I Was Done - Long Post!

I was done. A calm, peaceful feeling rolled over me. I spent careful time creating my plan, how each moment would take place and where. I wrote out my final wishes. I began my “goodbye letters”. I got one done to a friend. The second one that I started was to my sister. That’s when the tears returned. I had one line on the paper and broke down. Recalling it now brings tears back up again, but that’s okay.

I left the letters for later and returned my attention to my plan. I had the place chosen, I had the money needed and I had the details perfected. The only issue was that I had Libbi Monday morning at 8:30. Did I ditch the appointment all together and then complete my plan or did I go and bluff my way through it in order to ward off any suspicions? I went. I was late. She said I had five more minutes before she was going to make a move. Jason had called her. He was worried and apparently felt that something was up because of my sudden calm the day before. It was a bit eerie now that I look back on it.

I walked into her office and bawled. I couldn’t stop. I cried hard, couldn’t catch my breath. She asked me the dreaded question. “Do you have a plan?” Shit. I suck at lying. It’s one of the things she loves about me. I can’t lie. Never was good at it as a kid either. I always ended up telling on myself soon after because of the guilt that ate away at me. At that moment I knew I should not have gone to my appointment. And I knew I should have. I answered her question honestly. She asked me the actual plan and said I had to tell her. I did. She said it was time to go to the hospital for safety reasons. I felt a little betrayed but at the same time I knew she was right and that she had no other choice.

She called Jason.

I was worried that he would be angry with me for interrupting his day. That he was going to get in trouble at work. That he was going to be tired of my whining.
While we waited for him to arrive she looked to see what my insurance was okay with and then looked up the hospitals on the internet. We discussed options. She showed me what the buildings looked like. We made a decision together. She tried to calm my fears as much as possible.

When Jason got there she brought him back to the office and I felt my world crash in on me. My distorted thinking told me that he was disappointed in me and angry. He wasn’t, he was worried. He did something I honestly never thought he would. He called her because he loves me.

Libbi told me I had to tell Jason my plan. That was hard. I cried more. Libbi told him which hospital we agreed on, what to do and what to say to them. She wrote down what he needed to say because she knew I would play the system well enough to go home. She knew my masks would go up and there was a chance that I would fake my way through it. I don’t lie well, but I can hide with the best of them.

We left. My plan was foiled. Libbi said she was proud of me for coming to her. She said I was brave for being honest. I didn’t feel like it. I felt like a failure, like I let myself down.

We stopped at home and gathered some of my things. The drive to the hospital seemed like it took hours and at the same time it went by so fast. The ER was where we went, front desk, Jason told her what he was instructed to. I was directed to a seat away from the main area. They triaged me soon after. The nurse asked me my plan. I looked at Jason and cried. I couldn’t talk. He nodded and his face told me it was okay. I told her the plan in as little detail as possible. She took my vitals and sent me back out to the seat. A bed in the “psych area” opened up and that is where I was taken. The rest is a tiny blur of having to remove all of my clothes, wear a gown and paper bloomers, a urine sample, more vitals, a shunt in the back of my hand, tears and more tears. Of course, my bed was the one directly in front of the open doors. Anyone who walked into the hospital hallway had a view of me. My attendant was slightly retarded, and I say that in a literal way, not to be cruel or funny. I can’t think of another way to phrase it. His name was Zant or something like that. Yes, this was the man who had me do all of the things I stated above. And checked my vitals every second or so it seemed. The ER seemed like one of the worst parts of the experience. Sitting there hour after hour, listening to the ranting of the guy to the left who was strung out on some drug and then the guy to the right who had been “playing frogger” on Colfax and was drunk. These two were headed to Arapahoe House. A few curse words were thrown around and every time I broke down in tears. I felt like I was in the wrong place, the wrong time, the wrong situation. I wondered, again, why I didn’t follow through with my plan. Jason was by my side. He held my hand and reassured me as much as he could. He was just as confused and scared as I was. I had to tell my plan a hundred more times to every official hospital person that came in. Each time I was filled with more shame. Each time I looked to Jason for help and all he could do was give me eyes filled with sorrow. I was the one who had to tell it no matter how much I pleaded internally for him to help me. It wasn’t his plan to tell, it was mine.
They decided I needed to stay in West Pines, the psych building. I signed myself in voluntarily. I hated every paper I put my signature on. More vitals. An inventory of my belongings. My shoes went into a locker beyond the nurse’s desk. I wanted to turn back time and redo my actions. Not my plan, but my decision to go to Libbi. I sat in a little cubicle with Jason and cried and cried and cried. I looked around me like a scared rabbit. Every sound, every color freaked me out. I hated it there. I couldn’t do this, I couldn’t stay. I wanted to go home with Jason. I said I was sorry for making a plan, I was sorry for getting him into this mess. I said I was better and that I’d be good. I think I said that line over and over and over again. I held his hand, I begged him. I made him call Libbi. I told her I couldn’t stay there. She told me I had to. I hated her.

