2 MUCH THINK 2 SLEEP

It’s weird. In a lot of ways.

I’ve been there for that reason a lot – both my mental health, and others.

Both sides suck. I mean, going to the hospital in general sucks – but it’s always felt extra weird for me in regards to mental health.
It feels more ambiguous when trying to access mental health support.

I can’t walk in and simply point – ‘I have bad thing here, plz fix’, and they can look and say, ‘ooooooo – yes, that bad thing, we do this then you go home’ . (this is of course a very limited perspective on interactions with heath care, plenty of folks do not even get that experience)

Instead, I have to figure out ‘am I so unsafe right now that I require emergency intervention because of this impulse or set of symptoms brought on by this persistent negative cognitive state?’

Dafuq? There’s people needing attention from car accidents and shit, I can figure out how to get my thoughts in order… right?

Taking someone else to the hospital for mental heath? Ooof. What a fucking mess. I mean, first I have to figure out, does this person want to go? Often times not. So now I have to use my judgement to make a decision that could deprive this person maybe involuntarily held for an undetermined period of time? Oh, and the flip side is, if I’m wrong, they might not live, or hurt themselves/someone else? Well, if I do this right, they won’t be pissed off when I come visit at least.
Oh, also, I hope whoever is triaging tonight is sympathetic to mental health, or this might just be a reaaaaaaal shitty night for everyone.

Cool. Coolcoolcoolcoolcocooclccococllccolcldslfioajsdlfjadsf.

So the other day I was doing everything I could to *not* go to the hospital after being overwhelmed with intrusive thoughts and anxiety for several days straight, which included calling the provincial health line, being directed to a nurse, who then made the strong suggestion I go to hospital, “take the ambulance, don’t think you should drive” – because she was worried about my heart.

Part of me is now rationalizing, ‘well, I called about the problem in my noggin, not my heart, so I’m probably fine, I shouldn’t take up ER space – welllllll on the flip side of the coin, you have been describing persistent chest tightness for 3 days in association with this terrified state, and come to think of it, your heart exploding might be a bad thing, so I guess you should go…
But an ambulance? Really? That’s dramatic.
Oh fuck. What if this is it? What if this is the moment you’ve truly lost it? What if this is the time where someone else has to make the decision involuntarily hold me? Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…’

One uber ride with my super supportive partner to the hospital later….

I fucking hate being here. I’m sitting next to people who need clear visible help, and I don’t feel worthy. My most visible symptom is probably a mild tremor and the look in the eyes of someone trapped in an anxiety loop.

Not only that, I know what’s on the other side of the door if they do need to keep me. This is not a place where I will become healthy – this is a place where they will keep me until there is enough safety and a plan that I can leave again.

Don’t get me wrong, that’s a good thing.

But the hospital is not a place that is resourced to stimulate and encourage your healthiest self – it’s a place to keep people alive.

I leave with a short term prescription for benzos and a referral for follow-up.
This is good.
It’s not enough benzos to abuse, but it will get me through while I build up some other supports and a plan. I know I could access more meds if I wanted to – but I don’t want to go down that road if I don’t have to.
Benzo withdrawal is awful, and the dependency is not something I want to develop.

I leave feeling like I dodged a bullet again, I shared enough to feel heard and get a band-aid to patch the hole, but I don’t need any more than that, no need to share the rest, it’s ‘Emergency’ after all, and this does the trick to get me going again.

And I’m scared to stay here.

The Nurse that I see feels safe enough, I let the walls down a bit, it feels nice. She says she could tell I was holding back anyway, and I believe her.
I know my body language sucks when I’m all fucked up.

So, I gotta do the work now. Got some decisions to make. I need to connect with therapy again, find ways to manage better. Also might have some hard decisions around the family I keep in my life. Also might have to consider changes in meds.

And if things get bad again, I’m going to trust my partner and the medical professionals if I have to go back to the hospital again, and hope I can be heard and get what I need like was able to other night. My experience then was a good one, and I’ve been there when I’ve seen others not get that opportunity, and no one should be deprived of that.