Lost -- In the system
The scariest day(s) of my life happened in April of 2013. Which makes me sad because my best friend's birthday is in April, so I typically think of it as a very happy month. Unfortunately, this year that was not the case.
It was my best friend's birthday party on Saturday night and I had just seen my previous psychiatrist on Friday afternoon. I was experiencing side effects (uncontrollable tongue movements) of my Geodon (an anti-psychotic). My old psychiatrist advised me to go off of my 120mg dose altogether (literally in one day - just stop taking it).
I know what some of you who are more versed in the world of medications and/or mental illness are thinking right now -- JUST QUIT?! YOU NEED TO WEEN OFF OF IT, NOT STOP COLD TURKEY!!!!
I know right?!
I was scared though. This is the first time I have ever experienced such strange side effects from any medication before, and I (at the time) felt comfortable and trusted my psychiatrist to know what she was talking about.
So I did.
(Please don't do anything like this without consulting your doctors, and if you are unsure about quitting cold turkey, get a second opinion!)
I stopped my Geodon on Friday night and barely slept through the night. I experienced all kinds of withdrawal symptoms. I shivered, I ran a temperature, I was sick to my stomach, I sweat, I shook, I didn't sleep. It. Was. Awful.
The next day I awoke - getting about 3 hours of sleep total throughout the night - and I was crabby. Not only for the sleep aspect, but the Geodon was my mood stabilizer -- In my mind, it basically kept me from going to low or to high, and at a more happy medium of smaller cycling instead.
The day wore on and I was hesitant to attend my friend's party, but my husband insisted that we go since she is our best friend. He didn't know how hard I was trying to cover up the urge to scream at everyone and everything. So we went.
I was bitchy and judgmental the whole night. I got drunk, made some very rude comments to some people that I love to the moon and back now, and I felt like shit. I could feel the darkness pooling around my ankles, ready to scoop me up in a big black garbage bag -- confining me - holding me - suffocating me.
We made it back to my friend's place and Matt was fed up with my bad attitude. So we were fighting and I decided I couldn't be around people anymore, so I drove home (NOT SMART!).
That night I slept alright because I had been drinking. The next day (Sunday) I woke up feeling like crap from drinking and lack of medication and went back to get Matt.
I was okay for most of the day, but by evening, I was floundering.
I was seeing things in the shadows when I would try to sleep, I cried and cried, my body ached, I locked myself in the bathroom, clutching my bottle of sleeping pills in my hands so tight, my knuckles cracked a little.
Eventually, I came out of the bathroom and told Matt I needed to go to the Emergency Room and get back on my medications, and if I didn't -- I don't think I would make it through the night.
So we drove to the closest ER at the time and they admitted me and kept me in the ER overnight, and gave me the 120mg of Geodon I had gone two nights without. Matt left in the morning to go to work, and I awoke with a police officer outside of my room.
It was scary. I was alone. I didn't know what to expect next. And the officer kept glancing at me -- and I'm sure now he was just checking on me, but I felt so estranged from the staff and from the officer. I felt out of the loop and judged. I felt judged the whole time.
No one came to talk to me to tell me how long I would be there. What was going on. Where I was going next. Or what was to come.
I was alone.
I buzzed the nurse numerous times. Sometimes I felt as if she just wouldn't come in because she didn't know the right words to say to me, or what to tell me. But I wanted answers, good or bad. So I was persistent.
Finally, after an hour and a half of buzzing, she came in and told me they were waiting for a room to open for me next door.
I relaxed into my bed, thinking about a nice private room with a television, and help. Where Matt could come after work and stay until evening. Where I could call my parents and tell them everything was alright and they could come and visit me.
Two men came with a stretcher to transfer me to the other building. I told them I could walk, but they avoided eye contact and told me it was protocol. Matt had come back by this time and he watched as they lifted me onto the stretcher. Then, they strapped my wrists, shoulders, head, legs, and ankles down in front of everyone walking around the ER. I never felt more embarrassed in my life! Like I was some kind of Hannibal-esque threat to them! I just needed one night of Geodon and then I would be fine again.
