In and Out: Inpatient, Part One

I really hadn’t planned on it. Otherwise I wouldn’t have worn tights.

Last Wednesday, September the 17th, I went in for an “assessment” at Parkview Behavioral Health and ended up staying for five days. Why? Because I desperately needed help, and finally, finally, believed that nothing else would do. I’m a slacker that way. I hate “bothering” people with my problems, even if it’s my doctor, whom I pay for helping me. Derp.

^{Pretty much sums it up.}

I had been taking Lithium for over a year. At the beginning, it seemed to work. I was happy, and went about my business, which was great. Then, last winter (traditionally a hard time for me), I began sinking further and further into depression. I got an increase in my meds, and again, that seemed to help for a bit, but not for long. I had already asked my doctor for a referral, but nothing was happening. And I was definitely not pro-active enough about remedying my mental health issues. Then again, it’s hard to be proactive when you’re lying in bed all day wanting to die.

^{Just make it stop.}

I wanted to have God kill me, because I was afraid to kill myself, and I certainly didn’t want to have anyone else kill me, even by accident. (See, I hate to bother people.) In the hospital, they called this the “passive death wish,” but I don’t know why, because I was actively thinking about it for a large part of every day. I would have good days, but few of them, and far between. I guess I thought it was enough that I wasn’t really making an attempt to kill myself, so why bother going to the hospital?

Given that I thought the hospital was for people who needed electro-convulsive therapy (ECT, or “shock” therapy), that makes sense. The only times I had been to visit a mental unit, that was exactly what was happening.

^{When was the last time you saw a nurse dressed like this? Exactly.}

I surely wasn’t that bad, so I would just wait for my next appointment, which was only two weeks away. (I had made it four weeks in advance.) For some reason, those two additional weeks of waiting seemed the equivalent of climbing Mount Everest, so I called the Behavioral Heath people and, sobbing, made an appointment for the next day. I have never, ever cried on the phone before like that. I was a little ashamed, especially when the nice lady on the other end kept asking, “Are you okay? Are you in a safe place?”

Is any place a safe place when your mind is always there, taunting?

^{But not this cute.}

I went in for the assessment, and it took over an hour, which is pretty normal. At the end, the women told me that it seemed a change in meds would definitely be an improvement, and why not just check myself in? After all, what did I have to lose? I told her, “The ability to wave my little card that says, ‘I’ve never been inpatient.’ Which, really, is nothing.” I thought briefly of missing choir, and an overnight trip I had planned for Friday. And decided to go for it.

^{Obviously, this man can still wave this card.}

Seriously, “going inpatient” is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. It was a really nice place, and I liked the group therapy. I also liked the fact that I got meds that are making me feel like a human again. I was not as enthusiastic about the food. It was, however, always served on time and I never had to wash dishes. So that was a win. Really, though, no one had to wash dishes, because they were all disposable. Why? Because then they couldn’t be used as a weapon. Seriously. Frisbee, anyone?

^{Lunch ladies for the win!}

There’s so much more to tell, but I’ll save it for the next time.

P.S. Why wouldn’t I have worn tights? Because they, like belts, can be used for asphyxiation, so they take them away, leaving you with naked, fish-belly white legs that are constantly cold. The things you learn…