This is the beginning of my second week, at home, since being discharged from the hospital. I had spent 5 days on the psychiatric ward. Like most patients, I have needed this time at home, to become well again. There is a fair amount of aftercare needed by doctor's and therapists, also.
This morning, my husband took me into Boston, to meet with my psychiatrist and therapist. My psychiatrist and I discussed my paranoia, last week. She made a dosage increase, on a new antipsychotic, that I started taking, about 2 weeks ago. We may even double this dosage, in time. I also asked my psychiatrist, if I could go back to work this week. Her response was a firm, solid "NO, That would be just crazy".
I am feeling less paranoid, at this point, but I still feel very ill, emotionally. Until a few weeks ago, I had been smiling and laughing a lot. I had felt thankful, that my life was better in a lot of ways. Life was not perfect, but it had been a couple of years, since my last hospitalization.
Now, I am feeling a deep sadness, within my inner core, I am feeling defeated, I am feeling like a failure. I am having nightmares almost every night, now that I am starting to sleep again. I am eating only 1 meal a day, and I am a diabetic, so, this is not good. My new antipsychotic, is making me feel very intoxicated in the morning, and seems to be slowing down my thoughts, and actions.
Writing this blog, is very difficult now, because my thoughts are slower, and because I am not well. I have proofread this entry, at east 5 times, in the last 10 minutes, and I keep finding errors in spelling and punctuation. I will continue to try to write it, though.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Friday, April 18, 2014
I have been out of a hospital's Psychiatric Ward, for a week, now. I am doing fair.
I am smiling, on the outside, and trying to enjoy the company of friends, but I've also been in denial, of what has been going on in my head. I am suffering from paranoia. On Thursday, after 4 days of not showering, I finally realized: "Christine you must get in the shower, stop feeling like you'll be vulnerable, naked, and slashed up by a stranger". I have been afraid to go in the cellar, for the same reason. I feel like people are talking about me, saying that I am crazy...I feel that I'm being watched.
I can't begin to tell you how uncomfortable, and terrifying it is. My mind, is playing tricks on me...
My own psychiatrist was not working today, as it is Good Friday, a holiday. Another very kind, psychiatrist talked with me over the telephone and increased my Trillifon, an antipsychotic.
If you are the praying type, please send prayers my way. People say that I am strong and brave, but honestly, sometimes I feel like a scared little kid. I just want to get better.
I am smiling, on the outside, and trying to enjoy the company of friends, but I've also been in denial, of what has been going on in my head. I am suffering from paranoia. On Thursday, after 4 days of not showering, I finally realized: "Christine you must get in the shower, stop feeling like you'll be vulnerable, naked, and slashed up by a stranger". I have been afraid to go in the cellar, for the same reason. I feel like people are talking about me, saying that I am crazy...I feel that I'm being watched.
I can't begin to tell you how uncomfortable, and terrifying it is. My mind, is playing tricks on me...
My own psychiatrist was not working today, as it is Good Friday, a holiday. Another very kind, psychiatrist talked with me over the telephone and increased my Trillifon, an antipsychotic.
If you are the praying type, please send prayers my way. People say that I am strong and brave, but honestly, sometimes I feel like a scared little kid. I just want to get better.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
I don't want to scare anyone, away from psychiatric hospitalizations, but I will say, that my most recent experience was disruptive, loud, scary, uncomfortable, etc.
My other hospitalizations, in the past, have been peaceful and without incident. I was able to heal and recover peacefully. But this time, I fought to leave early, because of all of the commotion, by other, very ill, very psychotic patients, was triggering my Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
To put it bluntly, I do not handle yelling and screaming, well. This yelling and screaming, were never directed at me, but all the tranquilizers in the world, would not have taken my fear away.
I told the nurse, "I understand that these people are very ill, but they do not have to be mean".
Finally, after much tearful protests, from me, the psychiatrist, allowed me to go home 3 days early.
When it came time to leave, however, the psychiatrist did not want to give me a prescription for my new medication, Seroquel, which I had had success with, for several days. He told me to "Follow up with your own doctor about Seroquel, she can give you a prescription". I told him that: "I wouldn't see her until Monday and I would be without this medication, which was helping me sleep and remain calm, for 3 days". His response: "I don't believe the medication was helping you". I told him that it was helping me, and he said very firmly: "It was being in the hospital, that helped you". I asked him if he would give me 3 days worth of Seroquel, until, I saw my own psychiatrist. "I suppose, that I can do that", he finally agreed.
In all honesty, I was angry, by the time I left to go home. They had wanted to keep me prisoner, for another 3 days, in this hospital, even though I was no longer a danger to myself, even though I was never a danger to anyone else, even though I was feeling much better. And then the doctor wanted to refuse me the medication that he had put me on. I felt as if I were being punished for speaking up, about all the shit going down on their floor, because I refused to tolerate it. It will certainly affect my future decisions to seek help, in a hospital setting. I am sorry, my friends, that I cannot say better things about my recent in-patient stay.