Jason cried with me. And then he had to leave. I was shown my room. Two single beds, thin white sheets, a desk, a nightstand, a wardrobe with no door.

The nurse put on rubber gloves and checked my arms where I had cut myself. She made a sad sound as she pressed on one side and I winced. She put a little ointment on them and said they would heal up in a couple of days. They are just about healed today, itch a little from the scabs. She spread out my belongings on my bed and rechecked everything.

I sat on my bed and cried. I looked around the bare room and wondered how safe it was in reality. Sheets, drapes and my bra. If I wanted to go by hanging or strangulation this would be a breeze. None of the doors to the rooms or bathrooms had locks.

My roommate blew in. I said hi and told her my name. She did the same in return and left. I knew she hated me. I sat on my bed and cried some more. I stayed in there for a long time. They were supposed to check on me every 15 minutes but they didn’t. It was okay, I was fine with that.

“Nighttime meds!” I didn’t know what that meant but I guessed I had to exit my room and make my way to the main room. People were lined up at a small window. A small table with a pitcher of water and cups were set in front of the window. A jolly nurse was doling out pills. Someone spoke to me. Sarah. She asked me if I had just gotten there. I nodded yes. She showed me around a bit, told me it wasn’t that bad and introduced me to another two patients. I didn’t feel as alone.

My turn at the window came and I showed my ID bracelet. A pile of pills went into a medicine cup and I poured a glass of water. The nurse described each one to me and what it was for. They were my usual ones. I swallowed them down and stood in front of her so she knew I had taken them all. She nodded and I walked away.

Somewhere along the way I got a call from a friend. I’m not sure if it was that night or the next day. Like I said, some things are a blur. I could hear guilt in her voice and the things she said were difficult for me to hear. I put on a mask and said I would be out of there in no time, no big deal, maybe the next day. I hung up and decided I didn’t want any more phone calls except from Jason. I wasn’t upset with my friend, but I couldn’t handle having to explain myself. I wanted to comfort her and tell her she did everything she could as my friend. I love her. If I didn’t have the will to live, I certainly didn’t have the energy to have any of those conversations yet.

I spent that night helping Sarah and Pat put together a puzzle. Sarah went to bed eventually and Pat and I stayed up to finish it. We completed it at one minute to 11pm. 11pm was lights out. We were quite proud of ourselves even if the damn puzzle was missing seven pieces. The “new girl on the block” impressed the unit with her ability to put a puzzle together.

My first morning there I got a large plastic hospital cup. You know the one with the handle, big straw and measurement markings on it? Everyone had one with their name on it in Sharpie marker. When I got mine and scribbled my name on it I felt I was truly part of the crew. I brought it home with me, redid my name and continue to use it.

