Sunday, July 5, 2015

Day Nine - 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 NINE SUMMARY - I had a hard day. I was groggy because I had switched med times and part of my meds are valium (the generic actually) and I went to sleep after taking it in the morning. And, I found out that the third most important person in my life, my brother Josiah, had surgery. Shortly before I admitted to Mesa Springs he called me one morning to tell me he had been put on the liver transplant list. My brother was born with a hole in his heart. In 1973, he had heart surgery to correct that. I remember crying every night he was gone. I remember the moment I saw him when he came home. Because they did not screen blood in the 70's, my brother got Hepatitis C from the blood transfusion during his surgery. I am happy to report that he is doing very well today. He is a fighter. Part of that is being a Culross. We are all fearless fighters. Part of it is the grace of God. And part of it is today's medicine. The rate of liver transplant failure is 5%. Still, I fear that 5%. But Josiah is doing well. Thoughts about today. I had a nightmare the night of the seventh day. I had a flashback nightmare and remember waking up because someone was rubbing my back and it lulled me back to sleep. I literally felt someone rub my back. I remember the sensation and how it comforted me. I got up on the eighth day and asked Stacey if she rubbed my back. She didn't. I asked Kennedy to look at notes about my night and it wasn't mentioned. I asked every tech and nurse that had been on shift. They didn't either. And I was very upset that I had a new nightmare I had never had before where I was confusing reality with nightmare. I went into Mesa Springs convinced I was losing reality and that some force in my head that was evil wouldn't talk to me just to fool me and he was trying to fool me so he could steal reality from me. Is that psychosis? No. It was purely lack of sleep. But it gives me a good idea of how those with psychosis must suffer. My heart hurts for them. Even on day nine, I was still catching up on sleep. Another thought. My reaction was over the top to hear about Josiah's transplant. I should have been overjoyed. And honestly, in my condition at that point, it was a really good thing I wasn't there or I would have drove everyone nuts, including myself!!! Another thought about today. I didn't go to groups because I was so groggy, besides COGNIT. I went to that every single day once I went to the first day. But it wasn't because of the surgery that I skipped groups. It was because I slept most of the day away, or I read. And, I was much less hateful towards myself for not being there for Josiah's surgery. Especially because I had a panic attack over it. I was REALLY EMOTIONAL about it. So, while you read this journal entry, recognize this as yet another day that I improved. The book I am referring to by Stephen Seager is called 'A Year with the Criminally Insane, Behind the Gates of Gomorrah'. Please consider reading it. We have a subset of mentally ill men and women that need our help. They are criminally insane and are imprisoned in places like Napa State Hospital, a forensic mental hospital. Men and women like Dr. Seager work there, WITH NO GUARDS, to try and help these men and women. Not only is he in danger without the protection of guards, but the patients themselves are in danger from their fellow patients that are criminally insane. They aren't protected from each other. It is basically a free for all as far as behavior goes. All of these people: doctors, nurses, techs, patients, need our help to reform the mental illness system to better serve them. It is something I hope to help come to fruition, although it will be years in the making, I am sure. There is so much that needs fixed in our current mental illness system, especially for those with serious mental illness. Our current system is concentrating on those able to recognize they need help. It spends it's funds on mental health, not mental illness. There is a huge difference between Mental health and mental illness. One I intend to blog about. Those unable to recognize they need help are ignored. Funding and current law do not help them at all. That is shameful to our population. This book is worth the read. Dr. Seager tells a story that will draw you in and ends it with how we need change. It is available at book stores and electronically. Dr. Seager is on Facebook. Please read this and friend him and get involved. He is very on point as to the changes that MUST happen to help the criminally insane and the people dedicated to helping them. Oh, final thought for clarification. PHP is Partial Hospitalization Program. It is offered to people in crisis to try to avoid an inpatient stay and it is strongly suggested to people after an inpatient stay. It is a Monday through Friday program of intensive therapy in a group. I am currently in PHP thanks to Diana transporting me there every day. From now on, if I think hospitalization is possibly in my future, I will go to PHP before it gets bad enough to need hospitalization. Unfortunately for us with mental illness, and a part of the issue with parity, insurance dictates whether you are covered and how long you stay. Even though I am blessed with good insurance, you wouldn't believe what my out of pocket is costing me and I am at their mercy as to how long I get to take advantage of this through insurance.


