Thursday, March 21, 2019

My Recent Stint in the Psych Unit: Part 1

river view scenery near where I reside

“Don't blame your challenge but get up and look it as a bridge to your success.” 
― Bruce Mbanzabugabo

My life hasn't made much sense lately so it's likely this post won't either.  I'm not going to take the time to make everything cohesive.  It's a story of my recent journey into depression.

I'm not doing this for any pity or self-gratitude.  This is a part of my life and my blog is where I document my life.  

First of all, depression isn't new to me.  I was diagnosed with it several years ago.  Staying in the psych unit isn't new to me either.  Seventeen years ago, I was in there for three weeks.  Turned 25 years old in there.  Um, happy birthday, I think.  After about a year of being on meds, I weaned myself off and did quite well.  

Then my world was turned upside down when my mom died almost three years ago.  I'm not a stranger to death, but I was a stranger to losing my best friend.  My confidante.  That set me into a spiral of anger and hatred towards anyone and everyone, except God.  A good friend and supervisor noticed the change in my behavior and walked with me to get the help I needed, through a doctor.  And again, things were going good.  

I can't necessarily pinpoint why I spiraled out of control again.  My life is pretty darn good.  I have a strong support system.  I think it's a culmination of little things.  The fact that my mother's death date anniversary is coming up (April 13).  The fact that my son is moving 11 hours away.  The fact that I'm having a spiritual battle telling me I'm not good enough to be a pastor's wife.  Who knows.

All I know is that last Friday morning, in the very wee hours of the morning, I was done with it all.  DONE.  I didn't want to kill myself (my faith is too strong for that) and I didn't want to harm anyone else.  But, damn it, I wanted to die.  I REALLY wanted to die.  The urge was a strong current in my mind and I was spiraling down a rabbit hole.

I lost my shit and called my work for someone to come pick me up and take me to the hospital.  (I work as a 9-1-1 Dispatcher.  When I called, I gave no cares if they'd judge me or not.)  An officer ended up responding and took me to the hospital for admittance.  It was while I was walking in that the officer asked if I knew I was wearing two different shoes.  Nope, sure didn't!  It was a dress shoe on the left and an athletic shoe on the right.  I also didn't know how I got a black eye.  Or how I caused bruising on my left shoulder.  Or how I cut open my left knee.  Still don't know.
Photo by Milada Vigerova on Unsplash

As soon as I was sequestered in the hospital, I was stripped of most rights.  I voluntarily admitted myself but they were in charge from then on.  For my one phone call, I got a hold of my oldest daughter.  She and her husband came immediately after.  According to them, I was a blubbering mess.  I barely remember what all was asked of me or done to me.

Here's the real kicker, people:  My husband had no idea!  He was in bed asleep.  He didn't know until my daughter text to tell where I was.  And, even with that information, he wasn't allowed to visit or make contact at that time.  Looking back, that's my biggest regret.  He would have willingly listened to me and dealt with me.  He would have supported me and helped me through it all.  But I didn't want to be a "burden".  (Rather, I burdened him by blindsiding him.)  

Since this post has went on long enough, I will create another in a few days to talk about my experience as an inpatient for Behavioral Medical Services.  Stay tuned for Part 2....
Photo by Thư Anh on Unsplash

*Disclaimer:  If you're someone I personally know who is here to get the down-low, it better be nothing but support that I receive.  I've run my course of self-embarrassment and shame.  I refuse to let this define me.  And I refuse to allow someone to define me by this experience*

6 comments:

katy said...

I'm sorry it got that bad for you, Terra. I hope you got the help you needed at the Behavioral Medical Services. Your family will surround you with love and support. Take care.

Julie Waldron said...

Continued prayers! I'm glad you were able to get help and that you weren't afraid to ask for it. Unfortunately, too many people are.

Forgetfulone said...

Wow, Terra. I have visited your blog many times, but I had no idea you were going through this. I also suffer from depression, but everyone's story is different. I'm anxious to read about your experiences and insight. It doesn't seem right to say, "I'm sorry." But I am sorry you're going through this. Depression sucks, and there is such a stigma, wrongfully so. I admire you for your bravery in sharing your story. And thank you.

Dawn Ballo said...

Kimberly M. said...

I think it's wonderful that you are writing about this on your blog. Many hide from their depression and act like everything is ok and suffer in silence. My children and I all suffer from depression and it helps to write down how you are feeling we have learned. I'm so sorry to hear you struggle with it as well but it's great that you can talk about it and possibly help others. Thank you.

Mandy- Read. Write. Mom! said...

I am so thankful that you are ok. I didn't know you struggled with depression. I'm keeping you in my prayers. I know this isn't easy to go through.