Rock Bottom...

I might as well start with the experience that inspired me to start this blog... plus it's the only piece that is already written.  This is my rock bottom, later I will share many of the moments leading up to this point - and more importantly, how I am beginning to recover!

24 hours

It started as a trip to visit the psychiatrist on the recommendation of my therapist and at the request of my friends who love and care for me.  What resulted was the strangest 24 hours of my life which i have to get down in words because it was so surreal…

The psychiatrist sent me for an evaluation for a more intensive program… we had no idea if it was going to be inpatient or outpatient.  My great friend accompanied me in this process.  We signed in and filled out paperwork and sat for about an hour in a traditional waiting room.  I was taken during this time to do a breathalyzer test and check my vital signs.  Once they confirmed I was not drunk and still breathing they left us sitting there for a while longer.  Little did we know that waiting room was going to be the highlight of my stay!  Relief was short lived when the staff worker took us back through the key-padded locked doorway.  We were led down a hallway to a drab… and i mean drab entirely green room.  Not a pretty green - sickly gray green walls with scars from where people have thrown objects into them, two sunken green print fabric sofas, and teal green linoleum floors.  Then there was a panic button, an electrical outlet with angry scratches all over it and then drips of what I only hope was coke or coffee on the baseboards.  A desk, chair and two small tables completed the ambience.  The walls were bare, and I became more depressed just sitting there.  After being offered something to drink and a boxed lunch which we turned down, we sat there for probably 25 minutes.  I was thrilled when someone came to lead us into an intake room.  The words “Thank goodness, because that waiting room was really depressing” were not even all the way out of my mouth when he opened the room next door… and you guessed it… It was an almost identical flip of the previous one.  The only things that were different were that the panic button was now next to the door, there were fewer drips and scratches and the garbage can in this room was not broken.  This is where my fate would be decided.  We had a nice intake person named Emily who seemed very confident and believable.  After asking me lots and lots and I mean lots of questions… including my favorite “have the police been to your house in the past 2 years?” which I had to respond honestly with “yes… my husband was mowing the lawn at 8:30 in the morning and our cranky neighbor called the cops.”  it was an answer she was not expecting!  As we finished up, she recommended the inpatient program for me to start immediately, and let us know that I would stay in a cottage with other patients, would be able to have visitors and take time to make sure I was safe and got the help I needed.  She painted a picture of a place with books to read, therapy groups to attend and case managers to help me make a change.  We vacillated for a few minutes and then decided that it was probably the right decision at the moment.  So my friend left me (in tears) to go pick up her children and with my husband on the way… and I thought things were going to start getting better.  I was taken out of that room and guess where they moved me - back into drab green room number 1.

Artsy Photograph of the outlet 

This doesn't even do it justice!

Instead of it being empty, this time there was a family already sitting there… very unhappy.  From what I could tell the daughter was suffering, but the parents were refusing to follow the recommendation of admitting her.  It was tense and uncomfortable.  I was sitting in the corner of one couch quietly crying and frantically copying everyone’s phone numbers into my address book since I knew at that point I would be without my cell phone in a little while.  I texted the people that might be frantic if they tried to reach me and were unable to, i was crying through all of this and the mother must have been watching.  After her husband had a heated fight with a staff member and they got up to storm out of the room, she turned to me and said that she would pray for me.  Then she asked if I was a Christian.  I replied “no” and she asked if she could leave me with some scripture.  Through tears, not wanting to engage any longer I said “sure.”  She went to tear a page out of her plastic ringed index card sized notebook (this will be important later) and must have realized that I was really pathetic.  Because instead of tearing one out she just handed me the entire notebook.  I was thrilled.  Since I had nothing to take with me on intake.  I found most of the pages still blank.  

