Day Thirteen - My Journey Through A Mental HealthFacility

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 THIRTEEN SUMMARY - This is how I came to decide to publish these journal entries. I hope they have meant something to you. I will do one more entry to this series. I want to you see that an inpatient stay is just the beginning in the fight against bipolar if and when it becomes necessary. Oh, and LuBrano-Lavadera was my mother's maiden name. My dad and she met during World War II in Morocco. They fell in love while she taught him French and he taught her English. It was part of a program the Army did where they had a family adopt someone serving in the army for dinner once a week. She was a war bride!


JOURNAL ENTRY - Tuesday, June 16
I am home. I have no latuda and yeh I got really upset. I knew I would come out to some sort of stressor but that is to be expected. Well, besides the stressor that Lenny was late, of course. Like I expected anything else. But Ian smelled so good and I couldn't let go of him and couldn't stop smiling. It felt so good to hug him and be in his arms again. I missed my baby. He had just gotten off from Six Flags and I still couldn't stop smelling him. I love my baby. Anyway, real life is stressful. I panicked about the latuda. Took a visteral. Stacey and I spent the day together as much as possible. I never expected to connect to Diana and Stacey like I have. I do not want to lose contact with either and I know I won't with Diana, but I respect Stacey's boundaries and know I may never hear from her again. We colored mandalas and talked and laughed and just hung out. We stole a whole set of colored pencils from the group room this morning! Heh Heh. I brought home two. Bill my insurance fuckers. I did leave the stolen pen to my credit. And all those god awful golf pencils. Good lord may I never see another golf pencil. I think I will even refuse to play putt putt from now on. Crack myself up. Anyway, I have made a decision. This scares the shit out of me. I am going to publish this journal. Word for word. Craziness for craziness. Negative to positive. Maybe even my hateful picture. Ok, maybe not that one, but maybe. It IS part of the story. Broken to something less than broken. I shall see what happens. Talk about nuts Laura. Geesh you take the cake. But hopefully I will touch someone. Help someone. BROKEN!!! And I have done it. I am NOT AS BROKEN. Damn, if I can do it anybody can. My perfectionism. My self esteem. My LuBrano combined with Culross stubbornness. My fucked bipolar. Yeh yeh I know girl, my bipolar, not my fucked bipolar. Just bipolar fuck off. I am still here. I can still smell my children. I can't wait to see Daniel. I want to smell him. Yeh I know you are weird girlfriend. Anyway, on point...my bipolar but fuck off bipolar. I can live with you. Up and down, I can do it. And now the real work begins. I don't have a way to php even though Diana offered. I just don't want to impose. So, the real work begins with Tonya if I can get her to do therapy over the phone since I have no transportation right now. I wonder if she Skypes? HELL NO. I would have to stare her in the eyes for an hour and I can't do that. I wonder if she ever notices how much I look around the room. What am I thinking, of course she does. So, yeh, publish the journal. Be courageous. Tell my heart. Be brave like Brene Brown. Yeh, think I will sleep now. God Laura, you rock. Ok, you suck too, but you rock you fucking survivor. I fucking want to get my nose pierced. My celebration of life. Good night love. You bitch! LMAO. Crack myself up. Jesus am I really gonna publish this? Yep. iamCULROSS...hear me roar! Holy shit, I am going to publish my journal. Wow. Extraordinary courage? Yeh, give myself credit. Man am I scared. But going be like that Brene Brown talk and tell the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Yep. Pat on the back. Pat! Now shut up and go to sleep. Yes ma'am. Good night girlfriend. Love you. You deserve it. Your own love you know. You deserve it. As is. Right now. Now shut up.