(Continued from last post)
Let me start off by saying thank you… thank you for reading, for your time, and for keeping an open mind. For a long time I couldn’t talk about this for various reasons of fear and judgment. I know that some people may not be able to handle this with an open mind, and that is ok. Because this is my story, my journey, my success, my growth and my hard self loving work. It isn’t easy to be raw, open, honest, and vunerable. I honor my journey and I hope that you will too.
Yep, there is was… in a drawer just laying there… a gun. In my heightened state of adrenaline, anxiety, worry and confusion the first thought that ran across my mind other than thinking something was physically wrong with me was “OMG what if I hurt myself with this.” At the time I thought holy hell Brooke you’re bat shit crazy and something is seriously wrong with you. But now looking back I realized that it wasn’t that I wanted to do harm to myself or anyone or anything, it was a spontaneous, irrational thought that shot (no pun intended) through my consciousness. But for me in that moment it was the worst effing thing possible. It was the craziest thing possible, so I held on to that. Almost feeling like that was my truth. Oh, but it wasn’t.
I immediately called my husband freaking out. Thank God my son was in school!!! I didn’t feel safe. I felt paranoid, scared, alone, and like i had no idea who or what I was anymore. Everything was terrifying to me, everything was so… foreign. I tried to keep calm but the more I did the more I isolated myself. I sat like this for two days. I sat in a constant state of fear, obsessive crazy thoughts, feeling like I was insane, adrenaline pumping through my body, chest pain, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, my heart was literally racing, the thoughts never-ending. Thoughts of “OMG i have lost my mind” “I am a crazy person” “I am not worthy” “If I thought about offing myself I must want to do it right?” “What sane person thinks crazy stuff” It was paralyzing, it hurt emotionally and physically.
So that second day I had enough and I went to the hospital. Looking back, ehhhh probably not the best choice. But what else was I going to do? I admitted myself and my family was there to support me. Of course I am sure they thought I had taken something (although I don’t do drugs… I barely drink). The doctors for sure thought I was on something. They tested me for everything and realized… yea this girl is not lying. I was honest with them about everything even the thoughts. And they ended up transporting me by medic to a different hospital where I would stay under observation.
The ambulance ride was mortifying and embarrassing… not to mention stressful. I didn’t realize how many A-holes ride the rear of medical vehicles… its RUDE! Anyhow, I get to the other hospital and I feel calmer. In my mind I think “OK I am where I need to be to get help.” WRONG. The admission process took 3 hours and I swear there were legit CRAZIES in there. I remember trying to make light of the situation with a nurse and he asked do you always crack jokes or are you just nervous. Hmmm, I had never thought of that… but hell yea a was scared shitless.
Finally, I was admitted. They had to literally strip search me before I got a room (that was fun) and it almost felt like jail. I had a room that was connected to what was like a common living area. There was a desk with 24 hour nurses to watch over us. I was so alone. I remember crying in my room not wanting to come out, thinking “This is my life, this is my destiny. They might as well put me in a padded cell.” I remember crying saying I want my boys (my husband and son). Thinking what the EFF is going on with me. And asking myself will I ever feel or be normal again.
Just like in the movies I had to attend groups, I had to eat, and I was FORCED to take their meds. For the first couple days I didn’t come out unless I had to. I wasn’t eating or anything. I couldn’t, I fell into a deep depression. They made me talk to one of the associated Psychiatrists, so I did. Thinking ok maybe this will help. I remember trying to explain everything to her and feeling like she was hearing me but not listening to me. She told me “You need the thoughts to stop. I will give you something” I remember telling her I don’t even take Advil and I can not take something that’s going to alter my frame of mind anymore because that will trigger more anxiety and panic. The panic was so horrifying to me. It was like an irrational out-of-body experience that I had not control over (or I thought) and that scared the total shit out of me. I was told if I didn’t do what they said; take the meds, eat, join the groups I wouldn’t go home.
The place was ok… a bit scary. It wasn’t filled with crazy people… I guess there was another floor for that. But, the people who were in there were either arrested by cops, detoxing off heroin, or forgot to take their bi-polar meds. I realized I didn’t fit the mold. So, reluctantly I did what they said. Because I realized they weren’t going to help me. They were just going to put a band-aid on me… they were going to pacify me and get me out. They didn’t care about me. The first night I took whatever the hell they gave me my eyeballs felt like they were going to pop out of my face. My entire face felt like it was on fire and its was fire engine red. My blood pressure shot through the roof. Yet again I began to panic.
Finally after like 4 or 5 days I went home. Still filled with panic and anxiety. I had no clue what was going on with me and I felt like everyone knew I was “crazy”. I felt insecure, judged and worst of all labeled. I couldn’t go home. I had to stay at my parents because for some reason I didn’t feel safe, I guess you could say my house was ground zero for me.
I kept seeing the Dr. from the hospital in her regular office. I didn’t like her. I still had the same feelings about her as I did when she barely listened to me when I was at the hospital. She kept medicating me and for some reason (maybe desperation) I kept taking the meds. They made me feel out of it. I couldn’t think straight. I was very mentally foggy and slow. I looked and acted drugged and rightfully so. I knew I was getting no where with this Dr or these meds. So, I sought help elsewhere. I found an amazing psychotherapist and started to work with her. She made me feel safe and of course in the beginning I questioned everything she told me. She told me that I wasn’t crazy, and what I was going through although seemed horrific, really wasn’t. And I didn’t need meds! It was a result of me abusing my body and it’s stress level, holding onto things that I shouldn’t have, and decompressing from a stressful few years. But all I just wanted was to feel normal… I wanted this to all go away. But boy did I have my work cut out for me. I had to dig deep, and come to a lot of life changing revelations…. The work I had to do was a lot but it totally changed me for the better.
(To be continued)
