First let me say I LOVE my bonus children to the moon and back. ALL of them...no matter what! Losing Nick feels like I have lost my world, but in reality, I have so many children bio and bonus that I am never without love from children in my life. But a certain set of bonus children have really been struggling and it has been breaking my heart for so many reasons and it started to pull up feelings of grief and loss.
Next there is a burlesque performance called Punching Up: Stories of Dissent happening here in Boise in November. (I had NONE Of those kinds of acts in my current repertoire, but I really wanted to be in this show.) I was given about a week and a half (maybe 2) to get an act together, to video and submit during "priority submission" (which I qualified for). I came up with the act. It was perfect and inspired by Nick and some costuming I already had done. It was suppose to be "easy" to create. but the further I got into it, the more I realized how much more detailed and longer it would take. Things that I ordered were not coming in on time, I had to revamp some things I had in mind which required more detailed work than I was prepared for in my timing. And it was getting a bit emotional because Nick had definitely told me what needed to be done to carry on his legacy in this act. So yes, my emotions were getting higher. In order to get what needed done, I had pulled an all nighter...so I had not slept since 7am on Monday morning.
I spent Tuesday taking Naomi to the doctor and and trying to get costuming done and also picking up boxes for a friend who was moving (but the boxes were not that big of a deal as they were on the way. I am nothing but a efficient driver when it comes to things like that). But then there was some real drama with a board I moderate on Facebook. The worst of the drama happened in a private chat between Moderators and Administrators. Thanks to brain damage from concussions, I often use the wrong words, as was the case in this conversation. I used the word "retaliate", and if any of you know me, you know that I don't have a mean bone in my body. I have had plenty of chances to retaliate against people who have hurt me, and that is just not what I do. As often as I can, I choose love and compassion, but retaliation is just not my style. While I was gone running my errands for my friend and just generally doing my busy life, this whole situation blew up on facebook both in the private chat and on the board. All of this could have been resolved with a private message with me to find out exactly what my thoughts were instead of just, I don't know, taking words that were not really what I meant out of context. If this person had gotten to know the real me for more than 2 seconds, they would have known that.
I was trying my hardest to clear this all up while talking to texting on my phone. It wasn't working. I tried typing but before I could get it all typed out, the commenting on the thread on the board was closed and I could only express my feelings on the Mod chat. But in the end, I felt unheard and misrepresented. I felt hurt. And quite frankly, I felt judged by a human who has never spent more than 5 minutes talking to me.
All of this was happening. I was on no sleep. I was working on an intense project. I was already feeling a bit of grief. I was on my way to dance class to dance off this funk from the facebook nonsense, and THEN I came across a motorcycle accident that had 2 motorcycles down. One looked pretty mangled. The other was just down. There were riders sitting on the curbs. There was an ambulance. There were cops. This is the first motorcycle down I have seen since Nick's death, and (to me) it looked like a fatality had happened.
I pulled into the dance studio parking lot at the corner of Franklin and Cole roads and stayed in my car. I could not move. I was so upset. I was crying. I was wailing. I was clutching to the steering wheel. The last thing I had posted on the Mod chat was that I was in my car. I could not drive. I was alone. I felt alone. I didn't know what to do. Then I threw my phone away. I knew that my friends on the chat would know how to get hold of my husband and I trusted that would happen. I could not do anything more than that. I had officially shut down.
I clutched onto the steering wheel and cried. I was holding on for life because in my head I heard, "I just want to be with Nick." and I did NOT want to use the keys to hurt myself. I have too much to live for. But my grief was so freaking intense. My anger was so freaking intense. My family and friends finally showed up after tracking my phone and my daughter telling my husband what I had posted on our belly dance page saying I could not come to dance cause of the motorcycle accident I had just seen. The belly dance sisters had no idea I was in their parking lot, and they had all just left. I was alone. Tracy, Judy, Eric and Nate showed up. I was pretty much unresponsive other than saying I wanted Nick and I wanted to be with Nick and I missed Nick and I didn't want to live without Nick. They had all decided Tracy would just sit in the car with me until I could calm down. Everyone was going to go home. But as soon as Tracy got in the car, I yelled at him to go away I didn'twant him there. I jumped out the car and bolted. My original plan was to run. At home, I know exactly where to run when I feel this way. But I was at a crowded intersection in a parking lot. My original plan was to run on the sidewalk. Tracy was following me. But Tracy says, I slowed down, looked at the traffic and then time a sprint to run in front of a car. It was not a conscious thought in the least bit.
