New Found Sanity

Recently, with a lot of help from my mother,  I moved out of the place I had with my boyfriend and his children and into a place that I can call my own. Granted, I am not alone; I have my son, dog, and cat with me, but it is all mine.

It is a cozy (small) two bedroom house with a great yard,  down the street from a playground.  Just enough for us.

In the weeks that have followed the move, I have noticed a huge reduction in stress and better use if coping skills. Yes, it is scary being responsible for all of this and not being able to predict or control certain changes or events, but with the support of family and friends, I got this!

My Time in the Psych Ward: What Tomorrow Brought

I woke up that Tuesday morning to the sun shining in through the window. The clock on the otherwise bare, stark white wall, said it was a little after seven. The door to my room was open a few inches, but I did not hear much outside if it.  I vaguely remembered someone telling me breakfast was at eight, but first things first, I had to pee.

I walked down to the nurses station, trying to observe and take in everything I could. No one at the station was familiar from the night before, but that would make sense. I did not speak when I got to the nurse's station; I didn't have to. My blank stare and wide eyes, a look they must have seen a million times before, spoke for me. One woman asked very sweetly, like if I were a lost three-year old, if I was Danielle. I just nodded. They all greeted me and a short round of introductions were given. Then she asked me, in that soft, sweet voice, if I need to use the bathroom. Again, I just nodded and someone came with me back to my room to unlock my bathroom door.

Bathroom doors are locked until you get doctor’s approval to have it kept unlocked.

I opened the shower curtain and realized the all-in-one cleanser was mounted to the wall in a soap dispenser. My hair was gonna love this… I turned on the water for the shower and was blown away; it had so much pressure that I actually let it beat on my shoulders, back, and neck for a massage. I stayed in there so long, had it so hot, I was almost limp when I got out, but I felt amazing.

Now I was ready to face my day.

For the next two days I spent most of my time in some sort of therapy. It was very therapeutic and I really started to feel better, like I had more direction, an idea of what I needed to help myself.

The rest of my visit was pretty much therapy and eating, three hots and cot, with my own bathroom, and housekeeping was through daily. The social worker gave me a list of resources to help me when I went back home.

Wednesday night, I ate my last meal with my new friends and left the hospital. My first stop was the pharmacy to fill a bunch of new prescriptions, the second stop was to see my son. It had been almost a week since I had seen him, and when he called me when I was in the hospital, I almost cried talking to him. I went to his dad’s house, gave him the biggest hug I could. I tucked him into bed, we chatted a little, and I sang Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star for him.

I collected my dog, who was also staying at dad’s, and went home. As a side note, the dog was so happy to see me, that he pushed my son out of the way multiple times to get a hug.

When I got home, everyone was watching tv in the living room. I got the dog set up, said hello to the cat, made a very stiff drink and just went into my room and closed over the door.

A little bit later, my boyfriend came in to check on me, sat with me for a little bit and then just let me be. Tomorrow was going to be a whole new day.

My Time in the Psych Ward: The First Night

As I mentioned previously, this is actually something I thought would be easy to talk about, but to describe it is just really weird.  I wish I had a better word for it.

Walking up to the Adult Psychiatric Unit was scary; it was dark and we were escorted by security.  I had no idea what to expect.  The nurses for the unit told me to have a seat in a chair across from the nurse's station.  They took my bag and went through it; I was able to keep my journal and colored pencils.  I traded in my draw-string shorts for scrub pants, and my hair clip for a elastic pony.  I was handed a paper cup with a toothbrush and toothpaste in it.  They took my blood pressure, temperature, and asked me a bunch of intake questions while I was eating a box lunch.

I just remember being scared.  Everyone kept telling me I was safe; but I was still scared.  Of what?  Well I am not exactly sure.  Everything I guess.  What was tomorrow going to bring?  What was going to happen to my son?  Sure he was with his dad that night, but I was supposed to pick him up from the sitter the next day.  How was he going to react when I asked him to pick him up.  Would I be able to ask him?  What was tomorrow going to bring?

I was assigned my room, given a list of rules and told what time breakfast was.  I was also given two towels and one of those huge water mugs/bottles that are so common in hospitals.  It even had my name on it.  I took in the room; it could easily be converted for two people if needed, two desks, two dressers, two chairs, two sitting chairs, but only one bed.

I laid down and tried to sleep, my mind was pretty numb at this point, but all I could do was cry.  I cried for at least another hour.  Who knew I had any more tears to shed.  Eventually I fell asleep.  I slept solid, for the first time in a long time, even though I had no idea what morning, as it was already tomorrow, would bring.

