After a week of being in the hospital, I’m home.
I’m flattered that my co-host, Amber, was nice enough to post for me. I had asked her to at least update everyone, I know that my posts had been very depressive and upsetting and maybe unsettling. I didn’t want people to think that I had actually killed myself or something. I also appreciate all the kind words that everyone voiced. Thank you.
I am home now. I’m happy and nervous at the same time. I missed home. I missed my husband and my dogs and the comfort of my own bed. But I knew that I needed help, more than my family or my therapist could give.
I’ve always struggled with depression and the thoughts of suicide. What scared me the most was how violent the thoughts were. They were vivid and loud. And it was overwhelming.
As you can remember, I didn’t want to go to therapy, but I went. And I had my husband with me for support. I told my counselor about how bad the week before was. She looked at me with concern and asked if I had a plan. I had. She asked me what I thought about hospitalization. I told her that it was exactly what I didn’t want to do. I was afraid of it. It terrified me. There was no way. But we brought Hubby back in and she asked him about hospitalization. He thought that maybe it would be good.
They called to see if a bed was available. There was. They wanted to meet me at Weatherford to be assessed.
I was terrified. Crying. Screaming inside. This is not what I wanted. Hubby told them that we would think about it.
On the way home, I asked why he thought it would be good. Get me stabilized. I agreed. I wanted to go.
We got everything ready. It was harder than I thought. I cried. A lot. Packing was harder than I thought. It felt like giving up. Everyone kept telling me that it wasn’t giving up, it was something good.
The whole time, I was concerned about family. I didn’t know how to tell Mom. I didn’t know how to tell anyone. I talked to Amber. She was supportive.
I met my sister in Fort Worth. She said that she would tell mom.
When we got to the hospital, it was scary. I was with Hubby in the waiting area, and they did another assessment when we went back on the unit. I was scared and crying. Hubby was supportive.
I finally got in my room at 1 am. It was after they did a strip search. It was scary. They didn’t see me naked, but they took my clothes and searched them. I guess for drugs and sharp objects. For safety. I understood, but it was scary. They also wanted a urine sample, again scary.
So, there I was, in a strange room, dark, with a stranger in another bed, who had just been yelling because we woke her up. I fell into a, surprisingly, restful sleep… Only to be awoke at 5 am because I needed to see the doctor.
I didn’t even see the doctor, they took my blood. I sat there in the day room wondering what I was going to do.
I did get to see the psychiatrist. It was around lunch time. Yes, I know that I skipped over most of the morning, trust me when I say that nothing exciting happened. I think I slept.
The first meeting with the psychiatrist lasted all of two minutes I believe. I sat down, looking nervously at the big man sitting in the corner with my chart. He looked at me, said “22 year old female who cuts herself, you must have some unresolved sexual issues. Am I right?” I just nodded, I had been abused, I guess, as a child, there are thinks that I don’t remember. And then there was that rape. So, yea, ok I could agree to that. He prescribed medications. Sent me on my way.
That’s basically how the first two days went. He increased my meds the second day I think. And constantly asked me about my unresolved issues, had I worked on them? No. The reason I don’t like him, “I talk about things you don’t like to talk about.” ok….
So I finally I started going to groups, making friends. Yada yada.
I’m more stable now. I feel pretty good. I’m staying home from work. But I’m ok.
I have a final diagnosis of MDD (Major Depressive Disorder) Recurrent, severe without psychosis. And PTSD, he actually called it something like PTSD with deflective or defective sense of self — I can’t remember which, because I couldn’t understand him most of the time (not because he had an accent, I just think that it was because I was tired and nervous.
For the record, I have another appointment with a different psychiatrist on the 30th of this month. I’m needing him for maintenance of my medications, and probably further diagnosis. Hopefully, this will be one that I can understand and talk to for more than just a minute or two.
So, that’s it. I’m back. 🙂