The Inquisition

Rolling over and avoiding the nurse did not help me at all. My nurse for the day came in and introduced herself. She then told me that she had to interview me. So we went back to the tiny room that was crammed full of office furniture. I again explained everything again. She asked to see my cuts. I pulled my sleeve down and showed her. She said she had seen worse. I told her that I was embarrassed by them and ashamed. She replied, "pull your sleeve back down." So I did. After that interview I had to meet with the psychiatrist again. He and the nurse asked how I felt about being in the psychiatric ward. To be honest, I was intimidated, scared, shocked and I wanted to go home. I told them I want to go home. The psychiatrist said he was hoping I would stay and experience the routines and group therapy. Nope, I wanted out. I was irritated and agitated. He was a little surprised but said if I wanted to leave that I could as I had signed myself in voluntarily. However, it would be against medical advice as I had not yet met the social worker and signed up for my group therapy sessions. I then asked if I could participate in out patient programs. I wanted the help, I need the help. My mind is suffering terribly and I am harming myself. So I explained that if I could not receive outpatient treatment that I would very reluctantly stay. I was terrified of the other patients. I was scared and alone. I can't explain the terror that I felt, I feared being labelled by society, being alone in this ward and maybe just maybe I wasn't losing my mind and I had made a mistake by checking in to the hospital. The nurse said she would talk to the social worker and see if we could somehow expedite the process. I was so grateful. She was much kinder than the night nurse. After that, I was able to return to my room where I didn't feel so exposed and intimidated. I went back to sleep, but not for long. A doctor came in to ask how I was feeling and to check on me after being sick all night. In my half asleep state, I managed to tell him that I had heart burn. Odd, but true. He pressed on my stomach and asked if I felt pain, nope just aggravated that yet another person is asking me questions. He left and I went to sleep. It seemed like it was a dream but when I asked the nurse she said yes I had seen him and told him about my stomach issues. Finally, the person I needed to see came in and was able to help me. The social worker. He held my ticket out of this nightmare. We went to his office where I explained how I wanted to go home. He said he would do his very best to get me into the out patient program but it could take a day or so and I may have to stay another night. I agreed. I didn't want to stay, I felt like being there was really going to make me crazy. There was another catch, I had to call my parents and ask if I could come home. We had to discuss if it was safe for me and if my parents would continue to support me and help me. My mom agreed. She said it was my home and I could come home if I wanted. It wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear. I wanted her to say with more enthusiasm, "come home, it's where you belong." My day dreams are always so dramatic and far away from reality. She was concerned about me harming myself again and that she really didn't know if she could protect me. The call ended. I was disappointed with my mom's response. I wanted more enthusiasm, I wanted to be wanted back home. You are probably thinking, well it was only one night, how can they miss me? How can I expect more spirit about coming home. My mom and I have an awesome relationship. We are very close, we have a best friend relationship. I adore her for all her help, support and love. That's why I thought the phone call would have gone differently. After the call, I went to my room. I was waiting for visiting hours which started at 3:45pm. I read my book, finished a few word searches, layed in bed. I was just waiting, waiting for good news from the social worker, waiting for my parents to show up. At 4:15 they arrived. As upset as I was about being in the ward, I was so relieved to see them. I could let out this breath I had been holding since I arrived there. The social worker had worked a miracle I could leave the ward and receive out patient treatment. I was so excited to go home. I packed my bag up as fast as I possibly could and changed into my clothes. The nurse and social worker wished me good luck and I was on my way. On my way home, I have never been happier to return to my home. I was safe again. Being there, even for a short time scared me. I saw how badly things could get if I didn't get help. Over medicated zombies lingered in the TV area. Listless, sad people staring at the TV eating awful hospital food. Angry people screaming and swearing at the psychiatric team. Or people who were plastering fake smiles on their faces just trying to get through the day. I don't know which category I fit in and I didn't want to find out. I kept my word to the kind nurse and fantastic social worker. I went to my appointment, I am looking at the courses available to me and on Monday I will be signing up for my groups. I have to tackle this, I don't want to return to the hospital and that fear has kept me from self harm. It's hard and I wrestle with my mind about cutting. The difference this time, I am thinking about others, how this will affect my family and friends. Before that, I never would have considered them. They had never entered my mind, it was me and what I needed. This is an addiction, it's a struggle but I fear succombing to my mental illness. That fear might just be big enough to keep me safe. So far it has but every day is different and the nights too. The nights are harder to cope with but I do it one day at a time. Just getting through one day at a time.