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#in patient

Mental break down at 27

Fuck where do I start

I guess I was feeling depressed since I got arrested right before Christmas. I’ve been going pretty non stop since with work and community service, but the latter wore down what little self-esteem I had, so I was really teetering on the edge.

I stopped taking my ADHD meds on accident, which help with my OCD actions and thoughts, so I was picking and started falling back into my Disordered Eating, too.

Then I almost stole a neighbor’s package that got delivered to our address (I have a history of stealing as coping … Not for lack of money, besides once, but because of the high? When you’re depressed and easily addicted you kinda seek that shit)

I had a falling out with my brother over it because he found out what I almost did and that’s what sent me spiraling finally. The obsessive thoughts kept me up at night and i started to have intrusive suicidal ideations anywhere I went. Started to get better for a few days before little things piled on and the thoughts piled on again. I was crying non stop, not sleeping, barely eating, isolating myself…. It was the worst I’ve been since I got diagnosed back in 2013.

I didn’t feel safe in my own apartment, so I packed my bag for a night in an effort to stay at my parents’, and made an appointment with my therapist. She and I decided I had to at least get assessed at the Mental Health Hospital (we discussed it before for retrospective times), but it was crisis mode. Telling my parents I was suicidal wasn’t my first rodeo, but telling them I needed to go to the hospital was fucking hard. My mom kinda knew, but it didn’t make it easier.

I’m not gonna lie: going to a Psychiatric Hospital the first time is gonna be fucking terrifying. I couldn’t sit still; I wanted to run– like, my fight or flight instinct has never been that goddamn strong before, no exaggeration. Remembering it now is making my anxiety rise.

But you guys I wouldn’t be here.

I wouldn’t have lived the 5 days till my 27th birthday.

And yeah, my 27th birthday was fucking bizarre, but I spent it with people I cared about; I talked to my best friend; I even spent it with my new friends there and I’m so grateful I did.

I am lucky for the support I have, and the hospital being the best around, but I’m lucky I had the insight to know I needed to go.

And I just want people to know that not only is it okay to get help, but that mental health hospitals aren’t like the movies. They have their characters, yeah, and it was weird, but entertaining for sure, but the community we had and the care we got – I not only saw my own face change, my own energy, but so many others and it was so incredible

I’ll tell the crazy stories eventually, just had to get this out

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Well it’s been close to a week and my sister and circled through a good portion of human emotion and is now acting stable. She thinking she can handle things herself now after she cut her wrist. I have doubts. She’s done this before. Just because she’s stable now doesn’t mean she won’t do this again. She doesn’t know how to handle stress. We tell her things and she forgets. I still think she need to be an in patient. 

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I kinda want to be hospitalized. Or in a day program. It’s just so easy there. Time stops there. Everyone’s just kinda walking around like zombies.

Ugly socks and thin blankets. Nasty coffee and spiteful nurses.

Visits from my mom. She’ll say something like “im getting tired of this. the family is getting tired of this. you need to stop now. aren’t you too old for this?”

Work stops. So there’s less anxiety. Meds are being regulated. People there will understand.

I don’t know. I need a break and therapy isn’t cutting it.

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Alright so I’ve finally got some spare time to write another personal post for you guys. 

So first off, the Halloween party was a lot of fun. A little strange, too, and I drank a little too much, but I was enjoying the party and met some new people. I’m glad I went there for my last ‘weekend of freedom’.

And since I’ve been asked that a lot: my in-patient stay is good so far. I mean, my feelings are still up and down and up and down again, but even though I’ve been there for just three days, I feel like it’s already helping me a little. 

For homework for example, I’ve got to identify the skills I’ve already been using in the past, and I’m surprised by how many there are. I always thought I used about zero skills. 

The other DBT and Schema patients are very kind and we all support one another, I really like that. I never knew something like that before in my life. 

The only bummer is, that I was supposed to take part in the eating program, but then I decided against it, and now I’ve already lost quite some weight and I’m having a difficult time eating enough. I still have to write down what I’ve eaten each day and if I’ve eaten a full meal, only half of it or nothing at all, or if I purged. So I’ll probably have another chat about this mess on Monday or so.

But I love love love art therapy already! I never thought it could be so relaxing and helpful, but it is. Now I’m home for the weekend, and I already wish I was back in the clinic, haha.

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He looked sick in the ED, lying back in bed, barely able to pull himself into the sitting position. He said he was in pain. He said he couldn’t eat. It was obvious he’d lost weight recently. His wife was a bulldog–in a good way. She jumped to answer every question, made sure we knew that he wasn’t eating and that wasn’t okay with her.

