suicide
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Sleepwalking again. Wandering into other rooms, trying to get out of the heavy, locked double doors to the psych unit. An MHT following me, attempting to talk to me. Not redirectable, I eventually wandered toward and attempted to get through the door to the interior part of the nurse station. Seclusion was right there and
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My 7th night saw me pass out shortly after meds, practically asleep before my head hit the pillow. I pieced together my episodes of sleepwalking from medical records, chart notes, and verbal reports. That night I actually got up and started walking around my room. I went out and headed straight for the main doors.
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My first week in the hospital, a living nightmare, had passed. On day seven I felt so groggy, so heavy and sedated, I barely noticed when they came for vitals at 6am. The doctor came to see me first thing. “How are you feeling?” “Shitty,” I could barely mumble. I kept my eyes closed. “Dirty?”
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My fourth, maybe fifth, day in the hospital came. The meds had slowed me down significantly. I was pacing less, groggy and sedated. I suppose that was the goal, get me to slow down a little. I was hearing the voice less but he did still pop into my head to remind me I was
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I woke up slowly, wrapped in blankets up to my neck. I blinked and looked around and tried to roll over. This took monumental effort, and I didn’t get very far. I tried looking around. The room was spinning, and I moaned – the room was bare, white, small, and empty save the bed I
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I detailed in depth the story of my very recent detainment, violent and traumatic. I’m still dealing with flashbacks and bad dreams. It triggered a lot of other older, terrifying memories of the first time I was detained 10 years ago. That too was violent and traumatic. And I really hoped it would never happen
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Monday came, and as the MHT came to take my vitals, I woke groggy and lightheaded from the meds I was given for sleep, namely Zyprexa. I took a shower for the first time in a few days, and this took monumental effort. I didn’t go to breakfast but there was coffee. Everything is so
Documenting my journey through the mental health system 