One week ago this very moment I was being admitted to the psych ward. I was scared, and wanted to go home. I didn't feel like I belonged there. But, while going through the paperwork and questions with my nurse, I realized, I belonged there more than I had ever belonged anywhere in my life. For more than half of my life I have been crying out for help, and for the first time I listened to those cries and let myself be taken to a safe place, where I could start the long journey that I had been avoiding for too long.
The nurse took my vitals, and commented on the fact that when I had first arrived at the ER my pulse was 120. It was now down to 70. After all of the questions about my past, my medical history, my families mental and medical history, and what it was that brought me to the point of wanting to take my own life were answered, the nurse brought me out to the "day room" so I could call my boys to say good night, and my parents to let them know where I was. This was the first time I had ever admitted to my mother that I wasn't ok. I don't know if it was harder on her or me. Once I hung up the phone with her, I went to bed, to avoid "the crazy people" I was now trapped with.
In the morning I woke up and went out to the day room. I had decided I wasn't going to talk to anyone. That I would only interact with the doctors and nurses. And that I was not going to be there another night. So I sat down to watch the morning news. As far from everyone else as possible. Then, Angela (all names have been changed) sat right next to me. She was an older woman, with a thick accent. She cheerfully introduced herself to me, and asked me my name. I reluctantly answered, and then turned back to the television. She continued to talk to me, and told me that I reminded her of the mermaid statue in Copenhagen. I continued to try to remain invisible, but Angela insisted on introducing me to everyone.
After breakfast, I went back to my room to lay down. Trying to go back to my plan of not interacting. The doctor came in shortly after to evaluate me. After answering a lot of the same questions as I had the night before, it was determined I needed an anti depressant. Since I had never been on any type of psychiatric meds before, he started going over my choices. I told him that I didn't want to be numb to emotion. I wanted to be able to feel happy, and sad appropriately. And I also told him that I did not want a med that would cause me to gain weight. This statement of course started an entire new conversation hinting at the possibility that maybe I had an eating disorder, and resulting in me agreeing to eat more and only weigh myself once a month. The doctor also informed me that I would be there until at least Monday. At which point I got him to agree to let me have visitors bring me real coffee, since there was only decaf available on the unit.
As soon I was done with the doctor, I called my parents and asked the to bring a coffee, along with the other things they were already bringing to me. Shortly before my parents arrival, the nurse assigned to me gave me my first anti depressant. And then, I saw the familiar faces come through the two locked doors, and I felt at ease. I got to sit and talk with my mom and dad for an hour. And admit to them that I not only was depressed, but suicidal. The hurt on my mom's face broke my heart. But her knowing the truth was another step toward me healing.
The nurse took my vitals, and commented on the fact that when I had first arrived at the ER my pulse was 120. It was now down to 70. After all of the questions about my past, my medical history, my families mental and medical history, and what it was that brought me to the point of wanting to take my own life were answered, the nurse brought me out to the "day room" so I could call my boys to say good night, and my parents to let them know where I was. This was the first time I had ever admitted to my mother that I wasn't ok. I don't know if it was harder on her or me. Once I hung up the phone with her, I went to bed, to avoid "the crazy people" I was now trapped with.
In the morning I woke up and went out to the day room. I had decided I wasn't going to talk to anyone. That I would only interact with the doctors and nurses. And that I was not going to be there another night. So I sat down to watch the morning news. As far from everyone else as possible. Then, Angela (all names have been changed) sat right next to me. She was an older woman, with a thick accent. She cheerfully introduced herself to me, and asked me my name. I reluctantly answered, and then turned back to the television. She continued to talk to me, and told me that I reminded her of the mermaid statue in Copenhagen. I continued to try to remain invisible, but Angela insisted on introducing me to everyone.
After breakfast, I went back to my room to lay down. Trying to go back to my plan of not interacting. The doctor came in shortly after to evaluate me. After answering a lot of the same questions as I had the night before, it was determined I needed an anti depressant. Since I had never been on any type of psychiatric meds before, he started going over my choices. I told him that I didn't want to be numb to emotion. I wanted to be able to feel happy, and sad appropriately. And I also told him that I did not want a med that would cause me to gain weight. This statement of course started an entire new conversation hinting at the possibility that maybe I had an eating disorder, and resulting in me agreeing to eat more and only weigh myself once a month. The doctor also informed me that I would be there until at least Monday. At which point I got him to agree to let me have visitors bring me real coffee, since there was only decaf available on the unit.
As soon I was done with the doctor, I called my parents and asked the to bring a coffee, along with the other things they were already bringing to me. Shortly before my parents arrival, the nurse assigned to me gave me my first anti depressant. And then, I saw the familiar faces come through the two locked doors, and I felt at ease. I got to sit and talk with my mom and dad for an hour. And admit to them that I not only was depressed, but suicidal. The hurt on my mom's face broke my heart. But her knowing the truth was another step toward me healing.
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