And so it goes....

You don't find your identity, you create it. ~James, Psychotherapist

20 years after being diagnosed with depression, it finally happened. I wound up in the looney bin. Crazy place. Mental Hospital. Psych Ward. For my friends that sent me emails, phone calls, text messages, voicemails, etc., now you know why. Also, now that I've been to the looney bin, I can finally make looney bin jokes, so it's all been worth it! It's like being jewish, a dentist, or black. You can only make the jokes if you are of that persuasion. I am officially a mental case! I can make fun of crazy people any time I want. YES!!!

If Dooce can blog about it, then so can I!

Last friday (the 13th, ironically enough), I reached the darkest, saddest, scariest moment of my life. I didn't really want to kill myself, I just wanted to sleep for a very, very, very, VERY long time. I didn't have my kids last weekend, and hadn't stopped crying for 3 days. I saw my therapist, and she suggested that I call my psychiatrist ASAP to ask for a medicine increase. I called on my drive away from her office, but couldn't get in until the next afternoon.

That was just too long for me.

I went to work on Friday morning and was felt so overwhelmed. With everything. I've been so sad and lonely lately. I've been overwhelmed with work, life, kids, seperation/pending divorce, lack of computer at home (have I mentioned that this is being typed on my brank spankin' new HP Laptop with a 17 inch hi-def widescreen monitor and 240 gig hard drive?), lack of interaction with my friends and family, etc. etc. etc. I couldn't function anymore. I was getting nothing done. So, I went home.

When I got home, I grabbed a bottle of water and my bottle of anti-anxiety meds. I took one, and started journaling my thoughts. I was still in pain. So I took another, continued to write. Still in pain. I took another, and yup, still in pain. Soon enough, I felt ready to sleep. I sent Jer a text asking him to cancel my dr. appointment for the afternoon, and to arrange pre-school pick up for the girls. I told him I was going to sleep. Because of some previous conversations and fights we had over the day prior, he knew something was up. He called my parents, the paramedics, and my apartment manager. By the time they all got there, I was pretty out of it. I was immediately taken to the ER. At this point I was pissed and angry at Jeremy. How dare he do this to me! I sent some super nasty texts to him, was not very responsive to the ER techs (I had just taken a few anti anxiety meds!), so I was admitted to the psych ward for imprisonment... er, I mean, observation.

This place truly was crazy, and I was still pissed. I wasn't allowed bedsheets or pillowcases, not even a hair brush, or my own clothes. I was in scrubs with a plastic comb and slept between two blankets. There was one dude walking up and down the halls in his flip flops yelling at everyone he saw. He would flip his lunch and dinner trays. He would listen to others phone calls and yell out his own answers. There was another dude there who didn't stop talking, ever. A girl who would complain over everything, including possibly losing an eyelash. This place was not for me. I only felt more lonely and isolated. This place was dark, sad, and depressing beyond anything I've ever seen before. I sat and contemplated my escape. I didn't care if I had to walk 20 miles home, I was getting out of there. I went to group therapy that night, and told them on a mood scale of 1-10, I was a 2. In reality, I was a negative 10. This was the worst night of my life. After therapy, the only other seemingly "normal" person came up to me and touched my shoulder and he said "Hey, I've been where you are. You're going to be okay." and left. Later that night I would proceed to call Jeremy and tell him I hope he dies and goes to hell, yelled at a nurse for berating me and told him to never deal with me again, and cried to my mom on the phone because she was "too tired" to visit me that night. The night I needed her the most.

The next day I talked to a psychiatrist, who told me that I scared him, but he knew I didn't belong in the ward. He said that if I promise not to hurt myself or try to escape, he would move me to the next unit up, where I would have more freedoms and be surrounded by more like-minded people. I promised him, and was transferred right away.

In the next few days, I will blog more about this experience. It is something I never want to forget. I will blog about the people that I met... it's amazing how all different walks of life are affected by depression. How people from such different backgrounds can all end up at the same place at the same time. I will also blog about my learnings, in hopes that they will perhaps help others.

Until then, I'm not ashamed to admit that I spent a few days in "The Crazy Place". I'm just glad the help was there.

Oh, and I'm not mad at Jer anymore.