Day Eleven - 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 ELEVEN SUMMARY - There are two times I write my name in this entry. I literally signed my name and was going to take a picture, but I spilled coffee all over my journal while proof reading my transcription and that was the page I was on. I also hope this doesn't sound to disjointed. It isn't hypomania, but when I get thoughts at a clear headed level, I tend to think faster than I can write. My spelling becomes abbreviations. My use of punctuation lazier. I tend to run thoughts together trying to get them all down. My thoughts do race, but again, it isn't hypomania. It is just the Culross mind. Depressed, my thought is so slow, I get things down more clearly, if that makes sense. And, my humor with myself is much more pronounced. I love to joke. I love to laugh. There are quite a few people that can attest to that. It is Culross humor. And I proudly tend to think I own the title. With that said, I am going to let this day speak for itself.


JOURNAL ENTRY - Sunday, June 14
Racing thoughts. Write quickly. Bipolar can = impaired cognitive function = exacerbated perfectionism = distorted thinking or is it vice versus whatever = fear of mistakes = me unlovable in my opinion = me digressing mood or depressive state (doesn't happen with hypomania, I LOVE myself when hypomanic) = longer depressive state = unable to love self = also perpetuating hypomania when it happens = self hate = doubt = what are my feelings really = me hustling for worth = denial = resist or refuse med change = me. Duh. So boundaries. We talked boundaries in group this morning. Wasn't very informative. Tonya's was much better. But it made me remember her teaching it at Sundance. Wish I had that folder here. I would share. The group on grief last week wasn't like Tonya's either. She is so fucking awesome. But I need to set a boundary for me about me. Number one and first boundary. Most important. Self love. Acceptance. Awareness. Stop hustling for love. Have feelings. Allow feelings. Pondering is acceptable. Necessary as I learn and practice, BUT allow having and acting on MY feelings, not what I think everyone else thinks I should feel or what I think everyone thinks I should feel, I am always guessing. I perfect guessing. That in itself is a distorted thinking. Anyway. Ponder carefully but stop hiding and denying myself. That = exacerbation. Allow to feel. Allow confidence in bipolar. It is but a part of me and certainly not the reason to not be me. Allow bipolar. Depressive and hypomania. STOP DENYING. Consequences? If a mistake not a failure. DEPRESSIVE OR HYPOMANIC STATE IS NOT FAILURE. It is part of my disease like a reaction to chemo. God forbid I ever have cancer tho. Please God save Ricky. Anyway. I digress yet again! IT FUCKING HAPPENS. Adjust. Learn. Continue. Relax. Forgive myself for not controlling the depressive the hypomania. Accept. I. Am. Enough. Damnit Tonya I Love you. You are so smart. Accept I am imperfect like everyone else AND I HAVE BIPOLAR, so maybe a bit more imperfect than others. Continue. Apologize if necessary. Learn. Seems like a fucking awesome plan. Now I gotta do it. Waiting on Kennedy and here is what I need to say. Make sure to take this with me you forgetful old woman. Ha 50. Old? NOPE.

I would like to discharge Tuesday at the earliest. Even after yesterday and us talking about the mistake, I felt suicidal. I just wanted to go home and - suicide trigger-. I haven't had two days without ideation. I want two things to release:
1. two days without ideation or severe mood drop or panic at the drop of a hat
2. time to finish Tonya's book before I have to leave this safety and face pressure again

Ha. Proud of myself. I am standing up for what I feel. High five. Back slap. Slap! I have realized I am very good at setting myself up for a sure fail bipolar system. LOL. I know, no failure, but I make myself and allow myself to make many failure mistakes. What the hell else am I supposed to call them. I don't let myself have a chance at winning. God even that doesn't sound good. What the hell do I mean? How do I write it. Anyway, I live like I think meds control bipolar, but then resist or refuse change. I always hide the hypomania or think the depression is situational. How do you know what is situational hypomania or depression anyway. I asked Timothy and his answer was clear as mud. No help. Thanks anyway dude. But I believe emotions and thinking patterns are a result of life's experiences and do not effect-affect bipolar. What? They are a part of bipolar. That is what makes it difficult. I have this brain disease and need my emotions and thinking patterns to live through this disease and the very organ I need is the one that is fucking diseased. So my thinking is wrong. No duh. It is diseased, but I set myself up to screw up. And two wrongs don't make a right. Crack myself. In my case it made hospitalization. Ha Ha Ha, I allow bipolar to control me because I am at times limited in cognitive function but refuse the help that will get me back to