Day Two - 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 TWO SUMMARY - I did see Dr. Kennedy before lights out on day one and was given something to sleep. I did sleep, but I think I would have regardless of medicine or not. When I moved it made me so dizzy I would almost fall over because the room literally seemed to have no direction (I couldn't feel which way was up and which way was down), I kept seeing black things move from the corners of my eyes that weren't there, and my muscles had begun to spasm randomly, so I knew my body was shutting down despite my inability to sleep. I could barely blink because my eyes hurt so badly. Over the last few months, that is how I know my brain will let me sleep, even though it never stopped the nightmares. This entry is a little clearer as you will see my confusion lift a bit. With the clearer head, I begin to get angry.  Before admitting myself, the anger at May 8, 2014 had reached epic proportions but I did my best to stuff it because I am not an angry person. It was like an erupting volcano spewing forth infinite lava. Ugly. Blind rage. I would become enraged and not remember what I did. I cant tell you the number of bruises I found but had no idea how it happened. My cat went through a period where he shrank back from my touch. I am afraid to think I must have hit him. I am positive I did because I am ashamed to admit I remember kicking him one day just because he meowed when I was really irritated. I kicked him over 10 feet away from me, from one side of the living room and against the door. It shames me. I call him my cuddle bug because he is always attached to my side. And my son can tell you of the day he tackled me as I tried to grab a knife and held me down until I came to. I still don't remember what my intentions were but I do know I flew into a rage because of a single comment he made. This entry is also a combination of the rest of my day one and part of my day two. Things happened after I ended my writing on day one and I remembered things after some sleep. I hope it isn't too confusing. Language warning.

JOURNAL ENTRY - Friday, June 5

I hate this fucking golf pencil I have to write with. Seriously. If I was suicidal, I could hurt myself with it so why do they insist we have to use it. I am going to steal a pen. They already found the first one I smuggled in, but I noticed they don't check under the mattress. Ha. But anyway, I am not suicidal so stuck with this piss ant excuse of a writing implement. I wrote last night and then smoked. Then we could use the phone. I just had to talk to the boys or I felt like I was going to disappear, and I mean I literally thought I was going to disappear. And Daniel asked me to let him know when I settled in. That made me feel like he loves me. Poor, misguided kid. But he will get it when I lie my way through this place and am no different. I mean lie like I KNOW I can get them to release me cuz I have lying down now. Just another example of the fuck I am. Pet peeve is liars. How apapro that I am now the expert. I am my own pet peeve. That kind of makes me smirk. Another proof of fuckedness. I wonder if I can exhaust proof before last breath. Anyway, I met with Dr. Kennedy. Fucker took my Paxil. And gave me Trazadone for the night but changed it to Prazosin today. Rinse. Wash. Repeat. I thought, 'what the fuck does it matter. I don't care. Open mouth, insert pill, spew poison anyway. WHATEVER.' But I did smile and say good. And I do have to give the man credit. What a fucking relief that he didn't open with 'So tell me why you are here", I am worthless you stupid fucks. You think I need a vacation or something? Heard the fucking food is good and the bed comfy? I cant live worth a fuck and nobody will allow me to die because I deserve it but don't deserve it so I can be punished. So I have to admit I learned something. He of course made me tell him about May. That alone gave me an anxiety attack right in front of him. But then I found out it wasn't an anxiety attack. He said it is a panic attack. I wondered why it felt different than it used to. I don't shake. I don't tremble. I quake. First sign. I draw up into myself, like I mean my shoulders curl in, my back bows inward like I am trying to curl in a ball. I cross my hands up around my next and pull my arms in tight because of my heart. I cant stop crying. But I cant breathe and I try to hold my breath and my throat feels like it could burst. I can feel my heart. I mean feel the heartbeat trying to come out of my chest without touching it to feel it. I feel the organ straining. It physically hurts. Just my heart. And my heartbeat canters. And I cant breathe but I am breathing so fast. And my muscles lock but the quaking wont stop. And I cant speak. I try to say words, but I just stutter once I can finally force my lips to form the beginning of the word. I have to clench my teeth to force the word in whole, or I just sit there like a stupid demonic fucker and stutter over and over. And, it is hard to describe, but everything tunnels. I see people talking to me. I hear people talking from my sides. I know they are talking. But I can't get my head to turn and they sound like they are speaking underwater from far away and if I don't really concentrate, they sound foreign like in some horror movie in another language. Fuck. Just reread that. Pretty awesome description for such a worthless piece of shit. But Kennedy taught me something. And he also made me see I have a double loss because of May. Not only -event trigger-. Whatever, I just cant get -event trigger-. I so deserve it tho. Pristiq is maxed so nothing new there. Buspar was as needed. No choice now. And added Latuda and Trazadone and Valium and Visteral. Think it may take a few more to fix me? Fix. What a fucked up word. I am not going to ever work like brand new. Have I ever been brand new. Could a filthy, disgusting soul of mine even ever been like new at conception? Judas was a fucking saint. And then there is me. I am Adam's firstborn. You know, the one not mentioned before Cain since I suck so bad. Thank god for the world he learned with the rest of them. Everyone thinks you have bipolar in one of two ways. Don't believe it. Think you use it as a crutch. Think you should just get over it and live. Ok, so that is three. No four. Think you are a drama queen. Five. Think if you are happy you are stupid if you don't stay there. Should I go for six as if why bother doesn't matter I don't care. I just fucking fail. Thoughts never right. Feelings always wrong. I am the sleet - each piece a part of a shattered and frozen soul that melts as tears outside the warm home of everyone's love, faith and acceptance. I fail. To watch forever but never deserving to belong. Who blames them. So phone time and Daniel was asleep. Ian didn't answer. Can you say panic attack. What was the count for yesterday anyway. There is this spot between the wall and my bed that I can wedge in. So I felt safe crawling there and curling up and putting the pillow in front of me so nobody had to look at me. Had a panic attack there too but can only take the visteral every 4 so I was fucked. Wedging worked for a few hours before lights out. And then lo and behold I slept. I slept about 3 hours before I woke up coughing and asked for a cough drop. I felt like superwoman with three hours of sleep AND no nightmare. AND I went back to sleep and woke up in this morning but of course I had a fucking flashback nightmare and the god damn valium made it so I went right back to sleep and just pleased myself by going through the whole ordeal again. But I made sure to sit away at breakfast so I didn't poison anyone. They all may be here but they all deserve to get better and I will just fuck that up. Figured out my roomie Patricia is a Witness. God Damn stayed away from her so I don't poison her for sure. She deserves Jehovah. I don't. You know Lenny wouldn't even bring me here.  He needed to work. One hour to work is worth more than my life. I spent 20 years with the man and lets face it. He figured it out waaaaay early but we had the kids. If anyone would know how fucked I am it is him after having to suffer my presence for so long. He is so much better off without me. He is the smart one. If I asked HIM permission to die he would be smart enough to help me plan and execute, make sure I wasn't breathing, let my body rot like it deserves, then plan and have the party, I want the boys to be that smart. It is my fault they aren't. No I mean they are smart, but I am so evil, I fool them without realizing I do and can't figure out how to unfool myself. I think it is that fucker in my head. He wont talk to me but controls me. I do have some hope tho. Daniel and I aren't as close anymore. He is getting it thank god. Give Ian a couple more years. Then I can move to Indiana with Josiah and wait for him to figure it out and then they can line up happily behind Lenny. PERMISSION! Then I can do what I need to do to end their misery. They will help Lenny. I didn't tell Josiah I was coming here. Didn't tell Jonathon or Randy or Jade or Jennifer either. Hopefully that will help them line up too. I did tell Linda, Mason and Arthur from group. They deserve to know. They will try their best to accept me just because of group. But I do so love them. God they are too good to me. You know I understand why people choose to die. I am the only one that it is true for though. Like Ricky's family. His leukemia is back. They deserve him. Not because of that but because his soul is good. I am just filth. Disgust. Nothing. Poison. Venom. Boil. Pus. Nobody deserves me. Why don't my children hate me?????????? Maybe the family therapy tomorrow will be good. Maybe they have started to understand and when I get free they can give me permission. I am not suicidal. I need to die. I need to give a gift to this planet and eliminate myself so it is a better place.

