This is my first post in a week and a day. This is my first time in front of a computer in a week. I signed in to a hospital a week ago for thinking about suicide and have emerged, for lack of a better word, "changed." Like seven days were seven years. Or like I have lived just seven days. The experience was so intensive it feels like my mind is wiped clean of the events that transpired before my admission.
If you read my last post you will see I was in a bad spot last week. I honestly don't remember last week. I remember the hospital emergency room and the mental health/substance abuse facility (I was the former) I would eventually land at. Not much else from 2010.
What is it like, being hospitalized? At the place I was at, it's close to prison. If only prisons were kept so safe. No writing utensils in the room. Special short toothbrushes. No plastic bags. No metal anything. "Alive" checks every 15 minutes, day and night. Show the attendant your plasticware before you throw them away. While entry is voluntary, the exit date is determined by the medical staff. My stay was seven days, the average for this facility.
But, a psychiatrist saw me every day. My meds were changed and closely monitored. Vitals taken every morning. Full physical examination. I was well-fed. Intensive group therapy six hours out of the day. The staff were caring and supportive. Best of all, I feel like a new person – I realized how much I am blessed and lucky in my life.
I currently have a tension headache. Anxiety following my discharge, check. Parents with questions, check. I'm home now and feel shame of my situation, that I am now branded as someone who has been in inpatient psychiatric care, even though it was voluntary.
More to follow, I need to take it easy right now.