Tracy grabbed me. I started kicking and punching. Eric helped to control me. They brought me to the ground and I continued flailing and kicking and screaming horrible things like "I want to go to Florida to save Nick." "Get off of me." "he's going to die because of you." They called 911, the police came. I was kicking an flailing and screaming horrible things yelling at the police saying it was their fault Nick would die because they wouldn't let me go to Florida to save him. When they asked me if I knew who Tracy was, my only response was, "He is the man who won't let me to go to Florida."
The officers had to restrain me. They handcuffed me with my hands behind my back while I was laying on my back. They had to restrain my legs so I would stop kicking people to try and get away. It hurt like hell. I was screaming these guttural screams that I have never heard come out of my mouth before. They took me to the hospital where I continued screaming and writhing until they gave me shot to knock me out.
I was in the ER over night. Tracy slept in a gurnie beside me. We waited all day for them to find a bed in a psych ward for me. I was not allowed anything but finger foods. I was not allowed anything with strings or anything that I could use to harm myself. They finally found me a room in a psych hospital. I was angry. I was angry at Tracy for putting me there...though I know it was not his decision. It was actually the police. I was there under police lock down and papers had to be signed by a judge in order to let me out. I had to be examined by the court to see if I was sane enough to be let out of the psych ward. It was like a really weird episode of Orange is the new Black. I walked into the cafeteria and everyone stared at me like they were sizing me up. "What is she in for?" And I felt like I had to find "the boss" so I could stay safe. I was scared. I was told I had to go to meetings and stay present and sociable. I wasn't allowed a brush. I wasn't allowed a sleeveless dress. I had no rights. I was told all of my rights had been taken away from me that I was under state's care now.
I had no cell phone. The only way I could communicate with people was by using the public phones that were on the walls in the public hall ways. There were only certain times family could call. It was very difficult for my family to get through. Sometimes another patient would answer the ringing phone and then just hang up on my family. But sometimes I did get to talk to my friends and family who called and that helped a ton!
Tracy was able to bring me my favorite blanket from home so I felt like I was wrapped in love when I slept that night. And I did manage to sleep. The next day, I woke up and went to breakfast. I sat down with one of the 3 roommates I had. She didn't talk to me. I attended the first meeting and set my goals for the day... color, go to groups and see my family. I went to my next meeting which was on meditation, but was interrupted by the DE (the state representative who would determine..along with the psych if I was able to go home). Legally, this could take 24 hours or 72 hours or even longer if they decided I needed to go to the state hospital. The DE and I chatted it seemed to go well. I just told her the truth. It was just a really shitty day, but I have lots to live for and all of my usual coping mechanisms are at home, not here in this hospital and I had a therapist I can go to and I have a plan to get better. Then I went to another group. We played a fun game of Pictionary. Then I had to meet with a social worker. I had to tell my whole story all over again.
Somewhere in all of this, I got to speak with one of the tech's who is there to babysit us in the common areas and check on us at night. He and I had some great conversations about real things that had nothing to do with why I was really there. I taught him a few things and he was great to talk to.
Then the psychologist came to talk to me. I told him the same story over again. I swear I felt like I could have just pushed a recorder and let them listen to it all again. It was so emotionally draining. He flat out told me that I do not belong there, and hopefully the DE will agree and send me home. But the DE needed to talk to my friends and family on the outside to see if they thought I was stable in regular life first.
Finally, while my family was visiting, the nurse came and said, I would have my discharge papers by 8pm. I was free to go home. Yay!
Today I still have bruises on my wrists from handcuffs. I have bruises on my arms from when people tried to restrain me. I have veins that blew out from incompetent nurses. But at least I am home. I am emotionally drained. I got the submission for the piece I wanted to get turned in on time. It was not ideal. It needs pieces to be finished. But I turned in the concept. I don't know if it will get accepted or not. But it feels so raw. Everything feels so raw. As I was videoing the piece, I felt so raw I almost started crying. It was an emotional piece BEFORE all of this. And I honestly believe that Nick wanted me to go to the psych ward so that I could experience a side of life I have never experienced. I think he wanted me to see "the others" who feel so down and out and so alone that they find themselves in a place like that. I will never forget this experience. It was life changing for me. Until you have been locked up in a place like that, you will never understand. I am grateful for the experience and the stories I heard and the people I met. I wish them peace and healing.
In the mean time, I have a therapist appointment with a grief counselor on Tuesday. And I am going to go support my friend who is dancing publicly for the first time. And I am going to help a friend pack to move. I am going to take care of myself and be gentle with myself.
If you have read this far, thank you. If you have read this far, I have one more piece of wisdom to share... words matter. Your tone of voice matters. If you have a question about what someone said, take it to them personally before putting them on public blast. Get to know someone before judging them. When ever possible, please choose compassion.
