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I narrowly avoided being admitted to the psychiatric unit today. I'm not proud, but I need to be honest. I need to write this as a reminder so I don't do it again.
When I called to make an appointment to see the practitioner treating me for depression, they instructed me to go to the ER immediately. I was told I would have one of two outcomes. If I was safe to go home after being evaluated by medical and mental health providers then I would leave with a treatment plan to follow. If I was not safe to go home then I would be admitted to the psychiatric unit until I was safe to go home.
I have a long-standing phobia of being institutionalized, but I made a promise to Kathy and my treating practitioner that I would seek help if I tried to commit suicide again. As it was I already broke my promise to Kathy to talk with her before acting out on any urges to take my own life. As it is she had to walk in on me with the belt around my neck.
I arrived and they immediately brought me in to triage and then to a room. The room ended up being in the psychiatric unit of the ER. There is no nursing station in this unit. There's a security desk. They brought me into the room to put down my stuff and immediately brought me over to the bathroom where I was instructed to strip down and put on johnnies. Supervised. And the bathroom door had glass windows so security could see in if needed. I was brought back into the "exam" room. There's no handle to open the door from the inside. The bed has places to strap the patient down and is on an enclosed riser box instead of a frame. There's a foam chair in the room. There's a television secured inside the wall and covered with glass. I'm instructed to hold my arms out while they wave a wand around me to make sure I don't have anything hidden on my person. Kathy is asked if she has any weapons in her bags. I'm freaking out and this is feeling not so much like I'll have the option to go home after all. It feels like I'm being admitted to prison.
I have bruises on my neck. Because I tried to strangle myself to death, they need to run me through a CT scan to make sure I didn't do any damage to the soft tissue in my neck or the blood vessels. I'm freaking out more now because I've had a persistent headache since that moment last night. Still do. They draw blood to check my kidneys and a host of other things, including medications in my system. They insert an IV for the iodine contrast solution during the CT scan. They bring me breakfast. I had to eat it with my bare hands. When you're suicidal there's no silverware or nice dishes. You get a safety tray: styrofoam tray, styrofoam food container, no flatware of any kind. Anywhere I went was accompanied by a security guard, even when traveling with medical providers.
I was seen by a physicians assistant. Thankfully all the test results came back with no permanent damage. I was seen by a mental health professional. He wanted me to be admitted. The doctor he consulted wanted me to be admitted. Because Kathy and I felt I could return home safely and felt being admitted would be a lot worse for me, they reluctantly agreed but with a defined plan of action and Kathy and me contracting with each other to do what we needed to do to stay safe. I will not be left alone for the next week and a half. I will be seeing a therapist tomorrow. I have already made the appointment to have my antidepressant changed. I will be seeking a permanent therapist while I'm receiving bridge therapy.
Kathy and I know it's the venlafaxine. It apparently has a 60% increase in suicidal behavior over no treatment. Learning that the hard way. Most days I'm fine. Most days I'm safe. Most days I don't even cry any more. Then the suicidal behavior kicks in and I get cold, calculated, and determined. I take swift action. I can't keep going like this. I can't have my family walking in on me again to find me dead or attempting. I can't end up in a psychiatric unit. I need to sort this out. I need to be well.
Remember this Jamie. You made a promise.
When I called to make an appointment to see the practitioner treating me for depression, they instructed me to go to the ER immediately. I was told I would have one of two outcomes. If I was safe to go home after being evaluated by medical and mental health providers then I would leave with a treatment plan to follow. If I was not safe to go home then I would be admitted to the psychiatric unit until I was safe to go home.
I have a long-standing phobia of being institutionalized, but I made a promise to Kathy and my treating practitioner that I would seek help if I tried to commit suicide again. As it was I already broke my promise to Kathy to talk with her before acting out on any urges to take my own life. As it is she had to walk in on me with the belt around my neck.
I arrived and they immediately brought me in to triage and then to a room. The room ended up being in the psychiatric unit of the ER. There is no nursing station in this unit. There's a security desk. They brought me into the room to put down my stuff and immediately brought me over to the bathroom where I was instructed to strip down and put on johnnies. Supervised. And the bathroom door had glass windows so security could see in if needed. I was brought back into the "exam" room. There's no handle to open the door from the inside. The bed has places to strap the patient down and is on an enclosed riser box instead of a frame. There's a foam chair in the room. There's a television secured inside the wall and covered with glass. I'm instructed to hold my arms out while they wave a wand around me to make sure I don't have anything hidden on my person. Kathy is asked if she has any weapons in her bags. I'm freaking out and this is feeling not so much like I'll have the option to go home after all. It feels like I'm being admitted to prison.
I have bruises on my neck. Because I tried to strangle myself to death, they need to run me through a CT scan to make sure I didn't do any damage to the soft tissue in my neck or the blood vessels. I'm freaking out more now because I've had a persistent headache since that moment last night. Still do. They draw blood to check my kidneys and a host of other things, including medications in my system. They insert an IV for the iodine contrast solution during the CT scan. They bring me breakfast. I had to eat it with my bare hands. When you're suicidal there's no silverware or nice dishes. You get a safety tray: styrofoam tray, styrofoam food container, no flatware of any kind. Anywhere I went was accompanied by a security guard, even when traveling with medical providers.
I was seen by a physicians assistant. Thankfully all the test results came back with no permanent damage. I was seen by a mental health professional. He wanted me to be admitted. The doctor he consulted wanted me to be admitted. Because Kathy and I felt I could return home safely and felt being admitted would be a lot worse for me, they reluctantly agreed but with a defined plan of action and Kathy and me contracting with each other to do what we needed to do to stay safe. I will not be left alone for the next week and a half. I will be seeing a therapist tomorrow. I have already made the appointment to have my antidepressant changed. I will be seeking a permanent therapist while I'm receiving bridge therapy.
Kathy and I know it's the venlafaxine. It apparently has a 60% increase in suicidal behavior over no treatment. Learning that the hard way. Most days I'm fine. Most days I'm safe. Most days I don't even cry any more. Then the suicidal behavior kicks in and I get cold, calculated, and determined. I take swift action. I can't keep going like this. I can't have my family walking in on me again to find me dead or attempting. I can't end up in a psychiatric unit. I need to sort this out. I need to be well.
Remember this Jamie. You made a promise.
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no subject
Date: 2015-03-15 01:33 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2015-03-15 02:15 am (UTC)From:The hardest part of all this is how worried Kathy has to be about me. I went to take an unannounced nap. She needed to come in and check on me because I disappeared and was silent. This is her reality. If I go quiet, anything could be happening and she has to assume it's the worst case scenario until proven wrong.