Day One - My Journey Through A Mental Health Facility

It was Wednesday June 3, and time for my 7:00p appointment with Tonya. She opens with the typical "So how are you?" and each session I normally put a lot of thought as to what I am going to say. I foolishly think I set the tone. I mean, it isn't like she doesn't already know how I am doing! I truly suspect the woman is psychic. And I don't believe in psychics. Last session she asked 'the question' and all I said was, "I'm not." I had thought about what to say but really didn't care what answer to give that week, so I was just kind of flippant. The woman still got me to talk meaningfully for 60 minutes though. June 3, I thought and thought, but hadn't come up with the exact words yet. You see, I had a plan. I knew I had shut down and was beyond help. I had begun to willingly and quite easily lie to the people I love and count as my support group, or I just ignored them. I didn't want them to know. I didn't care anymore. It became none of their business in my mind. Why bother when I was failing so miserably? I haven't ever willingly lied to my support group. Ever. But Tonya was the only one left that I was being honest with (well, except she had no idea I was lying to everyone else, but in my defense, she never asked, so maybe she isn't psychic after all). I knew the choice of words was paramount to my plan. Anyway, I went to the session to slyly try and get her to help me figure out how to get permission from my children to die. Now, I think I am pretty smart, and was convinced I could fool the best therapist I have ever had in my life to get the answer I needed, even though she seems to see right through me with a single glance. Sometimes I won't look at the woman. She reads my mind! I thought I could trick her into slipping up and giving me a way to gain approval from my boys to die. I rationally know suicide is selfish. I know it permanently hurts those left behind. It is a huge reason I fight as a mental illness advocate. However, I had played my last card. I asked my children for permission to die and they said no. And besides, in my head, I wasn't suicidal. I just wanted permission to die.

So we sat down, she looked at me, asked 'the question', and I will be damned if out of my mouth popped the words, "I think I need hospitalization, but I can't afford it." I swear to you my mouth dropped a bit and I thought, "WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST SAY?" Tonya didn't immediately tell me how silly of a reason lack of money was not to admit myself, but thanks to her, I did end up admitting myself to Mesa Springs in Fort Worth, Texas, early afternoon on June 4. I agreed to it midway through the session and went home with a game plan to get things in order within 24 hours so I could go. During my 90 (I got 30 free minutes that night) minute session with Tonya, I kept telling her I wasn't suicidal, but I did have one heck of a fool proof plan I was happy to share and thought pretty highly of myself for thinking of it. Why not share? I wasn't suicidal. She didn't challenge me. Instead, she helped me to admit to myself that my preoccupation with gaining approval to die would eventually become greater than the need of my children's approval. And she isn't as smart as she thinks. I know now she made it seem like my idea, but she led me right to the watering hole. She never once told me, "Yes, you are suicidal." And, even though I just didn't care, I did obviously care enough to not want that preoccupation to become true. That is just how good she is. Or maybe she is the sly one??? Hmmm...

I was inpatient for 13 days. The first night home, June 16, I knew I wanted to blog about this, but had no idea how. How could I explain a journey from void to hope and make sense enough to touch someone else? I read a book that Tonya brought to me while there (told you she is awesome). The author tells the story of feeling inferior about giving a speech in which the other speakers are all CFO, CEO, COO types. In discussing it with her husband, she told him of a time where she failed miserably giving a speech that included other peer speakers instead of speakers she felt had more talent than her. I related to that. I felt like a failure and I felt inferior in life at the point when I read her story. All I could think was, here I am a blogger and mental illness advocate that just blogged about stopping suicide, trying to set an example and help people, and I am hospitalized! What else speaks complete failure? So, after reading her story again on my first night home, I made a terrifying decision. I decided to open up to YOU and publish my journal entries - word for word, grammar and spelling errors included (wow, that grates my nerves). The thought causes me to sweat even as I type now. BUT, in defiance of the shame, irrationality, doubt, self hate, irritability, psychosis, confusion, mania, hypomania, depression and anything else mental illness causes, this journey will now become yours if you so choose to read. My hope is you can see that 'broken' can become something 'much less than broken' again. I refuse to use the word 'fixed'. That implies 'works like new' and that was over the second I took my first breath with my childhood background. I won't use the word 'balanced' either. I still got some work to do. So, this is my journey. I do not wish it on a single person in this world. Even my two enemies. Though I say it becomes 'yours', your journey of hospitalization may (hopefully) never happen and if it does, it will be different. But I am now so convinced we ARE each other's best support system, that I am both nervous and excited to share.

