Committed (Part One)

You have probably guessed by my previous post that I have been in the hospital for the past month. After being released in March, I went back after near attempt at suicide again. I packed up all my things and drove the two hours to the psych hospital.

After being in the psych unit for a week, I was not getting any better. I continued to isolate and still had the urge to kill myself. That was when my provider and I decided that the best option was for me to be committed to the state hospital. I was at peace with that decision and had to go to court before I was sent off in handcuffs to the hospital.

I was absolutely terrified of what it would be like. You here a lot of horror stories about the state hospital in the psych unit. There was one patient in the psych unit that prepared me for what it was really like. She even gave me her contact information to call her if I got scared or confused. I was so touched.

Once I arrived at the hospital, I got entered into the system, showered, and walked up to the unit I would be in. When I first walked in, I realized that it was no different from the psych unit (It was actually a little better). There were two TVs with couches and tables. Our rooms had a sink, and a closet with a desk attached to the wall. The beds were so comfy and you could open your window.

They brought me something to eat since I arrived at 8pm. Their food was terrible, but still edible. When you were really hungry, the food was a delicacy (Not that rare of an occurance). They gave me my meds through a little window in the med room door. I thought it was actually kind fun (I’m weird that way).

The best part was that you could turn off all your lights. In the psych unit, they had a “night-light” in the rooms that were more like an artificial sun. I must have the room dark in order to sleep, so I was able to get another hour or two of sleep that night…

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Hospitalized

Yup… I was hospitalized again after 2 years of… Coping. I was extremely suicidal

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Before Hospital

and made an appointment with my primary doc. Next thing I know, I’m having multiple seizures and admitted to the hospital. I was in the local hospital for a day, and then shipped two hours away to a psychiatric hospital.

I have been there for the past ten days. Most people think that being in a psychiatric ward is hell and that they would do anything to not be sent there. But I needed to be there, and it actually helped me get better. I slept for three days straight and then I hid from the other patients for four days.

I finally came out and ate a meal with a fellow human, and I actually enjoyed the interaction. Before I knew it, I was putting a puzzle together with a vetran, hippie, fellow teen, and a mama. We laughed and made fun of eachother, and helping eachother make it in that place.

Sadly, I only got to hang with them for two days before I was discharged. I am

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After Hospital

actually greiveing their company. You have a special bond with the people you meet in there because they know exactly what you’re going through. We are all in the same boat.

Anyways, I haven’t been posting because I haven’t had any access to a computer… Or Wifi. Now I’m back and I will have plenty to write about. I have to take some more time off work to figure out where to go from here.

Blankets

Warning: This post may be triggering for some people…
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I love blankets. Growing up, my grandma always made us a quilt every couple years for our birthdays. I love blankets because they hold so much memory and meaning, especially when they were a gift. I have blankets from two of my friends and whenever I wrap myself up in them, I feel as if they are giving me a hug. 
My grandma’s most recent quilt she made me, was given to me a few years ago. I don’t ever use it, and I think she is a bit offended by it. The thing is that the blanket holds bad memories for me. She gave it to me when I was admitted to the psych ward and then transferred to the surgical ward when they discovered I was malnourished.

 
I can’t even handle looking at it without the terrible feelings and memories that are linked to it, rush back. That year was hell for me. I will probably never forget it. The year before I was admitted, was spent trying to get a diagnoses for my seizures. I spent more of my time getting multiple EEGs, than I did at school.
After I was finally diagnosed with non electro graphic seizures, I was sent into a rapid spiral down to severe depression. People kept telling me that I can’t control my seizures and that it’s not my fault. Then I would have one and I remember waking to my parents or other family members discussing how angry they were that I kept having them. My dad being the worst culprit for telling me that I was faking it.
Every negative thing just sent me deeper and deeper into the depression, until I just had enough. I began planning and preparing for my exit from this world. Two years ago today, I was going to kill myself. I was saying goodbye to a friend and before I knew it, my mom was in my room. Reading my will and scolding me for ever thinking of committing suicide.
I was admitted to the hospital the next day and sent to the psych ward. I woke up the next morning, after being admitted to the psych ward, in the emergency room. I had had another one of my seizures during the night and the on call Doctor wanted to get me an EEG. He didn’t believe that it was a non electro graphic seizure. He said it looked too real. 
So, I was sent to get another EEG taken that revealed it was indeed one of my usual seizures. I was then sent back to the ward to sleep, and I woke up again in the emergency room because of a high temperature of 103 degrees Fahrenheit. They ran tests and discovered I hadn’t eaten in nine days. 
I was the. Sent to the surgical ward to get weened off the migraine medication that caused my loss of appetite, and to get a feeding tube inserted. That is where I met J and his service dog, Grace. That is when I got the blanket. My grandma laid the blanket on my hospital bed and looked at me with disappointment. 
That is when the guilt and shame began. That look is all I see when my grandma looks at me. Disappointment. So, I don’t use the blanket that holds all that shame, guilt, disappointment, and painful memories. I know that is all my family sees in me anymore, and it really hurts. I gave up. I couldn’t keep strong.