4: The Third Hospital

Well well well… Jesus Christ. Today could not have been any worse. I had a plan to be released on Wednesday (today is still Monday). But the “doctor” saw fit to send me home today. Despite how I begged and pleaded and nearly screamed that I was not safe with my own mind. Yet he dared to say to me, “you’re a twenty-five year old woman, let’s stop the crying act.” Mother fucker. He even went as far to say that they aren’t there for “housing”, and that I could just go to a women’s shelter. He has no business treating any patient that way. How many have left his care only to go home and kill themselves? Then again, how many have begged to be kept? I was sent home with no family meeting but was given a bus token. That’s right. They didn’t even bother to make sure that I had a way home. They just handed me a bus token and said “bye”. It was so cold and abrupt that all I could think, all that was swirling in the void of emotion was just going home and killing myself. Clearly I wasn’t worth their time and treatments. All my work and progress meant nothing to them. You don’t spend time making a cake just to bake it half way then throw it out a window into a cesspool. I have never felt so betrayed by a health care provider.
Long story short, I found a new inpatient center, so much closer to my own home. A few more days here, starting at what feels like the half way point, assuming meeting with this doctor doesn’t send me immediately into a panic attack. I was already given my dose of bed-time medications, and I’m so emotionally exhausted. I will keep writing in the morning.
-~~~-
Tuesday.
Immediately into another ward. The “doc” at the last place was a real prick. Yes, I Am still stewing on it.
The staff here seems pretty okay but very used to a set routine and a little bit overwhelmed by their charges. They tell me that the doctor is going to see me sometime today. But when? That I don’t know. I just need some meds and some time in a safe place.
This morning was anything but regular for me. I was awoken abruptly at 7:00 with zero chance of sleeping in. My blood was drawn, and I felt rather pressured to take a morning shower. Not for my odor, as I had showered yesterday before I met with Dr. Cockbag. I took the shower without a fuss if only to show that I have basic hygiene skills. The shower itself was nearly scalding hot (or the closest thing to it). It felt great to wash off yesterday’s events. Scrub them off like a bad stain from a wall.
After morning “clean up”, we were herded to an elevator and crammed in like sardines with less salt, then whisked down to a cafeteria for breakfast. Buffet style. They actually trust us here to pick and choose our own. I was a bit refreshing as well. The hash browns were crispy at the very least and the coffee was hot. It was mostly water down but it was coffee nonetheless. Everyone else here seemed quite contented with their meals, but seemed to be rushing their food down rather than dragging out the experience as long as he could just to pass the time. I soon learned that after breakfast was fresh air time! Not only that but we had cigarettes too! Mine were not given to me because the box had already been opened before I arrived but I did receive what is called a “community cigarette”. A Camel menthol. I savored that little stick of carcinogens like it was my lifeline to sanity.
After breakfast, and the best cigarette I’ve ever had, we came back upstairs for our morning evaluation. A rather interesting idea if I do say so myself. A golden opportunity to just ally in an attempt to get let out early. Assuming one would go as far take that step. There are so many staff members here now. Yet they still seem so overwhelmed with how many patients they had to maintain next on our schedule as group/expressive therapy. Let’s see what happens with this.
-~~~-
Expressive therapy was okay. Versus charades was the name of the game. I got a good laugh in and was able to get out of my head. I think I will be okay to go home tomorrow or the next day. I feel like you just needed to be validated due to piece of shit “doctor”. What he did messed me up. But I cannot go through life resisting all help from medical professionals because of the wrongdoing of one ass-hole. I shouldn’t ramble on so much about him, I really do need to move on.
Lunches over the next is journaling. I think it’s good that they schedule time to do so. Elsewhere it’s your own choice, nay, responsibility to journal and too few people tend to do it. Choosing instead to keep their thoughts locked up in their minds, left to fester in a swollen black darkness trapped in the back of their subconscious. That or they lack the basic literacy skills to properly write down their thoughts in a constructive manner. That truly makes me empathetic towards them. To be forced to keep such darkness inside, a true failure in our educational system.
