I didn’t feel as if I had anything left to live for. My mental anguish made daily living unbearable.
Bipolar Disorder 1 with psychosis, Borderline Personality Disorder among other Personality Disorders (there are many, not just one), Severe Anxiety so bad that I was terrified of people, new places and even getting up in the morning, along with Panic Attacks that would stop me dead in my tracks were just a few of my mental issues. I also suffer from severe OCD so bad that I have trouble leaving my house because I am sure the door is unlocked and the stove still on, no matter how many times I got out of my car and check the door lock and stove. I have PTSD which started due to several rape attempts when I was a teenager and then when the twin towers fell in 2001 I was sure every plane that flew over my duplex was going to explode or crash. I would cover my head shaking uncontrollably until the plane continued on its way and we were on a flight path so there were hundreds of planes it would seem every day.
Add to that my intense long term chronic physical pain and I just couldn’t find anything positive in my life to live for. Even my family didn’t seem to be able to fill in the gaps and help me through my everyday anguish.
Finally, I decided to end my suffering. I grabbed a handful of pills and drank a whole bottle of wine, but thankfully God wasn’t ready for me yet and I survived my suicide attempt. I didn’t hide it. I told my children what I did and how I felt. I needed help and so they decided that I needed to be committed although I didn’t realize that was what was happening at the time. I thought we were going to the hospital because of how I felt and they would prescribe medication and send me home. However, my daughter flat out told them that I needed to be committed and that she had to leave to go to work, but they had to make sure I couldn’t just walk out of there behind her. I didn’t know what to think.
What I thought didn’t matter though. Everything I was wearing and brought in with me was taken away and I was given a hospital gown. I was searched with a metal-detecting wand which was preferable to being cavity searched by hand. This was real and they were keeping me for a minimum of three days for observation, but at the end of the three days, I was asked if I was willing to go into the mental hospital. I asked them what if I said no and that’s when they told me that I would be committed against my will. I could go willingly and have a choice on when I would be able to get out or be committed for a set amount of time. My daughter really had them commit me. I decided that I would go willingly so I had a say in what happened to me to a point.
Because I tried to commit suicide I was put in the ward with the people who tried to hurt themselves or other people. I was in total lockdown, plastic cutlery, and no pencils, pens, shoelaces or ties, etc.
I was promptly medicated, which had to be changed when I was discharged as I couldn’t tolerate that medicine, but they didn’t care. It was routine for them. We had five hours of therapy every single day.
The place wasn’t the ritz for sure. One tv in the community room, every 15 minutes they did bed checks and I was not tolerating the medicine or sleeping and kept having to be reported to the nurse who would try to see what they could do to get me to go to sleep. I was supposed to be lying down, but I was sitting on the bed and waving at the person doing bed checks who would then yell at me and report me again.
Every day I was asked if I still wanted to die and as long as I said yes, I wasn’t going anywhere. Finally, I got tired of being locked up and no privacy and I was bored senseless. I told them I was fine and ready to go home. I was questioned extensively and then they had a conversation with the daughter who committed me. I had to request to leave a few days before they would let me go so I requested it and my daughter talked extensively with the doctor and social worker and after 9 days I was allowed out.
However, that wasn’t the end of it. I was allowed out only if I agreed to partial hospitalization which was 5 days a week of 5 hours of therapy at the hospital, but I could go home each day. This went on for at least 3 to 4 weeks with good behavior and cooperation.
I finally graduated from the therapy program and was allowed to leave as long as I had a psychiatrist and therapist set up and ready to go to. It was done and my new psychiatric provider (APN Nurse) had to undo the mental mess the hospital did with their medications.
I have been medicated ever since and unfortunately had to go back once more although this time I went on my own and was not committed so I went to the other ward which was much freer and not total lockdown. I was feeling suicidal again, but I hadn’t tried to do it so that allowed me more freedom than total lockdown. I did still have to do the partial hospitalization therapy and it was still 5 hours every day.
I had long talks with my family and promised them that I would not try to kill myself again. There were a lot of tears and that helped me feel able to make that decision and mean it. I saw what I did, had done to my family. I didn’t want to do that to them again.
I am finally stable on an anti-depressant and an anti-psychotic. Life is hard, but I had lots of therapy and though I still struggle, I no longer want to die. I have been reborn.