The Thoughts, They Continue
I swear it's not all as bad as you think it is. It can actually be much worse. Where do I even begin? I'm not sure. Being certain about such things is an important part of this life. One would think it would be at least. I mean come on now, you want to be sane. Doesn't everyone want to be sane?
It doesn't always happen that way though. Unfortunately. There are some days that are better than others and other days that are worse than some. If you can believe it. Medications help you get through the hard days, I can attest to that fact.
Chemical Imbalance
So what exactly happens? Well it's a chemical imbalance in the brain. That's where it all begins. You don't have control over that chemical imbalance. I mean it would be nice if you did right? Well you don't. You have to accept that, and you have to accept the fact that you'll be on medications to help stabilize that imbalance; and you'll probably be on those medications for the rest of your life.
Sometimes the medications stop working. So you have to switch it up a little. If that happens it's okay. Trust me, I've been there. It's okay to ask for help too. Those who love you are standing by waiting to help you. They won't think you're weird or that you're a creep or a loser. They have got your back.
Therapy
Seeing a therapist has its advantages. They are there to listen to your problems and are able to help you figure out things to put in your toolbox to help you the next time you are feeling anxious, or suicidal, or whatever. Anxiety is such a mind numbing thing to experience. Things kick in you weren't expecting and then you act on it. Or you freeze. either way, this life doesn't quite make perfect sense. These things that happen to us don't make sense either. We have to learn how our body and mind reacts to each of these in order to survive.
Things that I had in my toolbox when I was going to a therapist were:
- Meditation
- Breathing Exercises
- Journaling
There were more, but I can't think of what they are at the moment. I think these were the ones that stuck out the most in my mind. They tend to work for me most of the time.
Hospitalization
I've been hospitalized four times for mental illness. Each time the hospital staff were amazing. One time I went at night, and it was getting close to eight or nine p.m. the nurses were so kind. I remember one nurse that was very polite and patient with me. I was obviously having a difficult time and they could see that. Thank goodness they knew what to do with me.
It wasn't an easy thing being in the hospital the first time. But I felt among my own people. Those who were also having problems like I was having. That's all there was to it. People who had genuine issues in life like I did. Some people had it worse than I did, some had it easier. Either way, we were all having problems that needed to be taken care of. Granted there is no permanent solution to any of this. But medications do help. As long as you stay on top of your medications and take them, the easier to deal with this illness is.
My Stay In The Mental Hospital
So, not everyone can say they've stayed a week, let alone two, in the Behavioral Health unit of a hospital. That's the place you go when you're having suicidal thoughts and possible actions.
I never thought I would have done that myself, but well there I was sitting in the ER having blood drawn and questions asked of me. How did I get to this place in my life, am I using drugs etc.
The room I was in initially was void of any electrical equipment. Literally anything I could have used to harm myself had been removed from the room. A security guard was waiting outside the door in case I decided to bolt and make a run for it, or something. Basically he was there to keep me safe.
They made me put on a yellow hospital gown, which didn't have any strings. You'll get used to the no strings at all thing in a moment. You couldn't have any strings at all. Shoelaces were removed, any strings in PJs or Sweat Pants were cut out, belts were taken away. Any possible chance of hanging yourself was out of the question.
After talking with a social worker and letting them know I was admitting myself, I waited for what seemed like an eternity. I simply waited for a room to be made ready upstairs on the third floor.
Once a room was made ready, I was taken to that third floor via an elevator only staff had access to. It was a short elevator ride, that wasn't so bad.
Once I got up to the third floor, more questions were asked. Some were duplicates from the ones downstairs. Nope, still don't smoke, thanks for asking.
As they were asking me these questions, they went through my belongings I brought to make sure I didn't include something which could be considered a weapon. They put my clothes in my room.
After the questions, I was taken to my room and was asked to disrobe in front of two nurses. So naked I got. They made sure I didn't have any bruises anywhere etc. that my skin was devoid of any kind of abuse, which it was.
As it was late in the night, I went to bed, this was my second journey to the psych unit...I slept good that night. I was safe, felt safe, nothing could get to me. It was a nice feeling.
The Music Still Plays
Life comes at us when we really least expect it to. Something goes a bit wonky, and we are left to put the pieces back together. The music simply continues to play on without stopping. Life doesn't stop because you are having a difficult time to get through something. Life doesn't just give up. It has to keep flowing for all the other billions of people around the world. It would be quite odd if everything just stopped because one person's heart gave way.
So, life doesn't work that way. Good to know. What are we to do with the broken pieces of a heart that's holding together with duct tape and hope? Can a person live off of hope alone? I'm not sure. I imagine one could really wish that would work out...if it does, great. If it doesn't? Then there could be other issues down the road. Who knows. Whatever the case, life continues to move on. The music still plays.
