*disclaimer* i get that i'm posting this on the internet. i get that the internet isn't exactly the most private place in the free world. i just ask a few things of you before you read this: 1) please don't treat it like common gossip. it's my life, my real life, and i'll ask that you respect that. 2) please do not ask me about any of this in the grocery store, at the bar, etc.that's not the place. if there's anything you want to know, if you want to check in, let's do coffee, or email me or something. 3) all i'm asking is for kindness and respect here.
so it's been one hell of a week...i went into the hospital about 24 hours after i wrote my last entry. i wasn't safe to myself. i had two suicide plans, and i didn't *get* that jesse would be the one to find me, i didn't *get* the loss to my friends, my family, my boy, my goddaughter, my sisters. i was curled up in the bed, sobbing quietly as not to wake up j, and in my head, having flashback after flashback and seeing myself just ending it all. i couldn't see past just not hurting like that anymore. i'd been trying to get help, and resources kept failing. i felt like there was no hope left at all, that i had ruined jesse's life by bringing all this shit into it for over two years, that i was clearly damaged goods and i wasn't any good to anybody. i wanted to take my pills and slit my wrists, in private. just go away, quietly, in the middle of the night. i sat up. i had every intention of climbing the stairs. i called raven instead.
she made me wake up j; the last thing i wanted to do. but i did, and he called melissa while i packed a bag. off we went to lewis-gale, the place where i was born. the place where i could not take my own life. it took hours to be processed, and i left my people to walk the locked ward alone at about 6 am. i was strip-searched and led to a hospital bed in a freezing room with one pillow and one blanket. i was exhausted and miserable, but i was alive. they told me to get some sleep, as i'd only slept in patches for over four days. ha. first the psychiatrist's PA came in, woke me up and asked for my life story. i gave it to her, shivering and blind and so tired i felt like my brain might permanently fail me at any moment. next came the meeting with the doctor. and then the social worker. and then the lady from the financial department. after that, i tried yet again to just get some sleep, but the nurses came in, took my vital signs and insisted i make morning group.
i finally got some sleep, finally got my bag from the nurses station, finally got my meds called in by the doctors, got the nicotine patch i damn near went crazy(ier) without, got a shower and then it was time for visitors. in the next few days, i met M, a wonderful guy on the ward who showed me the ropes, told me that the coffee i thought was regular was, of course, decaf (which explained why i never quite felt awake), told me to go to every group therapy session no matter what and told me about the "other side": the ward where you we allowed to walk around, and *gasp* even go outside. he was a lifesaver. the locked ward was, as a friend said, NCAA (not cute at all). too many really embarrassing things happened to me there to go into here, and there was something about being locked down that started to get to me. i was surrounded by people that suffered from everything from severe depression to schizophrenia and psychosis. there was a really sweet old lady with bandages up and down both arms who came into the common room sobbing because the voices were back and she couldn't be alone. there was no safe place for her, i realized, whereas the hospital was absolutely safe for me. i witnessed acts of kindness and grace that made my heart burst open.
there was something magical about being there, as hard as it was, with people who lived in much the same way i did. there was a quiet understanding that settled me, seeing the grief and pain echoed in the eyes around me. then, on sunday, i got transferred to the "other side." i took my journal outside and sat in the warm sun at last. it was heaven. i hung out in the much bigger, nicer common room, with my new wardmates. there was A, who had a rocky mount drawl and was cute as a button, who was trying to leave her abusive husband. there was AL, trying once again to detox and save his marriage and avoid jail for another DUI. M, who had also just come from the locked ward, a husband and father of two, with tattoos, piercings, severe depression, and incredible father energy. there was J, an adorable little lesbian from HU, and my roommate C. C would deserve her own chapter in my book about this whole experience.
she was prone to angry outbursts, overdoses and had a truly "i don't give a fuck" bad-ass attitude. the kid managed to get high in rehab. that's quite a feat right there. at first, i thought living with her would never work. after about 20 minutes, we were BFF. she so reminded me of myself at 17, the side of me that hurt and wanted everyone else to hurt, too. i've done a lot of work on that over the years, and maturing never hurts, either. she had her reasons. her family was well off in richmond and was just stashing her in hospitals until she would conformed to their ideas of what she should be and do. think back to being 17. how well would that have gone for you? she had real problems, definitely, and sincerely needed the help that she was rejecting. it's just that we have to do it for ourselves, not anyone else, not for any other reason but our own survival. we spent a lot of time talking, me telling her how to be independent and a rebel without ending up in jail every other week. we talked about being smart, and how survival on your own terms is way more vengeance and way more enriching than overdosing and acting out. she talked to me about why i was so damn afraid to raise my voice, advocate for myself and demand help, instead of feeling like i had to apologize for myself every three seconds.
