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God, my dad and emotions

It is 2:45 in the morning as I write this.  Last evening my church had 'dinner and a movie'.  The movie was called "Courageous".  Basically it was about 5 men who signed something like a promise letter to become better fathers.  It started to make me think about my father once again.  It was eating at me all night to talk to my mom about my dad.  I spend the Saturday nights at my moms and we go to church together in the morning, watch the F1 race in the afternoon and sometimes I stay for dinner.  Anyway, I digress. I went downstairs to get settled for bed even though it was only 11:30 pm.  That's early for me.  About 12:30 I had to go upstairs cuz nature was calling and my mom was still up watching t.v.  I started talking to her about my dad.  I asked her if he ever worried about me when I was in the hospitals all the time.  She said he worried about me and he worried about how they would treat me.  I didn't know that.   
     Come to find out me and my dad weren't real different.  He didn't show emotion, just anger.  He learned that from when he was a kid.  I guess my Opah (german for grandfather), wasn't a very emotional man either, very angry and cold.  I myself hold my emotions in until I explode and that is when I start punching things or cutting myself.  I always thought that physical pain is better than emotional pain.  I know it is wrong, but I can't stop myself.  It just takes over me, consumes me.  makes me feel better.  But my mom said that I can show some emotions.  She said I can show love and compassion.  I guess an outsiders view is sometimes different then what we think.
     I am new to the love of God and walking with Jesus.  I should probably pray more to help me through hard times, but in my 37 years I never had any religion.  I tried all different kinds: Wiccan, Hindu, Buddhism, then after my dad died I started attending a christian church.  It took me a few months, but I came to know God.  I felt a weight lift off my shoulders.  Some of you may be thinking 'yeah right, how can it lift a weight of your shoulders'. It really did though, now I know all the people that I love that have died are walking with Jesus, in a much better place.
     I'm not really sure where I was going with this post, but I guess I needed a place to put my feelings.  In my previous post I had talked about being in the psych ward.  They asked what I wanted to do and I said I wanted to go home.  The day they asked me that was my only day where I didn't flip out and that was probably because I slept all day, so I don't know what they were thinking letting me go.  I think they made a mistake.  I'm not quite sure I am ready to be out.  I am not doing the best but hey, thats the way it went.  I dont know what else to write.  It's 3:15 so I suppose I should at least lay down and watch some t.v. instead of sitting here making my mind work.  Goodnight.

Out of control

My dad died on August 24, 2011.  Many in my family thought I would be in the hospital shortly after that.  But I didn't, I stayed strong for my mom.  My sister and her family lived in Delaware and me and my mom lived in Connecticut.  Yes my mom had brothers and sisters that lived near by, but I was the closest.  After my dad died, I went to my mom's house every weekend.  We would watch the Formula 1 races.  It was fitting that my dads favorite driver, Jensen Button won the first race of the season.  I have lasted a long time without going to the hospital but then things just went downhill.

