Since it's National Suicide Prevention Week, I reflected on my struggles and when I actually got to that breaking point. In June 2010, I was emotionally done. My overwhelming and consuming thoughts of suicide and death really stopped my ability to function-- at work, at home, everywhere. I wanted to die and end the merciless pain-- I honestly felt that was the only way it would end. I did not believe anyone would understand this pain-- it's not physical and on the surface, to others, I had no reason to want to die. Absolutely no one knew this torment. I cried ALL THE TIME!!! I wanted the pain to stop! I wanted the thoughts to stop!! I'm not making this shit up. It's so real. Mental illness exists!
I finally told my husband my plans. I knew killing myself wasn't the right choice and I honestly think that there was something left in me that wanted to live. However, I knew the only way to end the horrible thoughts was to end my own life. I would be at peace.
The morning after I told my husband, I went to work and called the Employee Assistance Program (EAP). It was around 9am. I was quite hesitant to do this. I didn't think people would take me seriously. I didn't understand why anyone would care enough to guide me to help. When I spoke with the counselor, I expected her to tell me what anyone else would probably tell me-- you don't really want to kill yourself, you just need someone to talk to, maybe some medication, but you will be fine. Nope! This counselor actually took me seriously. She told me I had two options-- go to the Rockford Center (psych hospital) or she was going to summons an ambulance to take me to the hospital. I'm guessing what I told her was emergent-- I had a plan. I knew when and how and finding the opportunity would be easy. I was a ticking time bomb ready to die at any moment.
I called my husband to let him know that I was on my way to Rockford. He met up with me and took me there. When I arrived and went into triage, I was so scared. I had no idea what to expect. However I didn't expect going into triage and not seeing my husband or girls for an unknown amount of time. Once I was in triage, I was immediately admitted. No good byes to anyone. I cried the entire time. I was so scared.
Now, I'm speaking from my own experience. I cannot say whether this is the norm, but I want you to know what going to a psychiatric hospital was like. I had a nurse escort me to a private room. I had to remove my shoes and my bra. My bra was a wired bra and any type of wire was prohibited. Since I arrived from work, I was wearing heals-- another item that can cause harm to myself. I had to remove my pants and underwear and squat and cough. I was so humiliated! It didn't matter if I told the staff I wasn't hiding anything; I just had to prove I wasn't.
I was immediately sent to Group (group therapy). I knew no one. I was able to put on socks that they provided since I had no shoes. It was cold there. I asked for a blanket. I wasn't allowed to have a blanket, at least not yet. I was in danger of harming myself, a blanket is just a tool. I curled up in the corner chair while the others participated in Group. I cried inconsolably the entire time. I was scared. Most of the people there (about a dozen) were there for drug dependence and anger issues and required by the courts to be there. I felt like I didn't belong there-- I was educated, I had a career, I had a loving family. Why the hell was I in this room?!
I cried literally for hours until I got dehydrated. I barely ate dinner. Since I have Celiac Disease, the only thing I could eat was salad, but with no dressing. They called in for a nutritionist, but since the nutritionist only works part time, I wouldn't be able to see her for 4 days. In the meantime, I was able to convince the staff that I had this condition and I begged to them to have my husband bring me food so I can eat. They agreed but everything had to be in its original sealed package and inspected. I was glad they did that. As for my medication I took regularly for my hypothyroidism, well, they wouldnt accept what I had from home. It had to be inspected and tested at the pharmacy. For whatever reason, they didn't call my endocrinologist to have him fax a prescription. I went 4 days without this medication.
Because I was admitted to the facility, I learned I lost all my rights. I wanted to leave so badly!!! I didn't understand why I was there. I wasn't allowed to leave. I wasn't allowed to discharge myself.
On my first night, I had a roommate. She was young and she told me she has been in and out of rehab centers since she was a teenager. When I asked her what got her admitted this time, she said she was homicidal. I know I raised my eyebrows. Oh! She told me the pillows in our room would be a great way to suffocate someone because they were lined in plastic. I told her, "Well, I'd rather you not try out the pillows on me. I'm suicidal and I'd rather have the control to end my life, not you." We had a mutual understanding and she was actually nice to talk to. She had a different life than mine, yet we were so much alike. We were both psychos!!! I was in this facility for the short-term, to protect my life; to make sure I was not in immediate danger of killing myself.
The next day my attitude changed. I didn't fit with the other people that was there, yet I most definitely did. We were all in danger of harm, either to ourselves or to others. I acquired a nickname from the guys, "Baby Girl". I learned very quickly I couldn't be quiet or passive. Many people who know me now knows I have a rather vulgar mouth. Yeah, I picked that up while in the hospital. I didn't like the name "Baby Girl". During our gym time, I was able to physically be aggressive-- I played basketball with only the guys. We passed football. Women absolutely cannot let the guard slip for a second. I was propositioned MANY times!!!!!! It was disgusting.
During the day we had a different sessions of Group, we had gym time, and we had music therapy. The only time I had one-on-one was when I was with the social worker, outlining my goals. It was always brief. The focus was on Group-- hearing others, speaking with others, learning from others. Learning that our thoughts and experiences are not unique and we're not alone struggling. I had rethink how I looked at these sessions. I couldn't go in with the thoughts that I'm different from the others, that I didn't belong. In fact, I was no different from anyone there. As a result, after a couple days, I became more involved and engaged in Group. I was trying different anti-depressants and mood stabilizers. The mood stabilizer made me SO tired that I couldn't stay awake during some of the sessions.
I wasn't allowed to see my children, but I did take advantage of the privileged smoke breaks. Since I do not smoke, I took that opportunity to use the phone and call home or the kids' day care. I was able to have visits during scheduled hours. My husband visited. It was nice. He brought me food and clothes. I actually enjoyed my visits with him, even though it was so brief.
Your stay as an in-patient in the psychiatric hospital is determined by your health insurance coverage. It is not based on your readiness. Out-patient care is the same way, that's if the insurance covers it. I was discharged after 6 days, but I was immediately placed in out-patient care for 3 weeks. Out-patient care was very similar to the day routine of in-patient-- a few Group sessions each day.
I can speak a lot on my thoughts about the lack of coordination between physical health and behavioral health. I was not seen by the nutritionist until my last day as an in-patient. I did not get my thyroid medication for 4 days. I was never seen by a physician for my physical health. I did see the psychiatrist for a total of 20-30 minutes during my stay.
It's late now. I wanted to continue my reflection in out-patient care. But, for now, I'll just end it here.