I was left alone, crying, with my new notebook until the finance guy for the treatment center arrived.  He was nice… so I asked him “Are you Christian?”  He said “yes,” so I tore out the scripture pages and passed them to him!  I felt satisfied and he was entertained.  We talked money… lots of it… and waited a few minutes until Dan arrived.  He wrote a large check, they require you to pay for 5 nights up front (luckily as I am writing this I know we will be getting what will hopefully a large refund), and then I signed multiple forms.  Dan and I snuggled on the couch, and guess what: I cried.  Then someone came to walk me down to my “Cottage.”  She told me to give all my valuables to Dan.  With my escort standing there, Dan confirmed that he could drop off my cosmetics and some comfortable clothes. I was going to bring my small calendar with all my phone numbers, but I was informed that the metal rings on it would not be allowed.  Yes, here it comes…my new index card notebook was permitted.  So I tore out the page of phone numbers, grabbed a lipstick and my new notebook and I was off.  Off to stand in the hallway where they let Dan out of one secured door and took me to another.  After one keypad door, 4 key locked doors, several hallways and flights of stairs I was introduced to “Cottage C,” my residence for possibly the next several nights.  There were people shuffling down the hallway of an outdated, dark, hallway with locked doors lining it.  I was overtaken by the sights and sounds, and tried to just follow my guide.  She asked me to sit in a chair and promptly disappeared.  I sat, still crying, for several minutes with no idea what i was supposed to do.  One young woman approached and asked if I was new and why I was there.  She shared that she was bipolar and had been abusing her lithium.  Two other girls walked over and there was a discussion about how long it had been since they had each done meth.  I was feeling overwhelmed, but at this point still somewhat optimistic?!?  The nurse took me back for a blood test, vitals (again), weight, and for me to pee in a cup to check for drugs.  This was starting to get real.  She made me give her my necklace to put in the safe since it could be used as a weapon.  Then she told me that they would have to check all my clothing and do what was one step shy of a full body check.  I was starting to think this may not be what I needed, but was hanging in there.  She then placed me back in the lobby area - in a contained area where I was told to stay until they decided if I needed to sleep there on a suicide watch.  Several people were laying there - unable to leave for the night.  Dinner was served with only a plastic spoon… not to worry - it was red meat which I don’t eat and I had very little appetite.  The nice staff member who delivered it offered to get me something else, but I ate the dinner roll and was fine.  A check in nurse approached and assessed me and quickly decided that I should be safe to be allowed into my room, but not to worry they would be checking in on me (and all the other patients) every fifteen minutes for the duration of my stay.  I retreated to my room… with nothing but 2 twin pine beds, two night tables, and a dresser with 4 drawers.  Everything was labeled either “A” or “B” with a white sticker which let you know what belonged to you and what belonged to your roommate.  The furniture was old, the mattresses were flimsy and sitting on pine boards, and the pillows were encased in old plastic. The room was a faded mustard yellow with lots of nicks and stains, but luckily the carpet seemed newer and possibly cleaner.  There was a faded scenic framed picture over the dresser and luckily a large window.  I could see daylight.  I had learned that I could go outside into the courtyard during “smoke breaks” which were predetermined 15 minute time frames throughout the day which many patients talked about incessantly.  The bathroom was very old.  Had a toilet with no lid, a shower and a sink - but no soap or lock on the door.  To cleanse my hands I would have to use hand sanitizer in the hallway.  This was just getting better and better.

