First, can I say I missed you guys? I'm going to be needing a huge hug right about now.
Monday night-my anxiety wasn't improving, the suicidal thoughts were still there, and we couldn't get a pyschiatrist's appointment till next Tuesday. My mother didn't know what to do, she was so worried about me. So, we got into the car and drove over to the local mental hospital. We were trying to see if I could be evaluated and get some new medication. What they said to us was much different...the woman who evaluated me said I needed hospitilization. My mom and I were shocked-I couldn't believe it, was I that bad? But I went with what she said.
With my mom crying, myself included, I got my shoelaces taken away and was put into a bungalo with ten other kids. I thought her judgement was better than mine...it clearly wasn't.
The night I couldn't sleep through. My roommates just feasted on the fact that I was a lesbian for entertainment value-they were going stir crazy. The jokes were unceasing, but I could care less then. The bed was hard and the sheets were rough. No comfort was there.
The next morning, they took my blood. I had to meditate through it. Breakfast was horrible, and I could barely eat it-they gave us pancakes, but no knives. When I took my meds they made me open my mouth to see I had swallowed them. All the kids were so depressing-they had been there two or three times before, laughed about it all, were pros at being in these things. They kept on coming back...wasn't the point that you wouldn't?
The psychiatrists and groups were shit-they had their formula made for tough kids making bad decisions. I didn't fit into this formula, all the other kids were there for drugs, disciplinary problems, suicide, or cutting themselves. I felt so neglected and alone.
I didn't eat dinner.
At six fifteen there was family therapy, and I basically just attached myself to my mom and cried. I can't describe to you how horrible an experience I was having. Her mind was made up then-she was taking me out. And so they gave me a drug that wiped my mind clean and we were off. Only after did she tell me what went on before I joined "family therapy."
The parents were horrible. One woman said she wanted to cut off her daughter's boyfriend's balls off, and another said she didn't want her daughter associating with those "blacks." They were saying horrible stuff about their children. There's this whole world of these people coming in and out of mental institutions, and I didn't belong there. I didn't do drugs, act out, or cut myself, and was never going to act on my thoughts of suicide. Even my mom believes that.
Thank God I'm out, but it was shock therapy; I want to get well. I never want to be like those people, I want LIFE. I want to be happy! Next week, I am going back to school God damnit. This evening a great psychiatrist evaluated me (a mutual friend pulled some strings), and I'm going onto some new medicine that'll hopefully work better. I want to get better.
Anyways, I'm back. And I am never going away again.