My other hospitalizations, in the past, have been peaceful and without incident. I was able to heal and recover peacefully. But this time, I fought to leave early, because of all of the commotion, by other, very ill, very psychotic patients, was triggering my Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
To put it bluntly, I do not handle yelling and screaming, well. This yelling and screaming, were never directed at me, but all the tranquilizers in the world, would not have taken my fear away.
I told the nurse, "I understand that these people are very ill, but they do not have to be mean".
Finally, after much tearful protests, from me, the psychiatrist, allowed me to go home 3 days early.
When it came time to leave, however, the psychiatrist did not want to give me a prescription for my new medication, Seroquel, which I had had success with, for several days. He told me to "Follow up with your own doctor about Seroquel, she can give you a prescription". I told him that: "I wouldn't see her until Monday and I would be without this medication, which was helping me sleep and remain calm, for 3 days". His response: "I don't believe the medication was helping you". I told him that it was helping me, and he said very firmly: "It was being in the hospital, that helped you". I asked him if he would give me 3 days worth of Seroquel, until, I saw my own psychiatrist. "I suppose, that I can do that", he finally agreed.
In all honesty, I was angry, by the time I left to go home. They had wanted to keep me prisoner, for another 3 days, in this hospital, even though I was no longer a danger to myself, even though I was never a danger to anyone else, even though I was feeling much better. And then the doctor wanted to refuse me the medication that he had put me on. I felt as if I were being punished for speaking up, about all the shit going down on their floor, because I refused to tolerate it. It will certainly affect my future decisions to seek help, in a hospital setting. I am sorry, my friends, that I cannot say better things about my recent in-patient stay.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
Written on April 9, 2014
A Psychiatric Patient's Prayer
My Dear Lord, how my heart aches, how I long to smile and laugh again,
My soul feels heavy, for those that I have lost, my Lord,
I want to join you, Sweet Lord, in eternal peace, but now is not the right time,
I must not die, by my own hands, for it would break your heart, Lord,
Please guide the Doctors, Nurses, & Counselors, to make the right decisions for me,
So, that I may once again rejoin the Land of the Living, and find joy once again,
My Lord, my soul is so lost, in my own private Hell,
Please, please, please, Dear Lord, let me rise above it.
A Psychiatric Patient's Prayer
My Dear Lord, how my heart aches, how I long to smile and laugh again,
My soul feels heavy, for those that I have lost, my Lord,
I want to join you, Sweet Lord, in eternal peace, but now is not the right time,
I must not die, by my own hands, for it would break your heart, Lord,
Please guide the Doctors, Nurses, & Counselors, to make the right decisions for me,
So, that I may once again rejoin the Land of the Living, and find joy once again,
My Lord, my soul is so lost, in my own private Hell,
Please, please, please, Dear Lord, let me rise above it.
I had a bit of a temporary relapse recently, in my emotional & mental health. I spent last week in a psychiatric ward. I signed myself in, voluntarily, to try to save myself from my own self-destruction. I am far too sensitive for this world, sometimes.
It was not an easy experience. When I arrived, at the emergency room, I was asked why I was seeking medical treatment. I was scared and paranoid, and could not answer "in front of all these people, looking at me". So, I wrote "psychiatric reasons", on an index card, and gave it to the woman, working at the check-in desk.
Within a few minutes, I was called into the ER. I asked to bring my husband in, with me, but I was told to come in alone, to "get settled in". They brought me into a room, with only a stretcher, that had leather handcuffs, ankle cuffs, and lots of straps. It also had a camera, near the ceiling, and a mirror near the ceiling...no chairs, no TV, nothing else. I saw the straps on the bed and panicked. "You're not going to tie me down, are you?", I cried. The nurse said no, and said that they had no other beds available. "I want a chair", I said. They brought me a chair, and told me to remove most of my clothing, and put 2 johnnies on. They could see me changing my clothes, through the window, in the locked, heavy door, and through the camera. I was scarily, aware of this.
When they came back, they took all of my clothes and belongings away, and searched them. They took me to the bathroom, and insisted that I pee into a cup, to drug & alcohol test me. When they took me backed to the locked room, they also insisted on drawing my blood. I wouldn't let them take my blood, until my husband was allowed in the room with me.
I complained about the room, saying it was scaring me, and complained about all the people "staring" at me, and the camera "spying" on me.
A few hours later, an even more psychotic man arrived in the ER, and they needed my room, and gave me a regular room, with a regular stretcher, a chair, a TV, etc, and a bit of my fear left me.
I was asked extensive questions..."Why are you here?" "Do you want to hurt yourself, or anyone else?" "Did you have an actual plan to harm yourself?" "What type of health problems do you have?" "What medications are you on?", etc, etc.
After several hours, I was told that there were no beds on any psychiatric units available, that I would have to spend the night in the ER, until a bed was found in a hospital.
I was transported about 24 hours later, by ambulance, to a psychiatric ward, at a different hospital.