It seems I’m really someone whom other people feel instantly comfortable to speak with. Just stepping through the door and even now, people were and are telling me their stories of what led them to be here and even deeper secrets from their past. I like the people are comfortable around me here, though I just needed a safe space to decompress from the shit situation I was thrown into yesterday. Right now, I honestly feel good. My “voice” is quiet, I feel relaxed and suicidal thoughts aren’t happening at the moment. Finally for the second time in my life I feel free from myself. I’m ready to be a productive adult again. I didn’t think I’d ever feel this way ever again.
I want to meet with someone soon. Hopefully the doctor on duty but even a therapist would be nice. I want to show them that I just needed a little time and a hand to hold. Too bad I can’t get that at home. I get some, but… I know they can’t give me what I get here.
Waiting. Just waiting now.
-~~~-
I spoke with Dr. Smith today. A very nice very knowledgeable man. He actually listen to me and took everything I said into account. He wanted to give me a more concise diagnosis, and oh boy did he hit the nail on the head, so to speak. So instead of my laundry list of anxiety disorders, he was able to break it down to just a few problems. The first one being “Borderline Personality Disorder”. A mix of genetics and a traumatic brain injury is what allowed that to “blossom” into the terrifying experience it is. The second is “generalized anxiety”. I think that speaks for itself. The third is PTSD. That comes stemming from growing up while having to deal with highly abusive and basically terroristic landlords. Which explains why dealing with landlords and even bosses in such a traumatic event for me even today. One of the last is “Panic Disorder”. Basically one issue reading into another throwing me into a deep painful panic attack that can last for hours on end. It goes without saying that it’s no fun. The good Dr. Smith also believes I have a simple case of ADHD to round out what feels like a final list of diagnoses.
-~~~-
Wednesday.
Today has been quite an event. Breakfast was a treat. We all laughed and shared with each other, and I even had two of my own cigarettes. Lunch was also exceptional. A non-smoker convinced the group to sit away from the door that led outside to the smoking area, subjecting us to a smaller table and some of us ended up having to sit isolated by the door anyway. Chilling them as we went out and came back in. I will maintain that smoking my own cigarettes in a place of healing has been beyond relaxing to me. Just knowing that my next smoke is only couple hours away at any given time. About an hour and 20 minutes away currently.
Today I finally got my safety plan paperwork and scheduled an actual family meeting to discuss safety precautions to be done tomorrow, over the phone with my mother. At last, there is something she can do from afar to assist me with my mental health.
I know that has been more than difficult for her to deal with I cannot imagine being a mother and a nurse who cannot assist her little girl kill her, or at least make it feel better somehow. Like kissing a boo-boo better when I would fall and scrape my knee. This is no scraped knee, this is not a boo-boo to be cast better. This is pain seated in my brain, in a place that no man with less than a hacksaw can physically touch.
I couldn’t help but notice today that I have a pet peeve. We had a group meeting this morning and I wasn’t in my usual seat. My book was, but I was not. As all the patients took seats, a sweet female patient took my usual seat, which was nothing I took offense to. She needed a seat in line was open. When asked to find a pencil however, she leaned forward and her fingers wrapped around the spine of my new Stephen King and I felt my stomach churn. It was almost like I had witnessed an abuse towards my sweet cat. Maura watched or touched it the more I felt violated. My book. My sweet innocent book that I have barely begun to crack the spine. Touched by someone whom I have not given my permission to touch. If it would not damage my book farther I would wash with soap and water. To put a finer point on it, imagine yourself walking to your living room to find someone sniffing the underwear you are wearing only the night before.
Fifty minutes.
I’ve been reflecting more on how people seem to feel comfortable talking to me, opening up to me and telling you their dark secrets to keep them up at night. I often wonder how it hasn’t slowly driven me crazy, but then I look around and remember where I am.
A lovely young male patient (who shall remain nameless) told me much about his past and present. Not even twenty-one yet and already suffering the anguish of mental illness. The dark Dragon of healthcare. He looks like a well-established, groomed, and even stylish handsome young man. My heart out to him. I wouldn’t mind taking him under my proverbial wing show him life outside of a toxic relationship, which as he tells me he’s currently in. I see in him a lot of what I see in my past and current cell. So much uncertainty and self-sacrifice. He has so much to give, but hasn’t found the right person to give it to. Someone deserving of it all, and one who can reciprocate.
