It's been a couple of days since I have been home after doing a week in Intermountain Hospital (a mental health hospital here in Boise, Idaho). This is my 2nd stay in a mental hospital in 7 months. I am hoping this is my last one. But since it has been a couple of days, and my brain has been processing and healing and forgetting and moving on, this blog post may be a bit scatter and I'm sure it will be long. So please make yourself a drink and make yourself comfortable and get ready for a bumpy ride.
On Friday, March 15, a set of circumstances lead my brain into deciding that I couldn't handle life anymore and I needed to kill myself. It was centered around the birth of Suzy's (Nick's widow) son which she named Nicholas. (This is NOT Suzy's fault, and I am NOT talking trash about her. This is about MY reaction, and MY healing process.) For my own mental health, and for Suzy's happy pregnancy, I had unfriended and blocked her. When her baby shower happened, I had unfriended more people. It was just breaking my heart...seeing all of the rubber duckies in a place where Nick should have been (if he had been alive). It was just hurting so much. I thought I was safe, and I was dealing as best I could with knowing that she had named her son after my dead son....knowing that every time I saw this baby or someone talked of this baby, I would be reminded that my own son was dead. It was so hard for me. I was talking with my friends. I was reaching out. I was doing the best that I could. But then, out of nowhere, and from an unexpected source, I saw a picture of Suzy and her family as she was discharging from the hospital. I saw a picture of little Nicholas in a onesie that said, "Hello, I'm Nicholas" and there was a rubber ducky on it. I felt like my dead son was being erased and replaced. Still I was dealing as best I could. I was actively talking to my friends in private messenger trying to stay calm. But it was spinning out of control fast. I showed the picture to Tracy (knowing he had already seen 1 picture of Suzy and the baby from our friend Michael). He looked at the picture. Paused and said, "Ya... thats a cute baby." But there was something in his voice. Then he said he was going to take a nap. And in that moment, I made the move that sent me over the edge. I walked over to his computer, and opened up his messenger, and saw conversations he had been having with Suzy (and I didn't know he had). There were pictures of her and the baby. And there was a discussion where she asked if he was coming to visit her with our friend Michael. When he asked if I could come, her response was "That is probably not a good idea." That is where I lost it!
I should say that *now* I do not blame Suzy. If you have been reading my blog and my facebook posts since November of 2015, You know how horrible I have been about talking shit about Suzy. It was my pain talking shit. I was just "word vomiting" my pain everywhere I went. So of course, Suzy would not want me to visit the baby. I don't blame her now, but on March 15th, that was a completely different story.
I ran into the bathroom, opened up my bottle of Valium, and dumped the contents in my hand. I did not know Tracy was in the bathroom. He asked me what I was doing, and I replied, "I'm killing myself." He quickly came to me and knocked the pills out of my hand. (I did not take any.) But what resulted after that was a horrific scene...
I was screaming horrible, vile things as I tried to get away from him. He was doing his best to restrain me so I could not kill myself or run away. He called Naomi in to help. They were chasing me around the bed, keeping me from climbing out of windows and opening doors. I actually tried to crawl under the bed to get away from them. I was pushing and thrashing and screaming obscenities. I was making horrible declarations. Tracy used "Alexa" to call my mom and told her to call the police. I was screaming uncontrollably. I was screaming profanities and horrible things at my mom. The police came and knocked on our bedroom door. We opened it, and I ran past him as he questioned Tracy and Naomi. I was screaming at the officer. He tried to calm me down and I started to fight with him. He ended up handcuffing me with metal cuffs (pretty tightly). I only say that, cause a week later, I still have bruises and pain in my hands.
The next thing I knew I had a house full of officers and I was being dragged out of my house against my will by two officers. One on each side me of holding me up by my shoulders and my handcuffed hands and dragging me out to the front yard. I was still screaming out of control. I was 100% rage. They took me out to my front yard. I tried to run again. I was still screaming obscenities and threats and rage was spewing from my mouth. It took 2 officers to get me down to the grass. They started to restrain my feet but I kept getting lose. They finally restrained my legs as best they could with my thrashing and kicking but I still got my feet moved from the way they wanted them. They restrained my upper body. Then they somehow connected the two and they put a helmet on my head. I was still screaming and thrashing. I was literally still trying to get away. I was scooching like an inch worm trying to get away. They held me down. I still wanted to die. I started hitting my head on the ground hoping to give myself another concussion that was bad enough to make this nightmare go away. They threatened me again with something, but I don't know what. I just kept screaming.. in my front yard...on the ground.. restrained. The ambulance came. They picked me up and threw me on the stretcher and took me into the ambulance and I continued to scream. I was yelling obscenities and the paramedics. They told me we couldn't leave till I calmed down. They asked me if they could help me, I told them to kill me because that is the only help that would help. I screamed and screamed and still thrashed. I stopped thrashing my body, but then started hitting my head on the stretcher over and over and over again. Then finally it all stopped. I went limp. I had completely checked out. I was stuck in my body. I could hear things but I could not respond. I could hear them talking about me. I could hear the "ride along" answer his phone and stay that he was in the ambulance with a restrained screaming woman and how interesting it was.