I sat on my bed and surprise surprise - I cried.  A nurse came in and showed me where I would line up to get my meds, and then gave me a TB shot.  She smiled and told me it would be ok and then I went back to my room.  On the way I saw the lobby with all the people who had been granted permission to leave and go to the dining hall (I had not seen a doctor yet, so I wasn’t one of the lucky ones) coming back and being swiped with the metal detectors.  There were 3 phones in the lobby and you could stand in line to make a phone call and have 7 minutes to talk.I called home to talk to my girls - and ask Dan to send yoga pants and a sports bra to me, since I realized that would still make me overdressed.  I was not ready for the pajamas, robes and slippers to shuffle through the hallways as most of my fellow patients were already attired in this way.   I spoke to the girls, told them how much I loved them and that I hoped to be home soon.  Then I went back to my room and waited for what I had learned was only one of two visiting hours allowed per WEEK!  Yes, from 7-8 I could have a visitor.  A dear friend and colleague not only picked up my children from school and delivered them to my house, she was willing to drive to the other side of town and bring me my toiletries and clothes and I was going to make her stay and visit!  The nurses desk called my name and asked me if I wanted a visitor… I was thrilled.  I naively thought they would send her down.  I waited a few minutes and they told me to walk to the end of the hallway, go up the stairs and someone would direct me toward the gym. I took the 30 second walk with excitement towards the gym… I noticed the staff member who would use the metal detector to check me on my way back and realized not for the first time that I was in the wrong place.

I saw her standing there - one of the best sights I have ever seen.  My friend was sitting in a large, dilapidated gym whose walls had peeling paint and the entire place smelled damp.  There were chairs arranged just as you would see them at a prison on visiting day.  There were two chairs one for her and one for me.  It was surreal… we laughed and laughed at the ridiculousness and craziness of the situation.  I recounted some of my ordeal and asked her to smuggle me out.  I called over the nice nurse who had done my almost full body check and asked what I would need to do in order to leave.  Since i had been admitted voluntarily I really thought we’d be able to proceed.  She matter of factly told me that I would have to wait and talk to my doctor in the morning and he would be the only one able to discharge me.  Reality sunk in.  I was going to have to spend the night here.  I handed my friend the rest of my jewelry and then begged her to call Dan and let him know exactly what the situation was like.  I hugged her goodbye and began my sad, lonely walk back to my “cottage.”  After being swiped, front and back, I was let back into my hallway to waste an hour until I could line up at my pod to get my night meds (the same 25mg pill I take every night).  I started by using my folded up lifeline of phone numbers to place several calls begging for people to help me get out as soon as possible.  I even left a message for the psychiatrist I had seen that morning.  I realized some people didn’t pick up because it was an unknown number on their caller id.  After my 7 minute turn, and a chance to say good-night to Dan, I wandered to the bookshelf that the admissions staff member had told me would have plenty for me to read (I had been told that my kindle was not permitted) and found if filled with books about the new testament, old romance novels and the one I ended up picking up at 4 in the morning entitled Fibromyalgia and the Mind Body Spirit Connection.  This happened to be the most interesting choice and it kept me occupied for several minutes, until I realized it was 15 years old and most probably the information was out of date.  Not to mention I am not a sufferer, but have a friend that may have benefitted from my time in Cottage C.   At this point I was ready to stand in line and get my meds.  The lines form and move slowly, and then the only place to go was either to sit in the lobby area or head back to my bed.  After glancing around at the people I could hang out with in the lobby (the recovering heroin addict going thru withdrawal, the babbling older gentleman with a psychiatric diagnosis, several teenage girls dealing with drugs/alcohol and multiple other people) I decided that my mustard yellow room seemed like a great idea!  Luckily by that point my bag of belongings (with my makeup bag that we had understood I could bring having been unknowingly confiscated) had been delivered to my bed.    I discovered the wonderful notes and photos and albums my family had enclosed and wept (i used another word) happy and sad tears.

I sat on my bed and then my roommate came in.  We didn’t speak for a few minutes other than saying “hi.”  We were assessing each other and she disappeared to shower.  After coming out dressed and having a few awkward moments we discovered we were in the same boat, suffering from similar issues (but also VERY different) and feeling out of place.  “J” and I became inseparable and made each other’s time tolerable.  We talked for a while and then headed to bed.  As I pulled down my blanket I discovered there were large holes in my threadbare sheet… 9 of them.  And my pillowcases were rather dirty.  I went out to the nurses desk, and the helpful (but slightly annoyed) staff member told me she’d bring me new ones.  When she delivered them, she looked at the pillows and suggested they may have only been stained, not dirty!  I wasn’t taking any chances.  I changed the pillowcases and then started to make the bed with my new sheets.  The new ones only had 2 holes so I figured I had lucked out.  

