#psychiatric hospital

So I’ve ended up in a Psychiatric hospital… Great just what I wanted - not!

Trigger Warning: suicide; self-harm; drug addiction/overdose; domestic violence; body dysmorphia

What I am about to share with you is the story of how I attempted to take my life….how close I came….and exactly what came out of it. Please be advised I do mention the above topics. If any of these topics are triggering, please do not continue. 

I am always open to provide an ear, advice, or a virtual hug. 

I love you all, please enjoy. 

I have struggled with mental illness most of my life. Being raised in a house-hold of poor coping mechanisms, substance abuse and domestic violence didn’t necessarily set me up for success; or assist in the seriousness of my illness either. However, what it did do was help set me up for a series of obstacles I would inevitably be blessed to face and overcome…as well as provide me with copious tools in my life tool-belt that I can apply to a wide variety of situations.

At a young age I was molested by my father’s best friend. Additionally I have been a victim of domestic violence, rape, as well as navigating through a family plagued by alcoholism. My family as a unit has faced seemingly impossible situations that have forever shattered the fragile glass that holds the family unit at such high regard and protects it from the ugliness of broken individuals who are bonded by blood gone sour, yet desperately grasping at their instinctual loyalty and love. 

Most children in these types of homes, who have gone through these types of traumas/crises would find solace in school with their friends. For me? School was equally as unbearable due to my weight. I was the fat girl….

I paint for you a picture of an extremely broken, vulnerable, self loathing young woman. A young woman who held no self respect and acted as a carpet to those around her. She suffered from panic attacks, anxiety, mood swings…..she cut to take the pain away. Her search for an outlet to the pain was tiresome as she would literally jump through hoops just to drag a sharp edge across her skin…..razors, scissors, knives…..paper clips…..broken bobby pins….

The above description was my foundation - those were the values I had of myself to walk into adulthood with. I could not cope, I hated who I was as a person, and I was so desperate to find a place where I was loved that I made a three year poor series of choices that eventually lead to rape, addiction, an abusive relationship, witness to severe animal abuse, and financial devastation. 

July of 2017 was the end of the insanity that had become my life. I made the decision to move back home to a chaos I was used to and knew how to work through rather chaos I was unfamiliar with and had no clue how to handle…

July of 2017 I became suicidal and checked myself into a hospital. The sudden haul of the chaos became unbearable. I was broken. I was battered. I was hopeless. 

August of 2017 I am released from the hospital and I am prospering. I have a fantastic job making fantastic money. I am happier than I have ever been. Life is finally good. I am making good choices…I am on cloud nine. 

November of 2017 my mother’s dachshund gets out of the front door and begins to run towards the highway. My mother and I chased him a mile and a half down the busy main road we live off of. I am in heels because I was about to go and buy a car, and she was in shoes that weren’t tied and flopping off of her feet….I trip, fall, and break my foot. I am now out of work until January of 2018. 

December of 2017 I am sinking deeper into my depression. There has been yet another drastic change in my life and I have no income. I have a car I need to pay, I can’t work due to the severity of my injury…and I am being targeted by my family. Four people in a house. Four people who need their space from each other or else situations become volatile quickly. At this point I feel as though I am absolutely nothing. I am unimportant, and with everything I have endured in my life….and with everything that I have failed at….I would be better off dead. I am an ugly….fat…worthless nothing. 

January 3, 2018 I wake up in the critical care unit. I am restrained to the table with leather restraints and there are tubes in my throat. I look around and begin to panic. A nurse comes in and lets me know that my mother and brother had just left - they were with me all night…My aunt was in the waiting room….she came to take their place. The nurse removed my tubes and more nurses came in to take off my restraints and help to get me more comfortable…..My aunt came in…..

“How are you?”
“I’m………I woke up.”
“Yes you did.” she began to cry
“I woke up…..but I wanted to die…”

At 11:30 p.m. on January 2, 2018 I ingested over 250 pills. My cocktail consisted on a variety of psychiatric medications as well as benzos. I barricaded myself in my bedroom with my dog and my cat and cuddled them as I swallowed each bottle of medication. I did not leave a note. I sent one simple text message to my best friend simply saying I love you at an inconspicuous time of night as to not be suspicious and actively began consuming medication I knew would kill me in an attempt to end my life. I was doing it. I was finally about to escape all of my pain and no longer have to worry about life. I didn’t have to keep running from this black cloud that has plagued me for so long. 

