Day Six - 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:


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).

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.

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 with the general public, I would have done a better job of describing each person!


DAY SIX SUMMARY - I can summarize this day in one word. Rage. And I included the picture from my journal. It does no justice whatsoever to how I felt. I wanted to bury black scribbles all over it, breaking the tip of the marker while screaming my lungs out. I wanted to bleed on it. I wanted to spit on it. I wanted to crumple it, then stomp on it. I wanted to tear it into tiny pieces and shove it down someone's throat. None of those were acceptable behavior at Mesa Springs, so I was left with this drawing. I tried to refuse meds. I tried to refuse to eat. I tried to refuse to see Kennedy. I stayed in my room. I skipped every group. I did smoke, however and tried to just act normal to Diana, but she knew. Stacey knew also and gave me plenty of space. But both of them did something that was important to me. They respected me and cared. They knew I was in pain and they knew it was up to me to handle it and up to staff to help me make that happen. I closed my door several times, which isn't allowed and just ignored them when they told me it needed to stay open. One tech came to try and draw me out and I basically told him to go to hell and leave me alone. My night nurse tried to draw me out and I told her it was none of her business. By the way, you will notice the drawing is in color. I have smuggled several markers into my room by now and hid them whenever I was out. By the end of my stay, Stacey and I had a full set of colored pencils in our room, too. Don't do this if you are hospitalized. It is for your own protection that nothing other than golf pencils are allowed in your room. STRONG language warning.

JOURNAL ENTRY - Tuesday, June 9
FUCKING GOD DAMN BASTARD MONSTER. GET OUT OF MY HEAD. FUCKING GOD DAMN BITCH OF THE ANGEL YOU THINK YOU ARE. YOU ARE NOT. HE IS NOT. HE IS DAMAGED? WHAT THE FUCK. HE IS DAMAGED SO HE CAN WILLINGLY CREATE MORE DAMAGE AND WE ARE SUPPOSED TO SUPPORT? YOU BITCH TO SHOVE THAT DOWN OUR THROATS. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD. DO YOU HEAR ME. GET THE FUCK OUT. FUCK YOU NIGHTMARES. FUCK YOU. DO YOU HEAR ME SCREAMING IT. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU BASTARD. FUCK YOUR SOUL. FUCK YOUR FUCKING SOUL TO HELL WHERE YOU ARE NOT EVEN GOOD ENOUGH TO BE BANNED. MAY YOU FUCKING SUFFER FOR ONE SPLIT SECOND OF MY SUFFERING AS YOU CONTIUNE TO MAKE ME SUFFER IN NIGHTMARES. AND FUCK HER AND DAMN HER TO HELL FOR LETTING YOU DO IT AND CONDONING IT. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY EYES. LET ME FUCKING BLINK WITHOUT HAVING TO SEE YOU. WHY? WHY FUCK YOU. WHY DID YOU DO THIS. WHY YOU MOTHER FUCKER.WHY ME. WHY GOD WHY JUST FUCKING TELL ME. I AM SO FUCKING WORTHLESS. I AM SO FUCKING DISGUSTING. FILTH. DO YOU HEAR ME. FILTH. STINKING FILTH GRIMY AND DISGUSTING AND SLIMY AND FULL OF INFECTION. FUCKING DIRTY ROTTEN SMELLY FUCKING NO GOOD FILTH. FUCK ME. FUCK ME LIFE. I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU. FUCK YOU BASTARD. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY NIGHTMARES. FUCKING PRAZOCIN ISNT WORTH SHIT. FUCK PRAZOCIN. FUCK IT. IT DOESN'T FUCKING WORK. FUCK YOU PRAZOCIN. FUCKING GET RID OF NIGHTMARES YOU MOTHER FUCKER? FUCKING HELL WHY ARE THEY STILL HERE THEN. PLEASE FUCKING KILL ME LIKE I DESERVE. FUCKING HELL. FUCKING NIGHTMARES. GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME. AWAY AWAY AWAY AWAY AWAY LEAVE ME ALONE GOD DAMNIT. I HATE YOU. DO YOU HEAR ME. I FUCKING HATE YOU. FUCKING WANT YOU TO FEEL THE PAIN, FEEL IT FOREVER. ETERNAL. PAIN. FUCKING PAIN. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FUCKING HEAD GOD FUCKING DAMNIT. FUCK YOU. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK YOU. YOU FUCKED ME OVER. SO FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU AND THAT BITCH. THAT FUCKING BITCH I GAVE EVERYTHING TO. FOR WHAT. TO GET FUCKED OVER BY BOTH OF YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK PRAZOCIN. FUCK THIS PLACE. FUCK GROUP. FUCK PEOPLE. FUCK KENNEDY. FUCK NURSES. FUCK ALL OF YOU. DAMN EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU. I AM DAMNED TO HELL. ME. DAMNED TO ETERNAL NIGHTMARE HELL. FUCK YOU BASTARD.