This is hard for me to talk about, but I want to be as open as possible in this blog. Before I go further, understand that some of what I write in this entry may be triggering. It includes suicidal ideation and self harm. This is probably going to be one of the realest and rawest entries I've ever written. For the most part I've kept my disorder under control for the past sever years, but this week things came to a head and fell apart. I fell apart. Where do I start? Well, let's start at the place that triggered it all; Super Bowl Sunday.
Pete hasn't spoken to me in over a month, and that right there is enough for me to have a really difficult time coping. However, what makes it extra difficult is the fact he gave me no warning (literally the last thing he told me was we could hang out soon and he told me to call him in a couple of days). Over the past month I've had a lot of different emotions; confusion, anger, sadness, and several combinations of those and others. I have been going back and forth between feeling hopeful and hopeless. So how does the Super Bowl play into this? Pete is a huge Pats fan, I mean huge. I was at a point where I was so upset that my brain switched to just wanting him to hurt as much as I was. I knew a Pats loss would upset him, and I wanted so bad for him to have a bad day. Obviously it was my emotion mind talking and taking over. So when they won, I lost it. I couldn't stand the thought of him being happy while I've been in so much pain and experiencing so much sadness. It's one thing to feel abandon, but to have no foundation; no reasoning; nothing to go on, that's unbearable.
On Sunday or Monday night I called emergency services at my therapist office and spoke to someone for a good while. We agreed the best option for me was to ask to be committed to a short term crisis stabilization center. It's an acute psychiatric center, and not as serious as in patient. So after talking with emergency services I had my roommate drive me to the ER to be evaluated the next day. After talking to several people it was determined that I wasn't going to be sent to the center, and instead I was to talk to my therapist about another option (a day program). I was disappointed to say the least.
The next day I had a therapy appointment. I walked into my therapist's office, opened my PRN's, dumped them into my hand, and told my therapist if she didn't send me to the center I would swallow them all. She talked to me, asked me what was going on, and I told her I've been having strong suicidal urges and thoughts. I told her about what happened at the ER, and I told her I needed to go some place to get regulated. She agreed that going to the center would be good for me, and told me if I went to the ER again I'd only need to get medical clearance and they had a bed waiting for me at the center. So I left and drove myself to the ER, and that's when things got worse.
I'm not going to lie, I'm addicted to my phone. I get anxious if I don't have it and if I can't check it on my terms. At the ER they had me change into scrubs and they locked my stuff up, including my phone. Right before they did, I got an email that I didn't get a chance to respond to. For some reason responding to it right away was really important. I asked if I could just check my phone, and I was denied. At this point I was on a stretcher in the hall, and the news that I couldn't have my phone; even for a second, did sit well with me.
I'm not proud of what happened next, but again I want to be honest. I started screaming, ripping off my scrubs, biting myself, throwing things, swearing at nurses. They gave me new scrubs and I ripped them off again. Finally after a while they put me in a room, only this time the room was different than the one they put me in the day before. This time they put me in a locked room under video surveillance. Even when my door was open, the hall was locked. I asked for my phone again, but the answer was still no. I screamed more, I tore the sheet off my mattress, I threw my mattress off my bed, and cried and wailed. Then a person from the mental health center came to talk to me, and I was confused. I was confused because I was just supposed to be medically cleared before going to the center. Then I was told the news, I was now on a involuntary petition to be committed to the state mental hospital.
I spent the night in the locked ER and over the next several hours went between being calm to completely freaking out (at one point I threw my mattress into the hallway). Finally on Thursday the sheriff's office came to take me to the hospital. They put cuffs and shackles on me; my wrists, my ankles, and my waist; then they put me in the back of a paddy wagon. I had no shoes and I was in scrubs. The next part is just a bunch of logistical stuff; checking in, talking to people, the boring stuff.
When I got onto the until I was lashing out at people and I wanted nothing to do with anybody. What I said isn't important, just that I was really nasty to people. So what happens when you're involuntary? You have to go in front of a judge within 72 business hours (a judge within the hospital, you're appointed an attorney as well). If they decide there was enough reason to commit you they can keep you for up to 10 business days. That night I went to bed depressed and I woke up depressed.
The next morning I didn't want to talk to anyone. I only came out of my room to eat or when I was obligated to (to talk to my treatment team and attorney). I calmed down a lot, but was mostly sad. Then I lucked out. I lucked out because I already had a therapist, I was starting DBT in Thursday, and I had a plan that most people in the hospital didn't. So they contacted my therapist and I got to go home today (I was able to interact a bit and slowly came out of the deep depression that I was in). I went home around 4pm and I've been catching up since.
I haven't been in a mental hospital in about 10 years, and I've never been involuntary committed, I hated it, I hated that they had to cuff me (I've never been cuffed before). That was extremely hard for me to deal with. I was set on telling my therapist on Monday to fuck off. I wanted to give it all up and tell them that because they didn't give me my phone, because they committed me, that they lost any chance they had of helping me.
But as I calmed down, I realized that what happened was no one's fault but my own. I'm having an incredibly difficult time coping to Pete's absence and I allowed it to let me have a severe mental breakdown (after several mini ones). I realized that I can't be focusing on whether or not Pete talks to me again. I need to focus on myself, and keep faith that everything else will fall into place.
I start full DBT on Thursday and I'm going to talk to my psychiatrist about a med adjustment. I'm not quite at the point where I'm ready to let go of Pete completely. However, I mailed back the stuff I had of his at my place. It's a small step, but it's a step.
I want to get better. I know I can get better. I've never given up and I'm not about to.