A week ago I checked myself into a behavioral health facility.
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Friday started like a typical summer morning with a little sleep-in. That day I had a doctor's appointment, a new doctor. A therapist, actually. Somewhere between her asking me to sit and my mouth opening, the flood gates broke, and the tears poured out of my eyes. "I just cry- a lot", I explained, trying to surmise this burdensome reality. "As in, I cry All. The. Time".
"I just feel everything. I wish I had an addiction: drinking or drugs, just something to make the feelings stop, but I don't. So, I feel- EVERYTHING."
It had turned into my introduction, the second time I introduced myself as such within the week.
"What do you think of inpatient treatment?", the kind lady with the listening ears asked me. "I haven't thought about it, but I know... I don't want it", I responded. "I want you to continue to think it over," she continued. "If you chose inpatient, you can get on medication today, if you do not, it can take 4-6 weeks to get you in to the psychiatrist."
It was all said in a few sentences, suggested inpatient just five minutes ago, but already my head and heart started turning. I need this. I need this now- 4-6 weeks is not an option. And in that moment, terrified and humbled, I agreed to check myself in. I agreed to receive the help I needed.
Not a week earlier I checked myself into the ER while visiting family in Pennsylvania. I think I am having a panic attack, I had told them. I was falling quickly, consumed with guilt and hurt so vast it felt like I was drowning. I am a terrible mom...wife...employee... and daughter. I couldn't contain the onslaught of tears and cuss words pouring out of me. I don't want to live like this, I don't want this life.
The hospital decided to check me in, paper two-piece hospital uniform and all. I had hoped for sedation, something to calm my nerves, to afford me sleep, instead I was given a 4-hour stay, constant supervision, and a phone call with a woman from the suicide helpline. I am grateful, as I type this, even knowing how difficult all of that was. After the call, I was dismissed with a promise to seek counseling and medication and then, poof, off I went.
My first night at the behavioral health facility was intimidating. I half expected Girl, Interrupted and was terrified that someone I knew would see me there and think I was nuts-literally. Graciously, none of that happened. My 4-day stay was met with lots of quite time, sleep, friendship- and medication. I had my own room, was able to wear my own clothing, and was never the only female on the floor. While there, I attended group meetings of AA, music therapy, and goal setting. There was never a moment of pity, side-eye, or rudeness spoken or felt by a single person there- employee and patient alike. The environment was safe and welcoming- a break for those of us dealing with severe depression and anxiety and/or drug and alcohol treatment.
On Saturday the 16th, one of the patients had a birthday. His story is not mine to tell, but I will share that he is a young daddy with a handful of awesome sons, and he is doing the hard work of getting clean- because they are worth it. Because he is worth it. During music therapy, we were all given opportunities to choose songs and we giggled a little when my first choice was New Kids on the Block's Happy Birthday. Happy Birthday to you, buddy, because you're so special in every way....
I really struggled with choosing a song for me. U2's Beautiful Day kept running through my head, but I didn't want that song to be associated in my memories with this difficult moment. Years earlier, when my family and I first moved to PA, I started new medicine which drug me to the pits: mind and body. It was just terrible, and I ended up on something much better, but for a few days I felt so very sick. During that time, I discovered Stefanie Gretzinger's version of Reckless Love and it was a lifeline between God and me. The song was Heaven-sent. Sitting in the music therapy group, Cory Asbury's version came to me and I knew I wanted to hear something that would remind me of God's great love for me; that He is still near; that He is still good.
And now I am home. The medication made me feel sick at first but it seems to be leveling off some. I do want this life. I love my family so very much and I am relearning how to love myself. I feel that God and I have gone round and round, and the truth is, I love Him a ton, too, even when this hurts so very badly. I can hold them both: the really good with the really bad. In the end, I'm still God's Girl.
Choosing the good:
C* turned 2*
Mrs. J* (30+ years sober)
E* is a big softie
E* said hi first
lots of rest
Nutter Butter bars
the day it rained
my own clothes
V* came (never the sole female)
no room mates
Bible
hair looked nice (silly, but I was so glad I had straighten my hair Friday morning to make it last)
NKOTB Happy Birthday song
Cory Asbury: Reckless Love
really nice staff
on medication
You are so very loved. Your mother- in-love.
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