after my discharge in that early part of july, i felt somewhat normal. i was taking my meds religiously and still going to PHP every morning (even though i'd be dog tired from working the night before) and still going up to my unit to work my shift.
somewhere along the third week of july 2003, i relapsed again. i started crying and babbling nonsense that i wanted to die, i felt like a failure and i felt like i couldnt keep going. again, i was walked over to the psych unit and admitted for suicidal ideation. again i went thru the drill of taking anything that was considered "dangerous" away from me. again the Thorazine for sleep, the nicotine patch to curb cravings, the early morning wake-up shouts, the breakfasts, lunch and dinner, the bedtime snack and sleeping, again the early morning vital sign invasion -- shit, i'm tired from just rehashing all of this! this time my bills had piled up at the curb, i was behind in my rent, and it felt like my whole world was crashing down on me and i had no way out. the social workers would come in my room to try to help me thru the financial woes, but to no avail.
i cried off and on, really feeling like a complete and total failure, and felt deep inside my kids hated me for being sick like this. and to top all of this off, i had a new attending psych doc -- a baldheaded gnome of a man named Dr. Abrams. by this time i was voicing my desire to go home and near week's end, i had the (dis)pleasure to meet with Abrams.
he asked me how i felt and i told him i felt fine. he said are you sure? and somewhat irritated i said yes. and of course the usual barrage of questions -- did i ever hear voices, was i seeing things that werent there, did i still feel suicidal, bla bla bla bla. to each query of his i answered a rather salty "NO". he looked at me and said, i dont think you're ready to go home yet.
now what did he say that for? feeling my hackles rising, i asked indignantly why not? and he asked me to tell him why i felt like i was ready to go home. i said because i feel better. he said, no, i dont think you really do. trying to keep a lid on my temper i said irritably, yes i do. i feel fine and i want to go home. in my mind i was like what the fuck is up with this muthafucka? why is he fucking with me like this? is he trying to send me completely over the edge? shit!
again the same asnine question -- tell me how you feel. mustering every bit of self-control to not snap off on this guy i said i feel fine. then he says, no, you're not fine. tell me how you really feel right now. finally i snapped and said why are you asking me the same damn questions? i told you i felt fine and i want to go home! then he says i'm not sure you're ready yet. you still havent told me how you really feel. by then, so help me God, i was ready to reach across the table and choke the fuck outta that man, and by then the tears started and i hate when i get mad and cry at the same time. nearly shouting, i said, 'what the hell do you want me to say? i dont know what you want me to say cuz you keep fucking with me!" and by then i started bawling like an idiot, and he finally asked me, are you angry? thru angry tears i said "yes." then somewhat nicer he said, you have a lot of anger built up inside you and you gotta let it out otherwise it'll kill ya and make you more depressed. um, ya think? geez!
i merely nodded my head, and he finally said, ok, i'm gonna write the order for your discharge.
you can go home. mortified, i got up and walked to the door, my mind still churning and then it dawned on me -- he was deliberately making me mad to make me release some of the anger i'd buried down inside me for years. i shook my head and thought, ha, he's a crafty muthafucka. and went to my room to get changed and get my walking papers outta there.
of course i had med scripts that needed filling and i went and got em filled and took my ass home.
sigh. i knew i was crazy, but damn, after all of that shit from Dr. Abrams, i know i was going off the deep end for sure.
stay tuned for the continuing saga of my experience in the cuckoo's nest -- yet again.
No comments:
Post a Comment