Oh, What A Night...

I haven't been feeling well these last few weeks. Depression has sunk its teeth into me and is not letting go.  Some days are better than others, but most are spent in my pjs, waiting for my next chance to climb back into bed and forget about the world for a few hours.

I've talked before about my suicidal ideation that happens…where my focus is turned to how I can kill myself. Scary, but true.  I also have, unfortunately, ideations about harming the kids.  About drowning them.  These thoughts terrify me the most and quickly turn to more thoughts of killing myself because what kind of mother thinks about killing her kids.

These last two days have been the lowest of my lows.  Normally, I would have capped it off by overdosing on pills but instead I chose to go to the hospital.  With the kids safely at my mom and dad's house, my mom drove me to the hospital. It all went downhill from there.

I checked into admitting and told the triage nurse exactly what was going on.  I went to the hospital with my bags packed with the intentions of being admitted onto the ward.  We were immediately ushered back into emerg into the consultation room.  Not long after, a doctor (not a psychiatrist) came to see us and chatted with me for a bit.  Blood and urine samples were given.  And then we waited.  And waited.  And waited.  Finally, two nurses from the ward came to get me.  As soon as nurse Bitch Brandi walked in, there was attitude in the air.  I said I needed to go get my things from the car.  She said no, we provide everything.  I said no, I need my pjs and my toothbrush plus I wanted to have a smoke.  She said, "You're committed…we provide all of that".  I said, "I came here on my own accord…I'm here voluntarily.  I am not committed".  Bitch Brandi held up a piece of paper and said, "This says otherwise.  Let's go".

At this point, my mom piped up and said, "Well, we'll just go home then".  Bitch Brandi (who probably dots her "i" with a heart) said, "You try and walk out of here and we'll have security on you so fast.  We can do this the easy way or the hard way.  Your call".  I said I wanted the committal lifted. Bitch Brandi said that would mean phoning the psychiatrist back.  "So be it" I said.  It was at this point they left the room, but stood just around the corner, talking about me as loudly as they could.  I was almost in tears.  There was no way I was staying on the ward with that sort of bitch looking after my care.

The doctor came back and I argued with him that I wanted the committal lifted and that I wanted to go home.  He asked for compromise…he would get the committal changed to voluntary stay if I agreed to stay.  I lied and said yes.  He got back on the phone with the psychiatrist (not my own) and had it changed to voluntary.  I watched the nurses search for a voluntary sheet and when the nurse finally came in with it, she said, "Jyllian…you need to sign this now".  There was hesitancy from me and she kept repeating my name.  I started crying and said, "I just want to go home".  She walked out in a huff and sent the two ward nurses back downstairs.

The doctor came back to talk to me and said if I leave, child protective services would have to be called because he now has information about children possibly being harmed.  We said, "We're teachers…we understand that".  I thanked him for all his help and we were on our way.

Since Mike was at work, the plan was for me to stay at my parents' house.  On the way home, I wanted to stop at the jail and talk to Mike quick to let him know what was going on.  I met him at the door as he was walking out…he was on his way home.  There were extras on shift so Mike was taking the rest of the night off.  I transferred my bags out of my mom's car and continued home with Mike,

We were barely in our driveway when the cops showed up, along with two workers from Mobile Crisis (the after hours workers of social services).  We met them at the front door and the tension from Mike was so incredibly strong.  The cops just stood there, in case they were needed and it's a good thing they were, because Mike wanted oh-so-badly to punch the case worker.  I just stood there, crying and trying to answer their questions.  The condition was signed that until I've seen my psychiatrist AND my psychiatrist deems me as stable, the kids wouldn't be released back to our care.  Then they headed over to my parents' house and needed to physically see the kids (who were sleeping).  The best part was that they refused to take off their shoes so my mom made them wear plastic bags on their feet :)

So, here I sit…waiting for 2:00 to roll around so I can see my psychiatrist and hopefully end this nightmare.  What have I learned from this? Basically I've learned to keep my mouth shut about thoughts of hurting the kids and don't go to the hospital for help because you'll just get committed against your will.  And that Brandi is a bitch.