They brought me all over and finally released me and had me walk for myself past two doors that closed with a powerful magnetic clunk.
I entered a room with about 12 people in it all dressed in maroon scrubs you might say. They looked like inmates to me.
A nurse pulled me off into another room by the entrance. She took my blood pressure, temp, and asked what brought me here -- wherever here was.
She then made me remove my clothing in front of her and change into the same maroon scrubs. I wasn't allowed underwear or a bra - for fear of hurting myself or others with it.
I asked where my husband was, because he followed right behind us.
She replied that visiting hours were from 7pm to 8pm, and that was all. She advised that I take a shower because I "stunk" (her actual words).
There was a phone bank of phones that worked for 15 minutes, so I called Matt and asked if he could come at 7pm and bring me some shower supplies. He agreed to it and apologized profusely for not being able to come in.
I hung up, looked around and dragged my empty carcass of a body to the nearest table and chair. Then -- I sobbed.
I cried harder than I had ever cried in my life.
Two women in maroon approached me and slid a box of kleenex across the table. They smiled weakly and shared their stories of their first day, and how they were told nothing of what was happening. They advised me to go to the front desk down the hall and ask about when I would get to see the psychiatrist.
So I did.
The nurses at the desk were kind. Pity I suppose. They got to go home to their families every night.
They told me I would see the psychiatrist tomorrow and that I was on a 72 hour hold for suicide watch. The psychiatrist would determine how early I would be able to leave, if it would be before the 72 hours were up.
I relaxed a little, still sniffling and shivering from the sobbing and the shock of it all.
Matt showed up later with my shower supplies. When visiting hours were over, he left and I decided to shower.
Luckily they were private.
It felt good to shower. I finished up and had to return my supplies to the office where they admitted me. I asked for my brush to comb through my hair and the nurse laughed at me. I asked again, and she completely ignored me this time. So I walked away and used my fingers to comb through my hair. (Talk about painful, and ineffective for combing.) I noticed all of the other people had semi-frizzy hair as well, so I felt more like I fit in at this point. (As much as one can feel they fit in to a situation like this!)
Dinner was served and that was fine. Then they passed out medications for everyone through a small and very protected window, and then it was bedtime.
I had a nice roommate, but I could tell she was struggling.
I went to my cot and "snuggled" under the blanket.
It takes me a long time to fall asleep, so a couple of hours later, I heard a strange noise in our room. I rolled over and look at my roommate, who was standing in the dark next to the wall. Suddenly, she lifted her fist and began to knock on the wall. For what seemed like an eternity, I watched somewhat curiously and somewhat terrified as my roommate went all around the room, knocking on the walls and doorways.
I must have drifted off to sleep at some point because I woke up to a nurse standing over my bed asking me if he could take my blood pressure. I sat up and agreed.
He was very kind. He also gave me a piece of advice that I took to heart. He told me, "The more normal you act, the sooner they may let you out."
So, I got out of bed, ate something for breakfast when it was served, and tried my best so socialize with the other patients. It was interesting to hear their stories and what brought them in, and for how long.
Before I knew it, some people were gathered around the big magnetic doors and saying their goodbyes and hugging a girl who used to be in maroon "scrubs". She was leaving. Oh the pangs of agony and jealousy I felt for that girl. I wanted to be the one leaving.
So I approached the nurses station again and asked when I'd get to see the psychiatrist. They told me later.
I sighed and walked away.
During the phone hours, I called Matt and begged him to come visit me again. And he did. The very kind male nurse made us all super delicious and very unhealthy buttered popcorn, and we sat around and watched "Grumpy Old Men" on VHS that night.
I was finally beginning to fit in and feel more like these people in the maroon and the kind male nurse weren't judging me, but part of me, and part of a small close knit -- I don't know what you'd call us -- a family?
The night was spent the same way with my roommate again.
Early in the morning I finally saw the psychiatrist. She was very pleasant and said to me, "You don't strike me as someone who should be here."
I told her, my medications help with that appearance.
She smiled and told me I should be dismissed later that day.
WHAT JOY!