They took me into the ER or some "safety unit". I don't know. They threw me like a hog tied pig onto a hospital bed. I was laying on my back. Still restrained. Still handcuffed with metal handcuffs and laying on my back. I was still checked out. I was not talking to anyone. Someone asked my birth date. I think I gave them that. But that was all. I was done. I was out of it. I could hear them talking to me. I could hear them asking me questions. But I could not respond. I was limp, not moving, not fighting, and not speaking and my eyes were closed and I was not able to respond to anything. They took off the police restraints and restrained me with the hospital restraints...first my feet, then my hands, pulling my arm down and pulling the muscles in my shoulder. The pain shot through my body. I could not speak. They restrained my feet with my legs spread. I felt so vulnerable and dead inside. They some how rolled me a bit to my side and pulled my pants down a bit to give me a shot in my butt. I was checked out. I heard the officer tell me that I was now under state's custody and would be going to the psych ward.
I don't remember getting into paper clothes in the hospital. I don't remember getting unrestrained. I don't remember Tracy being in the ER room. I don't remember anything until I was being put into a purple car and being driven to Intermountain. I don't remember the drive. I vaguely remember walking into the hospital feeling scared. Still not talking. The rest of that night was a blurr....having to strip down to nothing so the nurse could see that I didn't smuggle anything in and that she could check my skin in case I do any self harming while there in the hospital. My bra was taken from me because it had an underwire, but they gave me a sports bra. I don't remember that first night. I started talking at some point. I was compliant. I was courteous. I was calm. (I only know that because of the nurses reports.) They gave me some pretty serious drugs to sedate me and I slept all night.
I woke up the next morning after 10am. No one had woken me up for breakfast, and I had already missed group meetings (that I have to go to in order to be released). The hospital is old and "dark" looking. I was in a unit called ICU. The other women I shared the unit with seemed to be drugged out too. I felt like I was in some kind of hell and would never be let out. I knew the drill from my last stay 7 months ago at a different facility. Get up, be sociable, go to meetings, eat your foot, take your shower, prove that you can take care of yourself and you are not going to harm yourself or others. So that is what I started to do. I wanted out of there and quick! Tracy, Michael, my mom and Naomi came to visit me that first night. I didn't really want to talk to anyone, but I was glad they were there. I was still pretty mad at Tracy for calling the cops.
The hospital staff had me on a "detox" plan. I don't know why. I am not on any drugs and do not take any narcotics on a regular basis. But it was that "detox" plan that was knocking my ass out. I was only on it for 2 nights (I think). But the doctors had decided to up my antidepressant dose and gave me a new pill for sleeping. My body was so sore. I had bruises all over my body (still do) from being restrained and from fighting people. I had seen my first DE (designated examiner...the person from the state who decides if I am stable enough to be released or if I need to stay longer). She apparently gave me a positive; which meant that I needed to stay and would be seen by a 2nd DE within 72 hours, and that would be an independent Psychiatrist. In the mean time, I was seeing the hospital's Physicians assistant, social workers, case workers, and the hospital psychiatrist. I was attending group therapy sessions. I was doing my work and being sociable.
The unit I was in was pretty tight with the security. I don't know if you have ever been in a psych ward, but they can be pretty scary places. The unity I was in, was the strictest in the hospital. I was in there with women who were facing felony charges for who knows what, woman with different personalities that you could watch switch within seconds, women who had so much paranoia you never knew what they were telling you was real or not or if you were safe with them or not, women who were so bad off they had to have 24/7 one on one babysitter. There were homeless women there to detox and try to get their lives back on track. There was a pregnant mother in there who already had 3 babies in state's custody. One woman had lost her child at 37 weeks and her other children were in states custody. The stories I heard were intense. We were not allowed to touch each other and the staff were not allowed to touch us. We were not allowed outside, except on rare occasions for a few minutes. We were deprived of the things humans need the most.. touch and vitamin d. Some women couldn't even go outside at all (due to their legal issues or their mental health issues and the hold the state held them on). It was a very hard unit to be in. Every one of those women wanted out of there. Some were being committed to the state facility. One was had to plea insanity in a court of law. It was heart breaking.
