Day Three - 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 THREE SUMMARY - I'm not exactly sure how to summarize this day because I was all over the place. I can tell you that the first time I was hospitalized, I was at the very next group and never missed one the entire time. This time I just didn't care and I think you are going to be able to tell that it was actually a good thing as you see more of me and I begin to come into something much more less than broken. In retrospect, I learned something very important at Mesa Springs. I have to be me. The good. The bad. The ugly. And all of it is ok. So, I hope you wont read today and think, wow she just doesn't want help. That is true of day three, but it is soon to change. Hang in there. Stay with me. Language warning.


JOURNAL ENTRY - Saturday, June 6
I guess I am supposed to call this a good day. I got to see the boys for family therapy. They smelled so good. I love to smell them. Their arms around me were heavenly. I didn't want to let go. So it made me feel like happy. Til they left. Then it was reality again. Whatever reality is. I certainly don't know because of him. But I have had sleep now. 2 nights in a row. I slept all night again. So with sleep I feel so much clearer. I had no idea lack of sleep could do that. Everytime I would finally sleep I would wake up even after a few hours and feel refreshed so I thought it was enough. I don't know what to say about the boys. They really do love me. I could just feel the pain from Daniel. I have failed him worst. And I saw it hard for him to talk about but he loves me anyway. How did I get such good kids. I feel they are the best things in the world despite me. But did I have a hand in it? Is it possible to be a rotten tree and produce good fruit. The Bible says no but maybe it doesn't apply like that here? I don't know anymore. I have something to admit to Tonya but I don't want to. I am suicidal. It just not a suicidal ideation I have felt before. Before it was all -suicide trigger- but this time it is different. I am -suicide trigger-. I mean, the plan -suicide trigger- is brilliant, but the fact that I was so into it to the finest detail, I mean like lights and rushing and hands and shit...damn that is suicidal. -suicide trigger- So I guess it is good that I am here. Does this feeling mean I am beginning to care. Do I care if I care. I don't know yet. And I don't care if I know. Guess that kind of answers that question. I just know it feels so good to have seen the boys. They aren't going to get to visit me otherwise. That is best though. I still wont talk to anyone or sit or come out of my room. I still think they need protection from me. So, sleeping...the fucking nightmares...I don't think I can write that right now. I just sat here for a moment and tried deep breathing. Nope. Cant do it. Maybe later. Sat again. Nope. Gonna have to be later.
-----stopped writing
I am so fucking pissed. Amanda came in because she wanted me to get out of bed and come out and go to a fucking group. I don't need fucking group. I need these fucking meds to work. Then I am gone. And I was crying and she wouldn't stop. And she was nice and everything. I mean that IS her job. But I just kept crying harder and finally told her to stop because I was about to launch rocket style. I was getting so fucking pissed. Well I was smart enough not to tell her the rocket part. Don't want the isolation room. She backed off thank fucking God. She suggested talking to someone and asking if I could just talk to them - like another patient. Samantha? I guess maybe. Diana seems like a good choice. I don't know. She is quiet and probably won't talk vomit from the mouth like Tish does. That fucking woman never shuts up. I can hear her from my room and it drives me nuts. Well, worse than I obviously am. Do I define stigma? Am I helping it because I am here? I hurt the mental illness world of advocacy because I cant keep my shit together? I wonder what Kitty or LaShonda would say. They are the most awesome advocates. I learn so much from them. Anyway Diana it is.
