I actually went out last night with my brother-in-law to a local restaurant overlooking St. Leonard’s creek and had dinner and (more importantly) wine. I got fairly trashed and even enjoyed the country band even though I’m not especially a fan of country music. We talked a lot and I felt comfortable talking about my fucked up head even though I never had before and am usually loathe to. He tried to convince me how devastated he and my sister would be if I kill myself. I know. I’m trying really hard not to let that happen, I swear. He also tried to convince me that the psychiatrist at Hopkins – who told me repeatedly that pot was evil and contributing to my problems- could be right and would I please, at least, consider the possibility. Sorry, my friend, not going to happen. I have said repeatedly, to him and others, that I think pot is the only reason I am still alive. It takes me away from all the shit that gets in my head.
I talked to my brother today, who is coming down from W.Va. to visit next Tuesday. One of his main reasons for coming to visit is that he wants to get totally trashed on weed and go see Godzilla in 3D. Should be good!
I’ve been flashing back to my days at Hopkins lately and one thing that keeps popping up is the comment one of the R.N.’s kept telling us as he gave us group therapy. “Just remember that the best any of you could do was wind up here at the back of a locked psych. unit.” Bastard. Like that was even remotely helpful. I just think he thought he was being oh so clever and liked hearing himself talk. In all honesty, I don’t think any of the so-called groups did a fuck”s worth of good. But, maybe I was just bitter because I had been involuntarily confined there. Who knows. Some people I read claim groups are helpful to them. Wish I was one of them.
Anyway, now that I’m over my wine and pot induced hangover, I HAVE to try and get something productive and normal done. Wish me luck. Doc.
I was meant to go to a therapy appt. this morning at 8:30 am but when I went outside to leave my fucking truck would not start. So, I called D – my therapist and told him the problem. He said “OK, i’ll see you next week then. But I asked him if he would have anything sooner as I really needed to talk with him. “How about I call you later?” Me – “that would be good.” Well, I just got off the phone with him and honestly I don’t feel any better. I told him about how I don’t feel real or alive, that I can’t find a way to motivate myself to do ANYTHING, I’m not eating or cooking because I’m not hungry, how fucked up my memory is, how bad my sleep is and how bizzare and complex my dreams have been, how I’ve counted out how many Zoloft and Seroquel I have and that the insulin I bought before is still good, and that I feel my suicide is inevitable – I just don’t know when, how confusing and boring I find TV at the moment.
Well, he really wasn’t much help – not sure what I expected him to say. He kept trying to tell me that I need to just force myself to do things, that my brain hasn’t had anything it HAD to do for 3 months, and that it’s “out of practice”. Bullshit. I would do things if I could, I just can’t seem to make it happen. And I don’t really give a fuck. He told me to start writing down my dreams, but I only remember tiny, annoying fragments of my dreams that pop up all day annoying and confusing me. He tried to reassure me that my memory was fucked up after the last course of ECT and that it will take, in his opinion, about 8 to 12 weeks for it to improve. Fucking great. He didn’t seem to care about my suicidal thoughts and plans or about my cutting.
“Most people don’t want to do the things they have to do on a day to day basis, like people who have jobs don’t want to get up and go to work each day (subtle dig at jobless me?)
He seems to have this expectation that things will(magically) turn around given enough time. Sorry, I don’t/can’t believe him, it feels like nothing is going to be right and “normal” again. So, he left me with “call me if you need anything and i’ll see you next week.” Not totally convinced that i’ll be around next week. My urges to self harm are big and insistent right now. Any suggestions appreciated. Doc.
I’m trying, really I am. But I really think my latest round of ECT (13 treatments) has done major damage to my short and long term memory in addition to causing cognitive difficulties. I spent an hour yesterday trying to remember how my cell phone works and how to charge it. I’d forgotten that I had cancelled my landline phone right before I went into the hospital, i can’t remember where i get my hair cut, I’d forgotten that my sister is and has been (for a year or more) paying all my bills out of my Social Security disability acct., i can’t remember what i used to do all day or how i spent my time and i can’t remember how to cook, so i’ve been eating crap. Yesterday all the frustration came to a head and i ended up cutting to relieve the stress, then had to close it with 4 sutures. In desperation i called to talk to one of the R.N.’s on the psych. floor i had been on and all she could offer was the instruction to call 911 for an ambulance so I could be evaluated in the ER. Fuck that. I DO NOT want to be put back in the hospital anytime time soon.
