Healing Takes Time

TW: suicide, depression

It’s been a wild few months and things haven’t necessarily gone according to plan.  I had been diagnosed with Bipolar II Disorder for about two years now and I have been struggling to find the right medication.  Along with trying to find the right medication I have been going to therapy regularly and trying to do L.I. (Lifespan Integration Therapy).  Work had been stressful and I was falling behind.  Home life was practically nonexistent and I felt like there just wasn’t enough of me to go around.  Life hit me in the face. Hard.

I fell apart.  I ran out of medication because I was too busy at work and kept forgetting to renew it.  Work was consuming every aspect of my life and I broke down.  I had this obsessive thought that I wasn’t doing enough. That I wasn’t enough.  I was losing control of everything and I was starting to have suicidal thoughts.  At first it was just an annoying buzzing, but eventually it was all I could hear.

All the good in my life was over clouded with thoughts of failure and darkness.  Finally the thoughts were so powerful and I felt like there was no way out.  I tried to end my life again, but my husband intervened and called the police.  Now, this wasn’t the first time that I have had the police called on me, but this was definitely the most serious event.  This time I didn’t have a choice, I was taken to the ER.

The ER experience was terrible.  They wouldn’t tell me what was going on and they wouldn’t let me see my husband.  I was hooked up to so many wires and it was all so overwhelming and confusing.  To be honest I don’t remember most of what happened that night.  I only remember bits and pieces.  After being at the ER for five hours I was told I was going to a Behavioral Unit (BU).

Oh my goodness, I had never been so scared in my life. They took me in another ambulance and were driving me to the BU when all of a sudden the driver slams on the breaks because he almost hit a dear. So here I am strapped down, terrified, and slightly injured from the sudden stop.  I would not wish this experience on anyone.

When I finally arrived at the BU they made me change my clothes again and they took everything away from me.  I couldn’t have anything of mine. I couldn’t have my earrings, nose ring, jacket, or shoes.  It was a very odd feeling.

I’m not going to write about my stay in the BU in this piece.  It is something that I will save for another time.  I will say that the therapists, social workers, and nurses were very helpful in my case.  It wasn’t easy at all and it was very lonely.  I did get to call home and talk to my husband which helped me through the process. I chose to leave early despite the therapists’ suggestions.  Sometimes I regret my choice and wonder if I would have benefited more if I had stayed longer.

Although things are not perfect and I am still struggling to feel like I am enough for this world, I can say that the buzzing has been minimal.  I still hear it, but it is not consuming me.  I am glad I am still here, and I hope that I can continue to feel that way.  I don’t know if time will ever make me feel better, but I can hope that it will.

~Kymberlee