So, before I let you loose, there are three things you need to know:

1. I was the victim of a crime on May 8, 2014. I can almost give you the time but I won't. It is etched in my mind and behind my eyes at random times during the day forever. It changed me. Laura was stolen from me without permission (not that anyone would have given permission).
2. Bipolar 2 and Generalized Anxiety are not my only diagnoses. I was diagnosed with PTSD December 2014, directly in relation to May 2014's events.
3. I made three consistent edits to my entry that were necessary:
   - details of my suicidal ideation and plan are replaced with the words "-suicide trigger-".
   - details of the event on May 8, 2014 are replaced with the words "-event trigger-".
   - real names are not used, however, look to the top of the blog. There is a tab called 'Glossary' and it gives the name and relationship to me. Use it if you find the blog confusing. If I would have ever thought I would share this publically, I would have done a better job of describing each person!

DAY ONE SUMMARY - I know I got to Mesa Springs sometime early afternoon because I had just found out my nephew Ricky's cancer had returned and I looked at my phone time as I stood outside the doors to call him and tell him I loved him before going inside. I was hysterical when I found out, even though his caring bridge entry was full of hope and determination. I don't remember anything else about getting there until I was shown my room and told that was the second time I had been in there (I wanted to know who touched my clothes) and my things were already put away by me! Obviously, the big name 'Laura' on my door wasn't big enough to show me where I was now living at that point. I was so clouded and confused. I hadn't slept since Saturday. I was very stressed and emotional and scared. And I have been hospitalized before so I should have known the drill. I would describe this entry by saying that at this point, I think I am the only person in the world that can fail at bipolar - you know, like how pigs can fly as hell freezes over and the Eagles win a Super Bowl...that really isn't possible. Oh! Language warning! Here I go...