-----stopped writing

I protected everyone at lunch and dinner. I hope they just think I am stuck up so they stay pure from my insanity. Some chick named Kristine asked me to eat lunch with them. I just told her I was afraid of people to get her to go away. I am so good at one thing at least. But then Samantha came up. I can tell she is nice. I didn't know what to say so I said I would try next time. Maybe if I sit and am very quiet and don't look at them I can. I don't want to disappoint her. I had three nightmares last night and only remember one. Maybe the Prazosin will work. It just makes me so fucking mad that I have to have these. I am so pissed. Wasn't May enough that I have to STILL have nightmares about it? I even see it flash behind my eyes when I am awake. It just makes me so mad. Why did it happen? Why did I deserve that? Why. Just answer me? Why did I deserve -event trigger-. Is it really me. I mean he has done it before. I know that. But for Christ sake that was -event trigger-. WHY GOD DAMNIT? Is this all really my fault. I fucking want them to suffer like me. Do you hear me. SUFFER. PAIN. TORTURE. SLOW SLOW SLOW TORTURE. NO DEATH. TOO GOOD FOR THEM. JUST THE WORST IMAGINABLE PAIN COMBINED AND INTENSIFIED MORE THAN ALL PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE PAIN. AND THAT STILL ISNT THE PAIN I WANT THEM TO HAVE. GOD DAMNIT. FUCKING PAIN SO THEY FEEL A MILLIMETER OF WHAT IS LEFT OF ME. FUCK I WANT THAT. FANTASIZE ABOUT IT. AGAIN NO DEATH. TOO GOOD. IT WILL FEEL SO GOOD. NOW THERE IS A FUCKING POSTER CHILD FOR BETRAYAL. THAT FUCKING BITCH. TO SAY I MADE HER LOOK BAD? WHAT THE HOLY FUCKED PILE OF STINKING SHIT GOD DAMN FUCK? TO SAY I SHOULD HAVE STOOD UP FOR MYSELF? TO SAY I TURNED MY. MY. MY. MY. MY. MY. MY. MY. BACK -event trigger-? WHAT A FUCKING GOD DAMN JOKE. I BETTER STOP WRITING. I think I better stop writing. Why am I so angry? Here comes that fucking rage I cant stop. I could break this fucking stubby piece of shit pencil in half and sharpen it to a diamond point with my anger right now. Corner. I need the corner. Panic. Volcano. Death. Permission. He is in my head. Get the fuck out of my worthless head. No anger. No. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO corner