I ate my breakfast, with pep and a smile on my face! I walked around - almost danced around the place - and spoke with everyone in such a pleasing tone, everyone couldn't help but smile.
I called Matt and asked him if he could come get me when he was done with work, and he said that was fine.
As the day progressed I became more and more anxious. I had yet to hear/find out if I would for sure be released when Matt got off of work.
I approached the nurse's station and asked them about it a handful of times, but they either gave half-hearted smiles with no answers, or very indirect answers such as, "Any time now!" or "Eventually."
UGHHHHHHHHH!
I was going stir crazy. My anxiety was eating me alive.
Suddenly, I was called into the admitting room and they gave me a bag with all of my belongings in it and ordered me to change back into my street clothes.
Matt came through the big magnetic doors and I waved at the maroon patients as I walked out the doors with a smile on my face.
I practically kissed the sidewalk when I made it outside into the sunshine, but Matt wouldn't let me.
I was riding in the passenger seat as Matt drove home with the windows down, when my smile slowly began to fade.
I thought of everything that happened while I was in there, what it was like being in there, and what lead up to me being in that situation in the first place --
My psychiatrist did NOT handle my medication appropriately with me. Just because I was stable ON my medication, did not mean I would be stable OFF of my medication. That is just ridiculous! I currently am off of the Geodon now, but it has taken a couple of years to get to this point, with a lot of assistance from my wonderful therapist and a new psychiatrist.
The doctors and the nurses (or at least someone) should have taken the time to come in and explain to me while I was in the ER what was going on, where I would be going, and what it would be like. It was so traumatic, up until this very moment, I don't speak of it and have NEVER written about it.
I believe people who find it in their hearts to work with others who are living with a mental illness need a specific kind of training. Almost a kindness training - How to talk/approach/work with people who are living with a mental illness.
We are human, we can read your body language, we aren't stupid, or incapable of comprehending judgments and condescending tones. Just talk to us and treat us like a normal person.
Again, if you are reading this, and feel you can go off of your medications cold turkey, please consult ALL of your doctors/therapists/psychiatrists/social workers (WHOEVER) to get their opinions FIRST.
Be safe. Take care of yourself. See your doctors regularly. And remember. You are loved.
It was my best friend's birthday party on Saturday night and I had just seen my previous psychiatrist on Friday afternoon. I was experiencing side effects (uncontrollable tongue movements) of my Geodon (an anti-psychotic). My old psychiatrist advised me to go off of my 120mg dose altogether (literally in one day - just stop taking it).
I know what some of you who are more versed in the world of medications and/or mental illness are thinking right now -- JUST QUIT?! YOU NEED TO WEEN OFF OF IT, NOT STOP COLD TURKEY!!!!
I know right?!
I was scared though. This is the first time I have ever experienced such strange side effects from any medication before, and I (at the time) felt comfortable and trusted my psychiatrist to know what she was talking about.
So I did.
(Please don't do anything like this without consulting your doctors, and if you are unsure about quitting cold turkey, get a second opinion!)
I stopped my Geodon on Friday night and barely slept through the night. I experienced all kinds of withdrawal symptoms. I shivered, I ran a temperature, I was sick to my stomach, I sweat, I shook, I didn't sleep. It. Was. Awful.
The next day I awoke - getting about 3 hours of sleep total throughout the night - and I was crabby. Not only for the sleep aspect, but the Geodon was my mood stabilizer -- In my mind, it basically kept me from going to low or to high, and at a more happy medium of smaller cycling instead.
The day wore on and I was hesitant to attend my friend's party, but my husband insisted that we go since she is our best friend. He didn't know how hard I was trying to cover up the urge to scream at everyone and everything. So we went.
I was bitchy and judgmental the whole night. I got drunk, made some very rude comments to some people that I love to the moon and back now, and I felt like shit. I could feel the darkness pooling around my ankles, ready to scoop me up in a big black garbage bag -- confining me - holding me - suffocating me.
We made it back to my friend's place and Matt was fed up with my bad attitude. So we were fighting and I decided I couldn't be around people anymore, so I drove home (NOT SMART!).