My roommate soon warmed up to me. In fact, we exchanged email addresses when I left. She was being discharged the morning after me. I met some great people. And a couple of weird ones. I had nicknames for a few. My roommate and I called our doctor “Count Chocula” because of his thick accent. He sounded just like him. He was nice, not much of a sense of humor, but he treated me well. Of course I had to tell him my whole story. Some of my childhood trauma, my current stressors, my suicide plan. He wanted to know about previous attempts and hospitalizations. He was impressed to hear that those experiences were a little less than 20 years ago. He said I needed to stay a few days and see how it went. At the time I was disappointed, but he was right.

Four days in the mental hospital. I attended every group. I socialized. I helped others. I took my meds without fail. I cooperated with the nurses. I ate well. Ok, as well as you can with hospital food. We traded food back and forth between us depending on who got what. Lactose intolerant Faye traded her chocolate ice cream for my nasty jello. That sort of thing.

5am was labs. Nothing like having a bright hospital light flipped on in your quiet room so someone can stab you with a needle while you’re half asleep. 6am was vitals and meds. If you didn’t hear them yell it out because you had somehow zonked out again after your blood was taken they would knock on your always open door and yell it out once more. You trudged down the hallway with your hair standing up, your socks scuffling on the carpet, your eyes half closed, sometimes your blanket wrapped around you. You stood/leaned in the line with your fellow drowsy, half limp house mates waiting for the person in front of you to be finished at the vitals station. Blood pressure cuff, temperature, oxygen level. For those of us who were diabetic or borderline we then had to wait for a finger stick. There were two of us. They wrote all of these numbers on a sticky note and you shuffled off to the next line at the small med window. If your numbers were good then you got all your normal medication. If something was off then there was a change. Other than low potassium I was always on target so nothing was changed. Breakfast came around 7:50am so at this point you could go back to bed or do whatever you wanted until its arrival. Some of us crashed on the couches or chairs, some of us went back to bed, others would try to start their day. I did all of the above depending on the morning. I always took a shower before breakfast though. I had to wake up enough to face the rest of the day.

During breakfast they passed out the “community check-in” sheet. It had questions about why you were there, how you felt that day, how your symptoms were, one thing you were grateful for, how you slept/how many hours did you get, and one or two measurable goals for the day. For some it was as simple as taking a shower or staying out of their room for more than an hour. When it came time for us all to go around the circle and read off our sheet, we were all there for the same reasons. A suicide plan. Depression.

All of us wanted to die. All of us were in the same boat trying not to sink. I was among people who got it. That was the one thing I was grateful for on my first day…my peers in the hospital with me. It felt good to say that out loud to everyone. They thanked me and meant it.

There were three groups a day. In between we had free time and meals. The phones were taken off the hooks during group. TV and radio were shut off during group, vitals and meds. Snacks were always available in the “nourishment” room. That’s what the sign on the wall said anyway. It was a kitchen with a fridge, cabinets and a sink. An ice/water machine was everyone’s favorite because it had, according to the others, the best ice ever. There were coffee stirrers and spoons. No plastic knives except at meal time. The funny thing was that no one ever checked to make sure you put your knife back on your tray. A plastic knife doesn’t sound dangerous to people in the normal world but you would be surprised what a desperate person in the midst of a depression can do with one.

The groups were helpful in some ways. I took what I wanted from them and tossed the rest away. Not every facilitator is going to mesh with you or your situation so you take what helps and forget the rest as best as you can.

I was RTU the whole time I was there. Restricted To Unit. Count Chocula kept forgetting to upgrade me as I got better but I was honestly fine with staying on the unit so I never reminded him or fussed about it. I didn’t want to go outside to the cafeteria. The food wasn’t any different there, just more choices. And I felt safe where I was. Yes, I wanted to smell fresh air and see sunshine, but not enough to leave the bubble of security.

Every day the nurse on duty checked in with you at some point, deep breaths to listen to your lungs and then a heart beat count. I always had a low heart rate which seemed to impress them for some reason. They asked how you were feeling physically and if you needed anything. I had a constant headache, partly from my teeth and partly from stress. They were always happy to give me Tylenol when I asked for it. Once a day was as much as I requested it.

