The internet at work is so slow tonight that I am left to my thoughts. Even a void of thoughts leave me to wonder why I feel like I could cry. This is ridiculous. The damn internet. I am fragile. Fuck.
It’s Monday morning. Hooray. I’ve been working since 11 last night. I am going to have to leave this position to help regulate my sleep/mood/life. Thing is….I don’t know what else to do. I don’t have any backup plan. All this in light of last week’s situation I found myself in. I can’t say it was without purpose, as I am sure as with all things, there is purpose for it. A wake up call I am certain.
I never told anyone I actually went to the gun store and filled out the application only to wait til closing to leave my number when I was approved. That was Wednesday. I still have yet to hear. Imagine I can’t bring myself to go to Walmart but I somehow found the courage to waltz into a store to try to purchase a gun. If the system works correctly-I should be denied. In the midst of waiting I text an old friend, a cop… at first I ask what time the gun store in their town closes. It’s already closed. I say I need a gun for protection. After I leave empty handed I say I want to die and go home. I text that it’s really the only way to effectively die. 97% effective and hardly painful as it’s almost instant- but it has to be a shotgun. And the one I was eyeing it could reach my toes. I forget the conversation and turn on the TV. Big Bang Theory is on which makes me happy. Idol is on next. My daughter and I squabble over my “I want to die” remark, she leaves to get her work schedule and Idol starts. I’m cuddled up with my cat, tucked in, waiting for the show to begin. I hear, “You’ve got a visitor.” from my daughter as she escorts a cop inside. I bolt off the couch and get him to the hallway. I don’t like visitors, especially those with badges in my personal space. He tells me he received a call. i am a bit taken back as I was over that mood and ready to go on with the night. I explain to him I am fine, I know how this works, and that I was watching Idol ready to go to bed. He starts with the questions, I grow more and more irritated. Do I have someone who can stay with me? No. My mom? Ha, I laugh to myself not wanting to mention she was an alcoholic and unavailable. He doesn’t seem to want to leave and I am not very helpful because I know I am okay even if he doesn’t. Rookie. I don’t know why it made sense at the time but it did that I could just lock the door and it would be done with. Wrong. Stupid, indeed. I exit the other door I have, he follows and then runs after me (I am walking to my car so his running was unnecessary) and subsequently handcuffs me. There soon is two other officers deployed. I grow more irritated. Inside the squad I remove the cuffs. This guy was for sure inexperienced. I guess I gave him some throughout our encounter.
It’s after 7, I am taken into the department’s first floor, an interview room where I am shackled to the ground. I didn’t feel it was necessary considering the door was locked. I am told I have to wait for the on call social worker. I get more and more irritated by the moment. I wait. And I wait. There in this little room the three of us assess my danger. I explain that it’s like a habit, I didn’t mean anything, I just wanted to watch Idol, do my math homework and go to work tomorrow. I am upset at the idea of a Chapter 51 and if they did that, they would be sure I would have a crisis. It was Wednesday. A 72 hour hold did not include weekends, I knew this from previous experience. If they chaptered me I wouldn’t get out until Monday and by then work and school would be affected and I grew anxious at the thought. The interview did not go well at all. The lady was older but I want to say I was her first job. I felt that way. I answered honestly their questions. I explained I have been suicidal since I was 9 and that saying I was going to kill myself was just like saying pass the salt. I explained I did attempt to last January and how I told no one thus proving that if I was a danger to myself that I would not be telling people my intentions, I would just do it. I don’t think this helped. In fact I don’t think anything I said mattered, they had already conspired to lock me up. They left me alone for hours as they decided on a “safety plan”. At ten I am highly agitated. I had been there for three hours and hope was fleeting. I hit the wall and threw my phone. I just want to go home I said. Handcuffed and eventually shackled. My fate was sealed.
By eleven at least I knew I was going somewhere out of that room. This did not help. I was livid. They had officers watch me as I threw my tantrum. I was pissed. I sobbed and sobbed. I said I was just fine and now I was not. I was going to get out of lock up and shoot myself. I was going to make a video, loop it and send it to the officer so for the next 40 years of his life he would remember this and it was his fault. I truly blamed him. I have gone back and forth since then on writing an apology letter or not, however, in this reliving through writing, I think although he does deserve an apology of some sort that it would lose it’s sincerity when I mocked him for his rookie mistakes. Regardless, there will be no video. I do not have a gun. I told him though, that I could get one if I really wanted one, so the fact that I did not have one meant I did not want one. This didn’t comfort him. I don’t know if he was “out to get me” or to help me. At any rate it was 1130 when I was taken to the transport van and drove an hour away shackled to a hospital for lockup. I felt like a criminal. My mind racing of what my next move was. Eventually I made it to the ward. It was still familiar from my voluntary stay last year. It was 230 before I got to be alone and lay down.
Breakfast was at 8. Of course when you first get into the ward, you are center of attention. Everyone wants to hear your story. I knew that in order to get out I had to participate in my treatment. Again, I already knew how this went. I happily ate my french toast, filled out my menu for the day and listened to the rules before leaving to my room. I went to the first group, irritated that I was there my story was “I was kidnapped from my house because I sent some texts saying I wanted to die and I don’t have a crisis so I really have nothing to say”. I felt guilty for even being there.When the “leader” tried to inquire more I said, “I pass” and went sulkily quiet.