JOURNAL ENTRY - Thursday, June 4
So here I am. Loser LB46-1. Room 412A. That is what my wristband says. Yeah me. Like who the fucking cares, I don't. They do. Insurance money. Get to know me and they are gonna want to return that shit as fast as possible and send me home in the first taxi they can call. Shit if they are smart, they wont wait for a taxi. Just throw me at the door and say see ya. They don't have to say don't wanna be ya cause that part is obvious. My eyes are sandpaper. When did I sleep? Saturday? Sunday? Who cares. I suppose I will see Dr. Kennedy and he will give me sleep meds. Yeah me. Nightmares. What I deserve though. Dumb fuck. I bet he is going to fucking mess with my meds...til he figures out how futile that is. Tonya says he is good. No worries. I will just smile, lie, do my time, and go. Lying is so fucking easy anymore. Fuck him. He will figure out how much of a waste of time I am. So it is the joy of a med set change and then the happy wait of seeing how long it takes for me to screw that one up once I am free. Woo the fuck hoo. Like I need something else to tell me I suck. What the fuck do they want. Prozac, wellbutrin, celexa, lexapro, zoloft,  Citalapram, effexor, Cymblta, zyprexa, seroquil, trazadone, ambien, lunestra, resperidol, Lithium, Abilify, Pristiq, Lamictal, Buspar, xanax (oh yeh), klonopin, what else. Like I can fucking remember. I know there is more. Why am I me? Why god damnit. It is cosmically deserved punishment. I tried so hard to figure it out. O I just thought I was smart. Ha. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiight. Stupid Fuck. Why? I am such a fuck I say I love the boys but I cant even do the innate thing a mother does. They wont fucking give me permission to die. I do have enough brains to know that isn't love. But add selfishness to the fucking list of failure cuz I just don't care. I want it. Like I WANT IT. But being the fuck I am I cant even deserve that. God the fuck damn, I have even lost my words. I think maybe I was once whole. Dunno... It is a logical thought. Words are me. They compartmentalize me and give me purpose. I can define my fuckedness by words. Poems. Lyric. Journal. Blog. Now I obviously don't even deserve those. My brain is fucking mush to punish me for being such a fuck. Like is it even in there anymore. Maybe the nightmares steal it like they do my hands. I don't deserve hands either. They just fuck people up when I write. Stupid idiot. Like I feel them in me trying to take flight, but they fall to the ground and die.  I'm in labor and my words are stillborn. They die before a breath. Lucky words. Ha I can still crack myself up. I just cant take the filth in me anymore. Come on asshole - reality. Hey one for the fucktard to be smart enough to know that. Whats the damn score? 1 to what - infinity? As if I care I AM NOT SUICIDAL. I just don't care. Empty. Void. Numb. Nothing. Nada. I. DO. NOT. CARE. nope. don't try to understand me. Don't call me. Don't care damnit. What a fucking waste of your time. Why haven't you all figured out this obviousness by now? My stupidity is rubbing off. I am capable tho. Capable of dragging them thru hell because they are obligated to care. Nothing left sargent. I am on the cliff. There is the rail that that is forced to protect me from tumbling over. Fuck, I am not standing behind the damn thing, I am leaning over as far as I can on my tippy toes and trying to fall because I am a dumb fuck and forget to crawl over. Why not. The bottom is the only thing beautiful about me. My death. The best for all involved. I AM NOT SUICIDAL. I just know what is best for everyone and I am so dumb, I cant figure out the words to tell them it is ok cuz the words deserted me. I deserve that too. I just don't care. Jesus. I am here because I am obligated. I have children. OMG they are wonderful despite me. And since I obviously am such a piece of shit that I cant love them like they deserve, I have to come here. I owe them my life since they cant see the truth. Give them time I guess. If god loved me he would have given my children the gift to know they don't deserve me. Better off without me. Oh wait, God loves me, but I even fucked that up. I don't even deserve him. So I guess I need to be careful what I write. Wait no words because I am so stupid. No wonder. Am I writing? Is this a fucking nightmare? It looks like I am writing. Where the fuck am I anyway. Someone is fucking with my head again. Damnit leave me alone. Jesus Christ what is reality these days except I need permission to die. I am a failure. Stupid Worthless fuck. Wow that is such a nice thing to say about me. I need new words. The ones I have don't do me justice. They are too nice. It doesn't matter what I do. I fail. No cure for me. No remission. Just fail. Inevitable. Meds even know it so they give up too. The sand is solid and smooth at the top of my hourglass. And it falls through the tiniest of holes as its minute piece. It falls to the bottom. It reforms. different and ugly, in a unsymmetrical pile. A smart person turns the hourglass over and starts again. I don't deserve it. I just fail. I am the epitomy. I don't even deserve poster child. Ugly. Filthy. Poison. Venonmous. I am so tired. I cant do this anymore. Please. Grant me death. Mercy. I beg you tho I don't deserve it. Even if my toes give way, I will be that sand. Stuck at the bottom and ugly. But even my toes know to hate me. Protect those that think I help. I am a fraud. Protect them from my insanity. My poison. My despair. My heart filled with rage at myself for continuing to breathe. I am bipolar and it is stronger than me. None of that have bipolar shit I spout. It has swallowed me. I am it. It swallowed the boil that I am leeching with pus. It will digest me and spit me back out, more blasphemous than before. WEAK. BEATEN. POISON. WORSE. CANCEROUS BOIL SPEWING VENOM. It IS me. It OWNS me. Waste. Feces. A maggot. Spit out to the bottom of the hourglass and even more stupid to turn it over that now I will not even see the stupid. I am weak. I fail. Please. Mercy. I beg you. I can't. I just can't. Love me and give me permission. I know I don't deserve it but please just lie and love me. It is the best thing you can do for you. Someone help me let them see the only wisdom I have. Give me the words. Stripping my words is the last thing for me. I didn't need confirmation but no words confirm it. Then they can be free. Then they can be happy. Then they can have the life they deserve. Then everyone is protected. My head is exploding. It wont leave me alone.