cognitive function. I get confused. Nah, I just get controlling. I fucking HATE med changes. Change and wait a month for results????? Jesus Christ. Just leave me where I am and I will cope. That is wrong wrong wrong. Patience. Need patience. Need more education. I still don't understand this beast called bipolar. Will I ever? pffft. It is the old chicken and egg question. Which comes first? Meds. Meds help manage, not control...MANAGE. Meds needed to do the personal work to manage and walk that spider web. Well, in my case meds obviously seem to, at this moment come first. I reserve the right to change my mind. Hey! I am so smart. I can change my feeling. WOW girl you go. Think think think. Is that everyone. Must be careful on blog. Remember no black and white. Fuck me black and white for me but nobody else. I see black and white for me and every color in the spectrum plus some for everyone else. Yep, that is me. Gonna stop that shit. Make it into lemonade...with lots of sugar. Ha! So, I officially with this signature using this stolen marker, declare not only will I talk the talk, but I will walk the walk - Laura M. Culross. Thank you Jimmy Johnson. Sorry but Jason Garrett is still a better coach. FUCK YEAH COWBOYS!!!!! LESS THAN 100 DAYS TIL THEIR SEASON OPENER. Shame on me. I think it was at 102 when I came in, but I cant remember how many now. Bad Cowboys fan! lol. Super Bowl Baby. Fuck the smeagles and those damn referees. Dez caught it!!! Bipolar is a brain disease. No solid foundation on its cause. No single cause. No root. Not enough known about the brain and ain't gonna happen anytime soon. Inherited biological chemical environment all of the above? More? Can't get much further til we learn more about that brain. So it is hit and miss. And then there is such division in the mental illness community, not just the outside community. Pass this law. No don't pass this law. Spend money here even though it doesn't help or is for stupid reasons. Really? Money spent by SAMHSA on anti-psychiatry. pfffft. Not enough money. Lets include substance abuse in our money even though they have their own. Pyschs not seeing patients because they are too ill. WTF??? Where are they supposed to go. Beds closing. Jails the new beds. Jails profiting and housing but no treatment. Homelessness. ER - stabilize barely and throw you back on the street. No follow up plan. AOT - proven but rejected. Freezing out family that want to help because of civil liberties. HUH? What about the right to life? FUCK CIVIL LIBERTIES IN THIS CASE. Homelessness. Stigma. Discrimination. Your insurance decides whether you get treatment or not. Limiting treatment. Who the hell is going to limit your chemo treatment. Police aggression. 25% deaths by police are mentally ill. Only 31% approved for disability but their number 1 approval is bipolar. What the hell is THAT telling us. Saying gun control is answer to mental illness crime? HUH? WTF. We are victims more than the perpetrators. Discrimination. Discrimination. Say you got cancer and the whole world is there. Say mental illness and you are pyscho, not to be trusted nor believed about anything no matter what. Your worth just disappeared in their eyes. Shunned. No job. Only 40% of bipolar can hold a job. AND THAT ISNT INDICATION OF A PROBLEM THAT NEEDS FUNDING FOR RESEARCH??? Like which problem do you want to choose. Literally. Where are our research dollars? Our dollars are going to mental health, not mental illness. Our criminally insane are allowed to kill each other or the ones that are there to help. Who seems to care? Post and ask for prayer and ignored. Post you have cancer and need prayers and the entire nation prays. HOW IN THE HELL CAN PEOPLE NOT WANT TO GET INVOLVED. Bitter? Hell no. I need and want to get people to become a voice. I need to be stronger in my own advocacy for my own life so I can help. WE need help. Honest, non judgmental, factual help. Research. Money. End stigma. Start with one law and progress. Tim Murphy. Research. More research. Beds. AOT. CIT. God yes CIT. Feelings, opinions, reactions, thoughts...they originate from the brain. Regardless of the past, because of bipolar it affects your shit. Embrace it as acceptable. SHIT IS ACCEPTABLE. No sorry. I can't help it at times. I fight that devil but I just can't help it sometimes. Damn I fight it. That isn't failure. That is small victories that I showed strength in fighting. But stop fighting it in the wrong way. Meds. Damn them. But meds. Practice makes perfect. No not perfect but something, better? Stickier? Balanced longer? I, Laura M. Culross, officially declare this my new motto...at least til I think about it again and have another breakthrough. I didn't have nightmares last night. Ummm, not since the 12th maybe. Ask Kennedy. When can I get off Prazocin. Immunity? Others? I have this memory that I was thinking about this morning. I know god is love. Agape love. So why do I not believe he loves me cuz I still don't. It was winter. Sunday morning. Everyone but mom and me gone to church. Blue wool skirt with the straps