Wow… the past two weeks have been a blur of confusion, terror, and frustration. As insinuated by my previous posts, I was incredibly depressed and near the breaking point of suicide. I felt as if I was losing control and was about to do something stupid. A good friend of mine provided a phone number for the suicide hotline and I called, as scared as I was. I spoke with a lady for a while and she insisted I go to the local crisis center. I packed up my meds and agreed to go.
When I got there there were a few people in the waiting room watching tv and I spoke to a nurse about why I was there. I got there around 10:30 pm Wednesday night. It took a few hours, but the nurse did a quick intake and took my vitals. I then proceeded to sit in the waiting room for HOURS. I’m not sure what time it was, but I finally got to speak to the doctor. It was probably between 3 and 4 A.M. by this point. The doctor was a fucking asshole, and accused me of cutting myself to get attention from my parents. he said in a mocking voice “Look at me! Pay attention to me!” as if he was making fun of me. I nearly punched him in the face, but what good would that do? i remained in the interview room (luckily I had brought a book) and they brought me some ice cold rock hard beef and mashed potatoes. I kept asking for my nighttime meds and they kept ignoring me. I kept asking for a bed, and they told me they were super busy and there were no beds available. I fell asleep upright in a chair for about 30 minutes. Around 9 AM I called my mom and she became incredibly angry at how I was being treated (she is a nurse) and insisted that I demand a bed, breakfast, and my meds. I was now going on nearly 12 hours of no sleep, and had missed a dose of my meds. I found the charge nurse and she apologized and I was actually given a bed and breakfast. I asked for my morning meds, and she said I would get them when I was transported to the psych hospital, where ever I was going. Well, I didn’t leave the crisis center til 4 pm, so I missed 2 doses of meds.
I was finally transported by ambulance to the psych hospital I’ve stayed at a few times. Luckily they were ready for me almost immediately and I instantly went to sleep. I was going on almost 36 hours since I left my house. The next day I was transferred to the mood disorder unit which is where I needed to be, instead of general psych. I spent the next 2 weeks there and was discharged yesterday. I was incredibly suicidal in the hospital and was trying to find ways to hurt myself. I bit myself so hard I broke the skin. I ended up writing a suicide plan in my journal for when I was discharged. I was a complete wreck. My doctors, after spending quite a long time with me, decided that on top of my bipolar diagnosis, I also fit the criteria for borderline personality disorder. In the DSM-V there is 9 characteristics, and you need 5 of 9 to be diagnosed. I honestly fit all 9. My social worker gave me a few books about it and I found myself relating to it so much more than bipolar, although I know I have that too. My parents came for a family meeting and they also came to visit me one weekend which was nice. I also had many visits from a good friend of mine who brought me clothes, food, and meals so I didn’t have to eat the hospital food every night.
The doctors adjusted my medication and my case worker sent in paperwork to get me an intensive case manager and peer specialist (someone who has gone through what I’m going through now and is in recovery). I was finally starting to feel better but then I got a phone call from my mom the day before I was to be discharged. During the night our family dog, Mac, began dry heaving non-stop to the point my parents took him to the animal hospital. He had a distended stomach and the surgery was going to be super expensive plus the mortality rate even with surgery was super high. They called our family vet who was my dad’s family vet growing up and they made the decision to put him down. He was almost 10 years old, which is old for a Saint Bernard, but it was so sudden and he went from being fine to being gone in the span of 3 hours my mom said. I spent the day bawling and in a drug infused daze of Visteral and Klonopin so I wouldn’t hurt myself.
I was discharged yesterday and went straight to an intake for an IOP (intensive outpatient program) which I started today. It is very close to my apartment and even though I was really depressed and sad today, I like the people and the therapists that are there. It has been a very long exhausting draining 2 weeks and I am happy to be in my own bed, but I still don’t feel completely safe in my own skin, but I don’t want to go back to the hospital. Tomorrow I am going to get a new tattoo which always makes me feel good, and I am going to make the best of this program I started today.