That night I slept alright because I had been drinking. The next day (Sunday) I woke up feeling like crap from drinking and lack of medication and went back to get Matt.
I was okay for most of the day, but by evening, I was floundering.
I was seeing things in the shadows when I would try to sleep, I cried and cried, my body ached, I locked myself in the bathroom, clutching my bottle of sleeping pills in my hands so tight, my knuckles cracked a little.
Eventually, I came out of the bathroom and told Matt I needed to go to the Emergency Room and get back on my medications, and if I didn't -- I don't think I would make it through the night.
So we drove to the closest ER at the time and they admitted me and kept me in the ER overnight, and gave me the 120mg of Geodon I had gone two nights without. Matt left in the morning to go to work, and I awoke with a police officer outside of my room.
It was scary. I was alone. I didn't know what to expect next. And the officer kept glancing at me -- and I'm sure now he was just checking on me, but I felt so estranged from the staff and from the officer. I felt out of the loop and judged. I felt judged the whole time.
No one came to talk to me to tell me how long I would be there. What was going on. Where I was going next. Or what was to come.
I was alone.
I buzzed the nurse numerous times. Sometimes I felt as if she just wouldn't come in because she didn't know the right words to say to me, or what to tell me. But I wanted answers, good or bad. So I was persistent.
Finally, after an hour and a half of buzzing, she came in and told me they were waiting for a room to open for me next door.
I relaxed into my bed, thinking about a nice private room with a television, and help. Where Matt could come after work and stay until evening. Where I could call my parents and tell them everything was alright and they could come and visit me.
Two men came with a stretcher to transfer me to the other building. I told them I could walk, but they avoided eye contact and told me it was protocol. Matt had come back by this time and he watched as they lifted me onto the stretcher. Then, they strapped my wrists, shoulders, head, legs, and ankles down in front of everyone walking around the ER. I never felt more embarrassed in my life! Like I was some kind of Hannibal-esque threat to them! I just needed one night of Geodon and then I would be fine again.
They brought me all over and finally released me and had me walk for myself past two doors that closed with a powerful magnetic clunk.
I entered a room with about 12 people in it all dressed in maroon scrubs you might say. They looked like inmates to me.
A nurse pulled me off into another room by the entrance. She took my blood pressure, temp, and asked what brought me here -- wherever here was.
She then made me remove my clothing in front of her and change into the same maroon scrubs. I wasn't allowed underwear or a bra - for fear of hurting myself or others with it.
I asked where my husband was, because he followed right behind us.
She replied that visiting hours were from 7pm to 8pm, and that was all. She advised that I take a shower because I "stunk" (her actual words).
There was a phone bank of phones that worked for 15 minutes, so I called Matt and asked if he could come at 7pm and bring me some shower supplies. He agreed to it and apologized profusely for not being able to come in.
I hung up, looked around and dragged my empty carcass of a body to the nearest table and chair. Then -- I sobbed.
I cried harder than I had ever cried in my life.
Two women in maroon approached me and slid a box of kleenex across the table. They smiled weakly and shared their stories of their first day, and how they were told nothing of what was happening. They advised me to go to the front desk down the hall and ask about when I would get to see the psychiatrist.
So I did.
The nurses at the desk were kind. Pity I suppose. They got to go home to their families every night.
They told me I would see the psychiatrist tomorrow and that I was on a 72 hour hold for suicide watch. The psychiatrist would determine how early I would be able to leave, if it would be before the 72 hours were up.
I relaxed a little, still sniffling and shivering from the sobbing and the shock of it all.
Matt showed up later with my shower supplies. When visiting hours were over, he left and I decided to shower.
Luckily they were private.
It felt good to shower. I finished up and had to return my supplies to the office where they admitted me. I asked for my brush to comb through my hair and the nurse laughed at me. I asked again, and she completely ignored me this time. So I walked away and used my fingers to comb through my hair. (Talk about painful, and ineffective for combing.) I noticed all of the other people had semi-frizzy hair as well, so I felt more like I fit in at this point. (As much as one can feel they fit in to a situation like this!)
Dinner was served and that was fine. Then they passed out medications for everyone through a small and very protected window, and then it was bedtime.
