The second hospital stay was pure hell. For some reason it was very different than my first stay. During the first stay I felt safe. I felt like I was there to get better. Maybe I was naive and that's why I had an easier time. This next go around I had a newborn baby and a two year old at home and all I wanted to do was get back to them. Cody brought Ethan up to see me the first few times and then he stopped. It was way too hard on Ethan and on me every time they would leave. He did, however, bring Hailey up a few more times. I tried my best, but I barely recognized her. I tried for the sake of everyone else to be a normal and doting mommy to her when she would come in, but I was faking it. She was still detached from me.
I hate thinking about that hospital stay. That looooooong hospital stay that could not end soon enough. I don't want to rehash all of the yucky details. How I developed an addiction to chloralhydrate and trazadone and what a mess that left me with. Or how the psychiatrists that I saw seemed crazier than me. Ha, I discovered there must be a reason that people go into that specialty. They must have some grotesque fascination with the world of psychiatry because they themselves are nut jobs.
I hate thinking about the time that we were in group and I tried to keep things light because I was about to slit my wrists if I heard one more story about someone being molested or abused as a child. The next day the doctor running group reprimanded me for making light of the situation and not being "sad enough". I never made fun of anyone or their plight, but I did try to make things not so terribly sad. And I got in trouble for it time and time again.
I hate thinking about the time that Eric wanted to get some sunshine. In there, depending on what level we had advanced to in our treatment, we were aloud certain amounts of time to be outside in the sun. I may have written about this in an entry from my first stay, I can't remember. Why on earth, would someone battling something like severe depression, only be allowed such minimal time in the SUNSHINE?? The one thing that their brain and body so desperately craved. So Eric and I were sitting in the hallway one afternoon and he was jittery and wanted some air. At one point the huge metal electronic doors opened briefly while a staff member entered the "compound". And without missing a beat, Eric jumped up and ran out of them. Alarms sounded and people got on walkie talkies and rushed outside. And do you know what they found outside the hospital? Eric sitting peacefully in the grass. The air was cold and the sky was sunny. And he sat there taking it in. And he was on lock down for two days to follow. Yup, in a room with actual padded walls with a door which only had a tiny window. I peeked in on him from time to time and he looked like a caged monkey pacing back and forth. I hate thinking about that.
I hate thinking about the time when we were out on one of our brief ten minute walks. It was cold and misty outside and we walked in single file like prisoners. Some people were in handcuffs. We walked and the supervising doctor talked to us about something. As we walked my feet became antsy and before I knew it they started into a more brisk walk, and then a slow jog. I kept my hands tucked into my coat pockets to keep them warm, but it's as if my feet had a mind of their own. And so they moved faster and faster. I never was in a full run, but I for sure was going and moving and working my heart. The doctor kept yelling at me to get back in line and to slow it down. But my feet kept moving. It's like I was running in place but still moving with the group. And I know it's not because I was trying to keep warm. It's because something inside of me was yelling to MOVE!! And not to run away, but to exercise. I craved it like Eric craved the sunshine that day. I couldn't control it and it's like instinct took over. But I got lunch isolation that day because I was setting a bad example for people around me. I hate thinking about that.
I hate thinking about that hospital stay. That looooooong hospital stay that could not end soon enough. I don't want to rehash all of the yucky details. How I developed an addiction to chloralhydrate and trazadone and what a mess that left me with. Or how the psychiatrists that I saw seemed crazier than me. Ha, I discovered there must be a reason that people go into that specialty. They must have some grotesque fascination with the world of psychiatry because they themselves are nut jobs.
I hate thinking about the time that we were in group and I tried to keep things light because I was about to slit my wrists if I heard one more story about someone being molested or abused as a child. The next day the doctor running group reprimanded me for making light of the situation and not being "sad enough". I never made fun of anyone or their plight, but I did try to make things not so terribly sad. And I got in trouble for it time and time again.
I hate thinking about the time that Eric wanted to get some sunshine. In there, depending on what level we had advanced to in our treatment, we were aloud certain amounts of time to be outside in the sun. I may have written about this in an entry from my first stay, I can't remember. Why on earth, would someone battling something like severe depression, only be allowed such minimal time in the SUNSHINE?? The one thing that their brain and body so desperately craved. So Eric and I were sitting in the hallway one afternoon and he was jittery and wanted some air. At one point the huge metal electronic doors opened briefly while a staff member entered the "compound". And without missing a beat, Eric jumped up and ran out of them. Alarms sounded and people got on walkie talkies and rushed outside. And do you know what they found outside the hospital? Eric sitting peacefully in the grass. The air was cold and the sky was sunny. And he sat there taking it in. And he was on lock down for two days to follow. Yup, in a room with actual padded walls with a door which only had a tiny window. I peeked in on him from time to time and he looked like a caged monkey pacing back and forth. I hate thinking about that.
I hate thinking about the time when we were out on one of our brief ten minute walks. It was cold and misty outside and we walked in single file like prisoners. Some people were in handcuffs. We walked and the supervising doctor talked to us about something. As we walked my feet became antsy and before I knew it they started into a more brisk walk, and then a slow jog. I kept my hands tucked into my coat pockets to keep them warm, but it's as if my feet had a mind of their own. And so they moved faster and faster. I never was in a full run, but I for sure was going and moving and working my heart. The doctor kept yelling at me to get back in line and to slow it down. But my feet kept moving. It's like I was running in place but still moving with the group. And I know it's not because I was trying to keep warm. It's because something inside of me was yelling to MOVE!! And not to run away, but to exercise. I craved it like Eric craved the sunshine that day. I couldn't control it and it's like instinct took over. But I got lunch isolation that day because I was setting a bad example for people around me. I hate thinking about that.