JOURNAL ENTRY - Friday, June 9
Well, I did pretty good yesterday. It was obviously a positive day to me. I just read the entry. So good job for me. But I lost it with Kennedy just now. I mean lost it. I felt a whirlwind of emotions hit me when I talked to him. I KNOW I felt a hand rub my back. I KNOW IT. Yes, intellectually I will tell you it was a dream. But someone exists in my head and SOMEONE RUBBED MY BACK. I KNOW IT. Nobody says they did it. Not Stacey, not the techs or nurses. I know it is true. It is a totally new what is reality and what isn't dream. I have never had it before. NEVER. He is in my head and the Prazocin is still not working. I cried my eyes out to Kennedy. Did he understand? I don't think so. He can't see how terrified I am that someone is trying to kidnap my reality and not let me back. Of course, it would help if I would tell him about that person in my head that doesn't speak, but I just can't admit that to anyone. One day I am not going to wake and I am going to think I am awake forever. What will happen to Daniel and Ian? And God knows what he will make me do while I am kidnapped. What if I hurt someone? What? I am petrified. Terrified. Maybe it was one of the reasons - suicide trigger- even though I no longer feel that way. Should I think it over and maybe -suicide trigger-? NO. Kennedy upped the Prazocin again. My last step. No more upping. If this doesn't work, I have to consider - suicide trigger- to protect the world from what he may make me do if I lose the fight though. I just have to. I will write the kids and admit there is this evil in my head and that I love them but I must protect them. But for now, I give the Prazocin one more chance. ONE. It is all I have left. No more upping. We watched Golden State and the Cavs together last night. Me, Stacey, Ron, Bryson, Sydney, Justine, Denise annnnd Renata. OMG the obvious crush that girl has on Bryson. He is such a sweet soul. I just want to gather him up and mother him. He is so unassuming and such a shining star. I hope that kid never doubts himself again. It is so obvious on how much he deserves life and has to offer the world. And Ron. Why is that man here? I respect him so much. His eyes are so kind. And he rarely smiles but when he talks about his kids, his entire face lights with fire and love. He doesn't talk much and I think he is smart enough to not like me, but I wish I could stay in contact with him after. I honestly did not expect to connect with anyone here. So many good, deserving people here. They inspire me to be deserving. They inspire me to try to be worthy. They switched my morning med set from 9 to 6 today. Ugh. Talk about groggy. I went back to sleep after I took them. Stacey and Diana say I told Sophia to leave me alone when she kept trying to get me up for breakfast. That makes me laugh. You don't say no to Sophia. That woman follows the rules! I think that is awesome. Even though she is the one that took my pen the first day, she hasn't found my markers yet. I really like her. She has passion for her job. That is what I like about Mesa. They just don't hire. They obviously hire people that demonstrate in their interview they are in this profession because they care. For all I think about Sundance, the techs and nurses just never engaged. I realize the most I got from Sundance was due to Tonya. I think I already knew that. I am so grateful to have found her again. I am so grateful she actually took me as a patient. I need to tell her. I am so grateful she brought me that book. So I missed breakfast and slept til smoke. No way in hell I am going to miss that. And then, even though I was still sleepy and didn't tell Josiah I was coming here, I needed to talk to him. I just had too. So I called and damnit, he had just gotten out of surgery from the liver transplant. I freaked. I talked to Jonathan and made him promise to keep me up to date. I am supposed to be there. I am supposed to protect him. Interrogate those doctors. You can't trust doctors. I need to be there to protect him like I did dad. It is my fault dad died. I protected him. I knew his meds. I knew their side effects. I asked asked asked question after question. Fenway said I was a Nazi daughter. But I caught so much for dad and was there when dad didn't know what questions to ask or what symptoms to mention. And then I stopped paying such close attention because dad was doing so well. And he died on me. I just can't let that happen to Josiah. Can you love a brother so much? I do. My soulmate. My identical twin that is three years older. But I feel that close to him. Why else would I have been so focused on talking to him today when I promised myself I wouldn't. I broke my own promise. I know him that well. I need to be there, I just have to be even though everyone but Jonathon wouldn't want me there - especially Eleanor. Please God, listen to me this one time with a request. Please please please please please please protect Josiah and let him live. I know it is selfish to ask him to live for me, but fuck it I am selfish. I want to die before Josiah. I don't want a life without him. I love him so much. He is my brother. I mean he is what embodies that word. Brother. Family. Friend. Acceptance. Standing by my side. Love. He loves me. I know I burden his life, but he still loves me. He loves ME. Stupid me. HE LOVES ME. So when I called and Eleanor had the phone, I had a panic attack. Thank God Diana was there to help me. She wouldn't leave my side. Neither would Stacey. I am so scared. I