I spent most of my free time listening to the radio with the other patients and working on puzzles. I watched TV a couple of times, but mostly in the morning when I was too tired after vitals/meds to make it back to my room right away. You have interactions with every patient there, some more than others. There were a handful of us who gathered on a regular basis. We shared some stories, laughed, got frustrated with stuff, complained, made jokes, yawned, cheered each other on when we felt good and offered tissues when we weren’t.

I worked on my daily goals, looked forward to Jason’s phone calls and his visits. I felt badly that I couldn’t make his visits more interesting, but it was good to have him there. Just his presence made me feel good. He was my only connection to the outside world and I liked it that way. He loves me. And as I have learned, he loves me just the way I am. Even with my emotional issues and quirks and depression and mania and attitude problems and fears and everything in between. That was the one thing I was grateful for on my second day’s sheet. My understanding husband.
Count Chocula started to smile more each time we met. He told me I was doing really well and was happy with my progress. I had no more suicidal thoughts. Life was tolerable again. My case worker told me that she reported to Libbi that I never missed a group and worked on every assignment given to me. I realized then that I didn’t hate Libbi anymore for forcing me to stay. I appreciated her.

When it came to discussing my discharge I was positive and nervous at the same time. I missed my husband and my puppy. I wanted to go home, but I wanted to stay. The real world scared me. It still does. There is a lot of shit out here that is difficult for me to handle. They told me it was natural to feel that way and to take the transition slowly. Ease back into things. They didn’t want to see me return just a few days later because of shocking myself back into the same things that got me there in the first place.

I’ll be honest, my first evening out I wasn’t sure I was ready. The first awful thing was having to wear shoes again. I hate shoes and being without them for almost a week was wonderful. When Jason picked me up, I saw the blue sky and smelled the fresh air. It was lovely. It was like I had seen it for the first time. I liked the wind in my face. The reality was there though. There was traffic and noise and people and my senses were a bit overloaded. I felt fragile and questioned whether I was ready for this again. Jason reminded me to take it slow. He keeps telling me that I don’t have to do anything I am not ready for or don’t want to do. I like those reminders.

I learned some new tools in the hospital. I’ve asked Jason to advocate for me more because the world overwhelms me. I am going to delegate more to others. Not take on so much myself. I am being honest with myself now. If I am sad, I am going to cry and not hold it back. If I am happy I am going to laugh. If I need something I am going to ask. I am going to slow down. I am going to reclaim some of my hobbies. Something that I was told over and over again in the hospital was “No is a complete sentence”. I don’t have to add a “but” or an “and” or a “maybe”. My answer can just be “no”.

And with all of these wonderful skills I will practice and practice and practice!

I am going into IOP. Intensive Outpatient Therapy. I will start with four groups a week. I will see which of those fit with me and then choose from there what I would like to continue with. They are scattered throughout the daytime so I will need to schedule other things around them. When my dental work is done in two weeks I will be missing a week or so of group, but I will work that out with the facilitators. This will all be done through the center with extreme privacy in mind. I am still on the board of directors and my personal struggles are not to be aired in public. Now, obviously there is no foolproof action plan for these things. People talk, I won’t be cloaked when I walk in almost every day to go to a group. I am okay with that. I have an illness. I need help coping with it. Period.

I have good memories of my hospital stay. I have stories that crack me up. I have people that will remain important in my mind, ones whom I wonder how they are recovering, some that I will miss. You form a bond with people when you are in that sort of situation. It’s an unspoken one, but it is there. I seemed to be the one with the best sense of humor, according to my peers and the nurses. They knew if there was laughter it was around me. That felt good. A nurse came to me one day after a patient was discharged and told me that she wanted her to give me a message. She said that I was important in her recovery. I made her laugh for the first time in months. I listened to her stories and helped her remember her self worth. And the nurse followed up that message with “and you are doing that for so many of your peers here”. That made me cry, but with joy. I love helping people. But I realized something there. Giving to others does not mean taking away from my self. I may even get that as my next tattoo. (seriously)

Today is Saturday. I was released Thursday evening. Yesterday was my first full day out. Jason took off from work to be with me. Thank you, Jason. I cannot imagine handling that first day without him. I rely on him a lot. I always have, but more now than ever. I don’t know if it will always be this much, but I have asked him to be honest with me and tell me if he is comfortable with it and he has said “yes”. I know I will become stronger again, in a better way than before. Part of my becoming stronger in a better way is asking for help. Needing help never goes away. For anyone. We all need help with things in life.

