Documenting my journey through the mental health system

A lot of firsts this week. A first week at work back at my house. A first night back at Sacred Heart with a new commute. I drove by the mental hospital as there is no avoiding it and forced myself not to look. Every time, I have to force myself not to look. It’s been almost a year since I was violently detained and locked up there. I spent ten days, half of it in a suicide smock, trying to stay alive.

10 years ago, a similar thing happened – bipolar psychosis, a violent detainment, and locked up at Sacred Heart’s acute psychiatric unit before stabilizing in their general psych unit. Now I work here. If I had been detained here last year instead of a neighboring hospital, I don’t think I would have even applied for the job, let alone accepted it. The passage of time helps with the triggers and painful memories. I’m able to work here now, after all. The reminders are all over the place – the ambulance bay near the main entrance, the signage on the main floor, the hallway to the psych unit I walk by every time on my way to my floor. The memories come flooding back every time I walk in here. Some nights are better than others. Some nights I can power through with distraction and focus, other nights I spend my lunch near tears, wondering what I did to get to this place. Wondering when my next breakdown will be.

But I like the work. I especially like the money. I like making a lot of money that I then use to pay for grad school, or to update my house, or to eat out. I love eating out and when you work 60 hours a week, there is not a lot of time for cooking.

I intend to call Dr Black today. She is expecting my call. I was supposed to see her for an update/maintenance appointment back in April or May – roughly four months since my graduation from IOP. Instead, I focused on my house and getting moved back in as smoothly as possible. I would rather go see her with all of that complete because the focus of the appointment will be recalling all that therapy, all that work on boundaries and communication, just to be able to live this life.

I haven’t heard any voices in days. A couple weeks. But then I ran out of my Abilify. I could have sworn I had a refill in my med box but there wasn’t one there. I have to wait till my refill comes. I’m still not hearing any voices but the anxiety that surrounds them makes it worse. Makes them come on unbidden.

I make plans to combat the day. After work I’m loading up the last of my things for Goodwill. I’m going to Idaho for the cheaper gas, smokes, and liquor. On the way back I’m washing and detailing my car before finally dropping the donations off. If I have time, I want to start my roundup spray on the side of the house, where it looks absolutely terrible and overgrown with weeds. It’s supposed to be scraped clean and weed free. I will kill them all and blow them away.

I still need to drop off the keys to my now empty apartment. There’s a weird closure I wasn’t expecting to feel. I thought I would be quite depressed about leaving and while I am going to miss my downtown life, I’m realizing this is like a long overdue conclusion to the mental breakdown I went through in the fall of 2023 – I wrote about it in this blog. On the day I was released, I moved into that apartment. Now a chapter is over, and I have to start anew in my own home.