After the lights in the lobby area were dimmed, the phones turned off and and the activity room locked, I laid my newly arrived sweatpants from home over my newly cased plastic pillows and attempted to lay down.  At this point I had forgotten that I would be checked on EVERY 15 MINUTES.  I quickly remembered this when the guard with the flashlight started coming into our room… EVERY 15 MINUTES.  I attempted to sleep for about an hour or two (lost count of how many times I saw the guard and there were no clocks in the entire place except above the nurses station) and then gave up.  I got dressed and sat in the dark crosslegged on my bed.  Was trying not to be creepy and look at sleeping “J”, but didn’t know what to do.  The guard saw that I was awake and said nothing the first 4 times he came in.  Then finally about 4 a.m. he came in and told me that I was actually allowed to come and sit in the dark lobby.  I roamed the lobby and came across the book on Fibromyalgia (see above) and read it for a few minutes before abandoning it for a 511 point dot-to-dot of Albert Einstein.  I was rocking!  During this time I was befriended by Bob, a 45 year old man suffering from bi-polar disorder.  According to him, he had been here 8 nights and it was the 8th time he had been hospitalized.  He was a human jukebox and entertainment guru.  He and I talked music and old tv shows like “Kate and Allie” until we were allowed into the activity room when it was unlocked at 6 am.  Bob made me coffee and served me graham crackers and nicknamed me “Weirdo.” - He reminded me of a cross between Jack Nicholson and Jack Black… and was loud, but entertaining.  I could tell that most people don’t give him the time of day, so he was enjoying our conversations.  I learned about his niece, family and lots more.  He encouraged me to go outside with the smokers to a non-smoking patio and it ended up being great being in the fresh air with several other people.  We went back inside at the scheduled time into the activity room where we met a new patient… “C”.  “C” was delivered in an ambulance this morning and was dealing with both anxiety and detox.  She was loud and combative and claimed to be very knowledgeable in many subjects.  She befriended me as well… I was feeling like a lucky girl.  We all went together to have our vitals taken and back once more to the activity room for a delicious breakfast.  I do believe one of the components was wallpaper paste.  I downed two more cups of coffee.  At this point I still had not met a case manager or my psychiatrist.  

During breakfast my name was called and I was told that I had to go wait in the lobby by the central desk for blood work.  No one told me they were going to take 5 vials of blood or why. But I didn’t really have a choice, by this point I felt unable to even think about advocating for myself… we were shuffled from place to place.  After bloodwork we were allowed outside for another “smoke break” which I enjoyed with both “J” and Bob.  We came back in just in time to loiter around the lobby (our rooms were locked so we had no other place to go but the lobby or activity room).  I asked to be let into my room so I could use the bathroom.  That was not allowed.  I was told that there was a common bathroom in the lobby, but I knew from hanging around the lobby that a woman had gone in and clogged it and that the staff had called the “engineering department” to fix it but that had yet to happen.  When I mentioned that, I was still not allowed back into my room, but they did escort me into the nurses room where I had peed in a cup the day before.  One staff member waited outside the door for me to finish.  I then had to go to our daily goal meeting in the activity room.  This was a time for me to fill out a daily form telling if I was having suicidal thoughts and what my mood was and my goals for the day and how I would feel about achieving them.  It was technically not a meeting as no one talked other than to pass out pens and pick them back up.  If I had been honest I would have told them that my suicidal thoughts (or homicidal ones) would majorly increase if I had to remain there much longer.  Fortunately I am smart enough to know that that would only prolong my stay.  I made my goal getting out of Cottage C a.s.a.p. and wrote that I would feel euphoric if that were to happen.  As I was finishing up I was summoned to meet with my psychiatrist.  I bounded around the now familiar central desk and waited to be escorted into the consult room.  There I found Dr. N who had been requested for me by my psychiatrist.  He was wonderful!  I looked at him and immediately said - “I don’t belong here.” He said he thought he agreed, but we would need to talk.  So we talked for about 10 minutes and he asked me some questions and basically agreed with me.  He did want to talk to my regular psychiatrist so I could be released today.  I looked at him and asked “you mean this morning? right?”  He promised it would be soon, but told me that I’d have to follow my patient schedule until I was discharged.  I was trying not to get too excited.  I immediately called Dan to tell him the news, and maybe a few more friends!  After morning meds and another break for fresh air, my roommate and I followed the crowd down the hallway and up a flight of stairs for a mandatory grief/loss session.  

