Recently the news identified the body of a lady who went missing in town eleven months ago. I remember when she went missing reading the news articles, the Facebook posts from her family and friends, the billboards in town. They reported she had mental health issues. They said if seen to approach her as part of her mental health issues was believing people were after her. I knew as soon as I read this her body would be found in the river eventually.
One of the facts they shared about her was the local “crisis intervention trained police officers”, had been at her house days before going missing. They talked about how they had discussed her going into the local psychiatric unit. However, they were hesitant because of her last experience there. It was not a good experience. I have never had the CIT officers called for me. But I have seen how they responded to others who had them called on them. When I read about their visit to her, I thought it was a joke. They are anything but supportive. In fact, the most supportive officer I have ever seen in mental health situations is not even CIT trained. I believe this officer provides genuine support. I wondered how she felt at the time when they were called, if they missed something being in police mode.
When I read about her experience at the psychiatric unit being negative I understood. I felt a sense of belonging with the other patients. My experience with the staff was negative. The care I received was also negative. In the last nine months, I often questioned my safety. I wondered if I should be back in there. I realized there were times I needed to be there for my own safety. But I refused to return due to the way I was treated. They made statements that scared me. If I did not voluntarily sign myself in, they said a judge would order me to be there. I had just overdosed on a handful of pills. I was not in my right mind. I was required to sign a paper I could barely read. I did not understand it, let alone read it. Later I would find out that what they said the paper said and meant was not accurate at all. It took me threatening to call my attorney to get released.
Once I was in the psychiatric hospital the staff talked about sending me away for a couple months. This happened within 24 hours of my arrival. They did not really know me or understand what was happening in my life. Again when I said no they discussed getting a “court order” if I did not agree. I laid in bed for three days so sick from overdosing I barely was able to lift my head. I was shaking and cold. The psychiatric staff told me I could walk down to the community room to eat if I wanted to. They would not be bringing my food to me. I remembered lying there thinking I was going to die from being so sick. I used the only strength I had to get myself down the hall to the phone once a day. I called my kids and my good friend just to tell them I was sick. I promised to call tomorrow. I requested to see a medical doctor and was told I just needed to go to groups. I had not drank anything for days and was dehydrated. I would lay dry heaving to the point my stomach hurt to move because the muscles were so sore. Finally, at 3 am one night, I had a moment. I realized I would die in that psychiatric hospital. I knew I had to do something.
I remember being so cold and shaking to the point it was hard to walk. I walked down the psychiatric unit’s hall holding the railing on the wall to keep myself from falling over. I went down and demanded they either call a medical doctor or give me something to help the nausea. They told me since I had refused to go to groups I got nothing. I yelled a few choice words about them being incompetent. I insulted them about their weight. Then, I made my way back down to my room. I laid there shaking, cold, and now crying. I again pulled myself out of bed. I held myself up by holding the railing. I could hear one of the nurses say “she’s coming back”. I responded by saying we felt the same about each other. I added that I didn’t want to see their faces. I suggested they might get off their asses and get me jello and chicken broth. I knew I had to help myself. They set it on the counter and I took it back to my room. One of the nurses came a few minutes later. She realized she forgot to take the tinfoil lid to the jello away. She needed it. I had already consumed both and told her I needed more. She brought more and I went back down the hall three more times to get more. I knew what I needed to do. By 6 am I had enough strength I went and sat in front of the door to the psychiatric unit, waiting for the psychiatrist to come in and demanded he make a plan for my release or I would be calling my attorney. They started making plans for my release. They knew I was smart enough to know they could not keep me.
I remember thinking as I read about the missing lady in town, I wonder if her experience was similar to mine when she was in the psychiatric unit. Who do we turn to for help? I don’t know about her, but I feel I can’t be honest with my providers. They will put me back in the psychiatric unit. I often feel if I turn to people in my life they don’t want to hear about it, think I am manipulating, being dramatic. So who can we talk to and share how we are feeling? I want to mention that since my time in the psychiatric unit, they have opened a crisis center. The staff there is very much what we need. The funding is not there to utilize them very often but they are what is needed. Would the lady who went missing still be here if the center was open sooner? Would I still be here if it were not for the times I have talked to them?
I currently have over $20,000 in medical bills for mental health services I have accessed. I earn too much to qualify for assistance. I do not make enough to pay the deductibles and co payments for my services. I often wonder if I was accessed more services would I be even more stable. I have panic attacks at least every other day. I spend my day checking my thoughts to see if they are reality-based or not. I convince myself every day not to jump off the same bridge she did. I resist the urge to take all the medications in the house. I think of her often. I know exactly how she felt. While I feel for her children and husband, I feel for her too. I feel like I am just like her. So what is the answer for those of us whose only support are poorly ran psychiatric units? Who can we turn to without being brushed off or turned away? What happens when the thoughts are too much and we feel the only option is to jump?
Please Note: The information provided in this post is for educational and informational purposes only. It is not intended as a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or qualified mental health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this blog. Reliance on any information provided by this blog is solely at your own risk. If you are in crisis or you think you may have a medical emergency, call your doctor or emergency services immediately.
Acceptance Coping Skills Delusions Depression Friendships Help Mental Health Awareness Mental illness Psychiatric Hospital Rejection Relationships Resiliance Schizophrenia Suicide Attempt Trauma