need to be there. If I was worthy I would be there for him. SO no nightmare last night. whew. Kennedy asked what I thought about release for Monday. Am I ready? I don't know. How do I know if I am ready? This is just for stabilization. Am I stabilized. I went ahead and said yes. If he says Monday then obviously Mesa has done all it can for me and I go back to Tonya for more work. I have no transportation to PHP, so it is up to Tonya for my work. Fuck, I have to figure out how to get to Tonya each week. Can she do phone? FUCK. But I can't stay here forever. Christ today is the 12th. I have been here 9 days. I was out of Sundance at 8. I have overstayed my welcome already. But how do I know I am ready? Is this another example of me doing what I think I need to do because someone else thinks I control - DAMNIT - manage bipolar? I mean I do one or two things constantly. I don't allow my own feeling. Hell half the time I don't know what my own feeling is. Only the feeling of what I think everyone else thinks I have to do because I can't trust my bipolar brain. I think I need to let everyone think for me. I just put up this persona on my blog that I am intelligent. OR, even if I think I have a feeling, I deny it because I just don't trust myself. I just trust everyone else. Intellectually, I know that is wrong. Even with bipolar I have intelligence about myself. I do know what I need most of the time. God I am getting confused. I know what I feel and that makes me resist med changes and made me -suicide trigger- so do I really now what I feel. Pffft. I think I better let that one rest. My mind is racing right now. Going in circles. Circling the bandwagons, but around what I don't know. I AM SO FUCKING CONFUSED. What is right? What is wrong? When will I ever know. Do mother fuckers that have cancer race like this? Have to ask Charles. Ummm, not that I mean he is a mother fucker. Crack myself up. I want to talk to Charles. Not email. Talk. I just don't have his number and neither does Daniel. And I have my phone locked up here. I can't get to Charles right now. Why the hell didn't I tell anyone I was coming here. Idiot.
Feelings
-afraid of how it makes me look
-afraid of what people think
-afraid I am being selfish
-afraid that feeling is wrong and unacceptable
-afraid it means I am failing
fuck you bipolar. FUCK YOU.

I remember the afternoon Jim and I got up from nap. I remember being on the swings and Ben came outside after us. I can see him running up to the swing and telling me he wanted to swing. I said no. Damnit I was on that swing first. I then remember Mom yelling and standing in the corner. MY nose pressed close. I remember the corner. The one closest to the front door. I remember Mom standing me in front of her and telling me Ben wasn't old enough to lie. That I was lying. I loved Mom. If she told me I was lying then I was lying. I don't remember why she told me I was lying. Maybe Ben went inside and told her I took the swing from him? I dunno. But she said I was lying and I wasn't but she said I was. I remember the searing, hot tears streaming down my face and feeling so empty that I was such a bad girl. Those tears were so hot and full of confusion and rejection of self. I realize that now. I can still feel that feeling. I was telling the truth but she said I was lying so I must have been lying and not realized it. Funny how a kid's mind works. Have I damaged my kids like that? Is that why I am so convinced that I hurt my kids even though they are the most good, caring, wonderful, awesome, open, warm hearted young men that I know? Is that why I don't trust my feelings? Is that why I am afraid to speak up for myself? Does bipolar make it worse? I know everyone suffers from self esteem issues with bipolar. I know things like how you were brought up exacerbate bipolar. Am I just dead out of the gate because I didn't have the best childhood AND have bipolar? Jesus. Getting confused again? How the hell do I figure all this out. I have to. I just have to. I won't survive -suicide trigger- again. I know in my heart I won't. Ummmm, should I trust that feeling or am I fooling myself again. Holy Fuck how the mind can play tricks. At least my mind does. Does that prove my failure. My unworthiness. JESUS. I need to shut up. or write up. Crack myself up still. But that memory hurts. But the truth of that memory is that even when I am telling the truth I assume nobody believes me. I assume I don't know what my truth is. I know I must do as others say because I have bipolar and can't think for myself. Was I bipolar as a child? Did my childhood cause it? GAAAAAAAAAHHH. Ok Laura. STOP THINKING. STOP IT. STOP IT. You had Daniel bring you Stephen Seager's book. Go read it again. Go see what is like for real people who suffer from real mental illness and figure out how you can help. Others need help. Not you. Please God. Save Josiah. Please. I beg you. If it saves Josiah, take my life. Please. I beg of you. I don't beg God. I am begging you. Please. I need Josiah. Take me, not him. Please God. I can't pray anymore because I don't deserve it so I am writing it because I know you see this paper. Please God. Blur these words so Satan can't see them because I know Satan has me since that is all I deserve. I know you love me God. I know I don't deserve it so I am protecting you too God. But. Please save my brother, my Josiah. He deserves it. People deserve him. If Satan sees this he will take Josiah. I want Charles.

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