I haven't written in a while for two reasons. First, our computer died, making writing anything a little bit difficult (I didn't much feel like writing out a blog post on my iPhone). Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, I was hospitalized for all of last week. I wrote a lot in my journal last week and so I'll share bits of what I wrote for the next little while. Please be aware if you do suffer from PPD or other forms of depression that this post may have some triggers that you may want to avoid.
September 22, 2013
I have been hospitalized as a formal patient. So the police will come looking for me if I try to leave. How awkward. We had a bit of drama Friday night that led to this visit to this hospital. I'm not sure what all contributed to it, but I know that I was stressed about packing and getting everything ready for the trip to Saskatchewan.
A. and I had decided earlier that week that I should go to visit my parents in Saskatchewan so that I could get a little extra TLC. I was having really bad headaches all week and, consequently, wasn't coping very well.
I was making up a packing list and a to do list before leaving and realizing that I had a lot to do. I was already getting anxious before this and it just made it worse. A. put my Clonazepam bottle in front of me, indicating I should take some, but I ignored him (to be honest that action erked me a little). A little while later, as my anxiety continued to mount, he got me a glass of water and put a Clonazepam in my hand (interestingly, that action didn't erk me) and I took it but I guess it was too late. I started to feel really agitated. I felt like I needed to get out of the house. It was such a strong urge - I just wanted to run. I remember repeating to myself "I have to go somewhere... go somewhere... I just need to go. Somewhere. Somewhere." And I just walked. I felt totally out of control. Unable to concentrate on anything but walking. Somewhere. About a block later I realized that A. had followed me. But I still couldn't stop. I was driven.
Please, please, stop reading here if there is any chance a foray into my hopeless, depressed psyche could hurt you in any way.
I wound up near a pond in our neighborhood and I thought I might able to drown myself. The water would be cold, my clothes heavy, and I didn't have the desire to fight it. Maybe I could force myself to dive, then breathe... maybe it would be over soon. The street lights were dancing in the water's reflection and it looked really peaceful. So peaceful. "I'd like to be that peaceful," I thought. And I walked towards the water.
But A. was there and he figured it out. I remember saying "You should go back to be with N., I'll be fine. I promise, I'll be fine..." In a minute I'll be fine.
But he wouldn't leave me and then he said "I'm taking you to the hospital."
And I flipped "No, no, no. I promise I won't hurt myself, I won't kill myself. It's a pact for safety. If I say I won't, I won't. I promise, I promise." And I really did mean it.
A. wouldn't relent. He let me sit with him and cry. He let me take a shower. He let me pack up a small bag with a toothbrush, change of underwear, a picture of N. He put my Bible in my bag. I stalled and stalled and asked "is there any way I can convince you to let me stay?"
And then he said the thing that changed my mind: "We've had too many close calls. What's it going to take before you let me take you? I'm the one who will have to tell our baby what happened to her mommy. And when she asks me why I didn't take you to the hospital, what am I supposed to say to her?" And I thought about my baby grown, but still young, wanting her mom and blaming her dad for not taking better care of me. And I knew that would be wrong. I knew he was right and doing everything right. So, finally, I relented. We woke our sleeping baby came to the hospital and I was admitted in the morning to unit 34. It sucks. And it's painful. I miss my baby. I miss my husband. I'm bored and I'm scared.
Don't worry. It gets better.
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