Photo by Oliver Roos on Unsplash

 

Well.

The last 72 hours have been very interesting. If you read my last post, you know that I’ve been exhausted. And that can be a dangerous time for anyone dealing with a mental illness.

Even though I write about depression, anxiety, and addiction (as well as life in general), and I sometimes have my shit together, I am not immune to emotional relapses. Nor am I immune to overwhelm, stress, or crises.

In the last three days, all of that hit me. And Wednesday, it came to a head.

HERE’S THE DEAL

I went to therapy on Tuesday (three days ago). I was in a dark place, as Kim noted, and I was unable to get myself out of it.

Now, this might get a little confusing, so bear with me.

I was more than a little suicidal. I didn’t tell her that (bad Laura!) because I didn’t want to end up getting an ambulance ride to the hospital. The last time that happened, it was kind of ugly.

Okay, so put that on the shelf for a moment and let me explain something…

I woke up at 7:30 the next day, after getting only three and a half hours of sleep.

And I was totally enveloped in anxiety.

Make no mistake, anxiety sucks. It’s uncomfortable and can induce panic. But it can also signal when something is awry and you need to pay attention. That’s what happened to me yesterday.

First, I should let you know that I did tell CeAnne that I was feeling “a little suicidal” Tuesday afternoon. She was concerned, of course, and asked if I needed to go to the hospital. I said something like, “I don’t think so.” Then I asked her for more help around the house when she’s feeling up to it, and she agreed. That gave me a modicum of relief.

She suggested we do some fun things together – a puzzle, coloring, etc. So I took that, stored it away, and that was that. At least she knew how I felt.

My original plan that day was to call the Hennepin County COPE team (a mobile mental health crisis team). They come out ASAP to where you are, do an assessment, and recommend treatment options. I’ve worked with them once or twice before and I think they’re awesome.

But then I changed my mind. And I was okay with that. I figured I’d be okay.

So, about that anxiety I woke up with: It was exactly – EXACTLY – the same feeling I’ve gotten in the past when I was planning on drinking. It felt like I had a humongous secret I was keeping, like I was about to do something *wrong*.

I wanted to take a Xanax immediately, because it really helps with my anxiety. But I realized that, in order to figure out what was going on, I had to sit with it for a while. And I did.

And I’m glad.

I kept thinking about attempting suicide by overdose. I tried to figure out how many pills I had access to and which ones would be most effective.

By the time lunch rolled around (we were actually socializing with some family members from California), I had made up my mind to make an attempt, only I didn’t realize it – until I woke up the next day. Weird, I know.

I felt okay the rest of the day, though I kept thinking about it. I wasn’t scared – and that was the scariest part of all. I didn’t realize that until I was talking with the COPE team and my new case manager, Sierra, on Wednesday.

Now, in the past, when I’ve told CeAnne that I have plans to drink or that I really want to, it has always defused the situation. It’s as if talking about it takes its power away. So, with this, I didn’t understand why the anxiety came. I had told CeAnne how I felt (though I was rather vague about it). Why didn’t that take its power away and help me feel better?

(For the record, suicide is constantly in the back of my mind. Sometimes, it pops up in the front of my mind, but then it goes right back to the rear. But it’s always in there, somewhere. And even though I knew it was an option this time, and a strong one at that, I didn’t know when or where I’d do it. I wasn’t necessarily planning on doing it that day.)

Most of the time, with drinking, I’ve lost the battle of “Should I tell CeAnne/call my sponsor or just go do it?” I have literally only won that battle four or five times in recent years (it’s not an issue most of the time). I used to call my sponsor after I’d drank.

But I’ve gotten much, much better about opening up and letting CeAnne know when it’s on my mind before I do anything about it. And she is a great deterrent! Once I decide to tell her, I know that I won’t go drink. I feel safe. And I’ve never regretted not drinking.

So why was this different?

AT THE HOSPITAL

COPE paid for a cab ride to my preferred hospital, which has a great psych unit. They are set up and prepared for psychiatric emergencies. The ladies from COPE even followed us there to make sure I got to “jump the line” because of the urgency of my situation. That way, I didn’t have to go to the end of the line and sit in the waiting room with the 15 other people that were having their own types of emergencies.

I got placed in the psychiatric section of the ER, where I waited in a small room with a big TV and very strange hybrid furniture made from plastic and rubber. And then I waited some more. About three hours later, they moved me to the actual psych triage area, which is actually nicer than you might expect.

I was in my own room there within another hour or so and waited for someone to do an assessment on me. (Apparently, they had a sudden influx of potential patients all at once, and I was toward the end of that line. But at least I wasn’t sitting in the ER, still waiting.)

Finally, around 9:00 p.m., the assessment guy walked in and we chatted for maybe ten minutes. I cried a little bit. He was compassionate. Turns out he did my assessment the last time I was at that unit, three years ago. Not that either of us remembered the other, it was just in my chart.

I told him what had been going on, how stressed I was, etc. but that I was not a danger to myself or anyone else. He was okay with that. He had a quick exchange with the psychiatrist on duty, Dr. Truong, who then came in for about, oh, three minutes.

He paraphrased what Mike (the assessment guy) had told him, and I’m like, “Yeah, that’s about right.” Since I felt safe going home, they let me go.

Five minutes later, I was dressed in my own clothing again (hate those Behavioral Health scrubs!), my paperwork was complete, and they were calling a cab to come pick me up.

I walked outside to wait for the cab at 10:05 p.m.

And I waited some more. 45 minutes later, the cab pulled up. You try remaining calm and patient after that kind of ordeal! I wanted to get home to my wife and cats!

I finally got home a little after 11:00.

I hugged and kissed my wife, went outside for a smoke, and she made French toast for a (very) late dinner. We went to bed at 1:00 in the morning.

NOW WHAT?

Yesterday started out okay. The previous 24  hours are still one big blur, almost like a dream. But I’m home, I’m safe, and I didn’t even drink through all of this. In fact, I will have two years sober in about a week.

Toward the middle of the day, though, I started feeling a fairly deep depression. To combat it, I did two things: I slept a lot (I needed it, anyway) and I tried to keep myself busy while I was awake.

I need to make a few phone calls (yuck!) and get another round of TMS arranged. I need to make sure I still have a therapy appointment this morning. I’ve already set up an appointment with Sierra for Tuesday.

I don’t want things to catch up with me again like that. In retrospect, it’s a very scary place to be.

So, in honor of Suicide Prevention Month, which ends in two days, I did not attempt suicide.

You’re welcome. 🙂