As the title of this post states, I wasn't trying to kill myself. I just wanted the incessant thoughts to go away. If you or someone you know is having thoughts of harming themselves or someone else call 911, call a suicide hotline (1-800-273-8255), get help some how. Having been at this point, the person isn't thinking straight. The person with these thoughts that are so consuming does not know where to turn. Make the call before it is too late.
The day started like just about any other. Went to school for a bit. No big issues anywhere. Until I was driving home. The thoughts flooded in. The dam had broken. Crying, bawling, sobbing all the way home. It was uncontrollable. The thoughts of suicide were coming fast and were unrelenting. Nothing I tried got them out of the forefront of my mind. Cuts to my arms, chest, thighs, legs. Nothing. They kept pouring in. 'People would be better off without you.' 'Your wife could be happy again if you were gone.' 'Your kids would be better having no dad, then the pathetic excuse for one you are.' These are just thoughts. You should be able to control your own thoughts. You no longer can. The thoughts have won, you have lost. Severe depression has won, hope is lost.
God, I just want these thoughts to end. So you do the only rational thing you can think of at the time. I could drown out the thoughts. I know how to make them go away. To the medicine cabinet I went. Self-medication is a poor coping skill I have come to learn. But, at the time, it was all I could think of. Take some pills. Doesn't work. More pills, still nothing. The thoughts are still there, running wild. More pills. The thoughts ease some. More pills. The thoughts have subsided for the most part. You beat them.
Wow, it is getting hot in here. Now it is cold. Why am I breathing so heavy? I am having to work to breathe. Getting up and standing is out of the question. What was once thoughts of suicide are becoming thoughts of "What have I done?" The thoughts begin to jumble around making no sense. Breathing fast and shallow, I can't catch my breath. The next bit is a blur. Up until the point where my wife and kids got home. She knows something is wrong. There is no hiding that something is very, very wrong. I tell her.
I will pause here to tell you all this. I can never take back the things I did. I can not take back the pain I caused to the people who care for me. This day was the scariest in my life, and the scariest for many others, especially my wife. I can't apologize enough for the things I did that day, but I can make damn sure they never happen again. Hopefully, with time, like the scars from the knife, these scars will fade and be replaced with great memories.
A call to my psychiatrist from my wife leads to him telling her to call 911 and have an ambulance come to take me to the hospital. I stumble my way to the stairs as the sirens approach. First to arrive, the police. I have to be searched and patted down, then questioned. The ambulance and fire crew are allowed in after the police finish. I have to try and explain everything. Things are still kind of a blur, I have no idea that my 5-year-old daughter is watching and hearing all of this from the top of the stairs. This information is told to me by the paramedics in the ambulance, again in the ER, and by the nurse in the ER. I needed to hear that. It broke my heart to think of her seeing me like this. I thought I had wanted help before. Now I know I needed help. I had to get better, not just for me, but for my wife and my kids who truly adore me. It was that night in the ER and then ICU that I know I want to live and I never want to feel the way I have been feeling ever again.
All I remember of the ambulance ride to the emergency room is being yelled at to wake up and to stay awake. Punches from the paramedic make my eyes open, but they close again. Another hit and booming words "Breathe, stay with me, stay awake!"
Once I begin to come around later that evening I am told by the ER nurse that I had two choices. Choice one: Go to a psychiatric hospital voluntarily, or choice two: involuntary admission in handcuffs and police escort. I already know I need the help, I vow to go voluntarily, and I mean it. Tomorrow morning a representative of the psychiatric hospital would be in to evaluate me and arrange for my transport to the facility.
The night is long in the ICU. You can watch your vital signs as they are constantly monitored. The alarms go off quite often in my room. Blood pressure dips to 86/50 at times. Pulse down into the 40's then up to the 120's. Respirations slip to 4 per minute while I briefly drift to sleep. I am getting replacement potassium through my IV which causes my arm to throb and feel like it is going to fall off. Not much care is made in making someone who came in overdosed comfortable I guess.
The next day a visit from my general practice doctor, who mind you had no idea of anything going on, he reviews the chart and asks me some questions and talks about me going home. Home? In my mind I am thinking "What is he talking about home? I thought I only had two options. I want help, not home. Not the same four walls that closed in on me less than 24 hours ago." He decides to leave it up to the person from the psychiatric hospital on whether I should go or not. Apparently to him I was well enough to go home... makes me question his doctoring abilities.
The lady comes in to talk with my wife and I, we discuss options, and once again I am back to the two options. Voluntary or involuntary. Once again, I stick to the voluntary path. Although, I state I want to be released no later than Monday at 10:00 am (this was Friday at about noon) because of lecture. In my mind this is all but agreed upon. I will be taken by ambulance on the 30 mile trek from medical hospital to psychiatric hospital. I had never ridden in an ambulance before and here I was, getting my second ride in 24 hours. I don't recommend doing it this way though.
You truly do not know what to expect when you are admitted to a psychiatric hospital. One flew over the cuckoo's nest is the extent of my understanding of them. There are many rules about what you can and can not bring in. No electronics at all, ok I get that. No drawstrings, shoe laces, or hoodies, as you might hang yourself with the string, or attack someone else. No outside books because, and I quote, "You could have soaked the pages in drugs." You are only allowed two sets of clothes at a time. No outside toiletries, which includes deodorant or toothpaste. And believe me when I say it, their toiletries... not of good quality. You get a bottle of "body wash/shampoo" in one, some toothpaste that leaves your mouth feeling like you hadn't brushed in months, and a roller ball deodorant which should just drop the "de" because it was pointless.
When you are admitted you have to go through a question session, then you strip down naked so they can make sure you aren't hiding something and to see any bruises or cuts you may have. After that you get to put on some drawstring-less shorts and a t-shirt and some spiffy socks with non-slip squiggles on the bottom and are escorted down a locked elevator, through a few locked doors until you reach your unit. You are then given the brief tour of "Here is your room, here is where you have group sessions, here is the nurses station, and the schedule is by the door." You scan the room not knowing why the other 14 or so people are here. Then they all go to dinner, but you can't. You are on suicide watch. You can't leave the unit at all. You and the guy talking to himself in the corner get to eat right here. Humility, if you hadn't already found it yet, is the only thing left.
I will stop here and wait for another post to go through my stay at the psychiatric hospital. I am sure your eyeballs are hurting from reading so much by now. I will say though, I did not meet my Monday release date that I had asked for. I was there for 7 days.
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