Call Me Crazy – Part 4 – Acceptance

Being admitted into a psych ward is not all that different than being checked into a regular hospital.

You feel like shit.

Everything is white and sterile.

The doctors are dismissive, patronizing fucks (I know, not all doctors are like that).

I was placed in this little exam room and my family (my mom and wife) were asked to step outside. I’m sitting there with my arms cut up, out of my mind from extreme sleep deprivation and from the pills I’d taken. Across from me sits this nurse…or maybe she wasn’t a nurse…I don’t know if nurses handle psych hospital admissions…

…anyway…

Across from me sits this lady. She is looking at me with something that resembles concern. She sighs and nods, “Mr. Roberts, do you think you need to be here?”

What the fuck kinda question is that? “I need sleep, that’s what I need.” I’m not in the best of moods.

“Yes, but do you think you need to be here? Do you think you need help?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“We all have a choice.”

The line of questioning was bullshit and I knew it was bullshit. It was also pissing me off. I know she was trying to…I guess…LEAD me to my first step towards recovery–admitting I needed help–but it wasn’t the time. I’d been going at my arms with a razor a few hours back, I needed a breather. I didn’t have a choice as to whether I wanted to be admitted. She saw my arms. She knew I’d taken pills. If I didn’t agree then the court would place a mandatory hold on me.

“We both know I don’t have a choice now, but yeah, look at me, I guess I need to here. I need something.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear you say that.”

Whatever, lady.

I propped an elbow on the chair and put my face in my hand and closed my eyes; I was so tired.

She left and said the doctor would be seeing me soon.

I don’t know how much time passed…it wasn’t long. The doctor, a tall Indian guy with a day’s worth of stubble lining his jaw, came in with a clipboard and his glasses around the tip of his nose. “So, Mr. Roberts, seen better days?”

These fucking people.

I gritted my teeth and sat quietly while he flipped through the paperwork my wife had filled out upon my arrival.

“Not sleeping I see. Mood has been rather up and down these past few weeks?”

“Yeah, sure…”

“Any outbursts of anger? Feeling agitated?”

“Yeah, sure…”

“Unexplained sadness, crying?”

“Man…I dunno…listen, I haven’t slept. I just need to get some sleep!”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Roberts, you will sleep. Now, you been drinking a lot lately?”

“What’s a lot? What’s lately?”

“How many times a week do you drink?”

“I don’t know…depends.”

“On what?”

“How I’m feeling, I guess. I mean, I have a beer or two a day…sometimes more. If I need to get away there’s a bar I walk to and I’ll have a few.”

“What’s a few?”

“Man, I can’t think right now.”

“Okay, okay, we’ll get you taken care of, Mr. Roberts.” He scribbled on his clipboard. “Has anyone ever suggested that you may be Bipolar?”

“No. Are you suggesting that?”

“I think we’re dealing with that and some other things. I’m going to get you started on Abilify, it’ll make you feel much better. And we’ll get you some Trazadone for sleep.”

“What…wait, huh? What is all that? I was taking Ambien before.”

“No, no Ambien…we don’t want you on that. You’ll like Trazadone, you’ll see, much better for you, works better. They’ll explain everything to you after they take you back. We’ll get you feeling better. Speak with you again soon, Mr. Roberts.”

After he left the nurse lead me into a waiting area. I sat there feeling dead…all I needed was a coffin. My wife sat on one side and my mom on the other, both of them holding my hand. My mom’s boyfriend at the time was there for support as well.

But really, there was nothing anyone could have said to me at that moment that would have done a damn bit of good. I’d hit the very bottom of the barrel. For me, it was all over. I didn’t see a way back up.

When they came to get me to escort me back and it finally hit me that I was going behind locked doors and I had no idea when I’d be getting out again…I lost it. I latched onto my wife and my mom for as long as I was allowed, sobbing…never wanting to let go. Regretting everything I’d done…even though I hadn’t really done it…it was something inside of me that I didn’t know how to control.

That’s all I’ve got time to write today. Part 5 will be up soon. Sorry for the delay. Life has been crazy lately.

J.V

 

2 comments on “Call Me Crazy – Part 4 – AcceptanceAdd yours →

  1. This helps me to understand my son better. I’m not on facebook a lot so I missed your other blogs. You’re very brave to do this.

    1. This is a tough subject, for sure. Thank you for taking the time to read and to understand your son. As someone with Bipolar I can tell you that there is nothing better than someone just being willing to listen, so I’m sure it means a lot to him.

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