     It was Saturday the 2nd of June, early in the morning, I'd say 7:30 or so.  I called a couple close friends, I called my mom but no one was answering.  So I ended up calling the crisis line.  I talked to a man for a little while but hung up on him.  Of course he called me back but i didn't really talk to him.  He just wanted to know if I was safe.  I said nothing and hung up again.  They couldn't send an ambulance or call the police because they didn't know my address and I knew that.  A little later I still tried to get a hold of my friends and my mom but still no luck.  I called the crisis number back and got a woman this time.  I didn't talk to her very long when one of my friends text ed me so I got off the phone.  My friend suggested I go to the hospital.  Then soon after my other friend text ed me, then my mom called.  To make this long story a little shorter, I went to the emergency room to talk to a crisis worker and see if I needed to be in the hospital.
     I was hearing things that no one else could hear.  I was getting angry and punching walls so they brought a woman in to watch me to tell the nurses when I did something I shouldn't be doing.  My right hand was extremely swollen but they couldn't do x-rays because I was too out of control.  They gave me some pills, Ativan, and Zyprexa that melts under your tongue.  Eventually I was calm enough to go get x-rays... nothing broken.  By 3pm I was upstairs in the psych ward.
     I slept till about 9pm when the nurse came in to do a quick assessment and I went back to sleep.  Sunday when I woke up I wasn't doing so well.  The psychiatrist wouldn't see me unless there was someone else in the room with us because I had already punched a few things that morning.  There was really nothing special about that morning.  I punched a few things and they gave me something to calm down.
     But Monday, all hell broke loose.  I was hearing stuff really bad.  Now let me tell you, the furniture in a psych ward is usually very heavy.  But I slightly picked up the dresser next to my bed and threw it on the ground so the drawers were on the floor.  One of the mental health workers told them to call security.  One nurse, her name was Polly, got me to take an ativan I think it was.  But that didn't help.  They tried to give me more pills but i thought they were poisoning me, so I didn't take them.  Polly kept telling me that if i kept hitting things they would have to put me in restraints.  This went on for maybe 20 minutes to half an hour.  I'm not exactly sure what they said to me, but i turned to them, punched the door and said, "well that's not going to bring him back".  That is when I realized it wasn't just about the voices, it was also about the death of my father that I have never dealt with.  After maybe another 20 minutes, I lied back on the bed crying asking for something to get rid of the voices.  Polly asked me if I wanted a pill or a shot and I just told her whatever was quicker.  They gave me a shot of Haldol and a shot of Ativan.  Polly stayed with me while I cried and rocked and was in agony of what I was going through.  She stayed by my side for a while...got me all comfortable with my pillows under my head and blankets on me because I became unbelievably cold.
     I had no other issues that night and I slept all day on Tuesday, but I did see the doctor.  He asked what I wanted and I told him I wanted to go home.  He said we will see about tomorrow.  So yes indeed I went home on Wednesday.  Right now it is exactly 1 am on Thursday.  Hopefully things will get better with time.  But I was certainly out of control for a while.  Now they need to send me to a day program where there are groups for like 5 hours 5 days a week and I hate groups.  But my therapist won't see me again unless I do it so I guess I'm stuck.
     Goodnight for now.  I will write again soon... hopefully.

Is suicide an answer?

     Is suicide an answer?  Well, I thought so, many times.  I've been in and out of psych wards for more than half my life thinking that was the answer.  Most of the time, I was committed, held on what they call 'a 15 day paper'.  That means they can keep me in the hospital for at least 15 days,and I couldn't sign myself out.  Looking back I can see why they were doing that to me.
     I was a cutter.  Sometimes I did it as a suicide attempt, but a lot of it was a replacement for emotional pain.  I loved the way it felt, I loved the way it looked.  There were many that should have had stitches, and my scars show that.  But since I started doing the cutting around the age of 15, I hid a lot of cuts from my parents.  I couldn't hide them all, and I would say 'oh the cat scratched me' or 'I got cut up from walking through the woods'.  Obviously, that was not the case and my mom would sometimes take me to the hospital but there was nothing they could do because it had been awhile since it happened.  I usually did my cutting at night so my mom never knew it till the next day.
     O.K., now I'm getting off track.  I thought suicide was an answer because I hated my family, which I know a lot of people would say that.  At 15, major depression started to kick in.  I started drinking and smoking pot.  I didn't care if I was reckless.  Me and some friends would race down back roads, cutting each other of in the turns, or drive through stop lights on the wrong side of the road (my best friend said he would never forget that because I scared the shit out of him).
     Sometimes, I would take a bunch of pills to try to off myself.  I wasn't very good with that one. I knew the amount I was taking wouldn't have killed me, but I had other people thinking differently.  At 16, I started stealing pills out of my dad's medicine cabinet.  I had no clue what they were, or what they did, I just knew he wasn't taking them anymore so they were fair game.  I would try them in different combinations, but usually it would just make me dizzy or make my ears ring really loud.  Most of the time I would take them just before I left for school.
     Looking back on all this, I realize it was all stupid shit.  The only thing it would do is hurt those around me, people who love me and people I love.  Now that my Dad passed away and my only other sibling lives 4 states away, I realized just how devastating suicide would be on my family, especially on my Mom.  She would be up here on her own, mourning the death of my father and me.  I have seen first hand what my mom is going through losing my Dad.  I couldn't do that to her.
     I just really hope I can keep my mental illness in check.  I don't want to go down the suicide road again, but having mental illness, for me anyway, is like Russian roulette.  I never know when something is going to happen.  I can't control all my actions if my mental health issues worsens.
     Point is, suicide is not an answer.  It devastates people around you.  I had an old childhood friend who hung himself in his parents basement after his wife told him she wanted a divorce.  To this day I can still see in my head the purple mark around his neck that the funeral home could not cover.  I think about him all the time.
     I hope that by people reading this, they will know they are not alone.  People do think that their life sucks and that they'd be better off dead.  That is completely wrong.  Think about your friends, your family.  Think of what they would go through if you were to take your own life.  Get into counseling if need be. Talk to psychiatrists and see if maybe some medication might help with your mental illness.  Just don't kill yourself, your worth more than that.










