Yes, as strange as it might sound, I enjoyed my brief stay in the crazy place. Before I get into the actual stay, let me give a little background information.

About three years ago I was a complete mess, waaay more than I am right now. At the time I was semi-homeless, with no stable place to live. The places I was staying at were white trash disasters; animal waste in the house, broken windows, teen-age drinking and drugging, all while the mother stayed in her bed all day high on valium, pills and anything else she could get. These places included straight up unsanitary dumps, unlivable gutted trailers, and a camper in the middle of winter. It was pretty bad.

I also have had a history of depression. I had been on medication for about five years, but because of my instability I didn’t keep up with even the basic things a person does for themselves, never mind therapy or medication. Things were going from bad to worse to completely unmanageable rapidly. There were plenty of other things that contributed to my mental demise, but I don’t really feel like getting into the whole thing right now. Reliving my disaster of a situation really brings me down and I’m just not in the right frame of mind to deal with it. I’m sure I will write about everything at some point but right now I just want to talk about the days prior to admitting myself.

I don’t quite remember exactly what happened, but at some point in January of ’05 I realized I needed help. I set up an appointment at the mental health clinic I used to go to. I got back in and saw an amazing nurse psychiatrist I’ll just call AN(amazing nurse). AN was new at the clinic and also worked at the regular hospital in the nearest small city (about 45 minutes away), so she was plugged into the private psychiatric hospital in that area. AN put me on the medication I was taking prior to my absence which was effexor but she also told me that I had the option of going to the hospital if I needed to because I was somewhat in crisis mode.

This sort of thing happened to me in 1999 when I lived on the west coast when I realized  for the first time in my life  I was in need of help. I was suicidal and felt if I didn’t get help I was in danger of hurting myself. I had tried to find a doctor to see me but I couldn’t find one that took people without insurance and I was in such distress I could barely figure out how to write my name, never mind deal with the bureaucratic healthcare system. I ended up calling a crisis line for suggestions and broke down while on the phone with the worker. I was seen in an emergency appointment, put on prozac and given the option of being admitted but declined. The prozac made me even more loopy and I blew the whole thing off. I had just turned 21 and I thought drinking was a more effective way to medicate myself, it was a way to distract me from my problems.

This time, however was different. At a visit with AN soon after I first saw her I said “I think I need to go to the hospital”. I just wasn’t handling anything well and I was afraid of myself. I was in serious depression and out of control.

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