I spent most of the last couple of weeks in July fantasizing about taking a few bottles worth of pills. It wasn’t just a, “I wish I was dead,” but a full on plan.
When I tried to hospitalize myself in March, the hospital I went to was so sure it was just the stress of my sister’s illness. They refused to take my own illness seriously. When she got her transplant, and that stress was over, but I didn’t magically get better, I, in fact, got worse. For a while I thought it was just me needing more friendship in my life. I made a new friend. I chatted with the new friend. I was ecstatic for like two days, and then the new friend excitement wore off and I still felt like I wanted to die. Turns out I didn’t just need friends.
But being turned away last March left me with zero faith in the system. I was “too smart to need hospitalization”. Yeah, yeah. I’m also smart enough to know exactly how to successfully kill myself.
So I called my meds doctor and I filled her in on how I was feeling, the extent to which I was suicidal, and why it was I was hesitant to go to the hospital. I knew I needed help, but I also knew if I got turned away again I would go through with an attempt. At that point, all hope I had would be gone.
She, of course, pointed out the differences between the present and March. For starters, in March as horrible as I felt, I was wishing I was dead, not planning it. I also decided it would be wise to pick another hospital. This time I went to OSU instead of Mount Carmel East. Why yes, I am breaking my policy and I’m naming names.
OSU actually apologized for MC’s mistake even though they had nothing to do with it. They full on told me that MC made a bad decision. In doing so they didn’t just validate me being there in the present, but they validated my needs back in March.
I spent about 8 hours in the ER before they made the final decision and got my room ready. There was never really much doubt in them keeping me, outside of my paranoia at the system.
While still in the ER, the consulting Psychiatrist and I discussed what exactly the stay could do for me, besides keeping me safe. I finally admitted to myself and the world that the Cymbalta, my miracle drug, just wasn’t working anymore. We discussed alternative meds and I picked Zoloft because it would help with depression and my anxiety. The very next morning I start Zoloft and they started weaning me off Cymbalta. To say I was fast-tracked is an understatement. In 4 days I was taken off 120MG of Cymbalta and put on 150MG of Zoloft. My body handled it well.
It was Friday, July 31, 2015, that I was admitted, and I was released the following Tuesday.
And here is where I end this tale for now. I, of course, did some writing while I was in there, and I’ll share that with you in bits and pieces over the next week or so.