The doctor first diagnosed me with depression. So we went on a journey to find the best medication. I don’t want to list them all and besides I’ve forgotten a lot of the names of them. To find the right medication is a lot of trial and error. It went like this:
- Doctor proscribed medication
- I take it for a month
- See doctor and tell him how I feel
- If I feel a little better he might increase the dosage. Maybe add another pill.
- If I felt emotionally numb he might change medication or lower the dose.
It went on like this for a good year. I was tired of trying. I was tired of living like that. I began cutting again. I had cut years before but not as an adult. My roommate saw… And she called a suicide prevention line, they put her on hold, she was shocked. She took me to the emergency room. I wasn’t bleeding. But I did want to die. So that’s what we put to check in… We were in that waiting room a long time… I was finally seen. The doctor said I needed to be evaluated by a behavioral health worker. So they called one and about half an hour later one came. He spoke to me and assessed that it would be in my best interest to be put on a 51-50. This for everyone new to behavioral health language is a 72 hour psych hospital stay. Now I waited. The worker had to find me a bed at a hospital. Since I lived in a small town I would be sent away. He finally found a bed for me. It would be available in the morning. I barely slept that night. I cried a lot… I was scared… The morning comes and I’m being driven their by a security guard in a car with a fence between the back seat and front seat. I didn’t know what would happen next.
Just Figuring It Out Now 