Since I can be reasonably certain this blog won't give away who I am, I have decided it would be a good place to put a journal I began while being treated for depression and other things. It will probably sound selfish, foolish, and just plain crazy to anyone who has never had a mental illness. But for some it will probably sound all too familiar. It has been over 4 years since I was hospitalized and in many ways my life is better. The night before being admitted I spent an hour or so at Church, asking God to help me. I had everything planned for the following Tuesday. I was supposed to go to a house party (tupperware, something.) By the time anyone realized I wasn't at home or at the party, I would be dead. Now I look back and think that God did answer my prayers and put me in the hospital. But sometimes it gets to be too much and right now is one of those times. I am hoping that reading and transcribing this will help me now.


Monday, March 6, 2000
Thursday night seemed surreal. Waiting for hous in my work clothes. Saying goodbyes to DS and BH at their office and going to my appointment. Dr. P. was nice but I was upset with his almost immediate suggestion that I go to N.-he even took my keys away. Then there was the wait to get there. It was very difficult to sign the papers admitting myself. Then questions, questions and more questions. Each time a new person, a new set of questions. Everything I owned was searched. Finally I got a bed-only to have another patient go out of control and spend the next 4 or so hours screaming. Eventually I slept a little.

Friday morning brought more of the same. Breakfast, tests, questions and then group meetings. All I wanted to do was sleep. I didn't want to participate in anything. My medication was changed. By Friday afternoon I began to feel more a part of the hospital (which in a way is scary because part of me doesn't believe I belong here. However there have benn many moments when I feel the anger and agitation and both yesterday and today cut myself. I feel like I'm being sucked into a whirlpool and I just want to hit bottom so I can start climbing out.

Everything revolves around that magic day-the day of discharge. Lots of jokes, tears, and arguments involved.

Medication seems to be another important aspect of the day. No one yet has refused meds and I assume that they, like me, hope to get some or any relief from the magic pills. Normally I do not take medication, but here I make sure I am one of the first to mine and that they are working well. Anything that will stop my racing mind, lesson the ever present thoughts of cutting myself or slitting my wrists and watching the blood drain away. Even at night I have accepted sleeping pills which will put me int a deep quick sleep and leave me from my own thoughts. I REALLY want the whirlpool to stop.

Tuesday, March 7, 2000
Each time I think I have hit bottom-I find one more way to sink lower. Yesterday I was so desparate to cut my wrist-but I did tell the doctor. They gave me an extra Atavan which helped a bit but I still ended up cutting myself while under observation. They took my paperclip away and gave me a rubberband to snap. It wasn't much of a substitute. In the afternoon the doctor changed my medication again and gave me something called Resparin (sp?). I was pretty tired last night but today I have felt pretty good. I haven't felt a strong urge to cut myself and just now for the first time actual felt like looking forward to planting flowers. It was the first time in months that I haven't felt dead inside.

The doctor talked about me going home which kind of scares me because while I feel good now I worry that I may not be ready and since I know I have no problem cutting myself I'm afraid I would slit my wrists if I felt bad again.

Well couldn't make it through the afternoon without extra medication. I spoke to the counselor about writing an "obituary" for the child I can't seem to have the thoughts of dealing with the painful emotions has made me very anxious. I will try to write this later.

In group earlier today I shared the fact I feel more comfortable here. I don't have to go around hiding my feelings and acting like everything is ok. Other people here actually understand how I feel. They know the cutting relieves the anger and how the deadness hurts. They understand that no matter how many people care about you, when you are feeling worst you can't comprehend that and it has no effect.

In second group today we discussed being assertive. I think I am probably much too passive most of the time and then change it to aggression at home. I need to learn to be honest about my feelings and stand up for my rights and needs while respecting others. Others (the group counselors) said this would probably be uncomfortable but I am going to try.

Wednesday, March 8, 2000
Last night was a terrible night. I had trouble sleeping and when I asked to have a snack I was denied and treated like a child. I was already upset and had all sorts of things running through my head and my anxiety level just grew until I was so angry. I ended up cutting myself again. First thing this morning I spoke to the Dr. I toldhim a lot of things I didn't realized were bothering me. I need to learn to deal with my anger and frustration better. I think I probably also need to make sure I have more time for myself. I want to work really hard to try and be out of here by Monday. Even though I still feel bad-I really do need to get to be with my family.

I did write about Sophie-It was very emotional and caused a lot of anxiety but I think if felt alot better. I will try reading it again later to see how I feel about what I wrote.

Sophie
Sophie Annette: You were born with lots of dark hair and those newborn blue eyes. You were small and thin but healthy, just like your brother. Even though G. protested, he loved you and helping with you. As you grew your hair turned lighter and your eyes changed to match your dad's eyes. You smiled often and enjoyed being with people. The stubborn streak that seems to be a family trait was quite apparent. You loved getting dirty and being outside and as you began to crawl and walk you alway's managed to get into brother's stuff. You grew quickly and continued to annoy your brother, though through all the fights and arguing it was apparent that you loved one another. Your freckled face and short dark hair combined with your lovely green eyes created a unique and beautiful little girl. You grew to be questioning and independent, sometimes to the point of trouble. You experienced many of the trials and tribulations of being a teenager but survived these all right to be a confident, self-assured, happy adult.

Sophie, though I never met you, I have held you in my arms a thousand times. I know what you smell like, what your face looks like when your nursing and how warm and soft your fingers are on my hand. I know what it looks like when your brother helps you learn to walk and you often play and wrestle and even fight together. I can see running outside in the summer barefooted in a a little green dress and watch you pick dandelions for me. I have seen your daddy holding you and playing with you and watching you proudly. I have watched you grow from a spindly legged little girl into a graceful attractive women. Sophie-though I will probably never meet you I will always love you with all my heart.

[Since that time I have seen in a dream a toddler Sophie wave goodbye and take the hand of some unknown relative and walk away to some other place.]