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.
Friday, April 18, 2014
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.
Monday, March 17, 2014
This is #100. Can you believe that? I can't. Because this is my 100th blog entry, I originally felt that this would be a celebratory piece. In truth, I have something different on my mind. I am going to use this one to make a written prayer to make peace with God. You see, I have a lot of anger towards God. I felt like He failed me, when I felt I was left to face my horrible childhood and younger adult years all alone.
My Dear Lord,
I love You and long to accept You into my soul, but I feel so much anger and mistrust towards You.
Where were You, my Lord when my Violators were violating me? I was so young, didn't You hear my cries?
Why did You not answer my prayers, Lord, when I was a little child, begging to be saved from the Hell that I was experiencing?
How could You let me lose my half-siblings, Lord, whom I loved so, so much, when I tried to save them from abuse, tried to save their lives? You should have been my ally, Lord.
Why did You let that bastard beat me and kill my fetal baby, and leave me sterile? I will never get to experience the joy of motherhood, my Lord.
Why weren't You there to persuade me from attempting suicide, shortly after I lost my baby? I called out to You that lonesome night, Lord.
Why was I stricken with Schizoaffective Disorder, a serious mental illness, my Lord? Do You see my everyday struggles my Lord, to survive, in this prejudiced, ignorant world?
Why must I live with PTSD, as a result of my suffering? None of this is my fault Lord, why must I pay the price, for other's crimes against me?
After giving me this lot in life, my Lord, what it is that You want from me? What is it that You expect of me?
I shall try my best, Lord to accept You into my life more, regardless of our complicated history.
I shall work my hardest to let go of my anger, and to shed my tears, until there are no more.
Yours Eternally,
Christine
My Dear Lord,
I love You and long to accept You into my soul, but I feel so much anger and mistrust towards You.
Where were You, my Lord when my Violators were violating me? I was so young, didn't You hear my cries?
Why did You not answer my prayers, Lord, when I was a little child, begging to be saved from the Hell that I was experiencing?
How could You let me lose my half-siblings, Lord, whom I loved so, so much, when I tried to save them from abuse, tried to save their lives? You should have been my ally, Lord.
Why did You let that bastard beat me and kill my fetal baby, and leave me sterile? I will never get to experience the joy of motherhood, my Lord.
Why weren't You there to persuade me from attempting suicide, shortly after I lost my baby? I called out to You that lonesome night, Lord.
Why was I stricken with Schizoaffective Disorder, a serious mental illness, my Lord? Do You see my everyday struggles my Lord, to survive, in this prejudiced, ignorant world?
Why must I live with PTSD, as a result of my suffering? None of this is my fault Lord, why must I pay the price, for other's crimes against me?
After giving me this lot in life, my Lord, what it is that You want from me? What is it that You expect of me?
I shall try my best, Lord to accept You into my life more, regardless of our complicated history.
I shall work my hardest to let go of my anger, and to shed my tears, until there are no more.
Yours Eternally,
Christine
Sunday, March 16, 2014
It has been a rough couple of days for me. I am dealing with some work problems, that are leaving me feeling disheartened about my job. It's true, I am starting to long for more, job-wise, but I have been at my job for 5 1/2 years, and I have felt very comfortable there. I am great at my job, and up until recently, I loved working there. I don't want to be forced into making a move. I don't handle changes well.
Frankie and I went to church this morning. It is Lent, and the parishioners were asked if they would like to light a candle and say a prayer. I had several prayers in my mind, but I did not want to go light a candle.
I realized that I was angry at God, for letting me feel that my emotions were spiraling, once again. I felt that too many sad, bad things were happening in the world and in my life.
The tears started falling down my cheeks and I could not stop them. And then I found myself praying, asking God to make my tears stop, and then telling Him everything that I wanted to pray about.
Frankie and I went to church this morning. It is Lent, and the parishioners were asked if they would like to light a candle and say a prayer. I had several prayers in my mind, but I did not want to go light a candle.
I realized that I was angry at God, for letting me feel that my emotions were spiraling, once again. I felt that too many sad, bad things were happening in the world and in my life.
The tears started falling down my cheeks and I could not stop them. And then I found myself praying, asking God to make my tears stop, and then telling Him everything that I wanted to pray about.
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