Room 19

It started with signing my name on the dotted line...voluntary committal.  My mind was completely blank.  I didn't allow myself to cry.  Or think.  I felt nothing.  After signing the forms, we sat and waited for a porter from the psych ward to come get us.  I looked at no one.  I didn't allow myself to cry.  I was void of any emotion.  The porter showed up and we began the long walk to the basement.

I was doing a decent job of holding it all in until we came to a ridiculously long hallway.  One side was windows.  The sun was shining brightly and it looked like a beautiful day.  It was the opposite of how I was feeling on the inside...completely broken and ready to fall apart.  I squeezed Mike's hand for support and began to tear up.

When we reached the door to the ward, I caught sight of a woman walking by with a blanket over her head.  That's when I snap lost it.  I had a full on panic attack and started hyperventilating.  The porter quickly ushered us into a side room that was all glassed in.  The patients could see us and we could see them.  Well, had I not had my back turned to them, I would have been able to see them.  I was bawling and gasping and begging Mike to take me home but to just please please please don't make me stay.  That I didn't belong there.  To say I was terrified was an understatement.  One of the patients kept yelling out unintelligible shouts and I thought it was directed at me.  Every time he yelled, I jumped out of my skin.  When the nurse took my vitals, my blood pressure was 152/102.  Shocker.  Why she didn't wait until I was done having my panic attack, I'm not sure.

The intake nurse did a decent job of calming me down and explaining to me the benefits of my being there.  Mike kept saying to me, "We'll just check it out...if you don't like it, we can always leave".  It dawned on me later that's the exact same thing we say to Katelyn when we're trying to get her to try a new activity.  Well played, Mike, well played.  I was calming down when all of a sudden Mike realized he had to go get Joel off the bus.  It was a far too rapid good-bye for my liking and he was gone.  I was alone and terrified.  The intake nurse continued going through all the questions with me and with each question asked, I calmed down more and more.  Roughly an hour later, intake was done and it was time to show me around the ward and show me to my room. Because I was a voluntary committal, I didn't have to wear hospital garbs.  I was allowed to wear my own clothes.  We knew this beforehand so I had packed comfy pajama pants and loose tops.

Room 19 was more than what I expected (I pictured either completely padded or all stainless steel). It had a small hospital bed, a tall cupboard, a desk, a chair and a nice bright window.  I said I wanted to lay down and sleep for a bit but it was almost supper time (4:45 was sups) so my nurse suggested I go line up.  After I was handed my meal tray, I turned around and looked at all the tables in the common area.  I wanted to cry.  Never in my life have I felt more like the new kid at school.  Everyone was eating in their groups so I found an empty table and scurried over.  Not gonna lie...I quietly cried into my mystery meat and mashed potatoes.  I was a pathetic sight.

As soon as supper was over, I headed down to my room for a nap.  I wanted to keep to myself as much as possible.  I closed the door and lay down on my bed.  Within seconds, my door was being opened by a care aide.  "Sorry, sweetie...can't be in your room with the door closed.  And if you're in here, I have to sit outside the door and watch you".

What.

The.

Shitballs.

Apparently, I was on suicide watch (for good reason).  So this poor care aide's job was to sit on a chair and watch me sleep.  I hope she was at least getting overtime for it (the final day that I was on the ward (the Tuesday), I was taken off 24/7 watch and only had to be checked every 15 minutes! Oh how glorious that felt!!!). The only time I could close my door was to get changed for bed.  When I showered, I could be in there with the door locked, but my aide knocked on the door every three minutes or so.

It's amazing how quickly one gets used to things.  Initially, it was weird to be sitting on my bed reading and having someone sitting in my doorway or across the hallway.  Within a day or so, I began to relax and even forgot I was being watched (not to the point where I'd let any rippers go or anything like that, but I would just...forget).  If I was in the common room, in sight of the nurses, I didn't have to have someone with me.  But if I wanted to go watch TV, I had to have the aide beside me.  I spent more time chatting with my care aides than I did with any of the patients.  Not gonna lie again...I was too scared to talk with any of them anyways.

I'm also not going to go into any details publicly about the other patients that were in there.  In person, I'd be happy to share some of the stories that made my eyes widen bigger than I thought possible.  But on this public space? Nah.  We've all got our own battles to fight and each patient had their own reasons for being on the ward.  But if I do bump into you, remind me to tell you the story about the one guy in a restraint chair who happened to have the stomach flu...that was eight kinds of awesome.

In retrospect, I needed those five days.  I needed them for med increases.  I neede to cry.  I needed to write.  I needed to read.  I needed to reflect.  I needed to pray.  I needed those five days to create one hell of a safety plan for when those dark thoughts start taking over my brain.

In the two weeks or so that I've been "out" (both from the ward and since writing the post), I have received so many wonderful emails and messages from people, sharing their own struggles with depression and/or suicidal ideations or attempts.  Mental illness is so ridiculously prevalent in this society and yet we're still so damn scared to talk about it.  I can't imagine going through these last four years silently.  I wouldn't be alive if I hadn't spoken up.  And it breaks my heart to think of all the people whom have committed suicide and how it could have been prevented if they...I don't know...spoke up? had the right person to talk to? I don't know what the answer is.  But I do know staying silent doesn't help anything.