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inner-space-oddity · 1 year

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Vent under the cut

What I learned from being in a mental hospital for three hours

Yesterday, I called the suicide hotline.

It’s been a long year for me, a long life, really. I’m only 19, but it’s just been a lot.

I’ve struggled with depression for over 10 years, anxiety for over 6, and C-PTSD for over 5. Over the past two years, I’ve developed chronic pain that makes it difficult for me to do the things I love like dancing and going outside.

Yesterday, I just felt so hopeless. My medical bills are adding up every day — my primary care physician recommended I see a psychiatrist (whom I can’t get in with until June), my astigmatism contacts cost over $600/year, I should be seeing a physical therapist per my prescription, and my antidepressants are being exchanged for a different type that will require an EKG (heart monitoring check-up) if I am to start them.

I feel like I haven’t been able to live up the the standards I’ve been given, or even the ones I want to achieve myself. I’ve been in a depressive episode for two weeks now.

So I called the hotline.

Here’s what I learned from the experience.

1) When the responder said he would send someone to come talk to me, three police and three paramedics showed up.

They were all wearing disposable gloves, and they didn’t sit down when I asked them to. They were all standing around me, and I felt cornered.

2) When they came to get me, they sent an ambulance.

It wasn’t scary — I’ve been in an ambulance before, and the medic was nice and she talked to me on the way. They took my blood pressure and pulse continuously on the ride and put seatbelts over my body.

3) Because I didn’t struggle or fight at all (I called willingly and I went willingly), they let me walk into the ER instead of being rolled in on the gurney. I appreciated that because it gave me a sense of control.

4) The mental health rooms in the ER actually looked like those in a horror movie.

This was the most surprising part.

The walls were beige and peeling, there was a blue cot in the middle of the room, and there was a security camera and a mirror in two of the corners. There was no handle on the door, only a lock, which I could use to open it, but I didn’t know I was able to until I left at the end.

They told me to put on scrubs and honestly, when I saw the grippy socks, I broke down sobbing (again). They weren’t even real socks lol, they didn’t have a heel, just grips on either side of the sock. They weren’t comfortable either.

After I got dressed in the scrubs, they opened the door again, but it took a while, and I was scared. I didn’t want to be alone, and they left me in there for at least ten minutes.

I don’t think anyone was actively watching the security cameras, since it took a while for them to come in after I was dressed. (I didn’t take off my underclothes, and I have no qualms with my own nudity, so it didn’t bother me too much.) They could have just been busy — it looked like a high-traffic night. But that doesn’t make it much better.

5) You aren’t allowed to have any personal items at all. At all.

I came in with the bare minimum because I didn’t know what to expect. But when they asked me to put my clothes in a bag, I asked if I could keep my sweatshirt because it’s my comfort item. They said no.

Honestly, I can’t fathom why I can’t have a sweatshirt with me to comfort me, especially since they didn’t provide anything to do after asking me a bunch of questions.

The guy who took my blood (they also collected my urine, both for drug testing purposes) told me he’d asked the administration to provide edible chalk for the residents to draw on the walls.

I have ADHD, so those three hours were THE worst. No chalk for me. I made a fortune teller out of a tissue. XD

6) The nurses misgendered me even after I corrected them.

This is a big reason why I won’t be going back to that specific hospital. I didn’t want to go somewhere that wasn’t connected with the behavioral health service I was already in contact with, but they don’t have ER care so that wasn’t an option.

The nurses also repeatedly used my legal name even though I told them my preferred name and a couple of them wrote it down on the forms.

I can safely say that this is one of The worst things you can do to a transgender person in a mental health crisis.

7) They fed me.

I…. Did not expect that at all. It was very much like a high school lunch, but it was good enough, and it helped improve my mood. They gave me Sprite instead of water, which was probably good for my blood sugar, but considering that I had been crying for the past three hours, it wasn’t exactly the choice I would have made if I were them.

8) As an adult, the hospital didn’t call anyone.

However, since I called the hotline number associated with the service that already had my information and emergency contact, that service did call my emergency contact.

9) Even through everything, my parents still made the 2 1/2 hour drive down to come support me.

I remember the first time I told my mom that I wanted to die, she spanked me. She had said that she raised me better than that, that she raised me to value my life. So when the nurse handed me the phone, I was terrified.

After all the medical bills, the stress, the trouble that I had caused my parents…. I don’t know what I expected, but there wasn’t a hint of anger in my mom’s voice.

And my dad, who always gets cagey when I try to talk to him about my mental and physical health, made the drive as well. He wanted to stay with me while I was hospitalized.

In the end, I was only there for three hours, so my dad went home instead of driving the last hour to see me, but I will see him tomorrow when the family comes to see my concert.

