On Monday, I went to my bi-weekly voice lesson. I had a great time working on lots of musical theatre repertoire, and my teacher is a gem of a human being. The lesson began with him taking one look at me as I approached his front door and saying, "Honey, talk to me..."
How do I respond to this invitation? "Oh, I'm fine, just deep in thought!" "Oh, don't worry about me, I'm just trying to remember the lyrics we have to work on today!"
No. I looked him square in the face and said, "I think I'm losing my mind."
I haven't been using social media very much in the last few days. I haven't been working, singing, reading, eating, sleeping, or anything really in the past few days. I have been too busy trying to keep my brain inside my head.
I am manic.
Now, gentle reader, when I say manic, I do not mean the little hypomanic "blips" I've had in the past. I mean that I am completely off-my-rocker. I am not quite hallucinating yet, but every bit of my concentration is going toward not hurting myself/anyone else, as well as anyTHING else. Last night I actually had to physically stop myself from getting out of bed at 11pm to smash every inanimate object in my living and dining rooms. I had never felt so strongly that I NEEDED to destroy everything there. Why? Sure beats the shit out of me.
I have spent entire afternoons this week sitting on a chair and NOT cutting my arms to ribbons. It takes all of my energy to finish sentences. I have never been this manic in my life. I have been anxious, or depressed to the point of self-harm, but this is brand shiny-new. Paulie sat with me on Monday as I hung onto his sweatshirt in the living room and sobbed over and over again "What's happening to me; WHAT IS HAPPENING?!?!"
Possibly the biggest KICKER to this entire shitty ball of wax is that I had my husband drive me to an Emergency Room on Monday night.... and they sent me home. I'm not crazy enough. I had no "confirmed plan" of suicide that night, so "Medicare won't pay for any kind of inpatient treatment. And don't bother telling me now that you're suicidal. It won't work." It was then explained to me that there were people waiting 3-5 days in the same emergency room who had not gotten a bed in a substance abuse facility yet. There were waiting lists for every hospital and program in the area. I wasn't getting in anywhere. They told me to go home and talk to my therapist the next day; that she would have MORE luck of getting me into a facility THAN A HOSPITAL WOULD.
So now I sit at home and wait. There is a facility in my hometown that is able to "talk to me" on Tuesday. A psych hospital that is quite popular and rhymes with "LeClane" has a 5-week wait to just TALK to me for an intake, never mind get me into a program.
Paulie is being so good; he sits and tries to keep the demons at bay. I speak in half-sentences and bewildering metaphors, and rail at anyone who will listen to my tale of woe.
Now begins my spiraling descent into uncertainty and insanity.....Hello, old friend.
How do I respond to this invitation? "Oh, I'm fine, just deep in thought!" "Oh, don't worry about me, I'm just trying to remember the lyrics we have to work on today!"
No. I looked him square in the face and said, "I think I'm losing my mind."
I haven't been using social media very much in the last few days. I haven't been working, singing, reading, eating, sleeping, or anything really in the past few days. I have been too busy trying to keep my brain inside my head.
I am manic.
Now, gentle reader, when I say manic, I do not mean the little hypomanic "blips" I've had in the past. I mean that I am completely off-my-rocker. I am not quite hallucinating yet, but every bit of my concentration is going toward not hurting myself/anyone else, as well as anyTHING else. Last night I actually had to physically stop myself from getting out of bed at 11pm to smash every inanimate object in my living and dining rooms. I had never felt so strongly that I NEEDED to destroy everything there. Why? Sure beats the shit out of me.
I have spent entire afternoons this week sitting on a chair and NOT cutting my arms to ribbons. It takes all of my energy to finish sentences. I have never been this manic in my life. I have been anxious, or depressed to the point of self-harm, but this is brand shiny-new. Paulie sat with me on Monday as I hung onto his sweatshirt in the living room and sobbed over and over again "What's happening to me; WHAT IS HAPPENING?!?!"
Possibly the biggest KICKER to this entire shitty ball of wax is that I had my husband drive me to an Emergency Room on Monday night.... and they sent me home. I'm not crazy enough. I had no "confirmed plan" of suicide that night, so "Medicare won't pay for any kind of inpatient treatment. And don't bother telling me now that you're suicidal. It won't work." It was then explained to me that there were people waiting 3-5 days in the same emergency room who had not gotten a bed in a substance abuse facility yet. There were waiting lists for every hospital and program in the area. I wasn't getting in anywhere. They told me to go home and talk to my therapist the next day; that she would have MORE luck of getting me into a facility THAN A HOSPITAL WOULD.
So now I sit at home and wait. There is a facility in my hometown that is able to "talk to me" on Tuesday. A psych hospital that is quite popular and rhymes with "LeClane" has a 5-week wait to just TALK to me for an intake, never mind get me into a program.
Paulie is being so good; he sits and tries to keep the demons at bay. I speak in half-sentences and bewildering metaphors, and rail at anyone who will listen to my tale of woe.
Now begins my spiraling descent into uncertainty and insanity.....Hello, old friend.
