Day Ten - 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 TEN SUMMARY - Once again, a day with troubles but a day of improvement. Things are really coming together. My thoughts have begun to be clear. I am thinking more rationally. I have almost no negative talk. I am being proactive in how to move forward. I was angry at the first morning events, but instead of stewing over it, I attacked my "recovery" (you'll learn in a blog in the future after this journey series why I put that word in quotes) with zeal. The only group I did that day was COGNIT. I loved writing down my mood AND the music after!


JOURNAL ENTRY - Saturday, June 13
I got up at 6a today instead of going back to sleep. Good energy. I felt good and ready to speak to Kennedy. I do want to be out of here. I miss the boys. I miss their smell. It's normal to be nervous or even anxious to leave inpatient. A mental health facility is the safest place you can be when you crash. So my plan was to admit to Kennedy I agreed to Monday because he suggested it, but then got more anxious than I felt I should be and ask him how I would know I was truly ready. Being honest with myself, I have only had a few good days. Last night that bitch was texting the boys and I raged. I am still crashing way too easily. So am I ready? I don't know. I decided I would tell him I was still bouncing into desperation and -suicide trigger- too easily. So, I grabbed coffee and sat down to read more Gomorrah before breakfast. Then it happened. Sophia congratulated me that I was being released TODAY. All inside hell broke loose. Panic attack. The whole nine yards. Crying, shaking, inability to speak, curling up in myself, tunneling, breathing and not breathing, hurting, confusion. If they were releasing me today then obviously they were done with me and thought me no longer capable of more help. They very thing I came in believing would happen once they got to know me was coming true. I shut down. I filled my morning paper laced with self hate. I decided they knew best and I would just go home and -suicide trigger-. I took a visteral and calmed down but still thought fuck it all I am hopeless. Met with Kennedy and he said it was a mistake but it answered my question of if I am ready. I am not. No groups for me today. I am still very anxious. I am going to read some of Gifts instead. I need to recenter myself and get my head straight. Even though Kennedy said it a mistake, I am still having a lot of confusion. Can I ever truly manage bipolar? Can I? I don't know right now.

Courage...requires us to let go of what we think others think. - BB

...boundary setting and saying no is an important part of compassion. - BB

Belonging is an essential component of wholehearted living, but first we have to cultivate self acceptance. - BB

Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our life running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as giving up on love and belonging and joy - the experiences that make us most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light. - BB

So intellectually I understand this. I have gotten to the point of my not owning my own bipolar story because of shame. I have never experienced a depressive state such as this one. It shames me. But, in giving up ownership, I threw away self acceptance. I left courage. I became obsessed with what others think. This is profound. If I can stay brave and compassionate to myself can I own my bipolar story and keep it? I only caution I feel is what will I do and what will I think of myself if I relapse this badly, OR WORSE, again. Will I survive it if I don't somehow release this perfectionism again??? Much to think about. Fuck this book is good. I could hug Tonya. That woman seems to know just what I need. She sees right through me.

Trying to co-opt or win someone over...is always a mistake, because it means trading in your authenticity for approval. You stop believing in your worthiness and start hustling for it. - BB

Holy shit. Authentic??? I know I have felt like I don't know who authentic me is. I know only certain people need to know I have bipolar. BUT BUT BUT I try so hard to be what I think others expect of a 'normal' person I start hustling. I THINK MAYBE IT STARTS THAT SLIPPERY SLOPE. Must stop. Must stop caring. Must. Must. Must. Must stop doing the Hustle. Crack myself up.

We have to own our story and share it with someone that we can count on to respond with compassion. - BB

JOSIAH. STOP FREEZING HIM OUT. CHARLES??? LET HIM IN MORE? Hmmmmm.

Compassion is not agreement. Compassion is not the obligation to fix. Compassion is an act of listening and accepting it is my story and a reflection of me at that moment. Compassion does not judge. - BB

More profound. Reflection of that moment. Profound for me. I think of my non balanced states as failure. Compassion for self would believe and know it is just that moment. Hello Laura. You have bipolar. Bipolar babe. Moods are gonna swing. No choice. Just that moment. Say goodbye to shame if I can remember this. And don't let the door hit ya shame!

Sympathy perpetuates shame. Empathy creates connection. Stop feeling sorry for myself and connect instead. Accept I can't be the perfect bipolar.

When we're looking for compassion, we need someone who is deeply rooted, able to bend, and most of all, we need someone who embraces us for our strengths and struggles. We need to honor our struggle by sharing it with someone who has earned the right to hear it. - BB

The root of the word courage is cor - the Latin word for heart. Courage originally meant "To speak one's mind by telling all one's heart." ...is often about putting our life on the line. Ordinary courage is about putting our vulnerability on the line. In today's world, that's pretty extraordinary. - BB

I am not authentic because I think as I think others think I should. And act. I don't speak my heart. I don't trust my heart. I excuse it by saying I can't because of bipolar. That is wrong. Now how do I take the next step???

The word compassion is derived from Latin words pati and cum, meaning to suffer with. - BB

Must learn to allow myself to suffer. Must understand I will have highs and definite lows. Stop denying it. It will allow self acceptance.

We do not innately respond with compassion to ourselves thus creating shame. We are prone to blame, judge, become a fixer. Those that want to be compassionate to our story are the same. Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It is a relationship between equals. One able to express courage and one able to express empathy. This totally speaks to where I MUST take my relationship with myself. Remember this!

So what did I learn today? A lot. But too much to handle. Must rinse repeat and wash often. I have to get this book on my own so I can mark it up and make notes where I can find them. So I am definitely looking to be authentic. Speak my heart. Have courage for my heart. Be compassionate
and accept myself as is. As Tonya says. I. Am. Enough. I will be hypomanic. I will be depressive. I will be balanced. But if I do the things above, I feel balance will stick longer. No shame. No shame in hypomania. No shame in depression. Shame is longer allowed. Get the hell outta my house. Bipolar is a brain disease. Bipolar is livable. More balance includes more than meds. It even includes more than therapy. It includes constantly reassessing yourself to see where you fit in your spectrum of allowing yourself to be imperfect. Every human is imperfect. Is bipolar more imperfect? Is cancer more imperfect? Fucking no. Bipolar is a disease. Is bipolar a more difficult disease? Some. Not all. I. Am. Enough. iamCULROSS. Good night Laura. I am pretty sure I love you. Still thinking about it to. Hang in there babe.