10) Despite everything, I am loved, and you are too.

I’ve been contacted by three different mental health services today. I called my mom this morning because I said I would. My roommate came to pick me up from the hospital even though I hadn’t been a good friend to her in my depression. One of my close friends contacted me this morning to ask to see me.

Hospitalization sucks. It costs money, it costs time and energy, and it feels like it isn’t worth it. But after last night, I think I finally realize how much effort has been put into helping me keep living.

Despite feeling like I’m a burden, like I’ve never done anything good for anyone, like I’m not worth the worry… everyone still came to help me.

I’m not alone. And you’re not either. Even if you think you have no friends or family there for you, there will always be someone in your corner.

You are worth it. You are loved. Seeking help is the strongest and most powerful thing you can do.

You are not weak. You are resourceful and resilient. You will get through this. You will.

#vent #mental health recovery #self harm recovery #suicidal ideation #crisis hotline #mental health #mental health awareness #you are loved #mental hospital #mental institution #mental illness #what i learned #you are not alone #you are worth it #you are strong #you will get through this

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neatotothethirddegree · 3 years

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uhhhhh! i already have a vague idea on what i wanna do for the Paper Creepypasta. UUUUh as much as i want to do a lost episode. nah imma he qwerky. Youre an object. Imma just say a soup can maybe? You work at several minimum wage jobs and live in a shitty apartment. You decide you want to buy a laptop. And to get it cheaper you buy it second hand.

When your computer is finally shipped, turns out the guy who sold it to you didnt wipe it. You, a curious and nosey person, investigate into the photoes and files and shit before you delete them. At first its normal pictures and shit. Cute photoes of some guy and his assumed boyfriend, a couple of funny images, images of Christmases and Birthdays. Then it starts getting strange. It looks like who ever owned this laptop took photos of their diary and put it on their computer. It also looks the images were edited a tad for readability, at leasts what you assume theyre edited for, but why do that for diaries? They’re supposed to be secret? The diary entries themself are pretty sad and weird in themselves. The writer obviously had some issues yet unresolved. They seem to have a boyfriend who loves them and friends, but they always described feelint awful. and guilty. How today was filled with awful thoughts. How his anxiety is getting worse and his therapist’s advice isnt helping but he feels rude to tell her cause it feels like hes being narcissistic. The more the diaries went on, the more frantic and almost scared they sounded. The writer describing awful desires of hurting other people, which at first he thought were just usual intrusive thoughts but the writer actually started enjoying these thoughts and fantasizing about it. Even drawing out a plan. The diaries both seemed excited and terrified. Then there were a couple of images. and a single 5 second video recording. The images are very blurry, almost as if the person taking them is running. A few things are recognizable? Like a majority of the pictures are obviously in a forest. two of them picture a cliff. And there is a person in one of these photos that looks like an old model of a mephone. The video clip shows nothing, but theres audio that sounds like a person walking. It sounds like they’re out of breath. It goes back to diary entiries. Apparently some guy died while he was recording a show at the place the writer lived. The show was cancelled, with no host theres no show, and the contestants are going to be kept at hotel OJ until the writer manages it in court. Writer is a lawyer apparently? Next Diary entry is a month later. This one entry is like 3 pages long. Apparently him, who you finally find out is named paper, and his boyfriend are fighting. Paper is stressed cause of court and his boyfriend is stressed cause hes running a hotel which is now full to the brim with contestants. They’re both very irritable and it seems like they’re fighting a lot. Then the next thing in rhe folder is a 10 minute video. The guy holding the camera is walking and carrying some kind of garbage bag throughout the video. It looks like hes walking through the hotel, occasionally passing by people who are talking but you cant quite hear their conversations. The man in video goes into an elevator, goes downstairs, goes through the lobby to the back of a hotel. The camera guy puts the camera on the ground, facing the dumpster and this is the first time you get to see Paper. He looks like hes stained with some kind of orange liquid? His corners look crumpled and theres small tears along the sides of him. Paper, with great difficulty, throws the large garbage over his shoulder into the dumpster and it sounds likes glass shattering. Paper stands there just staring at the dumpster for like 5 seconds. He stumbles and leans against the dumpster with one arm and he just starts sobbing into it. caring very little to hide it. Its really uncomfortable to look at. After a good amount of time, Paper grabs the camera with an arm, and he looks into it. Guys got big puffy and red eyes. looks like hes been crying for hours. Paper uses the hand that was covering his face to shut off the video. This is when you finally realize, these are confessions. Confessions of murder. The story goes on, but i hit ask limit so. theres the basics. Paper goes on to kill more ppl blah blah blah scary