The Medication Roller Coaster

Do not be afraid of medication when diagnosed with a mental illness; it can actually be your friend and help you lead a normal life.  Unfortunately, it is usually a roller coaster of a ride until you find the one, or combination, of meds and dosages that work for you.  This can be a scary thing, but you have to trust in yourself and  your provider that you will figure it out.  

New medications take time to become effective, and the first couple of weeks on a new one can really suck.  Sometimes, even after your body has become use to it, you will still have side effects.  It is important to weigh if they are something you can live with, or if you have to try a different dosage or medication.  

Something else to consider is that once you have been on a medication for a while, your body may become immune to it.  In this case, you may need a new dosage, or even a new med, starting the roller coaster again.  This is not a bad thing!  It is just part of it all.  

Some of the medications may not even be for mental illness; but commonly known to treat something else.  Do not freak out; your doctor is not nuts, some drugs have been known to treat things other than what they were created for.  

Make sure you have an open dialogue with your doctor and your pharmacist.  They will make this roller coaster a lot easier to ride. 

Back to Life, Back to Reality

Monday I went back to work after almost three months off.  Even before that I worked sporadically.  Now I am committing to forty hours a week.  Why?  Well I need to get back into reality.  I am currently living in a toxic situation and need to move my family (my son, dog, and cat) out of our current domicile and into something better, mentally healthier.  

As an update, I now see a therapist about once a month, my shrink about every six weeks, and liking my meds.  I have a list of AA groups for the area, and mental support groups.  Hopefully I can find something in them, some sort of peace or validation.  

I feel like I am starting life over again, new job, new place to live, new goals.  Starting over, again.  We can do this though, we’ll do it together.  I’ll help you by pouring my heart out online and you’ll help me by liking or viewing my posts.  Another goal is to not leave you hanging so long between posts, and to finish things that I have started.

Wish us luck!  We are going to need it :)

Danielle

My Time in the Psych Ward: The Breaking Point

Lake Winnebago

I am really trying to put this all together, but I am finding it very hard to organize all of my thoughts, so I figured I am going to try and start from the being, my breaking point.  I currently live with my boyfriend, his seventeen year old mentally disturbed son, my dog, my cat, and half of the time my five year old son, and my boyfriend's sixteen year old daughter.  If that is not a formula for stress, I do not know what is.  Throw in useless social workers from Winnebago County Child Protective Services and a couple of dead beat moms and you have the perfect cocktail that no combination of medication can cure.  Skipping a bunch of the personal details for their sake, I left my house in tears after a argument with the boyfriend and found myself crying hysterically in the park.

I do not remember driving there, I just remember saying over and over to myself that I couldn't be here (home) and slamming the door behind me.  The park is just blocks from my house and I probably subconsciously thought that sitting by the water would help, since the beach was always my refuge when I lived on the East Coast. Staring out at Lake Winnebago was the best Wisconsin had to offer at the time.  After a few minutes of watching the small waves break, I knew I needed help.  I wasn't right, something was wrong.  I drove to the hospital, parked in emergency and sliced my wrist with a box cutter that I had in the truck.  I walked through the doors, hysterical and could not even talk to the lady at the reception desk.  She just had me write down my name and date of birth, and when she asked me my symptoms, I just held up my wrist (I just want to note that I am a chicken and barely broke the skin, the fact that I actually attempted to do this is really what had me in hysterics), she nodded and told me to go have a seat.

There was only one other person in the waiting area, she started talking to me.  She asked me if I was okay, and all I could manage to answer her with were sobbing nods.  She talked very plainly to me, and told me that I was going to be alright, I did it the wrong way, so I will be fine she said.  I was having a nervous breakdown she said, she told me she had had a couple herself.  The whole time I could not stop crying, a nurse came to get me shortly after, I did not even hear him call my name, the lady that was talking to me called him over to me.  I vaguely remember talking to other nurses and the doctor, but I remember talking to that lady clear as day.  Part of me now wonders if she was even there.  I spent a couple hours in the emergency room, I fell asleep watching Despicable Me 2.  When I woke up, I had no idea where I was or even what I was doing there for the first few minutes.

That night I voluntarily committed myself to the adult psychiatric ward.

My Time in the Pysch Ward: Introduction

So last week I was voluntarily admitted into the adult psychiatric ward at the local hospital after a suicide attempt.  I was originally going to only write one big post about it, but I have been having a hard time adjusting back home and I want to spend some time on certain things that I have experienced in the last week or so.  I also want to do some additional research on a few topics, hopefully adding in some information that you might find helpful.  If you would like to be notified when a new installment is added, please make sure to go to the desktop view and at the bottom of the page, you can sign up to receive email notifications.

One important thing is that I know I am not alone; you are not alone.

This is the most accurate description of how I feel.