broken-gurl's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- & if i stare too long i'll probably break down & cry This is an update post I put on a message board. Too lazy to re-write it, yep. It's long, so if you want the short form here it is: I overdosed, spent some time in psych hospital (adult one this time), and got out today. Things are still lousy. Now here's the full story. So I posted on Saturday after I got back from the emergency room for stitches. I was in a rough state of mind, but I decided to go out & try to fill up my day. I got my cartilage pierced twice more & did two other piercings in my ears myself. I got home later that day not feeling much better, which sucked. I had a good time & I was hoping that it would help. No such luck. Things only got worse. I was having horrible thoughts and urges so I decided to go for a walk to get a coffee and a movie. I ended up at the drugstore. 'Nuff said. I bought a bottle of tylenol. I had 7 or so clonazepams with me as well. Went into the back alley & took a bunch of them. I started throwing up after about 50, but I didn't want to give up. I wanted to finish it properly. I took more, threw up more, took more, & then the throwing up overtook me & I couldn't take any more pills. I could NOT stop throwing up though. After it settled enough for me to leave the back alley, I ran to the pay phone. I wanted so badly to call my dad, but after the night before in the ER, I felt like I couldn't. So I called the Need Crisis Line. I told the woman that I had taken some pills, I couldn't stop throwing up, I was scared, and I didn't know what to do. She kept me on the line with her through me throwing up more, shaking uncontrollably, and almost passing out. Before I knew it, there was a cop and a paramedic standing over me. They took the phone and half carried me over to the ambulance. They took me to the hospital, where I got to drink not one but TWO bottles of charcoal. They had two security guards in my room ready to hold me down for a tube down my nose because I wasn't drinking it, but somehow I got it all down WITHOUT throwing up any more. I was hooked up to heart monitors, breathing monitors, a blood pressure cuff that went off like every five fucking minutes, and a pulse thing. I barely remember that night, to be honest. I remember throwing up almost constantly, I remember the heart monitor beeping alerts constantly, and I remember being half conscious. Every time I sat up, I started throwing up more. It was just HORRIBLE. They hooked me up to an I.V. which I wanted to rip out and just run off but I didn't even have the energy to do that. At some point during that night, I woke up in the elevator. The porter told me we were going up to the 4th floor. I asked the nurse when I got there, she said it was 3:30am. I was in a room with 3 very, very old people. (Seriously, the youngest one there had 65 years on me). They took blood constantly. The next morning I saw the doctor who informed me that I had done a number on my liver, again, but it looked like I was going to be okay. He also told me that my electrolytes were totally out of whack & that could endanger my heart, so they had me taking potassium for a few days. My GP, psychiatrist a social worker, and a consult psychiatrist all came in to see me. I was certified (meaning I couldn't leave) but I could barely get out of bed anyway. After a couple of days, the consult psychiatrist said she thought I could go home, so she phoned my dad. He was freaked right out & not ready to trust me at home. She came back and told me that, and that she was looking for a bed for me somewhere else. They called Ledger (the youth psych hospital where I stayed before), but because of my age (17), they would not accept me back. They called the Eric Martin Pavilion (the adult psych hospital), and there was a bed. So Tuesday night, off I went. In another ambulance. My nurse that night was incredibly nice, she made me feel almost okay. They had totally screwed around with my meds though, so my anxiety level was, and still is, through the roof. I saw the psychiatrist the next day. Stupid fucking asshole he was, and that's being nice. He wrote an order that if I hurt myself in any way, I was to be kicked out onto the street immediately. He took me off all my anxiety meds and only gave me a TINY dose of Seroquel at bedtime, which doesn't help me getting through the DAY anyways. Ugh, I hated him and I had only met him once. The next day I met with the social worker (whom I had previously worked with in Ledger) and an adolescent psychiatrist for a consult and second opinion. It was a horrible meeting, despite that the doctor was actually really nice. They didn't understand what I was trying to say and made all their recommendations on research rather than on what I was trying to tell them. It was like they didn't WANT to understand. I had a freak out that night, in the middle of which two nurses stormed into my room with doctor's orders in hand, shouting (in front of my roommate) that I had been talking to Shanna (my nurse) about self harm and had refused to hand over what I was thinking about using, and that they were half a step away from booting me out. I just sat there and cried and told them I wouldn't hurt myself. I didn't, anyway. So I stayed. They set up a meeting for all my "support people" and me and them to meet and talk about plans. That was this morning. It did not go so well, as the psychiatrist informed me that "hospital will never be the place for you. With your diagnosis and problems, there is nothing we can ever do for you. We don't have programs for people like you. Being in hospital increases your risk of suicide and self-harm and can't help you." (Sure, asshole, then why did being in Ledger for six weeks help keep me self-harm free for 8 1/2 weeks?) At any rate, they discharged me. I have a possible referral to a psychotherapy group there, but they aren't sure because of my age & current problems with self-harm. We'll see about that, anyway. The nurse took my stitches out for me, though the cut is getting pretty infected. Ick. At any rate, I do have a tiny amount of good news. I connected extremely well with a family friend recently & she came & saw me there. She has her difficulties and struggles with depression and stuff herself, so it was amazing to have someone for the first time who really knew what I was saying, really knew what I needed. She's coming over to my house tomorrow morning to see me, so I feel like I have a reason to get through the night now. Things are not going well, looking well, feeling well. They just aren't well. And I have to wait until next week to sort out the MESS they made with my meds with my psychiatrist, so somehow I have to get through until then. Problem is, I'm not sure I can. We'll see though, just taking it one day at a time. -xxx- 2:51 p.m. - 2004-06-04 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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