-🦶

OOOOOOOOOOOOH MY OD. O O O KH . I LIKE THOS. I AM INTRIGUED HOLY FUCK... OO OO O O O O O OO O H

#long post #anon #🦶#I REMEMBERED THE LONG POST TaG THIS TIME EVERYONE CHEER #tw murder #soup

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arabellaflynn · 7 years

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I was supposed to be working on today's Monday Mystery right now, from a bed at MGH, where I had volunteered for what sounded like a pretty harmless study on glucose metabolism. Instead, I am at BPL Copley, struggling, and mostly failing, to stay conscious. I dealt with the 'fasting since midnight' part. I dealt with the 'no allergy medication' part. I only cheated slightly on the 'no caffeine' part, since without it I'd be incoherent and probably migraineous. (They didn't tell me 'no caffeine' the first time, just 'no calories', so I'd already shown up once last week and been sent home.) I even dealt with the first two stabs -- pun intended -- at the IV placement part, even though I hate it. The part I apparently cannot deal with is the 'show up at 8 am'. I did this last week, and horrible things ensued. It makes me massively emotionally unstable, among other things. If you've never sat at the kitchen table terror-crying like the world was going to end and legitimately not known why, it's a trip. Normally, if you ask someone why they're sobbing and they say they don't know, what that really means is 'I don't want to talk about it' or 'I'm embarrassed at crying over some stupid thing I would ordinarily shake off'. I asked myself what the hell was going on there and came up with a resounding, '.........?' I suppose it's easier, in a way, when I realize that there is literally no reason -- not even a foolish disproportionate one -- to be upset. This means that whatever is going on is some weird neurochemical thing and not my actual sanity leaking away. That doesn't really make it any easier to function, mind you, but it does stop me flopping around trying to find and solve problems that don't exist. I don't know if doing that last Monday was what joined forces with the yo-yo weather to give me three cracking migraines in a week, but I would not be surprised. I drugged myself into getting six-ish hours of sleep this time, since technically by their study guidelines anything I had before midnight was kosher, and I was taking Benadryl for itchy eyes anyway. It did not help. My natural sleep schedule is something like 4 am-noon. I can roll it back as far as maybe 10:30 am, but it takes me 60-90 minutes to get out of bed and do anything useful. I effectively spent three or four hours lying around in a dehydrated drug haze, and got about three hours of real sleep, which is not enough. I made it all the way up to the part with the blood draw without even stabbing a single nurse, but for some reason the IV placement just... did not work. She got a vein the first time, but nothing happened(?) I don't know how you can get a vein but not get any blood. I know I have blood, because they took my vitals and got a heart rate (72), a blood pressure (119/73) and an O2 sat (99-100). The first two are rather high for me, but again, don't like getting jabbed with things, and apparently that puts me into the normal human range. (I also got a dermal temperature of 97.6, which is about a degree high for me. I didn't mention that part, as I was already lying through my teeth about not having any chronic medical problems. Anecdotally, low body temp is apparently yet another symptom of EDS.) So she piled me in warmed blankets and tried the other arm, and when that didn't work, told me to keep the first arm under the blanket in case she had to go back to it... What? No. I have two arms. You get two chances. I already told you I have a history of going all vasovagal when people root around in my flesh with needles. I tapped out and told them this was exceeding my acceptable ratio for discomfort endured to money paid. (It was supposed to be $100 for 8 hours of my time, which is borderline to begin with; having sent me home once because they forgot their protocol made it $100 for 12 hours of my time, which I think is actually below the state minimum wage here.) They sent me off with some sort of breakfast anyway, which I've only eaten half of, mainly because being sleep deprived also makes me feel rather like throwing up. The last time I did this I bought a box of fucking ephedrine to cope, and you know what? It's not helping. I've had 37.5 mg of goddamn drugstore yellow jackets (plus a hospital bagel) and I'm falling asleep. It's a good thing I'm not driving, or I'd be a massive road hazard. I can only assume this is how other people feel when they have to work graveyard shift, and you know what? Doctors tell you not to do that. You have no idea how much like a useless failure it makes you feel when you can't even be a guinea pig properly. This is what wasteoid college kids do for beer money, for god's sake. I've already aged out of most of the good trials, and I'm ineligible for the well-paid sleep trials, because I can't get up this early for a week straight without completely decompensating. Never understood that one, especially the NASA-sponsored trials. You're running a 24-hour mission clock; don't you want someone who's legitimately awake to be watching your expensive space shit at midnight? from Blogger http://ift.tt/2nWoyua via IFTTT -------------------- Enjoy my writing? Consider becoming a Patron, subscribing via Kindle, or just toss a little something in my tip jar. Thanks!

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