A Post

I am so reluctant to write this post. For all of you that face the stigma of depression you might understand. Last week things were getting quite bad. I called my doctor on Thursday and was told he was not available until the 12th, a two week wait. It was strange because I have never experienced depression in the way  Usually I am just low and keep plodding forward but for some reason this weekend I crashed. And this is what happened...

I took an overdose and ended up in the hospital.  It all at once just became too much. I was getting ready for bed and I just could not take it one more second and I decided all at once that I no longer wanted to live. As I write this out now I am trying to think of a way to write this so it makes sense to you, the reader but it doesn't even make sense to me. I want to be honest but I am not even sure what the truth is. It just got to the point where I was suffocating. There was no left of right, forwards of backwards. It was just done.

Anyway, obviously I did not succeed. I was taken to the emergency where I learned what I took was not anywhere near enough to kill me. I was admitted to the emergency psychiatric unit where they supposedly assess you. All that really happened was I was given a pair of puce coloured hospital pajamas and left alone in my room. Someone checked on me every two hours. I was too tired to cry, too tired to think. All I remember was a deep regret that I did not accomplish that what I set out to do. I few times I walked around the main area where there was some pamphlets to read. Everything was locked up. The fridge, the phone, the shower. A psychiatrist finally dropped stopped in to see me and asked me a bunch of questions about my family but didn't seem all that concerned about why I was there. He told me he was going to change my anti-depressant medication but the next day the staff obviously forgot to give it to me because when I was asked (by a totally different psychiatrist) if I had taken medication that morning I told him that I had not even seen anyone that day and it was coming up 11:00. Anyway, he asked me how I was feeling and I wanted to yell at him, "How the fuck do you think I am feeling?" but knew that reaction would only get me sent 'downstairs' where all the hard cases go. I lied and told him I was feeling better and no, I did not want to hurt myself. You don't get support 'downstairs'. You get to watch a communal TV and do crafts. It sounded like something out of One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest.

I was sent home that day in probably worse shape. I was not given a single resource at the time. All the psych doctor said was to follow up with my family doctor. (The same one that I could not get into see for 2 weeks.) 

Anyway, now I am home and a heaviness is all around me. I know I should be back in the hopsital but I can't handle the thought of going there. At least at home I can sleep in my own bed, have a hot bath and work on a cross stitch. (No scissors in the psych ward!) Two community psych nurses are coming by tomorrow to see how I am and what am I to say? Nothing has changed since I took the overdose. Nobody is helping me. Nobody is trying to set things in place for me. (I have to do that myself.) Oh wait, I did have to deal with our medical system to try to get a medication covered. I also had to jump through hoops to get some time off work. Both of those took every ounce of energy I had. Everything else continues on as normal. Driving my kids around, making meals, cleaning up, laundry, feeding the cat... Nothing has changed. I cried out for help (and I think maybe that is what it was) and all I am in now is a free fall. I am going to see a counselor on Saturday but other than that I am more alone than ever. I don't want to die but I don't want to live like this anymore. 
It is a scary place. Obviously I have turned the corner and really am insane now. And my god, I am so very tired. 
And I am terrified to publish this post.