Day Eight - 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 EIGHT SUMMARY - I spent my day reading 'The Gifts of Imperfection' and in groups. And I got a lot. I started to stop viewing bipolar as such a monster and back to being just part of me. And even though I didn't write it in my journal, I think this is the day that I started to realize that though having bipolar 2 disorder is hard, it is not impossible. And, it has given me some gifts. And, I needed to start applying those gifts to myself. This was the first day that Brene Brown discussed courage, compassion, and connection in her book. And everything I read left me with a sense of awe that if I would do this for myself, I could manage bipolar again. However, as I translated this journal entry, I still see a lot of negative self talk. Hopefully, I think you will agree, much, much less than when I arrived on June 4th. Finally, you will notice I wrote down questions from the board during group. My notes on the questions that I took are in parenthesis.


JOURNAL ENTRY - Thursday, June 8
to externalize - not the label of depression, mania, bipolar, anxiety - not how you explain with words. Those are not us in whole, only part. To externalize is to DESCRIBE how those labels make us feel - in picture or in picture words. Give mental illness a picture. - Rebecca in group

RAGE - hot with a chest that explodes, refuting logic as it spews vomit, disagreeable to it's own logic and unable to stop the flow. Red vomit like congealed blood. Black as a blasphemous sin. Poisonous as the strike of a cobra. Dante's Inferno.

DEPRESSIVE STATE - An elevator at the top floor of the highest skyscraper, suddenly plummeting, freefalling to the bottom, sucking the air out of me as it slams to the ground of my brain, but remains whole, yet in pieces. The fog then descends, thick, lifts for a spilt second to a slice of clarity with no air. Vision is lost, clouded by the fog, wet and thick. An enraged elephant tramples my heart, leaving it bleeding, yet refusing to stop bleeding. Caught in a black hole. Pulling me in as I can't resist and crushing me into nothing. I disappear, never to be seen again.

MANIA - Floating in the heavens with ants crawling my body, fingers mixing all the pots of color in the world where money is no object to achieve the super intelligence I have been rightfully given. Sex is the ultimate expression of the beauty in my being. And I am radiantly beautiful. I float through the clouds with the energy of the eagle as it endlessly hovers above the horizon. Colors pop and explode in beauty. Language becomes mystic and worthy of hours of investigation. But the ants won't stop and render me unable to rest. They spur me to greatness.

DISTORTED THINKING - 2 + 2 = anything but 4. My fish is a lion. The universe consumes me and I no longer deserve to exist. Minute mistakes prove absolute, complete, utter failure.

BETRAYAL - A never ending, twisting, gouging, hacking, stabbing, axe with serrated edges that is chopping and dismembering my body, my limbs, as it drinks my blood and refuses to feed the scraps to the dogs.

WORTHLESSNESS - The deformed particle of the molecule on the speck of dust that is stuck to the old gum ground into the heel of a ratty, tattered shoe on a decrepit, ugly person with one set of stinking, torn, dirty clothes, bleeding gums and teeth, mangy hair, and can never shower. And the particle does all it can to hide because if found, the molecule will reject it as unworthy.

1. Who invites problems into your life? (I know the answer is ultimately me, but there are times when I cannot control the problems entering my life. The issue is how I handle them)
2. Who stands against with you against this problem? (hmmm...here I go again. ME. BUT BUT BUT need to look more closely at my support group. I freeze them out even though they want to help.)
3. What does the problem want to do with your life? (destroy it...and apparently I let it. Must stop. Must manage. Must learn to accept and flow. Must learn to let med changes happen. Research on situational depression versus otherwise)
4. What gives the problem power? (Fuck yeah, it is me. I give bipolar power. I give -event trigger- power. I literally hand over the power. How to stop?)
5. What would taking a stand against your problem look like? (hell if I know)
6. What would be made possible if the problem wasn't influencing your life? (wont use normal, but normal? Balance? That thin, clean line? The gentle baby's breath. The soft touch of a feather? Is that really possible with anyone? Am I fooling myself. I have to walk the walk of that which I talk. How? Meds? Better with Tonya? Give up? No, jk, need to investigate)
7. What would you need to feel supported in taking a stand? (Josiah can do nothing more than he is. Maybe open more to Charles? Yes. He loves me. I think. No, yes he does. I need me most to feel supported, but how do I do that when slipping into depression or hypomania? Think about this)
8. Who are you outside the problem? (worthy. balanced.)
9. What area of your life has the problem not been able to influence? How come? (Josiah and Ian. I need to do something about Daniel. Repair. Everything else I need to think. I shut everyone out. No job. No friends in Arlington. No social life but Ian. Read 24/7. It has become a way for me to escape instead of enjoy. Confused by this question. Come back) - questions on the board in group

Balanced living is not something you attain. It is a process and I lifelong journey if you have bipolar. - my thoughts from BB

Just like any journey, we need to think about what we need to take along, Tools, Support. Patience. Acceptance. Courage. Compassion, Connection. - my thoughts from BB

All of us have to dig deep at times to function. It is the 'goto' we all rely on when we know we are slipping down a slippery slope of depression or hypomania. Besides the potential of facing an adjustment or change in med set, it is what we do to push through. DIG can be an acronym.
D - deliberate
I - inspired
G - get going
DELIBERATELY choose an action that benefits your mental health and if you can't, big red flag. Scream at someone that you need help. Don't ever let it get to that point again.
INSPIRE - yourself to make appropriate, new and different choices towards that action. If it doesn't work, inspire to another. Do not give up. Feel like giving up. SCREAM.
GET GOING - Do it!!!!! Doesn't work? Back up and start over. SCREAM.
So, DIG deep, be deliberate, inspired and get going! Is that hard being bipolar. Fuck yes. But doing it could possibly stop that slippery slope, you can do nothing but learn from it, and will help manage bipolar in the future. Stop giving up you idiot! - my thoughts from BB

So, what did I learn today? Stop saying stuff like I feel worthless, etc. Describe it. That helps my support group understand better. And I have a thought. Is this the first time I have thought of it? Maybe I can educate my support group to know when I am going up or down? Hell, when was the last time I was up. Yeh, last year for a bit, but I even convinced Zimmerman it was nothing because it felt so good. So gotta stop encouraging that hypomania. Damnit. Perfectionism is a bitch. I expect to try something and succeed first time. Does my history play into that? Yep. Is that part of bipolar. ??? How do I find out? How do I advocate that? Can I just ask? I will never achieve balance. As in, I will never grab it and keep it. Perfectionism. A sense of failure. Must remember to recognize the ups and downs as part of me, not all of me. Even with problems, those of my own and those that interfere with my life, my reaction is key. Sometimes I can handle. Sometimes not. There is no shame in asking for help. It should be pride. Pride that I help myself instead of try to force being that fucking N word. There is no N for anyone. Why do I expect it for myself. How dumb can I get? Pretty dumb I guess. Recreation therapy kicks ass! So does COGNIT. I got to meet Fritz and COGNIT means we get to request video after doing our COGNIT work. I found Yelawolf and Shinedown!!!! They fucking rock. Good night Laura. I think maybe I love you. Do you deserve it???