and white shirt that itched. No idea what I did wrong. But I do remember the EXACT place in the kitchen that I was standing. Right next to the radio. Staring out the window. I still see the snow. I still see the frost and condensation on the window. Right next to Josiah's chair. Mom was sitting in her chair. Turned around and facing me. I still see her. What I remember. Her words. GOD DOES NOT WANT A LITTLE GIRL LIKE YOU IN HIS CHURCH. wow. I didn't cry. But everything went black in front of me except the register in front of the window that I looked down to as she said those words. I remember that focus on the register. The heat was blowing at that moment. I can still hear our furnace. And all I remember thinking is "I am bad. I am going to hell. God doesn't love me because I am bad. I don't know why, but I am bad" Mom said so. And I figured Dad told her to keep me home because he thought the same thing. They had to protect me from God. It was fact at that moment. Have I done something to like that to my boys??? Please God tell me no. Some people react to life like that by going wild. I reacted by being whatever I thought I had to be to possibly gain forgiveness. The wallflower. The ultimate potter's clay. Never trust myself again because I don't know what I am doing. Allowing everyone to be the potter. Anyone. Especially that bitch. Mom and Dad weren't going to love me. God wasn't going to love me. I thought she would maybe love me. Obviously not. Now add bipolar on top of that. No wonder I get fucked up. And it is also a clue to me why I get to the point why I think I have to protect people from me. Profound girl profound. Oh, time for Kennedy!!!!!!

Ok, Kennedy says we can revisit Tuesday and no problem. Whew. LOL. He pointed out I am spelling his name wrong and it is Prazosin, not Prazocin - pray zoe zen cuz I asked. Dude is cool. No known immunity. Get off after 6 months and with good therapy and monitored by my pysch. So I heard that and thought, cool 6 months. Then I thought No dumbshit, measure by therapy first. I got a long time before ever getting over - event trigger- and the betrayal. Yes to other PTSD drugs, but since no immunity, don't worry about it.  Did I already say no nightmares. Worth repeating. NO NIGHTMARES. There. Repeated for sure. No flashback. No what is reality. OH! And I can't remember the last time I felt like someone was in my head. I think it is a combination of finally routine sleep and no nightmares. YES FOR VALIUM! YES FOR PRAZOSIN! Happily welcomed in the med family of my life. See, med changes can be good. STOP CONTROLLING!!!!!! lol Just one question. Am I in reality? Do I trust that yet? Nope. But gonna go with the flow. I think I am. Did I just contradict myself??? Time for bed. So what I have I learned today? I am clear headed. Low anxiety. Josiah is doing ok and no panic attacks. Lower anxiety. I honestly can say I am not depressed. I won't say happy. What the hell is happy without hypomania for me? I won't say balanced. I still wish the fucking plague on her. But, clear headed. That is a good description. This is good, right? I am running around the track at a comfy pace and not getting out of breath. I am on that runner's high. NOT hypomania high. I know that. Fucking love that. YUM. Just running comfortably with even breath and the great feeling that I want to keep running. The only thing that is racing through my mind though is how do I make this stick how do I make this stick how do I make this stick. That is dangerous. That is my learned behavior that makes me try to control bipolar. I do feel good that I immediately caught myself about the Prazosin. So I guess I am kinda catching this. Some days will be balanced. Some days will not be balanced - a little high a little low. Some days will be depressive. Some days will be hypomanic. But with stopping the hustle, perfectionism, resistance, and allowing I. Am. Enough, maybe the balance can stick longer????? If it doesn't, gonna have to force myself and train myself to not see failure. That gonna piss me off tho. I want sticky. Sticky forever. Who doesn't? Maybe when I get my own Gifts I will collect the best quotes instead of positive affirmations. Before Tonya, whatever his name was said it takes x repetitions of saying something before you believe it. I forget how many. But I tried saying my positive affirmations that many times and it dinna work. Go figure. I am more motivated by profound thought than trying to convince myself of something. I do have another big step here. I really have to stop cutting again. When I get out I have to control that and stop. That is one thing I think I can control myself. I mean, Tonya knows, but if she doesn't ask again, I wont mention. I can do this. I did it before! And yeh, stop lying to myself that I am not really a cutter. A cut is a cut. I am just a smartass cutter, thinking I am fooling myself and denying fact. Admitting that alone should give me the control to stop. God what if Ian found out. HEY! BITCH! I LOVE YOU. YOU. ARE. ENOUGH. nightie night girlie. Sleep tight.