It has been a long time coming. I hit the brick wall. Fell out of the tree. Smashed through the stained glass window! I lost all my money in a dodgy hand in poker. I am broken and burned. It has taken me a solid 8 months of deterioration to hit rock bottom and I have hit it with ten tonnes of force.
Last week I had my last meeting with the new psychiatrist at the local Community Mental Health. I have seen three doctors in the last eight months and each time was a first visit. So we talked my history, my diagnosis and my current symptoms. I would leave with a small tweak of my medications but NO follow up. My case worker has been with me over the last six years and knows my full history and been the person I talk to when I’m worried about myself. I spoke with her early last week and said I really desperately need to see a doctor and I could feel the walls coming in on me. It was organised that I see the doctor with my case worker and MC on the Friday at lunch time.
I was barely holding on. I was frantic and anxious and really frustrated that I was so unsafe in myself. Yep I had lost all reasoning and felt worthless and I knew that by the end of the day I would have taken my life. I was now certain I needed to be hospitalised. The doctor immediately contacted the local ward and I was on my way. MC drove me home and I packed. I cried and cried and heaved and snotted and cried. The worst part was that living in the bay we have no one we could leave the kids with. Not one damn person we trusted enough to watch them, which meant they had to come with me to the ward and drop me off.
The hospital was 25 minutes away and the whole drive there was me having a massive panic attack and all the crying, messy tears and with my two youngest kids in the car, and every time I asked MC if this was the right thing to do… all he could say was “I don’t know?” which wasn’t very helpful.
The walk to relinquish my freedom was in slow motion. I was struggling to breathe and using my scarf to wipe my whole face. It was a very quick goodbye with MC and the kids as they were going to come back and see me on Saturday for a family BBQ that the ward was running. It was difficult to walk through the deadlocked doors and when the lock made the locking sound behind me I realised I was now in a foreign world… but hopefully it would be a safe one.
I have always been a diary keeper since I could write and if you wanted a good set of notes just send me to the lecture or drop me at the seminar. This has always helped me with retaining info and holding grudges as I always had a written reminder years after the fact. I kept timed and detailed entries over the five days I was ‘AWAY’. They will come in handy over the next few entries here. My first entry is as follows:
All it took was my desperate plea for help to get me sent swiftly off to the MHU (Mental Health Unit) in Maryborough. This is one of the hardest decisions I have ever made and having MC and the kids drop me off was worse. I’m scared…… #anxious #sad #condemned. I need to become hopeful that when I leave here I’ll be well again. I can’t do this for anyone but myself. I am worried the help that I need will take everything out of me and will I be able to survive * drugs provided to help me sleep * 30 min window till I pass out.
Five days have passed and I’m home for now which I’m grateful for. I’m still lost but I have been given a treatment plan and although I was adamant that I didn’t want to go though ECT again I know that it is the fastest way to get me well. I consented to eight rounds of treatment. This means in a month’s time, I should be a happy bipolar person. I’ll share some more of my MHU Diary entries soon.
A work in progress!