By the 2nd day, I stared to feel better and I was working on myself. Tracy had brought me some clothes to change into. I was able to shower. He had also brought me a book. I was given a folder with a handbook about the hospital and a goals packet. The goals packet is what saved me. It had pages for me to fill out every day. I had to put down what my word for the day was, my affirmation for the day, my gratitude, my coping skills, and so much more to keep me on task. The best part of those pages was the back of the pages. It had the REBT exercise on it. I don't know what it stands for, but it is a cognitive exercise to help rewire my brain. I wrote down an "event" that happened to me, what my original thoughts/beliefs were about the event, my emotions, and then my behaviors based on that belief. Then it had me rework that belief into a rational belief, and what my feelings would be if it were true and then my actions if it were true. We had to do 3 of those a day. This is where true healing started. Between these worksheets, my book and the journaling about the book, and my group therapies I started to realize what was going on in my life and how to heal it.
I started reworking everything that had happened between me and Suzy since Nicks death. I started to feel healing taking place. I was lighter. I was laughing. I was smiling. I started to have goals and vision and purpose. I realized that it was time to let go of all of the anger. I realized Suzy was not a horrible person. I realized she loved my boy and her naming her son Nicholas was a way of honoring him. I started writing letters to my family. I wrote one to Naomi first. I wrote some to Tracy and Nate next. Then I wrote a very very very long one (7 pages front and back) to Suzy apologizing and asking her to forgive me. I explained myself. I let her know what was going on. And I took responsibility for my stuff. I truly love her. If I didn't love her, I could not have been as upset as I was. But I had lost site of that love. Why? Because I was angry about Nick dieing, and I was focusing all of that anger onto her. If she moved on, I had to face the fact that Nick was dead, and I have been denying that for 3 years now. There is alot to it. But that is the gist of it. I told her that if she wanted, I would love to be part of their life again. (At least I Think I did. I honestly do not remember much of what I wrote in that letter..I just know what the feeling and the gist of it was.) I gave it to Tracy to give to Suzy. He had already seen her and little Nicholas. Tom had already apologized to Tracy for things that happened way back in 2015. Healing was starting to take place.
I skipped a step in here somewhere. Like I said, I was in the Intensive Care Unit of the facility. When the first DE came in to see me in ICU, she had asked if they hold was lifted if I would voluntarily sign myself in. I told her I would think about it. I remember feeling like I had been released to soon from my previous stay back in the fall. Tracy and I had agreed that staying longer would be good for me. I needed to heal. I could not keep this up. I talked to the Psychiatrist about this. A social worker came in and told me about the PHP program which is a daily group therapy group that meets from 10-3 every day. It is a bridge between inpatient treatment and seeing a therapist one on one. This is EXACTLY what I needed. I was so excited to hear about the program! That would mean I could go home and get help once I was home. The 2nd DE came in. He asked me questions. By the time he had come in, I had been doing my worksheets, reading, and feeling amazing. I was dancing in my room without music. When I could get hold of the TV remote, I turned on soothing music in the TV room and did my work in the quiet. The staff would comment to me how good I was looking. I participated in my classes, not just sit there. I had made the conscious decision to stay there on my own; I was going to use this time for ME to heal. This was MY time. It was okay to be selfish. It was okay to take care of me. The DE was thrilled with my progress and my plan. He agreed to remove my hold and it was totally up to me on what I wanted to do. I told him that I would sign myself in to be moved to the Adult Unit where I was promised more freedom and better group therapy classes.
