Documenting my journey through the mental health system

An elopement risk sign was added to the outside of the main doors because of my sleepwalking and attempts to get out, futile as they were. I was directed back to bed twice in the night but the second time Jake woke me up in the hall, pushing my shoulder and jumping back in case I started swinging. I knew I was gonna have to ask about a sleep specialist at the VA. Waking up in the hall was getting old.

The doctor came to see me. “How do you feel about going home today?”

“Yes!” I said without hesitation.

And I was feeling better. I had started coming to terms with things in my life – job dissatisfaction, dysfunctional family dynamics and what to do about them, as well as learning and accepting who I was, however short lived these feelings might be.

“For a minute there, it looked like you would not be ready. But we think if you discharge straight to the VA for your appointment, you would be better served in an IOP program. You’re welcome to do it here, I already checked on VA funding and it is available to you.”

“Okay,” I nodded.

“You will need to work hard adopting some of what you learned here about boundaries, emotion regulation, and safety planning. You feel everything strongly, good and bad. You’ll need to recognize signs of mania or depression as those feelings worsen or intensify, and use the safety plan to get support and help with those things before it reaches a crisis level.”

I nodded as he lectured me. I knew he was right. It is just hard. Hard to recognize signs of decompensation. This particular decomp was hard and fast and nearly killed me. And if I am suicidal, what then? Go to urgent care at the VA – “hi, I want to kill myself. Please stop me.” That’s ridiculous. Once I make a plan and a date, once I’ve set my mind to it, I just do it. Detainments and incarcerations tend to follow. Someone stops me. Someone calls a welfare check on me. Or at least, doctors at the VA threaten to if I don’t come in for inpatient treatment. One time 10 years ago my brother caught me trying to hang myself. That is another story for another post.

I did not mention the voices chattering and whispering to me off and on. Jack tells me I’ll eventually decompensate and lose everything. That the mental health system is secretly an organization interested in human experimentation and that I will end up locked in one of their facilities for possibly the rest of my life.

“Once they have you, they don’t let go,” he warns. “You can’t tell anyone about me. They will call you crazy. Probably you are.”

The social worker came and went over my discharge paperwork and up to date safety plan. Asked me questions.

“Do you feel your condition has improved in the time you have been here? Do you feel like killing yourself? Do you have thoughts of self harm?”

I was able to answer truthfully – I did feel better. I had improved. I was at a functional level again. I had even slept a little better the night before, wrapped up in that anti-suicide blanket, despite a little sleepwalking. The gabapentin was helping. The regularly used PRN seroquel was calming my overactive mind. The increase in the effexor had improved my mood and energy levels. I was absolutely relieved to be leaving. I made it out alive.

The patient I yelled at -the one I told to shut the fuck up – we were cool at the end of my stay. He was discharging too, to a group home. He gave me a fist bump, thanks me for my service. We wished each other luck.

A Lyft was ordered for me and I was sent straight to the VA for my psychologist appointment with Dr Black. We talked about what could be some of the signs of impending decompensation but remembering the early part of the past couple weeks was like trying to remember a bad dream. “I went a little manic, I just snapped at work….I had all these swirling feelings and Jack telling me to kill myself, it’s the only escape…”

I trailed off, feeling mostly at a loss.

“How are the voices?”

“They come off and on. I call them Jack and Jackie. Jackie shows me the 10 dimensions, the properties of each, the beings found in each one, the 10th is the singularity and it’s where I’m destined to go. She says it’s not death when I kill myself, it’s transition. I have to go through the door.”

Dr. Black was not judgmental of these things. I was getting more comfortable talking about it, with her only.

“Do you agree with them?”

“Yes,” I said readily. “They say they’re outside of me, beings that reached the 10th dimension over thousands of years. Moments to them, thousands and thousands of years to us…” I trailed off, staring, dissociated a little. I came back when Dr Black said my name.

We worked on my safety plan and walked through each step. She promised they would pursue IOP treatment as the mental hospital had instructed. And I would be seeing her once a week.

I got home and my mind went more quiet. Taking a seroquel helped shut Jack and Jackie up, at least for awhile. Especially Jack. He was often mean to me and made me distressed.

Two days after I got home, I left town for a week. I needed a proper reset on my terms. I spent the week in San Francisco. Had some family down there. When I got back I had a few days at home before I was to go back to work. After a month away, I finally returned end of August. I’ve only been back a few weeks.

That concludes the story of my detainment. Of course I may come to add edits or details that feel important. I am still improved from my stay, taking my meds everyday, and sleepwalking only a few times a week. I merely wake up on my bathroom floor or couch. It is disconcerting but at least I’m staying in my own apartment. I still hear Jack and Jackie talking to me but it isn’t every day. I am able to use music, writing, and sometimes a little comedy and reading to distract myself. If I listen to my music loud enough, I can drown him out. I am trying to keep busy. I see Dr Black every week. Do the homework. Try to reassure myself. Every day. One hour at a time. One day at a time.