I was living alone in my first apartment after I graduated college. Sitting in my bedroom. I kept thinking that nothing could ever hurt me, and proceeded to try to hurt myself in every way possible, other than drinking draino or holding myself at gunpoint. This lasted a long long time. I don’t even know if it was the same day that I drove myself to the ER in a moment of clarity.
When I told them what was going on , they immediately put me in a room with nothing but a bench attached to the walls. Again, no idea how long I had waited there, and at one point, was back to the point where I was superwoman. Then a middle-aged social worker came in (I was told all this later). She asked what had been happening and what brought me here. I have no idea what I said. At one point, though, I do remember asking me if I’d ever done pot. I remember saying yes. And I remember that she walked out the door.
My parents came, and they let them in the room. They were just stardust, though, so I didn’t give them the time of day. The woman started saying things. Words entered and exited my head “selfish” “attention” “lying” “drugs.” Oh, and that she wasn’t going to admit me.
I remember telling my dad I’d be ok, and drove home. The next thing I remember was sitting in that same bedroom, hammer in my one hand and the other lying there, completely broken. I was waiting for it to heal. Dad called and I told him “I’m waiting for my hand to heal” when he wanted me to come over for dinner. Needless to say, I ended up back in that same hospital. For a physical reason. Everything was nice and serene, I could barely feel my body, and I watched as my dad went over to the woman from before and screamed in her face. She rushed away.
Then I remember being at my dad’s house. I no longer felt like superwoman. I caught sentences here and there as I was woken up, but it seemed like no one would tell something to someone. Fully awake, I know what they were saying. The social worker from the hospital would not refer me to anyone in the mental health profession and that my broken hand was a purely physical problem. This, after I had come to her for help, and she dismissed me. Right after I said yes, I have smoked pot. And even though I went home and did what I told her I was going to do… hurt myself. I believe my dad won a lawsuit out of that.
I wouldn’t go to that hospital ever again. The one time when the ambulance had to take me, I was lucid enough to tell them not to go there., repeatedly. So I was taken to another one. Then I moved, so it all really didn’t matter.
But really… not believing what I was telling her because I had said “yes, I had smoked pot.” She didn’t ask me when. Her question was so open-ended that a person who hadn’t smoked in 20 years would have answered yes. She never asked “are you under the influence of drugs right now”… and my answer would have been “no.”
I have been treated better at other hospitals since then. Unfortunately, the psych ward at my local hospital was useless, and I told the social worker as much the time I had a benedryl overdose. I honestly wanted to freaking SLEEP! It had just gotten so bad bc my tolerance was steadily growing. So when I heard the words “the doctor would really like to keep you…” I said that they could take me anywhere they liked, but I was not going to the 7th floor. That their psych unit was a joke, and group therapy was a bunch of us fucking coloring! And that the one time I was there I saw two different psychiatrists who felt SO opposite of each other, that my whole med combo changed twice during my stay. That they pumped me full with some drug that when I left, everyone was telling me I looked really drugged. I told them to take me to the special psychiatric hospital if they thought I was so bad. my mother agreed… to everything I was saying. They let me go into her custody.
I know I’m not the best patient. I never will be. And one time my psych doctor at the time had to refer me to a hospital, he really really didn’t want to send me to the local one. But the office had an agreement with that hospital. Before he dialed, he said something to me, like, “let’s hope they don’t have a bed open.”