I called work right away to say I wouldn’t be in and didn’t know when I would even be returning. School could wait. I needed my daughter’s’ new number, I had no choice but to call my mom. I didn’t want to tell her I was locked up. Caller ID though ratted me out and she said, “Sacred heart huh?” and then she was like “what about me” to where I angrily told her when I got out I was going to kill myself. Obviously she is a major trigger. Later the doctor confirmed that “what about me” from her was a true “what about you? what about ME?”. That made me feel better. I had him before. In fact, he was probably the only doctor I liked in my long history of mental health. I was honest with him. I know lying only hurts me. Although it does feel the truth can be punishment. I explained I was “recklessly impulsive”. I told him if I was any threat I would have been cleaning a gun or writing my last will. I explained I had sent the messages, forgot about them and was watching idol with my cat preparing for a math test when I was disturbed an hour later for the texts. I told him I wanted to admit myself voluntarily, to drop the hold and that I felt this was just a fluke. He left eventually and I stayed in bed until supper. I ate and returned to bed. I knew this was not helpful in my treatment yet I didn’t care.
That was Thursday. Friday came with an early call for my blood where I just threw my arm out of the blanket and let them take it while I slept. I made it to breakfast. I went back to my room. A nurse subsequently followed me as they do there to pry and probe. Asked if I was going to group, I said no. Eventually she left only to return to tell me I was ordered to attend all groups because I was a chapter. I threw the covers off me and stomped to group. Again, I was kidnapped and if I wasn’t released then they might as well keep me because I was not going to be better at all if released Monday or later. I say my piece in group and stomp back to my room to sleep. The nurse followed me. Validated my feelings of anger. I explained I didn’t care. If they weren’t releasing me, everything was lost and then let them keep me. She eventually left. Later I was called down to meet with the team they set up for release. I again stated my grounds. The doctor said he disagreed with my reasoning but that what I said in my room prior about sending the messages and then forgetting them led him to believe that I was not a danger to myself and was releasing the hold and me. Immediate tears, “Thank you”. I felt relieved. My mood was then hopeful. I left the meeting and went happily to the next group. Coping skills. I hadn’t made any friends this time. This group though, I listened and I shared openly.
Apparently, i offered some insight to all but the disorganized, perhaps even misdiagnosed schizophrenic who only annoyed me. Regardless, when I was in my discharge interview I was asked if I got anything at all out of being there, I mentioned this group and that maybe I was there for those five minutes to share with a few some insight to their own mental wellness. It made sense to me. I was discharged at 10 vocally and had to wait til 3 for my ride.
It was him I called. Even though he probably should have been the last one, he was nonetheless the first one. I had sent him messages too. I even went to his house and said, I got a gun and I’m going to do it. He said good for you and closed the door. After this ordeal, I know never to put anyone in the position where they feel responsible for my life. He explained it to me pretty bluntly that he got a text and shut his phone off cause he wasn’t going to deal with me. Funny, it was hurtful but I forgave him. He was right, I shouldn’t expect him to save my life.
So now it’s Monday morning and even though it’s like it never happened, it did and because of it I am allowing myself to be more aware of my mental wellness. I don’t plan on talking to my mother for awhile. Just a few weeks ago she mocked me for “not wanting to kill yourself this week”. I shouldn’t be so hurt by it, it was like that years ago when she mocked me after I overdosed on sleeping pills. I won’t ever forget that. I wanted to die and she mocked me while my dad just watched TV obliviously distant.
I have came to terms with the fact that I was not raised in a healthy normal enriching family. I accept them as they are and yet, still they do not accept me. I could cry now, as this is a new thought. I am the scapegoat of the family. With all the attention on me, there is no way anyone could touch the surface of my family. I don’t hide my defects. I might have been conditioned not to. I can think back to childhood days and understand why I could be the way I am. The abandonment issues, the lack of love, of boundaries, of trust. There was nothing functional about my family but my mother’s alcoholism. I let it roll off my shoulders as I force a smile.
I thought my mental health had been healed and that I was saved. Ten years had passed since I broke. And now, now I feel broken. I don’t understand how I could lose grasp on what I had. I remember when it came. I was so miserable and I was scared. I was scared as I knew I had to die. I had no choice. This terrified me more then anything in my life. In fact, this moment was the most frightening of my life. I no longer had the choice to live, I had to die. Of course, this passed obviously I am alive as I made it through. But that moment when I felt impounding doom and finality was the death of “me”. Shortly thereafter I emerged with a different attitude. I recall driving and thinking this is my last chance at life. If this doesn’t work then I can do it. As you see, I was completely committed to my demise yet pulling straws. In that moment I decided I was going to put as much effort into being positive and happy as I had in being miserable and negative. That if after I did that, I still failed I could give up and submit myself to an early grave at 23. That’s when it changed. That’s when I became a survivor and not a victim. Now i feel like a victim again. not suicidal but not lively either. I don’t know what happened but I suppose a series of unfortunate events that led me astray from that thought and to where currently I am. Which, I can’t even define for I don’t even know where I am. I don’t. My focus is get through this last month of school and find a different job. One that I can regulate with a schedule for my mental state of mind. Inside I feel anxious.
I know this crisis was real no matter what fabricated self deluded lies I want to tell myself about it. I know that it’s not over. It’s rather the beginning. But I am taking precautions with myself. I can be dangerous to myself. I almost screwed up my educational pursuit days ago. I am without explanation. Maybe I feel I need to be a failure to fit into my family’s idea of me. But I don’t think I want that. I know my relationship with him has contributed to this feeling of unwellness with the putdowns and chaos. I know my studies and my work have added to stress. My feelings of being a bad parent hasn’t helped. A month ago I felt the same way. Although instead of killing myself I was just going to take off and never come back. It made sense at the time.
And now….. now I wait to leave work to go to school only to come back to work with only a short break in between. And him…. we are getting along. I hope it lasts. In my defense, Yes, I am mentally ill. Although not a good excuse I know this is the last chance to make it work…. I need to get myself together to be strong enough to live through the rejection. He sometimes plays on my abandonment issue… regardless, I can only work on me and that is what I intend on do….
I must digress as work closes to an end.