so much changed on the "other side." we all spent so much time together, and most of that time in groups where we told our secrets, our fears, our hopes. we all piled into the common room with ann on monday to watch "dancing with the stars." she cried because she realized how different it was to watch her favorite show surrounded with laughter, as opposed to some man screaming at her and threatening her. she had a family meeting the next day and told her husband she was leaving him, and worked with everyone on a plan. instead of looking dead eyed, she was glowing. C went to her family meeting and didn't yell or scream once. she quietly and sensibly advocated for herself. i've never been more proud of anything in my life. the ways we changed in there were not unlike being blown apart and reborn from the ashes.
as for me, my family meeting didn't quite go as any of us expected. it was me, jesse, jesse's dad, and jj in with the social worker, financial lady, and the patient advocate. i got the bill written off, so far, but that was about it. i needed more resources for after i got out. i need groups, a therapist that *gets* ptsd. i need a psychiatrist more than anything right now. and i need it all either for free or at low cost. everyone was baffled at where i should go. the only choice was blue ridge. i went there yesterday, that's a story for another day. not good.
it was decided that i would stay until tuesday. monday night, C found out that her parents were shipping her off to a place in georgia. her friends were banned from contacting her, and they didn't know if they'd be there or would call her on her 18th birthday or not. she tried to laugh, saying that guys were hotter in rehab, and that she'd get the bus driver to stop at sheetz for cigarettes and condoms, since she had to plan her own party. she was miserable. so was i. we went out to smoke in the courtyard. the hospital is all smoke free. we left our patches on. it was so not appropriate and i just couldn't be bothered to care. i did something bad, and i relished it. so there.
tuesday, i was crazed with fear of leaving. i had survived and found safety there. i knew the nurses and the schedule, and meds and meals just magically appeared. i took it to group, to my friends, and my doctor. i couldn't stay there forever. i'd survive, but what kind of life would that be? it was time to take my life back in my hands, and jump. i called jesse at work and asked to come for me at five. i also asked him to bring presents. i packed and i went to lunch and groups, and tried my hardest to not give into the fear. he got there right as they'd messed up the prescriptions i was supposed to be leaving with (which the dr. fixed, thank god). we asked for a word with C, and asked her to shut the door. she was thoroughly scared. we gave her her early birthday/goodbye present. j pulled out a pack of camel lights and a couple strips of condoms he'd smuggled in. it was an amazing last moment, laughter and tears, like the rest of it had been.
so, how am i now? i don't know. i know i'm calmer, more centered, way more positive than i've maybe ever been. i've been getting up with jesse at 6:30 in the mornings, having breakfast, taking my meds religiously. i've made myself a schedule for each day that i *try* to follow. i've been easing back into my friends and my social life. i've been proactive. i am also really scared that i won't find what i need. i still need help, still need tons of hugs and cuddles and support and love. i need someone to tell me, at least once a day, that i didn't survive all what i've survived to stop here. that it will be okay. i know i feel stronger. i have a HUGE hospital/doctor phobia from my mom and grandpa. i went to the hospital when i needed to go. i could have walked upstairs to the pills and razors, but even in all that pain, crazier than batshit, i picked up the phone. i know how to save my own life. i've been to the edge and walked away from it, picking up some amazing lessons and amazing people in the meantime.
there's this song that i love, that has always kind of been my suicide ideation song. i've been listening to it a lot to day, and i think i've found a hidden meaning that was probably there all along.
Fading everything to black and blue
You look a lot like you
Shatter in the blink of an eye
You keep sailing right on through
Every time you say you're learning
You just look a lot like me
Pale under the blistering sky
White and red
Black and blue
You've been waiting a long time
You've been waiting a long time
To fall down on your knees
Cut your hands
Cut yourself until you bleed
Fall asleep next to me
Wait for everyone to go away
And in a dimly lit
room where you've got nothing to hide
Say your goodbyes
Tell yourself we'll read
a note that says
I'm sorry everyone
I'm tired of feeling nothing goodbye
Wash your face
Dry your eyes
Cause you've been waiting a long time
You've been waiting a long long time
To fall down on your knees
Cut your hands
Cut yourself until you bleed
But fall asleep next to me...
i thought this was about suicide. i thought it was about that moment of releasing it all into nothingness, falling into the black that would make it all stop. but i showed up at the hospital wearing pajamas and red eyes, having left all defense mechanisms at home. i wasn't fine, i certainly wasn't cute, i wasn't funny, i was alone, and i was just telling my truth. i let it all go, releasing and releasing, and i'll keep letting it go a little at a time because that's the opposite of death, that's the cutting off that i really want, the screaming i really need to do.