Part of what annoys me is that i was the one who wanted more ECT, the docs. had to be convinced to do it. Dumb motherfucker.
I’m still supposed to find a new shrink this week, but I’m not sure i care about that now. I’m not certain i will stay on my new meds. (Zoloft, Lamictal. Seroquel, and Trazodone)
My life needs to start making sense and i have to find a reason to want to continue to live on Earth first.
Sorry for all the moaning. Hope you all are doing OK.
I finally got discharged from Johns Hopkins Hospital (JHH) psych ward – Meyer 3 – on Thursday having been an involuntary inpatient since Feb. 2014. JHH is in Baltimore, Md. I stayed 82 days against my will, which, believe me, was no fucking picnic. Because JHH is a teaching hospital, I had 3 different attending shrinks, several different residents, various nursing students, and the regular staff to get used to. I managed to self harm was I was there – cutting myself with a scalpel I snuck in , cutting myself with soda can lids, and swallowing various foreign objects. Needed stitches once and various wound care regimens during my stay. I have to admit it was fairly easy to self harm while even on 1:1 or continuous observation. And it always made the nursing staff mad at me when I did. I didn’t give a fuck. It w2as just something I had to do. They tried to tell me how wrong it was and why I shouldn’t do it, but it went in one ear and out the other. It actually became a game for me to see what I could get by them. Some of the nurses made it more difficult by doing there twice daily skin checks, and others didn’t seem to care. There was no rhyme or reason to most of it.
I ended up having 13 ECT treatments before they were done with me and it has really adversely affected my short and long term memory. Stupid shit – like I couldn’t remember how my cell phone worked or that my sister has been paying my bills. I couldn’t and still can’t remember my sister and nephew coming to Hopkins to visit me or most of the things I wrote in my journal while I was there. I read part of my journal last night and am amazed at the things I don’t remember but wrote that had/was happening. I wasn’t allowed use of my laptop while I was there until the last week or so and then I couldn’t remember how to access my blog! So, I need to spend a few days catching up on everyone”s blog and write a few replies of my own.
I saw my outpatient therapist – D – yesterday, but need to find a new shrink still. D said I seem better so hopefully he wasn’t just bullshitting me. Everything about being home seems odd to me. I can’t remember what I used to do all day or how I spent my time. I have talked to a couple of friends already and we’ve made plans to meet for a meal, so that’s good. I also couldn’t smoke cigarettes or naturally, any pot while I was in, so I’ve already resumed both of those habits. Getting high last night was a real treat! My JHH shrink tried to convince me to stop smoking pot, but I tried to make it clear to him that that was not a possibility. He even had one of the medical students write a paper on the dangers of cannabis use and mental illness and present it to me. Poor kid. I shot down every one of his arguments. They have to remember I was on the same floor as all the other drug users and most of them used barbituates or narcotics before they were admitted, so my pot use never felt even close to the importance of their drug use. Anyway, it doesn’t matter what they want because I’m home now and will do what I want.
I’m on new meds – Zoloft, Lamictal, Trazodone, and Seroquel now. They diagnosed me with major depression and bipolar 2. I’m not sure I believe the bipolar 2 dx. All I know is I’m glad nobody is watching me 24 hrs. a day and I can do what I want. I kept up with a few blogs while I was in, so I don’t have everyone to catch up on. Right before I was admitted 2 bloggers I enjoyed reading had killed themselves and I think this had a negative on me. I really was saddened by this news. Now I have to go back and read their last posts again and comes to terms with their absences. They were nice people and I miss them greatly.
Re: my memory loss – the shrink tried to tell me that it is to be expected, but that doesn’t make me feel any better. I feel impaired and I don’t know if I will regain those lost memories. It’s all being blamed on the ECT. One of the anesthesias I had was awful too, because when they injected the drug, it only made it impossible for me to breathe and I had a very difficult time letting them know that I wasn’t asleep and that they had to give me more medication. Truly traumatic! I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
Oh well, not much I can do about that now. If anyone reads this and wants to leave me a note, I’ll be happy to read and respond. Hope everyone is doing OK.