Okay, so I finally snapped to a dangerous degree. The thoughts of killing myself have become too tempting to ignore. Do I see myself legitimately taking my own life? No, not really. I'm more afraid that there will come a day where I can't stop the urges, and that I just might go through with it. I don't want anyone to have to suffer the pain of finding me. Or never finding me.
So my mother and my partner talked me into checking myself in. Though, I think I did it wrong. No nic breaks, no sketchbooks, no yarn or crotchet. My patterns are already twelve levels of screwed up. I didn't get to kiss my partner goodnight, or listen to my music, nor anything else I would consider part of my nightly rituals. I just want to sit on the couch and watch Netflix.
The nurse who had to go through my stuff wants to try to get me access to my art supplies at least. If nothing else, at least my color pencils. Don’t know what I would do with those on their own, but they would bring me a step closer to feeling normal. I don’t know how they expect to help someone after stripping them of basic adult rights and many levels of trust. Also, my phone, and anything else that makes a day feel “normal”. Not making it feel like it's dragging on and on into an eternity where all you hear is a clock tick... Tock... Tick... Tick. Tick. Tick.
The worst part in this moment is the very real fact that it's only been one night. Not even a full twenty-four hours. I still have to show that I will not be a threat to myself or anyone else currently locked in here before they will allow me to be moved from the “Acute Ward”, across the hall to the “Open Ward”. Showing I'm no threat to anyone else is a cake walk. I only wanted to hurt myself. I still feel terrible for accidentally bruising a friend's ribs by kicking her in my sleep.
Showing I am not a threat to myself is a different game entirely. What do I do? Or not do for that matter. Sitting here coloring seems to be doing alright. At the very least I can say that it's passing the time mildly efficiently.
I so badly want to see A---- (my partner) come through those doors so I can hug him tight and kiss him all over his cute little face. It's unsettling me greatly to be away from him after not being away from him for a year for any length of time longer than a work day. The faint scent of body spray which seems to be the same kind as his feels like the only thing tethering me to reality right now.
ONE DAY!
One day and I'm already talking about this place like it's jail. It basically is to be perfectly honest. You sign away your rights when you agree to or have them signed away for you by force. I know that I have missed being an innocent young child, but now I feel like the young not-so-innocent child who is no longer allowed to use “the good scissors”.
Would I rather be at my job? Dealing with entitled customers, and my work mate’s more than inappropriate humor? Yes, but not by much. I honestly can't wait to go home.
When you tell someone you're having suicidal thoughts, it feels like you are no longer in control. You're no longer the keeper of your own life. I'm not trusted with... Anything. Sleep, wake-up, shower, eat, wait, eat, and sleep. I can do all of this from the comfort of my own home. At least there I am not on edge and missing my partner. Wishing my mother would answer her damn phone. Wishing that I had my own phone that I pay the bill for. I haven't had my phone taken away since I was in high-school nearly 7 years go. Good God.
“Thank you kindly for trusting us with your most painful and deeply intimate thoughts. Have fun feeling like a five-year-old who has just been caught shaving the house cat. When will you get out? No idea here, dearie. A couple days? A couple weeks? We hope you don't have your rent or bills to pay with the money you are losing here because you're not at work. We hope this doesn't cause your immediate termination for job abandonment when we don't allow you to get the office phone number from your cell phone. Feel well soon!”
Yeah, that about sums it up. I want to get out of here, even if I have to go against medical advice (AMA) and just bolt. But who knows the next chance I will get to speak with a specialist about my broken mind? When will I next get the shot to start taking control of this madness in my head? Quiet the voice.
I know that my partner A---- wants me to be happy and healthy in every way. The truth is, that I want that for him too. I wish that I had a Midas’ Touch that would make both of our problems disappear. I want my anxiety to be gone. I’m locked in a psych ward and all I can seem to think about is him. Being a day without anything that I would consider to be normal has really given me something to think about. It’s only been one day. All of eternity without any of the things I love and cherish is something that I cannot simply groove with. I just want to make a plan to get my mind together and then proceed to get the hell out of this place. I feel more alone here than I ever did at home. At the very least I have a list of people that I can contact at home to talk to when I’m feeling down. Here all I have is the other inmates.
I imagine this is what being a goldfish must feel like. All day spent moving from here to there, being carefully watched and monitored as well as being fed regularly. I want my nicotine. I want my couch. I want my partner. Most of all I want my BOOKS!
I want my mom to answer her damned phone. Talk about triggering my abandonment issues. I dial, it rings then, “this person cannot be reached at this time.” I don’t have any other number memorized (and who really remembers any number besides their own and 911?). At this particular moment I am totally cut off. I feel so angry that she’s not picking up, making me think that perhaps she is “ignoring” my calls. She’s the one who brought me up here, pushed for me to be fully admitted, and now I can’t even get ahold of her. Have I mentioned that I want to go home? What is the point of coming here when all I feel is isolation? I know that I mostly agreed to come here voluntarily, but good lord. What was the point? I can sit around and not be seen by a doctor from the comfort of my own home.
