Sunday, May 3, 2015

Emergency.

My original blog post disappeared and I was very sad.  I spent a lot of time writing this particular piece, and reflecting upon my time at the ER and about what led to me needing to be there in the first place.  The general consensus of the medical professionals was that I needed more intensive treatment for my depression.  What were at the very least, fairly "normal" feelings for me on a monthly basis, were not something the PA, the nurses, or the HCRS professional could grasp as normal, or even "okay" in any way.  They said they had admitted people for much less than what I was telling them and what I had done... But I'm intelligent about my PMDD and depression, and I understand that situational stress can push me over an emotional cliff, if it's serious enough... and it has been many times... I had just never texted my EMT sister to ask her about the shit I had taken, when I was in the process of passing out.  I guess I knew it was something more serious--the feeling of not wanting to wake up.  It was more than a not caring, or being careless; I consciously hoped that I would not wake up.  I wanted to sleep, and not feel anything, and I hoped that relief lasted forever.  So, anyway... here's the beginning of the old post... that's all that was retrievable from the blog feed:

"I used to welcome sleep; I looked forward to sleep. Sometimes, being awake seemed so unbearable in my worst emotional and psychological states of PMDD, I would feel relief and even mild (yet tired) excitement if I were able to get into bed early and could drift off into another world easily... I liked dreaming. Being in bed *all day* maybe takes away the respite of bedtime. Laying on my bed for hours in daylight, staring at the wall, or doing something mindless because I am unable to close my eyes, exacerbates depression, and makes sleep more difficult at night. If you can get out of bed, do it... do it. Don't stay in bed all day.  Get out.  I can't sometimes..."


I'll try and fill it in, as I remember it.  I figure that can be therapeutic, right?  Let's do it!  Alrighty...

...I can't get out of bed, because I'm frozen in a feeling of apathy, that is impenetrable.  I don't care if I move or breathe or do anything.  I feel nothing.  When I feel nothing I still have a sense of all that I am missing, and I sink deeper into the mattress and hide further under the quilt.  And that night, I really just wanted to go to sleep, after a day that didn't feel so great...  And I know I wrote about how awful it feels to be a mother and to love my children so desperately, and so deeply, yet still feel the urge to sleep the big sleep...


Wow...  I can't go back a write something I've already let out of my system.  I know that the concern was the "impulsivity" of my actions.  I would drink and take sleeping pills, and prescription pill all together, without a thought of the outcome--Impulsive in the not caring what would happen.  When you feel trapped, even if it's in your own mind, you just want out.  Sleep is an out.  "Make me sleep" I can think, but then the not worrying about waking up was an issue for the second shift, (midnight to deep into the early morning), PA in the ER, who was also named Sam.  And so I sat there, in a propped up hospital bed, with an IV and monitors, making sure my organs weren't going to shut down, for over 5 hours, wide awake.  The nurse was surprised, after all that sleeping medicine and the sedatives that I would not pass out.  I told them I had thrown up as much as I could before I got there.  That didn't seem to matter.  It was that I had done it in the first place, and that I had known I had taken enough to need to throw up too...

And Finally, Sam the PA, who was sitting on a stool next to me, alone, (after Sam left to get some personal items for me at home), said he could only put it into the perspective that if I were his family, if "You were my family, if I were that Sam," he said pointing at my Sam's empty chair, "I would want to want to be alive, and I would want you treated for this depression as aggressively as possible."  I told him I understood, but I tried to explain how PMDD would mean that I would be feeling better, less impulsive, I thought, within a day.
I agreed to stay the night there, and sleep, instead of going to an inpatient facility, and I was moved to a hallways, where there were little room, with a heavy sliding glass doors, and a security guard sitting outside the room.  It was quiet.  There was an elderly woman with dementia in the room across from me who was being taken off of a medication, and she had become aggressive in her assisted living facility and was now sedated and sleeping, I found out later, when her daughter came to visit her the next day, wondering what she would do next, what was there to do next....

 The nurse brought me warmed blankets and said, "goodnight, try to sleep," and after asking the security guard to show me how to lower the bed so it was not in an almost sitting position, and asking him if he thought scratching poison ivy made it spread, (I couldn't stop scratching my legs--he whispered in that the internet said that scratching wouldn't make it spread), I laid down on the blue vinyl mattress, covered with a white sheet, and I covered my legs with a blanket, and hugged one that was still warm against my chest, and I started to fall asleep... It felt safe and good.  I felt safe and sleepy... but as I drifted off, I realized I still didn't care if I woke up.








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