I’m still riding the high from being discharged from the hospital two days ago. It was my second stay in the psych ward – this time it was five weeks long.
It sure feels good to be out. When I went in, I was a trembling mess that could barely even talk in coherent sentences. Other than for food and hygiene, I didn’t leave my room. I hated myself for making my family and friends worry. I hated myself for taking up a spot in the medical system that I didn’t feel I deserved. I hated myself because this was the second time in the psych ward. I hated feeling like a burden to my wife, family, friends, nurses, aides, therapists, psychiatrists, and doctors. I hated myself because I felt like I was letting everyone down by needing to go back. I begged the nurses to not let me leave the ward because I was certain that if I got out, that would be the end of me.
I tell you, though – the staff in the psych ward I was in was phenomenal. After a lot of talking (and crying) to the nurses, a medication tweak, and a session with my therapist, I started to feel better. By the second week, I was attending groups. By the third week, I was spending time outside my room just because I could. By the fourth week, I was going on passes with my wife and having a good time. At the start of the fifth week, I was going to the gym, going on passes, and doing almost anything I could to get off the ward.
It was time to go home.
It’s only been two days, but I still feel better than I have in quite some time. I feel like I’ve managed to get my feet under me again and I can go back to working on getting better.
What caused this recent mental crisis? That’s a good question. The Christmas season is always stressful for me (as it is with a lot of people), and because of my illness, my wife and family had to change how they did Christmas for the first time in 17 years. I felt terribly guilty for that and was sure everyone was disappointed in me. That hung over me for weeks.
Another trigger was knowing how much the people I care for were changing their schedules and going out of their way to help me out. Lots of guilt there, too.
I think the straw that broke the camel’s back was when the insurance company called to interview me for my disability insurance. It was not an easy conversation. My wife had to step in several times to help me answer the questions. I was sure they didn’t believe us and couldn’t stop thinking that they’d cut off my support and my wife and I would be out on the street soon. I was winding up tighter and tighter.
The wheels finally came off when I was at an appointment with my therapist. I barely remember anything except falling apart and talking with my wife in the hall. My therapist wouldn’t let me leave her office until someone came to get me, and by the time my wife had arrived, she’d been in touch with my psychiatrist and he was getting ready to admit me.
I have little doubt that if my therapist had let me go, I wouldn’t be here to type this. So, Dr C, if you’re reading this – thank you a million times over.
But… with every up comes a down. I’m still waiting for that to happen. It won’t be another end-of-the-world down, but it’s coming. I need to keep positive and keep myself busy.