Thirty minutes.
His eyes are such a warm gray that listening to him talk is a pleasure in and of itself. I have considered the idea of inviting him to a “party”. I think it might do him some good too, at least, witness a healthy release of service energy and know that he does not constantly have to be in service to anyone. I believe it would give him a good sense of self controlled chaos. When I haven’t mentioned was he was one of the first to reach out to me upon my own arrival to this place. When I mentioned that I was thirsty he took it upon himself to bring water. Simple, but I truly appreciate him for it.
Twenty minutes.
I still don’t understand my urge to save everybody in the pound. At the same time, I see me in them, and I feel like in saving them I’m saving a part of myself. Redeeming what no one has helped me redeem. Even now I find myself turning my own story to the other patients. They all have a story to be told but then again, so do I.
Smoke break was quite lovely and quite late. They lost her cigarettes for a good minute. Completely worth the wait. Okay, I know they are good for me at all, but in the “loony bin” (as people on the outside might see it) is a much welcome moment of repose we forget where you are and why you’re there. Or just a person taking a smoke break like any other blue-collar Joe. Looking at the sky, watching the birds, and feeling the breeze. Watching the moment of freedom slowly burn away until you inevitably have to return to the unit and go back to being a patient. It makes the time you’re here bearable. Our little piece of humanity.
As I write this we have a new patient joining the fold. A young woman, clearly in pain. But from what, we do not know. We have all been there. Scared and alone, unsure what’s going to happen to us. I know as the rest of them that tomorrow will be her hardest to hear. Scared and rejecting both help in treatment only talking about how she wants to get out of here and go home. It begs the question, what would she go home to? What would any of us have gone home to? Family upset with her lack of wanting to get better? Frustrated spouses who do nothing but trainer spirit? The biggest thing anyone can do here is accept the fact that we are here, that this is real, and that the people who staff these places are here to help us. As for our new fellow unit number, she has found a quiet place to sit and take in her new but temporary reality. I want so much to reach out to her right now but this is her time, and it should not be infringed upon.
-~~~-
Thursday.
Another day, another strip of bacon. They always seem to undercook it. Greasy and salty, but it still bacon all the same. What meat eater doesn’t love bacon? French toast as well. Tough and chewy but somehow still eggy in the middle. Everything is cooked to an on degree.
Finally convinced “baby bird” to start a journal like me. There’s so much swimming in that head of his, he’s bound to burst sometime soon. Aside from the other patients, I have noticed a severe amount of sexual frustration. Anyone mildly attractive is serving as fodder for my dark thoughts. Patients and staff alike. I get no escape from it even in my sleep. All of my thoughts from the day group together into a massive throbbing orgy in my subconscious. Masturbation is obviously a no-no. Even though my roommate is leaving us today, I still can even manage a little relief as we get checked on (and I mean straight up walked in on) every fifteen minutes like clockwork. And that’s not even accounting for random checks.
On the note of frustration, there is a substitute tech here for the day. A rather attractive man we have all taken to calling “Sarge”. It’s mostly due to his military style haircut, strong jaw, and thick neck. Murr. Anyway. Had a bit of a bet with another patient that he was probably a bodybuilder in the past. But that I quickly settled when he admitted to being a weightlifter before going to school to work in this field. Surely his job gotten away and he let his physique go. He has a bit of a gun but no big deal. Still, this man is a rather lovely piece of eye candy. I mean I won’t be a patient forever… Ha ha. Never mind.
You can’t lose yourself in places like this. You fundamentally can’t not be who you naturally are on the outside. I’m a whore-hound outside these walls. I can appreciate all body types and forms. So naturally I’m going to be more than a little naughty on the inside as well. I already know I will probably never see Sarge again, but that won’t keep my mind from wandering around when I get home.
-~~~-
Turns out it’s a surprise release day here too. Do I really feel like I’m ready to go home? Not really. Do I have a choice on the matter? Nope. So I pack. The good news is I am having my family meeting before I go with my mom (via speakerphone) and my dad. I also have new prescriptions written, a doctor’s note for my return to work on Monday, and a reasonable safety plan that I think might actually work out this time. The only thing I know I have to take actual time out of my day to do is keep up with this journal. Fingers crossed. Here I go.