-----stopped writing
I have to write this demon. I have to. Maybe that guy will leave my head and not come back. Maybe he wont control and try to kidnap me from reality anymore. I told Kennedy about the nightmare last night. Prazosin goes up tonight. It hasn't stopped the nightmares. I am asleep. I feel asleep. I can feel myself sleeping. And someone opens the door. I hear the knob turn and the door open and close. I hear the footstep. I feel the person standing above me. And then the reality fight begins. The person doesn't do anything else. I don't see the person. I feel the person. No gender. But an evil personality is there. I know it is there. It is real. There is where reality and nightmare begin to blur. I KNOW it is real. I mean it isn't real but it is REAL. It is more real than not real to me. I believe it is real just like the guy in my head trying to control me. That is the blur. I try to wake up to prove it isn't real. I cant. I think I do for a split second because suddenly I see the room and no one is there but all of a sudden I am asleep again and the evil personality is back. Did I even wake up? Maybe that is part of the master plan. I struggle getting more violent with myself. Punching my arms out. Wake. Sleep. Am I really? Or kicking my legs. Wake. Sleep. Am I really? Or screaming at myself. Wake. Sleep. Am I really? Over and over. What is real? I KNOW someone is trying to control my head. Trying to steal reality. I know not to tell anyone this because they wont believe me. But I know. When I finally wake and am really awake, I'm not sure I am awake. I search the house. Check the lock. It is always locked but is it reality or not. Is he in my head fooling with me? How do I know? I am so confused. With time, I finally decide I must be in reality but how do I really know still. What happens the day he really steals my reality and wont give it back. And that was the one last night. Then there is my hands. I am asleep. I look at my hands even though I am asleep. They aren't mine. I KNOW they aren't mine. And he is in my head again. Trying to fool me anyway possible. Stealing my reality. No stitches from a surgery or scars, but technology can fool me. They look like my hands. I check for the mole. It is there, but he is so clever he would do that to fool me. They wiggle when I tell them but he is in my head so of course they are going to wiggle. And I am so afraid those hands are going to hurt someone even though I don't feel it but he is in my head and fooling me and I know I need to cut them off to protect people and try to defy him. Beat him. Ian. I MUST CUT THEM OFF AND FIND MY HANDS AND DEFY HIM AND SHOW HIM HE CANNOT STEAL MY REALITY. So yeh, it was pretty scary to wake up in the kitchen crying the first time. And the lines are blurred. I just stood there and stared. What was reality? What should I do. Cut them to be sure? I am so confused. What if I do nothing and they hurt. What if I cut and they were mine. He is in so much control. So I sit on them. No cigarettes. No coffee. No books. Just sit and try to anticipate his next move. How can I know anything they do is real or not. How can I trust myself. I cant. I sit and they hurt from sitting on them. But that could be him too. I finally give up I guess. But truly, who knows if I am even in reality now? His hands could be having me write this just to make it seem real. Maybe my reality is still kidnapped. I am Star Trek episode whatever. Stuck in a false world and even Kirk cant help me. Or was it Spock. No it was Kirk? Was that show reality? Maybe I have never been in reality? Is there  reality? FUCK. I hate those nightmares. You would think after having them once I could reason they aren't real. But can I? He is powerful in my head sometimes. It tires me so much to fight him. I slip and almost give up so many times. Just take me. It must be part of what I deserve. And truly is the Prazosin reality? Maybe it is his illusion to kidnap my reality completely. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I am fucked. I have to protect this world from me. I want to badly to just -suicide trigger-. It is still so best for everyone. There isn't any way to -suicide trigger-. This is all HIS FUCKING FAULT -event trigger-. Cant we just erase May from the earth? Nope. Don't deserve it. God can I please see my children again. They are my reality. Or email Charles. Or talk to Josiah. Or talk to Linda or Jennifer. I just can't. I have to protect them. That is why I didn't tell them. These meds need to work. I just don't fucking need groups. Jesus Christ they will see my ugly. I am poison. This is such shit. SHIT. God. Damning. Shit. I am getting so pissed. This whole fucking thing is ridiculous. God let me scratch my eyes out. Fucking life. What the fuck did I do to deserve this. Fucking strike me with cancer would you. Then people would care instead of roll their eyes, never believe and shun me. I fucking try to be human. Fucking hell I do. Fuck. Damnit. Rage. Rage. Rage. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE WORTHLESS PILE OF SHIT FUCK YOU BITCH BITCH BITCH -suicide trigger-