I had a nice roommate, but I could tell she was struggling.
I went to my cot and "snuggled" under the blanket.
It takes me a long time to fall asleep, so a couple of hours later, I heard a strange noise in our room. I rolled over and look at my roommate, who was standing in the dark next to the wall. Suddenly, she lifted her fist and began to knock on the wall. For what seemed like an eternity, I watched somewhat curiously and somewhat terrified as my roommate went all around the room, knocking on the walls and doorways.
I must have drifted off to sleep at some point because I woke up to a nurse standing over my bed asking me if he could take my blood pressure. I sat up and agreed.
He was very kind. He also gave me a piece of advice that I took to heart. He told me, "The more normal you act, the sooner they may let you out."
So, I got out of bed, ate something for breakfast when it was served, and tried my best so socialize with the other patients. It was interesting to hear their stories and what brought them in, and for how long.
Before I knew it, some people were gathered around the big magnetic doors and saying their goodbyes and hugging a girl who used to be in maroon "scrubs". She was leaving. Oh the pangs of agony and jealousy I felt for that girl. I wanted to be the one leaving.
So I approached the nurses station again and asked when I'd get to see the psychiatrist. They told me later.
I sighed and walked away.
During the phone hours, I called Matt and begged him to come visit me again. And he did. The very kind male nurse made us all super delicious and very unhealthy buttered popcorn, and we sat around and watched "Grumpy Old Men" on VHS that night.
I was finally beginning to fit in and feel more like these people in the maroon and the kind male nurse weren't judging me, but part of me, and part of a small close knit -- I don't know what you'd call us -- a family?
The night was spent the same way with my roommate again.
Early in the morning I finally saw the psychiatrist. She was very pleasant and said to me, "You don't strike me as someone who should be here."
I told her, my medications help with that appearance.
She smiled and told me I should be dismissed later that day.
WHAT JOY!
I ate my breakfast, with pep and a smile on my face! I walked around - almost danced around the place - and spoke with everyone in such a pleasing tone, everyone couldn't help but smile.
I called Matt and asked him if he could come get me when he was done with work, and he said that was fine.
As the day progressed I became more and more anxious. I had yet to hear/find out if I would for sure be released when Matt got off of work.
I approached the nurse's station and asked them about it a handful of times, but they either gave half-hearted smiles with no answers, or very indirect answers such as, "Any time now!" or "Eventually."
UGHHHHHHHHH!
I was going stir crazy. My anxiety was eating me alive.
Suddenly, I was called into the admitting room and they gave me a bag with all of my belongings in it and ordered me to change back into my street clothes.
Matt came through the big magnetic doors and I waved at the maroon patients as I walked out the doors with a smile on my face.
I practically kissed the sidewalk when I made it outside into the sunshine, but Matt wouldn't let me.
I was riding in the passenger seat as Matt drove home with the windows down, when my smile slowly began to fade.
I thought of everything that happened while I was in there, what it was like being in there, and what lead up to me being in that situation in the first place --
My psychiatrist did NOT handle my medication appropriately with me. Just because I was stable ON my medication, did not mean I would be stable OFF of my medication. That is just ridiculous! I currently am off of the Geodon now, but it has taken a couple of years to get to this point, with a lot of assistance from my wonderful therapist and a new psychiatrist.
The doctors and the nurses (or at least someone) should have taken the time to come in and explain to me while I was in the ER what was going on, where I would be going, and what it would be like. It was so traumatic, up until this very moment, I don't speak of it and have NEVER written about it.
I believe people who find it in their hearts to work with others who are living with a mental illness need a specific kind of training. Almost a kindness training - How to talk/approach/work with people who are living with a mental illness.
We are human, we can read your body language, we aren't stupid, or incapable of comprehending judgments and condescending tones. Just talk to us and treat us like a normal person.
Again, if you are reading this, and feel you can go off of your medications cold turkey, please consult ALL of your doctors/therapists/psychiatrists/social workers (WHOEVER) to get their opinions FIRST.
Be safe. Take care of yourself. See your doctors regularly. And remember. You are loved.
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