   

Know That Your Not Alone

     As you may or may not have noticed, these posts have no order.  I am doing it that way because I am doing this as things come into my head.  I'm not trying to confuse people but I do have labels so it will be easier to find the topics.  This is going to be a really short post I think... not even sure why I am putting it on here.  I just hope some people will come to my blog and feel some sort of connection, knowing they are not alone.  I have been in psych wards over 25 times, countless times in day programs that are groups all day from 8am-1pm.  I can understand what people are going though seeing as I have been there many times myself.  Well that is it for now.  Oh, I hope people had a good Thanksgiving Day.

The Day That Changed My Life

     Hey again.. I was watching the X Factor tonight and Let It Be by the Beatles was sung.  It made me think of the day leading up to my first psych ward stay.  My parents used to fight a lot and they were very loud.  I would go in my room, put on my headphones and play Let It Be over and over while I cried.  I was falling into a deep depression.

     One night a week, my friends and I would go to the school gym and play basketball.  To play at the school we needed a chaperone, and it was my Aunt and she didn't really pay attention to us.  My friends that night were all wired from some No-Doze pills and it really pissed me off that we weren't really playing cuz they were busy goofing around.  I left in my car in the middle of our time there.  I was speeding down back roads not giving a damn about anything.  I was about to run my car into a tree and at the last minute I pulled back on the road.  I wrote a note to one of my best friends about that night.  I had no idea the effect it would have on me.

     My friend gave my note to the school psychologist, who I had been seeing off and on through-out the year.  It was my second class of the day, which it was actually a study hall, that I was called into the psychologists office.  I'm not clear on everything that was said, but I knew I was in big trouble.  After talking to her for about 30 minutes, she sent me to class and told me that if it was too much for me to sit in class then go back to her office.  It was a couple classes later that I got pulled into the guidance counsler's office, where eventually my mom showed up.  They told her to take me to the hospital and tell them I was there for crisis.

     They took my clothes except underwear and socks and gave me a gown and put my clothes in a bag and took them out of the room.  To this day I still remember the room number... 7.  I hate that room to this day.  It was hours till I saw someone from the crisis team.  She talked to me for about 30 to 45 minutes.  Then she talked to my mom.  Needless to say, I ended up in the psych ward that night.  My mom came up with me until they got me settled.  I had cigarettes on me that my mom didn't know I smoked but she said it was O.K.  for me to do while I was there if I wanted.  I cried that whole night.  I will write more later.


   

Time Flies By

     Well, it's almost 10pm on Tuesday and I am still awake.  I've been awake since 11am on Monday.  This is because of my bi-polar.  I was diagnosed with bi-polar when I was 18 and in the psych ward for the second time.  Funny thing about my stay in the psych ward this time.  I have almost no recollection of what happened in there.  I was seeing things in the light above my bed.  I attacked a nurse (and apparently it wasn't my first time).  I was being put in 4 point restraints and I would always be able to get at least one of my hands out of it,. 
     One day, a man I didn't know came in the room and told me I could no longer stay there.  He asked me if I wanted to go to the state hospital or a private psych ward.  I've heard that state hospitals treated patients like shit so i chose the private one.  Turns out he was a lawyer.  I don't know if he was hired by the hospital or by my parents but he was there.
     When the ambulance arrived to transport me, I heard one of the nurses say they would probably have to put me in a body bag.  I thought they were going to kill me, chop me up and put me in the body bag.  The ambulance crew said I would be OK.  Found out later that a body bag is something that you get wrapped up in so you can't move.  Another form of restraint.  I remember being put on a 1:1 meaning I needed to be watched by someone who could be no more than an arms length away from me. Days and nights blurred together for a few days until I finally broke through my black cloud and was able to be active again.
     I will talk more another time, but for now I have said enough.  I am making this blog to recount moments in my life that I was mentally sick.  For good or for bad, it will eventually come out in this blog I'm sure.  Til next time, see ya.