Yes, I'm referring to my time in the psych ward/hospital as "the joint" or "the clink". I use both interchangeably when I actually talk about my time there. Sarcasm was my weapon of choice as I attempted to deal with my feelings and my recovery. Since getting out, I've been trying to formulate what to say. The verdict is still out on my feelings about going in and coming out. I've tried to come up with something and have struggled as to what to say.
Prior to going into the joint, I probably hit the lowest point of my life in dealing with and managing my long battle with depression and fairly recent diagnosis of bipolar disorder. Due to being pregnant, I had to come off my current meds and did so abruptly. (Not so smart on my part, P.S.) I was then put on Zoloft which I could tell quickly, WAS NOT WORKING! Between crazy lady pregnant hormones, going cold turkey off my meds and the not working Zoloft, I was a mess to say the least. I couldn't feel any emotion. No happiness, no sad. Just a constant state of nothing; I was a shell. I didn't want to die/kill myself. I just couldn't go on not feeling and having this constant state of emptiness. With the help of my amazing father, he came to Kansas to take me back to Utah to have a change of scenery in hopes that would help. I knew on some level, that I needed help, more than just going back to Utah for a few weeks could help. My second week in town, I checked myself into the psych hospital at University of Utah. To be at that point of knowing I needed to go to the psych ward, was a hard moment. Without the help of the few people who really knew what was going on, I wouldn't have been able to do it. I will be forever grateful for the support of my husband, my parents and sister, my sister-in-law and brother-in-law who took my kid for a few days on top of three of their own. To my in-laws and parents for helping watch my kid as well. It was a huge burden to ask of everyone. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
I spent nine days in the joint. Two days too long if you ask me, but I'm no doctor. While there, I met many amazing people, like me, who just wanted to get better. I'm grateful for the friends I made who made my experience bearable. While there, I was able to find my smile again and smile like I meant it (insert Killers song here). An ability I had lost. Being able to do that again was huge! It was like coming out of the dark into the light. Being able to feel again was another major accomplishment for me. The good and the bad, I was feeling again which was wonderful. It gave me hope that I was still in this shell of a body. It gave me hope that I might get through this hell I had been enduring. To be able to function again, "normally", was something I took for granted.
Though, I have to share a few things I found funny about my experience there:
1. So, being in a psych ward, razors with blades weren't allowed necessarily, though I did pack my razor to shave my legs. I could have it if I wanted to use it, but someone had to be standing outside the shower. I wanted to shave my legs but didn't want to be baby sat, either. My sarcasm came out and I informed the poor charge nurse that, "I wasn't about to slice and dice my legs, if I was going to try and kill myself, it would be by overdose and that wasn't happening here". (They kept keep all your meds and disperse them at allotted times during the day as needed) I also informed the poor guy that if someone stood outside the shower, I would give a blow by blow of where I was shaving (I'm now shaving my left thy!). Luckily, I won and got to shave my legs in peace! :)
2. The other bit of funny was that they wouldn't let me keep my Q-tips. I could use them if I went and asked, but I couldn't keep them in my room. They kept relatively "safe" things in a bin and you could go ask for them. I don't know if they thought I'd try sticking them up my roommates nose, or what, but I couldn't keep them in my room. But, they let me keep my bobby pins. Now, if I had really wanted to , I could have pulled off the rubber tips of thus said bobby pins and really gone to town. Now, I didn't want my hair running a muck, so I wasn't about to point out the irony them letting me have my bobby pins. I don't know, maybe in my present state, all of that just struck me as funny and ironic. Hey, it gave me a good laugh!
3. Now, I'm known to call my husband a smart ass on occasion when he's being intentionally stupid just to get a rise out of me. His attempts to get me to say that or to react, needless to say, had stopped. Again, still not feeling. So, one day, while still in the clink, a friend of mine said something that instantly had this knee jerk reaction of, "smart ass!" When I suddenly thought that, I had to laugh! I thought, "oh my gosh! I'm still in here!" I was thrilled to be able to report this story to my husband later that night.
Music was instrumental for me during my time. As I mentioned, I had the Killer's song, "Smile Like You Mean It" in my head. I also had, "All These Things That I've Done", also by the Killer's, stuck in my head. One of my favorite musicians is a guy by the name of David Gray. He does a song called, "Fugitive". Now, in the lyrics, it talks about that you "gotta try". That just stuck with me as I was struggling to get through all of this is, that all I need to do was try, just hold on, fight. Another song was Collin Hay's song, "Waiting For My Real Life To Begin". I don't know if anyone says at 16, geez, when I'm 37, I'd like to check myself into the psych ward. Definitely wasn't part of my "plan" for my life. Like, "is this really my life?" His song, "It's A Beautiful World" is another I really like. Realizing or remembering that there are plenty of beautiful things around, I just need to look. Anyhow, just a few of my "recovery" songs.
I hope that my experience in the clink can help someone see that things can be worked through, even from the lowest points in your life. Hold on.