Jason has been amazing. He has taken over the role of buffering things for me. I have asked him to and he is doing it without complaint. It is helping me ease back in slowly. He has taken over many of the household chores. He and I straightened up some areas together yesterday. He is taking care of most of Joshua’s needs. He is trying to help him understand that a lot of stress is what drove me to the point of being in the hospital and that the stress has got to lessen. That would be good for everyone’s sanity. Unfortunately, the boys fight. I have cried a few times since I’ve been home because of the arguing between them and Joshua’s attitude. Jason is going to take Joshua for his next therapy appointment and try to talk about all of this to see what can be done to bring more peace to the house.

I still wonder this morning if I am ready to be home. I believe that I am but there are pieces of me that are scared. I know that is normal. Libbi and I met yesterday morning and she reassured me that all of these feelings are natural. We talked about my goals. I told her that I am going to continue my morning check-in sheet for myself. I’ve asked Jason to read it every day when he gets home and I will show them to Libbi once a week when we meet. I think we all need to be involved. My illness is here for life and if I am going to stay alive then I need to be accountable to more than just myself. I will be honest on my sheet. I will not hide.

Other goals I have I will not go into detail about right now. They are mine to practice. Hopefully changes will come and you will see them for yourself. I also hope that those of you who love me will stick around for the duration.

I know there are a ton of questions and comments people have in their minds. Jason has been wonderful in fielding some of these for me. I have put off talking to anyone for right now. I love you all and I need a few days to gather myself together again. You read my reasons throughout this blog. I appreciate all of you who have checked on me, worried about me, and held on to me when I couldn’t hold on for myself. Do I want to live? My answer is still the same. No. Am I suicidal? No. I am here and will continue to make the best of my life that I can while I am here. Life is tolerable again. If in the process of my journey on Earth the thrill to live comes about then fantastic. I am going to work hard on myself as I always have. I am going to continue to educate myself and be the best person that I can be. I will get sad, depressed and happy and manic. I will have my insane full range of emotions as I usually do. However, I am going to be honest with myself about them and practice being honest with everyone else about them. I am going to practice handling my life better so that I do not fall that deeply into the darkness again.

We all know what drove me to those depths. My stressors are no secret. You read a bulk of them in my blogs.

What pushed it over the edge for me? I am not going to say at this time. But, yes, there were a couple of defining moments/experiences.

I am fine with talking about things as time goes on. I don’t want to be bombarded. But please do not fear me. Yes, be gentle, but don’t pet the crazy girl like she is going to freak out on you. It’s still me. I find myself starting a lot of sentences with “In the hospital…” That will take a while to move past. It was what I lived and breathed for four days so it is all I have right now. They are good stories and memories and I will cherish them. Previous hospital stays do not have the same positive feelings for me. These changed my life for the better. I know I forgot quite a bit of the details, especially the beginning parts. Jason can fill in the blanks or correct me if I messed up somewhere.

This evening I am doing okay. A little sad. Still a bit fragile. Grateful for Jason’s help. It’s keeping me grounded and moving forward. Overall I’m adjusting. I’m proud of myself for asking for things when I have needed them through the day. Glad to be sharing this blog with you. Appreciative of Jason for checking in with me often to see where I am at internally and how I’m feeling. His hugs and reassuring touches are healing.

To you, my friends and family, I love you and thank you. You have called and texted and have been patient with my slow responses. One friend sent me a beautiful quartz to keep by my bed to help with positive energy. I appreciate you for that.

I’m working my way back.