That night was my last night in the ICU. I was sitting on a couch facing the open doorway of one of the women in the unity. I heard her calling me. I went to her door. (We are not allowed in each others rooms). "Martha will you read me a bed time story?" Her little girl was out. I told her that I could not come into her room. "Well if I come out, will you read it to me?" I told her that I did not have a book that would be good for bedtime stories, but I would tell her stories if she wanted me too. "Yes!" she said. She hopped out of bed, with all of the excitement of a little child. She grabbed her pillow and her blanket and ran to the couch in the TV room. She laid down, curled up, pulled her blanket over her and started to suck her thumb. I told her stories that I had written that had a lullaby to it. She got excited. "That was a great story! Tell me another one!" I told her another story I had written. I broke the rule and touched her and "squiggles the wiggle worm" crawled on her shoulder. She giggled. I finished the story. "That was great! Can you tell me another one?" I told her the story of how the frog lost his tail. Then she wanted me to sing to her. I sang her lullabies. And she fell asleep. One of the staff came in a couple of times during this (because they do a face check in every 15 minutes) and once the woman was asleep, she whispered, "Thank you." My heart was happy that I could bring her peace. The next morning, she was really upset. Another girl was talking to her. I asked if she was okay. The other girl said, "Martha, she needs you." I moved across the room and sat beside her. Her little girl was out again. "I feel lost. I don't know what to do." In the span of 10 minutes, her personalities switched several times and each time, I adapted and calmed her down until group started. Thankfully, group was all about the questions she had. But that didn't stop her from crying when I was transferred to the next unit.
When I moved to the Adult unit (which was co-ed), I was disappointed. The only "extra" freedom I received was the fact that now I could WALK to the cafeteria instead of having to order it in to the unit. But the groups were better. Immediately, I got to do a guided meditation about being at the beach. It was the perfect way to start my stay in that unit. My room mate was very sweet, and the bed was so much better. But I think my favorite thing was that the bathroom had an actual counter and places to hang my stuff. The very first day I was there, was the day that I was writing that letter to Suzy. AS I was writing it, a young man walked by me. He was the spitting image of my Nick. I could not stop staring at him. I knew it was Nick sending me him telling me that I was on the right path. I mentioned that to Suzy in the letter. As I continued to write the letter to Suzy, I had realized that I had become the parent I never wanted to be. After going through the abuse I went through as a kid, I didn't want to be that parent. As a matter of fact, when I found out I was pregnant with Nick, I decided right then and there to break the cycle of abuse. However, since Nick's death, I had become that toxic abusive parent (at least to Suzy). I had also let the rage out on my family at home. I had become unrecognizable to myself. It was the pregnancy of Nick that made me want to heal and change. And then, it was the birth Suzy's little Nicholas that had prompted this break down that put me in a space that facilitated this a-ha moment and the healing started on the fast track. Nick was still working his magic.
I ended up spending 2 nights in the Adult unit. In that time, I got to meet some amazing human beings. I spent time talking with the young man that looked like Nick. I wailed in my room and mourned for my son. My roommate held space for me while I cried and she listened to my story and the healing that was taking place. I listened to another young man who had a dream of world peace. We shared stories and philosophical ideas. I gave him some things to think about. One of the other women, said, "Wow! You are super smart." The next day, I heard her tell one of our group meeting leaders that she had used one of the suggestions I had given to the young man and how much it had helped her. Everyone kept asking me why I was there. They couldn't believe the stuff I was coming up with. But the me.. the me before Nick's death..was re-emerging. Even other employees who had not met me yet, thought I was one of the employees there and were asking me questions. I had to keep saying, "I don't know. I don't work here. I am a patient."
One of the big things I did there was learn to set boundaries. People wanted my attention. They wanted me to sit with them and play cards. They wanted me to sit with them and color. They wanted me to sit with them and have long philosophical conversations. But I was there to help myself. I was there to focus on myself. I was there to heal myself. So I set my boundaries and stuck to them. I didn't allow myself to be sociable until I had my work and my goals accomplished for the day. That felt amazing.
I was released and scared to come home, but I am glad I am home now. I have alot of work to do, but I have a plan. I have created a tool chest for things to do in the house when I have a flare up. I have a little gym with a punching bag and throwing medicine ball and yoga mat and dumb bells in the garage. I have a list of coping skills that can be used in my car in case I get triggered in my car. I have been to my assessment for PHP. I am taking my meds. And every day more and more stuff becomes clear.
Most importantly, Suzy, Tom and I have become friends on facebook again and we have begun to talk and started to rebuild the bridge. They have graciously forgiven me for my past behaviors and have agreed to move forward in healing our family. I don't know what that will look like and all sides are a bit apprehensive. But we love each other and want our family to heal. Tracy has a picture of himself with Suzy and little Nicholas, and his face is all smiles and happy. I am looking forward to meeting little Nicholas and hugging Suzy again.
