Sunday, February 7, 2016

The Hospital--There's Never a Good Time to Go

A week ago, I was at the lowest I've ever been. It was do or die for me. Three straight months of severe depression. I headed to my psychiatrist appointment with the mindset that I'd give whatever medication he suggested a solid try. I knew (know) that what I want in my life is not to actually die but to live without having to try so hard to want to be here.

The appointment was strange, unlike the others. He had a stack of papers in his lap and he began reading to me.

They were my words read out loud. How I was feeling each time I was in for a visit or emailed him with a question or concern. I sat there reliving my past for an endless amount of time. He combined my past with the present. I was honest with him because I was numb. I had so many feelings mixed up inside of me that it was hard to feel on the outside anymore.

When he was finished, we didn't shift from the comfortable couch to his desk where we discuss medication like normal. He looked me in the eye and asked...What do you want to do?

I was stunned. I didn't know what to say. Wasn't this his job? To fix me?

You want to put me in the hospital...

Jack is a tricky son of a bitch. He always makes me say shit, such as this, in my own voice. It's the whole reverse psychology thing. If I say it, I can't get upset at him. If I say it, it's because I realize it to be true. If I say it, I can't call him an asshole.

I sat there, still and quiet, pondering my options. There's never a good time to be admitted. I had work stuff happening, an office move coming up, my husband and son were sick, what would they eat while I was gone, do they have clean clothes, and so on...

But he was right. I needed drastic measures to pull me out of this walking coma.

I left with the knowledge that he trusted me on that day not to do anything stupid. He was going to call a facility, where he had a psychiatrist friend on staff, and get back to me soon. I went home to break the news then viciously began doing things around the house.

I was angry. I was emotional. I was not ready for this.

Several hours later, I called him and left a message, begging for another chance...Please, let's just try one more medication, just one more. I'll even go back on Lithium. I just need one more shot at this. If it fails, I'll go. Please...

Time stood still as I bustled about, waiting for the phone to ring. I was paranoid as fuck. Every time I heard sirens (I live in Denver), I knew it was for me. "They" were coming to take me away. Involuntary hospital admittance is no fucking joke.

He finally called and apologized for the delay saying...It was jammed full here all morning. I knew I wasn't the only one losing my shit so I was relieved that it wasn't because he was calling the men in white to take me away in front of my family and neighbors.

The timing will never be right, Pamela.

That night I started a new drug. An expensive as fuck drug. I don't know if it was the drug that pulled me out of my haze within the next three days or my fear of being committed. Probably a combination of the two.

There's nothing completely wrong with going to the hospital. Aside from all the shit you're leaving behind at home to be there, in my experience(s), it's not so bad. The biggest problem I was faced this time was I didn't know how to be social and I didn't want to deal with the process of learning the schedule. I would have jumped at the chance to be in a bed for three days, heavily injected with medication to pull me out of this depression, then join in on the norm for a few more days, but that wasn't an option. What I needed was to be alone but begin to recover.

I can go to the hospital but when I get home, nothing will have changed on the outside. Life will have gone on without me and the anxiety to catch back up is too much. All I'll be thinking about "in there" is what I should be doing "out here". I need to do this on the outside.

Instead I stayed at home and swallowed those pills. It was trial and error with the timing of taking them and being able to function. I forced myself to get back to work and fall back into routine.

Today I'm fine. I'm not good or great or on the ledge. I'm fine. Just fine. I'm a work in progress. I'll never be one of those people who is comfortable in any situation handed to me. I try not to worry about tomorrow. I need to focus on today. To just keep breathing.

7 comments:

  1. Don't forget we're all here for you. I may not know the right things to say, but I'm here. Always. <3

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  2. I've only been hospitalized once so I'm no voice of experience. The hospital got me away from the world that was killing me. I was quickly made outpatient, met some cool fellow patients and some wired mf's. All together is was a positive experience that got me shakily back on my feet. And the world, and family, didn't skip a beat. Apparently they enjoyed a rest as well. Just my .02.

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    1. Thanks for adding this Brandon! I agree that it is a sort of retreat. But the last time I was in and came out it was chaos and I didn't want that again if I could get my act together on the outside.

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  3. Pamela, does the new med have any major side effects?

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    1. Hi Barb! Yes!! All psychotropics have similar side-effects and this one is like the rest. I started taking it twice per day and was so exhausted after the morning dose that I had to leave work and sleep it off for 5 hours. I've since switched to taking the full dose at night and feel better for it. Tonight I increase by another 40mg so we'll see how it goes.

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  4. Glad you made it without the hospital. I hate it myself, but it has indeed helped me in the past. The last time I was sent there was last November, I missed Thanksgiving, which really stunk. About 8 years ago I was in over my birthday. Never a good time...

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