It was not an easy experience. When I arrived, at the emergency room, I was asked why I was seeking medical treatment. I was scared and paranoid, and could not answer "in front of all these people, looking at me". So, I wrote "psychiatric reasons", on an index card, and gave it to the woman, working at the check-in desk.
Within a few minutes, I was called into the ER. I asked to bring my husband in, with me, but I was told to come in alone, to "get settled in". They brought me into a room, with only a stretcher, that had leather handcuffs, ankle cuffs, and lots of straps. It also had a camera, near the ceiling, and a mirror near the ceiling...no chairs, no TV, nothing else. I saw the straps on the bed and panicked. "You're not going to tie me down, are you?", I cried. The nurse said no, and said that they had no other beds available. "I want a chair", I said. They brought me a chair, and told me to remove most of my clothing, and put 2 johnnies on. They could see me changing my clothes, through the window, in the locked, heavy door, and through the camera. I was scarily, aware of this.
When they came back, they took all of my clothes and belongings away, and searched them. They took me to the bathroom, and insisted that I pee into a cup, to drug & alcohol test me. When they took me backed to the locked room, they also insisted on drawing my blood. I wouldn't let them take my blood, until my husband was allowed in the room with me.
I complained about the room, saying it was scaring me, and complained about all the people "staring" at me, and the camera "spying" on me.
A few hours later, an even more psychotic man arrived in the ER, and they needed my room, and gave me a regular room, with a regular stretcher, a chair, a TV, etc, and a bit of my fear left me.
I was asked extensive questions..."Why are you here?" "Do you want to hurt yourself, or anyone else?" "Did you have an actual plan to harm yourself?" "What type of health problems do you have?" "What medications are you on?", etc, etc.
After several hours, I was told that there were no beds on any psychiatric units available, that I would have to spend the night in the ER, until a bed was found in a hospital.
I was transported about 24 hours later, by ambulance, to a psychiatric ward, at a different hospital.
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
I am starting to feel good about myself. I am realizing that I am a great person: kind, empathetic, intelligent, artistic, always giving.
I am starting to feel good about life. Just a few years ago, life felt like an enormous uncertainty. I wasn't too keen on this thing called Life. I didn't realize that I had to be pro-active in creating my own happiness.
In fact, it took until my early 40's, that I discovered what happiness is. In some ways, I am so delighted & thankful, to discover happiness, but in other ways, I am extremely pissed that it took 1/2 of my life to find it. I grieve for the time that I have lost to misery.
I hated myself for decades. I hate my Schizoaffective Disorder, and the games it plays with my mind: severe depression, anxiety, paranoia, delusions, hallucinations. I hate my Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, because of the nightmares, flashbacks, triggers, fears....but really, I truly hate the men that caused it, in me. For decades, I was a slave to my emotions and fears.
I am now starting to like myself and I am proud of myself because suicide no longer seems like a good alternative to living. I am proud of myself because I work hard to keep my sanity strong, by taking my medications, going to therapy and support groups. I am proud of myself, because I am a writer now, and also an advocate, and I never thought this opportunity would come. I am proud of myself because I have been able to work part-time, at the same job for over 5 years. I am proud of myself for maintaining my volunteer job at my church for over 7 years. I am proud of myself because, even though we have had trials, I have been married for 20 years. I am proud of myself because I have been able to maintain long-term friendships with some wonderful people. I am proud of myself for letting go of my anger towards God, and strengthening my faith.
I just keep telling myself that I am a valuable child of God, that He created me for a purpose, and I am now fulfilling this purpose. I too, am worthy.
I am starting to feel good about life. Just a few years ago, life felt like an enormous uncertainty. I wasn't too keen on this thing called Life. I didn't realize that I had to be pro-active in creating my own happiness.
In fact, it took until my early 40's, that I discovered what happiness is. In some ways, I am so delighted & thankful, to discover happiness, but in other ways, I am extremely pissed that it took 1/2 of my life to find it. I grieve for the time that I have lost to misery.
I hated myself for decades. I hate my Schizoaffective Disorder, and the games it plays with my mind: severe depression, anxiety, paranoia, delusions, hallucinations. I hate my Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, because of the nightmares, flashbacks, triggers, fears....but really, I truly hate the men that caused it, in me. For decades, I was a slave to my emotions and fears.
I am now starting to like myself and I am proud of myself because suicide no longer seems like a good alternative to living. I am proud of myself because I work hard to keep my sanity strong, by taking my medications, going to therapy and support groups. I am proud of myself, because I am a writer now, and also an advocate, and I never thought this opportunity would come. I am proud of myself because I have been able to work part-time, at the same job for over 5 years. I am proud of myself for maintaining my volunteer job at my church for over 7 years. I am proud of myself because, even though we have had trials, I have been married for 20 years. I am proud of myself because I have been able to maintain long-term friendships with some wonderful people. I am proud of myself for letting go of my anger towards God, and strengthening my faith.
I just keep telling myself that I am a valuable child of God, that He created me for a purpose, and I am now fulfilling this purpose. I too, am worthy.
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