ordered orange sherbet because I recommended it so highly they both took one bite and didn’t want or like it. So I ended up with theirs and mine.

There was of course other food eaten, not just orange sherbet. BUT had I had another meal there I was going to order 10 for the next breakfast and nothing else. Just to see what would happen.

That was one of our games, ordering random stuff and lots of stuff to see if we’d get it. Hey, you take whatever kicks you can in the psych ward.

1

I need to thank the people who came to visit me in the hospital.

Pat and mom go without saying. Both made their support known loud and clear.

Brenda I had the feeling would be there if I wanted her. As soon as I made it known I did, she made the trek up to see me. Time and time again Brenda proves why she’s my second mom.

Jen came as a surprise. I wasn’t aware she read my blog, so the fact she found out I was in the hospital from it was unexpected. But she walked into that emergency room and ended up being there when I needed someone the most. She has been my friend since I was Thomas’ age and I’m glad nothing could change that.

While I’m at it though, I need to draw attention to 2 friends I made while in the hospital; Bella and Riah.

Riah and I are a lot alike and I think we’ll have a good friendship.

Bella. Bella. Bella. Have you ever met someone and gone “Oh Shit! this person is going to change and shape my life!”? Bella is more informed on mental illness than me. I learned probably more from her in those 4 days than I did the nurses. Some of the things she said are now key phrases to explain my existence. To top it off we enjoy hanging out and talking. I realize my mind has made her pure white. I’m just praying she doesn’t come crashing into the black too hard or too soon. I just feel she was meant to be in my life and she said the same.

I just love that new friend(s) feeling.

Next Page »