My 2nd Hospitalization

TRIGGER WARNING: This post discusses a suicide attempt in detail, alcohol abuse, involuntary stay in a psyche ward, and significant emotional abuse.

   I haven’t posted in a while. I ended up in the psyche ward on an emergency hold a month ago. Let’s see if I can find it in me to tell all.

   So, first, my mom, while discussing the day my dad tried to shoot us, said it didn’t happen to me, so I shouldn’t be upset. He pointed that gun at both of us, and I was there. I have every right to be upset. I asked her to go away. She was very dramatic as she did so. I tried calling her to work it out, but we fought more. Eventually, she returned and did an “I’m running away” thing but returned in half an hour. 

   I felt searing anguish and pain in my heart, so I decided to get wasted, which made me cold, callus, and very amused by the ridiculousness of my life. My mom described my amusement as evil. After that, I took a bottle of pills, drank more, then told my mom I wouldn’t be her burden anymore. Knowing me, she ran upstairs. She wanted to call the cops. I begged her not to, that is, until I began to vomit painfully. My mom called 911 when I surrendered.

   I could hardly walk, and in the ambulance, they found my blood pressure was deadly low, and I was incoherent. At the hospital, they gave me charcoal and monitored me closely. At first, my heart signals were off, but that stopped. As I recovered, migraines took over, and I needed painkillers because it was awful. 

   Then they moved me to the psych ward for a 3-day hold. But it was actually four days. I spent the first half of days 1 and 2 crying and fighting with THE WORST psyche nurse ever. She claimed my pain disorder shouldn’t hurt because I take painkillers. I explained it helps but doesn’t stop all of it. So she then told the night nurses that I said my meds didn’t work and to take them out. I found out by asking him. She also antagonized me and harassed me. She treated me like I was a bitch. 

   The psych ward psychiatrist for that week was combative and ignorant. My mom had tried to help me from the outside, so he spent one whole review of me arguing about my mom and showing how pissed he was. He didn’t listen to me or understand that you can’t cure PTSD with a pill.

   Now don’t get me wrong. It was better than the psych ward in the California ghetto. Private rooms, good food, no eyes on you showering or using the toilet, and a relaxed-looking environment (it didn’t look like a horror film psyche ward). But in California, nurses weren’t jerks, participation in groups was optional, taking care of yourself was optional (but if you didn’t, they kept you longer), and there was time outside. Here in Wyoming, they forced me into everything. I felt like I had lost my rights over my own body and being. 

   But I did meet a guy…

   -Anemone