Bad case of the Mondays
Something happened on the way…
I started doing better. Folks, I cannot emphasize that enough. The last I wrote, I wrote about how I feel amazing. Then the meds changed. Friday was one of the worst days that I’d had in years. The only reason that I’m even writing about it now, is because I’ve written about everything else already, why start holding back now. Friday started off with a flashback and it sent me into a downward spiral of depression. I couldn’t get out of bed and I seriously contemplated suicide. I figured I’d just take all of the psych meds at one time that are on my bedside table. Though that was my plan, I didn’t want to do it, so I just threw the blanket over my head so I wouldn’t see it. I was able to stay safe. I didn’t cut myself, didn’t do anything stupid other than not reach out for help.
Saturday was a better day. Kelly and I played with our nieces at the park and went out to dinner with some good friends. Sunday we did major domestic stuff like buy a crap load of awesome stuff at Target with our gift cards (expect thank you notes soon) and buy groceries at Trader Joes. Clearly, I was out of the suicidal pit. Someone who is suicidal, does not buy vegetable samosas.
Monday, I was honest about why I wasn’t at group. In the back of my head I considered just saying that I went out-of-town or something. I didn’t know what was about to happen.
I got called in to see my psychiatrist. She had a look on her face that made me really worried about what was going to happen in her office. She sat me down and asked me about Friday. I again, told the truth. She said she was very worried about me. I tried to explain how I wasn’t in danger and that I didn’t do anything. I kept reminding them over and over that they said this was a voluntary program… and let’s just say it ended with me yelling, crying, and being taken to the ER by two public safety officers. I sat in the room (which by the way the hospital reserves for the crazy and dangerous patients) with an officer standing watch the entire time. I watched as officers took all of my things, displayed them, and inventoried them. When the door to the room was shut, an officer would watch through the window. There was no privacy. I felt humiliated, lied to, betrayed, helpless, and voiceless. I was in there somewhere around 5 or 6 hours until they finally listened to me and let me go.
That doesn’t even begin to explain what truly happened there. It was raw. It was embarrassing It was shaming. It felt like a step back. While I was laying in the bed, I kept asking for my Norco that I take for a herniated disc. I didn’t get it till I left. Last night it got worse and I’ve spent the day laying in the bed unable to move.
It’s been rough.
I’m not trying to paint a sob story. On the contrary.
This is what’s happened in the past few days, and I’m still okay. My meds suck that’s true. I am depressed. That’s true too. I’m still having mood swings. Also true. But, I know that I’m not going to do anything stupid. I know that I’m finally over the self harm hump. I know that Kelly and my sister will be there for me no matter what. I know that I have friends that will rally around me if I let them. I guess, this is my really passive way (I still need to work on assertiveness) of asking for help. I’d like a phone call, a text, an email, a coffee date.. I’d like it if you check in on me. I just don’t know how to reach out and ask. I’m working on it though.