After the resident left, I talked with them. More than just a medical history, I learned about his life, and theirs together. The different duty stations, the different missions, the medical history permanently intertwined with his service record, 30 years long. When I asked about his knee replacement, I was proudly told the number of jumps he logged with Airborne. When I asked about the cancer, I was told about Agent Orange.

“I’m a solider” he told me. “I know what’s going to happen to me. I’m not afraid. I’m a soldier.”

He wasn’t afraid. He was ready. But she wasn’t. That’s what made him afraid. 

When she called me a nurse, he jumped to correct her before I even thought to. 

“She’s not a nurse. She’s an ensign. In a couple of years, she’s going to be a bad ass.”

The next morning, he was a different person. No more pain. Hadn’t felt this good in years. And hungry. Actually eating food and keeping it down. He no longer looked like a man with terminal cancer. But of course, the cancer was still there. 

“Just keep me eating and get rid of the pain, Doc, that’s all I want. Let’s get out of here.”

They left that afternoon. They had big plans. No hospice for him just yet, they were going to Monterey. 

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I’m pretty productive at the moment, and I’m stepping out of my own comfort zone a lot.

I agreed on a goodbye-party in the bookshop I’ve worked at until this Tuesday, and even baked some lemoncurd filled cupcakes. And I’m so glad I didn’t talk my co-workers out of it because it was such a lovely evening. I almost teared up when I opened the gifts they had bought me, because they got just exactly what I like and it was all so thoughtful of them (I got three sketchbooks in A5, A4, and A3 for example, which I really really needed).

And as you can tell by the pictures, I’ve really taken up drawing again. Mostly still all pencil though, but I’ve started experimenting with watercolours as well. And on the bottom left you can see my first ever sculpture made out of modeling paste, paper maché, one huge nail and a cube of wood. I didn’t throw a tantrum when something didn’t come out perfectly, which is a huge progress.

Which may be because of the girl I already mentioned, we text a lot and she studies art and encourages me to keep going. I’m texting with a lot of new people these days, and I’m loving it. Next weekend I’m going to meet some of them for the first time, at some LGBTQ+ Halloween party (I’m excited, and not even all that anxious yet. Yey!).

The start of my in-patient DBT is now only 6 days away, and I have done all the things I had to do before that (writing down my own bio, doctor’s appointments, and co.) and that makes me at least a tad less nervous. And I now already have two people who will visit me there, since I met a girl who went to a similar DBT program, also here in Switzerland, just a few months before, and she would like to get to know me better, as it seems. So I’ve got at least a few things to be looking forward to right now. :)

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OMG. That girl I was talking about earlier. She’s going to visit me when I’m in DBT, the clinic is much closer to Austria than my hometown. I’m so happy! Makes me less anxious about starting my therapy (only three more weeks to go!) alltogether!

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So I found out my insurance will cover 80% of my PHP after I pay my $750 deductible. I’m really hoping the program will work with me on a payment plan. It would cost $500 a day without insurance. Eeeeek! I’m hoping for a direct withdrawal of $100 from my bank account monthly for the plan. Ugh, money really stresses me. I need to go to bed.

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List of what to expect when going into a hospital unit for a mental illness

-having you phone taken off you and having to use either the landline phone for the unit or a ‘brick phone’ which has no camera or Internet access

- set routines of your day. What times your meals are. What your doing in the sessions.

- showers which take forever to use. Having to stand around in the cold waving your hand infront of the sensor trying to get it to work.

- minutely and hourly checks. Every 10mins, half an hour or hourly observations where the nurse comes around and writes what you’re doing in a book.

-night time checks, them shining torches through into your room to check your breathing and safe

- everything baby proof. In other words no sharpe objects or things you could break to harm yourself with.

- ban on knifes when that one patient starts running off with the knifes(which aren’t even sharpe)

- Bag checks. To make sure you’d not snuck in a blade or pills on your leave.

-weekly blood test at the least

- weigh ins, and obviously taken everywhere.

-disgusting NHS food, like mashed carrot

- one-to-ones therapy sessions with you key worker

- WES (within eye sight observations) if your being a pain and causing grief such as trying to selfharm or run away. Meaning having a member of staff sitting with you 24/7 and watching you. Even going to the toilet with you.

-alarms going off everyday because of patients trying to escape or staff members in need of assistance.

- awkward family therapy sessions

-only being able to watch TV at certain times in the day. And not being able to watch things over the 12A limit or music channels.

-Annoying members of staff which think they are gods

-annoying patients that steal your illness

- family visits which are boring and pointless which you wish you didn’t have to have but your parents insisted they visited you.

-losing contact with friends because they forget or ignore the cut your stuck in a fucking hospital.

-making friends with the other crazy patients and messing shit up just to stop being bored.

These are the realities of an inpatient unit. Not the cute nice facts people only think of but the harsh truths. Trust me you never want to end up in a unit!

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