Met with my social worker and psychiatrist today. The psychiatrist increased the dose of one of my medications and lifted some restrictions—I’m allowed to wear my own clothes, use the computer for 30 minutes twice a day, and go to the cafeteria for meals.
The psychiatrist believes I’m better suited to the mood disorders floor rather than the acute care unit. As soon as a bed opens upstairs, I’ll be moved. She says the groups will be more specific to my depression and the such.
Bah. Groups. That means I have to play well with others.
I started working on a 500-piece puzzle, but now it’s gotten to the difficult stage and I feel like putting it back in the box. Sad but true fact: I’m afraid to do so, for fear that will have some sort of therapeutic significance around here. BEHOLD: SHE STARTS THINGS BUT GIVES UP WHEN THEY BECOME CHALLENGING!
Yes. I’m paranoid. At least I’m in the right place to be treated for that.
Nights here are eternal.
I went to bed at 11 for lack of anything to do. I’d already worked on the puzzle for an hour and determined that at least one piece of the 500 was almost certainly missing. Why must they try to drive me over the brink? The box should be labeled! “PIECE MISSING! DO NOT ATTEMPT IF RIDDLED WITH OCD TENDENCIES!” I believe when I’m done I’ll put a Post-It note on the lid to warn future inhabitants of the perils of psych ward puzzle endeavors.
But back to the point. Here I am at 2:15, begging a pen off the nurse (as they are contraband and not allowed to be kept in our rooms) so that I can write my random, middle of the night thoughts for you.
You are so lucky.
I wish I had some wonderful insight for you as to how I got to this point. I have nothing. Simply a very long history of depression that took a sharp, alarming turn for the worse over a month ago—and then went downhill from there. If you are close to me and I didn’t tell you, please don’t take it personally. You should know that few words are harder to say than, “I need help.” Fortunately, I was able to say them in time to make it here.
The acute unit is different from what I expected. Less “getting better” and more “getting stable.” It makes me wonder how anyone ever manages to leave. Is everyone here simply on the incorrect balance of medications? Correct the dosage/combination, and we’re magically healed? HURRAH!
When I came in, I was told the average stay was five days, give or take. Quite frankly, I was shocked—the idea of being stabilized from a suicidal state and then promptly shoved back into life without catching my breath is a scary thing. But now I realize that—in my case, at least—they might simply be referring to the acute portion of the visit. I have no idea what the mood disorders unit entails.
I have no idea which is more frightening. A stay that’s too short, or one that’s of indeterminate length. I suppose when everything is said and done, I’m here to get well, whatever that means. If that leads to a longer stay, so be it.
YOU GUYS. I had an omelet and hash browns for breakfast. Cafeteria privileges are the bomb-diggity. I may never leave.
Okay, that’s a lie. I will leave, if only so the schizophrenic guy will stop staring at me.
We watch a lot of TV here. The TV is in the day room, which is the coldest room in the unit. Half of us bundle up in blankets just so we can bear to spend time in there.
It’s better than being alone.
There aren’t a lot of other options for entertainment. They have a few books, but nothing that particularly catches my interest. The puzzle and I are currently on a break. It knows why. Oh yes, it does. They took away my crocheting when I got here because it has string, and nothing with string is allowed. It’d take a hell of a lot of yarn to hang yourself, but I’m sure someone determined could do it. I suppose it’s far more likely it’d be used as a garrote. All I wanted to do with it was make a blanket.
Yesterday I met a therapy dog, sang “Let It Be” with a kooky music therapist, and sculpted a yellow clay rose. I’m overwhelmed with anticipation of what day two will bring in my journey toward wellness.
*Try not to wet yourself with excitement as you await the next installment.