With J on one side of me and Bob on the other (and “C” just a few seats away) I knew that it would take all my self-control to not get kicked out for giggling.  J had already found out that she was going to be released and we were waiting on my fate.  Luckily 10 minutes into the meeting my name was called by a guard with a clipboard.  I was informed that Dr. N wanted to see me.  It took a lot of restraint not to hug and kiss him when he gave me the good news!  I got so excited until I was told that it was not going to be imminent… I would have to wait until I met with my case manager before I could be released.  I was more than slightly confused since I had not even initially met him/her yet.  But procedures are procedures and I was forced to follow them.  I tried to pick up the phone to let Dan know I was official, but since groups were still going off the phones were dead… ugghhhhh. I was told I needed to return for the rest of my group.  I sat back down between J and Bob and he nodded off… snoring loudly.  I didn’t want to wake him, and luckily I didn’t have to… he came to and yelled out “Cloud Nine… George Harrison” and we were back!  “C” interrupted the facilitator to share her feelings loudly every two minutes.  She was uncomfortable and unstable and unsettled and made sure that we all knew… over and over.  We listened to the facilitator who was not too strong and seemed easily flustered - especially whenever “C” opened her mouth.  J and I struggled not to make eye contact and actually learned a little in the session.  Not a total loss.  Break time came and the phones were back on! I lept across the room to call him and he was nice enough to offer to come and wait in the main institute lobby so that he could whisk me away at the first moment I was discharged.  At the time I don’t think he realized quite how important this was to me.   

Group Therapy was next.  This would be where I finally met and said good-bye to my case manager.  I sat in the room and realized that I was the only one in the room not on either the dual track (addiction and psych) or just addiction.  We had to answer a line of questions that made sense to me.  (paraphrasing them here… don’t remember if I mixed them up at all)

• Name
• Why are you here?
• What’s your mood today?
• Have I had any suicidal or homicidal thoughts today?
• Am I having any medication issues/symptoms?
• Am I having any withdrawal issues/symptoms?
• What is my release plan?

We went around the circle sharing the list of answers.  That took most of the time and then “therapy” time was over.  There was nothing therapeutic about the group session, but lucky for me I was able to introduce myself after the session to N, my case manager.  She smiled and I asked her to please release me, as Dr. N had told me she would.  I was informed that she did not do that… he would have to do it.  Imagine my surprise! I rushed to the central desk and asked.  A rude nurse informed me that the Dr would have to write the discharge papers and she was ready to dismiss me from her sight.  I insisted that he told me I was going home and after a small argument she shuffled through some papers and then admitted that I was in the stack to be processed.  After another 45 minutes I was called to wait in line to sign my discharge papers.  Dan was called and instructed to the door to meet me.  I was allowed into my room to gather my things and then was able to get my makeup bag out of the locker (upon opening this at home I discovered it was not simply confiscated and locked up - approximately $70 worth of cosmetics were simply gone).  I spotted Dan approaching and waiting to be let in through 2 sets of locked doors.  I quickly hugged J who was on the phone calling for her ride home, and rushed to greet Dan and get back to the real world.