Also known as “venting.”
The last couple of weeks has sucked. I wish I could put words to just how much it has sucked. Actually, I could try, but it would mostly be me blubbering and ending the story with “and then I landed in the hospital for 4 nights.” To be clear, not just any hospital: a locked psychiatric ward. Where, to add further insult to injury, I had to wear a “suicide prevention smock” for my first 24 hours.
Long story short, I emailed my therapists on Wednesday letting them know I was feeling a little suicidal and that if I didn’t bring it up we should talk about it in session. Renfrew staff freaked, nearly committed me; outpatient therapist freaked, made me go into the ER. So I spent one night in the ER explaining to a psychiatrist why I was so damned depressed and the following three nights in the psych ward explaining to every freaking staff member who asked why I was so damned depressed.
Basically, I went off my meds.
I’m back on them now, but to be clear — I don’t feel a whole heck of a lot different than I did last Friday. Actually, I might even feel worse because during our session today, after about 45 minutes and some talking in circles, my therapist told me that I “don’t want it” — recovery, that is. And told me that until I want it and want it enough to really work for it, that I shouldn’t come back and see her. So we canceled all my outstanding appointments.
Oh, and did I mention that Renfrew discharged me, too, because that is standard practice when you go into the hospital?
I left my therapy appointment today crying thinking, “That’s it. I lost. This thing is going to kill me one way or another.”
And in my current state of mind, I can’t even make myself care.