In the last moments I remember before I closed my eyes as I laid in my dirty bedroom I could not bring myself to clean, unshowered from my crippling depression, I did think about my loved ones - human and fur. I thought about them barging into my bedroom to find me dead….I thought about the pain they would endure knowing I died under their roof, partially due to them and their abuse. I thought about leaving my brother behind as well as my biological family I had just gotten in contact with and my new nieces and nephews……….I thought about not seeing my dog and cat again for a very long time. But, I also thought about every bad thing that has ever happened to me….and every bad decision I have ever made. I even thought about conversations I had with people over a decade ago and what I would have said different….I thought about silly things I did as a kid and asked myself why I did them. My entire life flashed before my eyes as I simultaneously remained mindful of the moment I was in. It is as if I was existing in two bodies at that time. I cried until I felt the medication begin to make me sleepy…..I looked at my dog and my cat and hugged them….I apologized to them….I told them I loved them and I nuzzled up to them….it was time. 

It wasn’t until I finally saw my mother later that day that I heard the rest of the story. I have no memory of what happened from the time I blacked out from the overdose to when I woke up in the CCU. 

My dog Kaleb began to scream from my bedroom and furiously scratched at my door. his screaming and scratching woke my mother up from her bedroom across the hall…she said she knew something was wrong and attempted to get into my bedroom. My door was barricaded so she couldn’t get in. I apparently came to the bedroom door to move the chest that was in front and met her at the door. She said my eyes were closed - they never opened. I slurred my words and told her to leave me alone and attempted to continue to walk towards her. She said I couldn’t stand straight and was practically falling down. 

“I screamed for your father and told him there was something wrong. I ran into your room and found your empty bottles. I knew you were overdosing and I screamed that you were overdosing. Your father came up the stairs  and began to scream. Moments later your brother came home and as soon as he came in the door he ran upstairs because he heard us pleading with you. You were combative. You wanted no one to touch you. Anthony helped me get you dressed and down into the car. I began to drive you to the hospital and Anthony was going to meet me there after he got changed and grabbed a few things for us…..but you began to drift in and out….I couldn’t keep you awake.”

My mother pulled over into an apartment complex and called 911. She let them know that I was overdosing in a suicide attempt and that she needed an ambulance. Moments later the police arrived as the first responders. They put me on oxygen and rubbed my chest hard in an attempt to keep me conscious. My eyes still never opened….but I would “come to” and try to get up and out of the car….swinging blindly at the police. The ambulance then arrived and the EMTs attempted to get me into the ambulance. My mother told me that I continued to kick/bite/punch. Four EMTs attempted to hold me down and treat me in the back of the ambulance…

“When they got you into the ER they asked me what you took and I only knew the one medication…they started to do all of these tests and started to pump your stomach. You just kept hitting and hitting and hitting. They tried to restrain you and you broke out of the soft restraints so then they switched to the leather and sedated you……but then you really started to go down hill. You weren’t breathing properly and you lost your gag reflex……that is when they decided to induce you and they put you into a coma. The doctor told me that you probably weren’t going to make it….and I dropped.”

My mother and my brother sat in the critical care unit with me that entire night….they prayed over me…..my brother held my hand and rubbed my arm as he cried and begged for me not to leave him. They asked me why I had done this and blamed themselves. They questioned where things went wrong and what they could have done to make things go right. They were waiting for me to die….they left once the clock hit 8 a.m. and my aunt came to take their place so they could get some sleep…

I woke up. 

The first thing I thought of when I woke up was I woke up….and I was angry. I failed yet again and now needed to face my family as well as the consequences of my actions. Physically I was exhausted - my lung had collapsed, my pancreas was inflamed, I was withdrawing, and I was recovering from a medically induced coma as well as a ventilator. Emotionally I was broken - I had just attempted to end my life and I failed. 

I spent a week in the psychiatric ward once I was released from the medical hospital for my attempt. After that I began an intensive therapy program and started on a daily regime of medication that ultimately helped me remain stable and that I couldn’t overdose on again. 

My mother and brother have PTSD from this experience….they claim they forgive me, but the damage that I have done is damage I can only apologize for…I can never repair this. This will never go away. I have a permanent scar on my lung from when I aspirated and it collapsed…and I must say….I have suffered an extreme personality change which my doctor associates with the overdose and the effects on my brain and its chemistry.

It is now July of 2018…and I am battling cancer. It has been seven months since my attempt…and in seven months I have gone from wanting to end my life…..and attempting to end my life…to now having a value for my life and actually fighting for it…in seven months.

All of the problems that I had before my suicide attempt are still here. Every mistake, every consequence for every action….I still live at home in a toxic environment…..nothing about my situation has changed in the slightest….but what has changed is my perspective. 

Life is a series of peaks and valleys…the peaks are life’s highest points and are addictive…the valleys are life’s lowest points and can be deadly. Our mission is to navigate through these peaks and valleys as if they were equal. We are to be thankful for the valleys and treat them as important as the peaks….for we can only celebrate lavishly if we have survived the deepest of hardships. You cannot have good without bad…and you cannot have bad without good - they are uniquely one.