A Long Way

Two years ago tomorrow I checked myself into a psychiatric hospital because I was planning — very rationally and practically — to end my life. Just days prior to my checking myself into the hospital, my mom's 72nd birthday came and went. Because I am a fair and practical person, I told my therapist about my plans. And at her urging, I went to the hospital.

After a couple of weeks of almost constant tears and almost complete immobility, it felt good to let someone else make the decisions for a while.

One of the things about being in a psychiatric hospital or ward is that they assume that you will try to hurt yourself or someone else. By assuming that, and guarding against it, they probably save themselves and others a lot of unnecessary grief. Of course, they should have taken away my pen, but they either missed it or pitied me and let me keep it.

I was quietly and calmly matter-of-fact about why I was there when I checked in on Thanksgiving Day. I had missed lunch, but they arranged to get my a turkey lunch anyway. I talked to a psychiatrist and a nurse and filled out forms. I was searched to make sure I wasn't bringing in anything they didn't know about. They took virtually everything. I kept most of my clothes (those that either had nothing overtly dangerous to them or that I was willing to allow to be "adjusted"), my shoes (sans laces) and slippers, a couple of books, my toiletries, and my pen.

For the first two days, I stayed in the room I shared with another patient, except for meals and when I needed to take my meds. I wouldn't even go to Group sessions those two days. I slept, I cried, and I read The Goddess is in the Details by Deborah Blake, which was a comfort to me. I didn't have to prepare food, think about when and what to eat, or clean my dishes or my living space. It was a relief.


On the third day, I started going to Group. I stayed in the living area more. I interacted with other people. I started to come to life.

Most of my peers were nice people, some more functional than i was, some less. One woman was downright scary. She swore that she didn't belong there, that she had never threatened to hurt herself, and on and on. She swore that she would get herself out of there since they wouldn't let her out; I don't know what she did, but she left in a hurry on a gurney.

Because it was Thanksgiving weekend, no one was getting out, except maybe via said gurney. You had to be seen by a psychiatrist and your release approved by him or her. All we had was a skeleton crew of assistant psychiatrists who could keep us prescribed for various meds, but that was all. A guy who was coming down not only from alcohol but from Vicodin was in physical pain and not getting what he needed because he kept getting bumped to a different doctor and they didn't always come at a time when he could talk to them. I was in the hospital two days longer than i expected to be, which required me to miss three days of work. I had to call in sick; I was afraid they would find out where I'd been.

When the man who was in severe withdrawal was feeling so anxious he was in fear for his life, I held his hand and prayed with him, even though I don't believe in any deity. He did, and I believe in the principles that I was praying with him about, so I was okay with it.

Connecting with and reaching out to others was key to my recovery, as it probably is with others. That's why they have Group. We also did Art Therapy (I still have my collage of "things that make me happy"), and Music Therapy where we sang and I taught the therapist and the group how to sing Amazing Grace to the tune of The House of the Rising Sun (it works perfectly &mdahs; try it!). Yeah, we were singing hymns. It was Texas, y'all! They pray before Chamber of Commerce meetings!

The psychiatrist I'd been assigned returned to rounds on Monday. We talked. He read all the care notes about me. He changed my meds. He kept me in for two more days so he himself could observe me. Then, on Wednesday, six days after I checked myself in, I checked out, received all my things back, and drove home.

It was weird, driving home. I was on my own again. I had to buy a few groceries. No one else was in charge but me again. I had to be responsible again. It felt surreal.

My therapist was happy that I'd gone into the hospital (but wished I'd told her I was doing so) and we went on to do some very good work. I no longer wanted to hurt myself, although I still felt that I might not jump out of the way if a speeding truck were bearing down upon me, but it was progress. I eventually even got to the point where I would have jumped out of the way of the truck.

I felt pretty much on my way. Then I moved, I didn't find work immediately, I was tired and overwhelmed and I slid backward in my journey toward good mental and emotional (and physical) health.

My new therapist, Michele, is every bit as awesome as Karen is and she's working hard with me. Unfortunately, I fell back behind the barrier that kept me immobile previously and once again I'm not active, not doing.

I even have felt like maybe I would prefer to die. But I have not wanted to hurt myself. That has not returned. Progress made.

I am still more functional than I was two years ago, which was more so than the year before that. I may not be committing physical action, but I am working on things mentally. I am doing affirmations. I am visualizing myself having the ideal job nearly every morning. I am on the fewest meds I've been on in the past two years.

I know life is a journey, that mental, emotional, and physical health are not destinations. However, I still feel as if they are, as if one day I will arrive and be healthy and stay that way. Yeah, but I'm working on that. I know I've made progress, but oftentimes I don't feel it. That's when I get sad, when I slide back a step. Step by step. Bird by bird.

I'm glad I once again realize what kind of pain I would be leaving behind to those who care about me if I killed myself. I'm glad that once again knowing I wouldn't wish that pain on anyone helps keep my thoughts and emotions in check when they are particularly dark. Love is a powerful force for life, just not always in the light, bright way I think of it. In my case, love is a force in the dark.

I'm glad I want to live. I'm glad hope has sprouted in my soul once again. I'm glad that occasionally I am even looking forward to the new day.

I guess this is my thankfulness post. I am very grateful to still be here to write this and to those who I love and don't want to give pain to.

What or who are you most thankful for today?