A few weeks ago I fell off a cliff, mentally. The past year hadn’t been terrible. My depression is always a daily struggle, but I was getting by. I was feeling pretty good. I lost 75 pounds and significantly lowered my A1C. Then one day, right after Christmas, I wasn’t okay anymore. I guess in hindsight it wasn’t as sudden as it felt. Looking back, I had been going downhill since October. I felt completely useless. I honestly didn’t want to do life anymore. I wanted to kill myself, again. I had felt like this before and said I would never let it happen again, yet there I was. My husband knew I wasn’t okay. He says he can see it in my eyes. He says I look lost and have no idea what is coming next. Like I’m scared. My doctor was contacted and I ended up in the emergency room.
Feeling suicidal and being in the ER is a different experience for sure. They immediately took everything from me…phone, purse, even clothes. I had to change in front of two people. I was given a pair of paper scrubs to wear. I wasn’t even allowed to wear my bra and underwear. They gave me a pair of mesh panties like the ones you wear after giving birth. Afterwards, I was escorted by a nurse and a security guard to another room to have blood drawn. In addition to the norm, they also check to see if you have drugs or alcohol in your system. Finally I was escorted to a locked unit inside of the emergency room where I would spend the next 18 hours. I was given a small room with a curtain for a door. Inside the room there was a plastic chair and a recliner. You know the hospital ones that roll, don’t lay all the way back, and are extremely noisy. I saw a nurse, doctor, social worker, and had a virtual appointment with a psychiatrist. They deemed it necessary for me to stay. I had to sign a form to voluntarily commit myself. I could have refused, but then they could have started the process of having me involuntarily committed. That would have been worse. My husband was made to leave after a couple of hours and I was told that I was just waiting on a bed at a behavioral health facility. I slept alone in that horrible chair all night not knowing if I was going to be admitted upstairs or transported to a facility in another city.
At 9 am I was moved upstairs, thankfully. I was shown to my room. Just a bed, desk, sink, and a motivational quote on the wall. No TV. I was just so thankful for the private bathroom, though, after having to share with everyone else in the ER. I cried as two nurses had to do a skin search. They looked at every inch of me and made note of any mark on my body. There is no modesty in mental health. The nurse then took me on a tour of the facility. It was pretty bare. Everything was bolted or screwed down that could be, there were metal screens on the windows, and the only furniture consisted of hard plastic and wooden tables and chairs. There was a visitation room where my husband was allowed to visit for only one hour a day, a single phone on the wall in the hallway to be shared by all patients during daytime hours, and then there was the main room. That room is where all of the patients gathered for meals, group therapy, two hours of TV a day, and puzzles/books/games/coloring (although there were very few of those that were worth anything). I cried myself to sleep that night.
The next day was a little better, but the day was just so long with nothing to do. Did I mention that it was New Year’s Day so the schedule was bare due to the holiday. I found myself trying to sleep the day away and had to force myself to leave the room. My last day was my best day. I had actually started making some friends. I met the most wonderful people there. Some were struggling with depression like me and others were also dealing with addiction. I attended a couple of group therapy sessions, played games during recreational therapy, colored, and played Uno with a few of the other patients. As hard as it was to be there and as ready as I was to be home with my family, there was a sadness that I didn’t expect when I left. I enjoyed spending time with those people. People that were also struggling. I wasn’t alone. There was no judgement, just genuine love for one another. I’m happy to have come home, but I’m positive I would have been okay had I needed to stay longer. Now I’m even considering looking into outpatient group therapy. I guess what I’m trying to say is this…what I thought was the worst experience ever ended up shifting into something beautiful.
If you are going through depression, please remember that you are not the only one. Depression has a way of secluding us which is the exact opposite of what we need. As hard as it may seem, force yourself to talk to someone today. Find a safe place and open up. If you don’t have that safe place, please send me a message. There is no judgement here, just love.
With Love, K