I’ve promised to give myself at least this day to try. Wait to be seen and work out a plan to get better. Tomorrow, if still nothing has happened, I am going to go AMA. There is no point sitting here, waiting, and wasting my time when I could instead be at work making money to pay my piling up bills.
-~~~-
I think I might be the sanest person here. I understand that my “whisper” isn’t a real person, or that I’m under the delusion it’s real in the slightest. It’s just annoying me to tears. Seriously, I could be miserable at home right now. I know I keep harping that subject, but it’s still true.
Fun Fact: I’ve written all of this in the small time frame between breakfast and lunch. It isn’t even 12:30 yet. I feel like I’m going more crazy just being here. Trying to get numbers off of my phone is a joke. I understand the staff is busy, and that they can feel overwhelmed, but it’s worse being on the other side of this game. Watching them gossip about who has asked who to lunch or plans for their weekend. I had plans for my Fourth of July weekend. Now I don’t even know if I will be out of the hospital by then. There goes my long awaited holiday.
-~~~-
Involuntary.
IN-fucking-VOLUNTARY.
My mouth wrote a check that my heart isn’t ready to cash. I finally talked to my mom and she informed me that I was committed here involuntarily due to an outburst I’d had in the emergency room when I was having a panic attack thinking about how we were going to make rent if I wasn’t able to make it to work for God-knows how long. Worried sick that we would lose the apartment. In that moment, t went from voluntary to what can simply be described as jail. At least no one has to watch me when I pee, so that’s nice. It’s just past one in the afternoon and I still haven’t even met my doctor. What is the point of feeling despair? It would only make my whole situation worse. Cynical still seems to be okay, but it’s really something that I should keep to myself.
Everyone here is so loud. I want to go sit in my room but that would look like I am trying to isolate myself, or possibly that I am too anti-social. I want to be around people though. Sane people, I mean. They keep telling me that the doc will be in to see me today, but I was also under the impression that AM was an option. So… There you go.
-~~~-
Still day one and I am amazed at how I have nearly filled this small practically disposable note book that the staff had supplied me with. I don’t believe that I mentioned this earlier, but the staff is apparently looking into moving me into the “Open Ward”. It hasn’t happened yet. I think it’s going to happen after dinner, which thankfully is very soon. Still, I’ve never felt less productive. Even a day at home along I’d have done something, no matter how small. I could have cleaned something, read, cooked, and caught up on a series on Netflix. I sincerely hope that I get out over the weekend so C--- and I can watch more Outlander before I have to go back to work. I’m in a damned Psych ward and I’m still thinking about work.
I can’t believe I got pink slipped. I’m not just nuts, I’m straight up broken, according to the seasoned staff here at the ________ Hospital. I do hope I get a visitor soon.
-~~~-
It’s 10:30 at night now.
T----- came and visited me around dinner time. That was nice. I honestly am starting to feel like I might be doing a little better, but I would still really enjoy being able to leave. As you may have(or may not be able to) noticed, my black marker is no more. It’s back where I left it in the “Acute Ward”. Correct, I have been moved to the “Open Ward”. And I figure purple is just as good s any color (save yellow) to journal my insane ramblings.
I find myself sitting in the kitchen which doubles as a rec room. Sinks and a refrigerator to one side. Books, a piano, and even a lovely stereo system on the other, separated by four long tables fitted together to accommodate all the patients on this side of the floor.
All of the other inmates on this side of the floor seem to have regular sleep patterns. Mostly drug induced, I suspect. Here I am, awake with my mind stuck on what I am missing most. A whole day gone by without seeing or even talking to A----. I wish I had called him if only to say good night, but oh well. Life isn’t perfect. I did, however, speak to him earlier today. He answered with a confused tone, obviously not recognizing the number calling him. It was so good just to hear his voice.
I am still thinking about trying to go AMA at some point. Can they really hold me captive here like a drunkard in county? I have a small plan in motion to start getting better (thanks to the physician’s assistant, not the doctor, with whom I spoke with at the point of my ward transfer), but being away from home is driving me crazy, so to speak. After learning of my involuntary commitment here, A---- began making plans for a week out to ensure he wouldn’t have to be alone, stressing out over not having me there. Though I now am coming around to realize that I do have to face the role he played in putting me in this situation, and I don’t mean when he helped mom convince me to come to the hospital in the first place.
With everyone pretty much asleep and the media room locked up for the night, I am trying to find a way to occupy my time while I wait to get tired myself.
I think I’ll work on that puzzle over there.