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moodyashell 
well the elephant in MY particular room is suicide.Â
let me just say in my defence that technically speaking i didnt want to die per se, i just wanted the pain in my stomach and soul that i lived with every minute to stop. i just wanted to lay down and sleep and not hurt anymore. unfortunately, that can easily be confused with dying.
J came home from work and couldnt get me to stay awake even putting me in the shower, and then found the bottle (klonopin, which i didnt even bother to reasearch or i would have known it takes a long time to die on them) an heaved me up and half walked half carried me tothe car which i dont remember and over to the medical center. i remember only snippets of this...wondering why there were iv's in my arms, why people where holding me down when i tried to roll over, and j's face, always j's smiling face, saying he loved me.
and then i remember a doctor approaching..explaining...he neede to put my finger in my ass, and for some reason i said it was ok...he was very was gentle, i remember specifically he was gentle...and then it was over. i dont remember anything until i wake up abruptly on the unit and try and get out of bed and fall down. why, why, why, when my brain was kind enough to make me forget everything wants that vivd memory of that latexed finger doing its thing burned into my skull for eternitity? and it is. believe me it is. now lthat i think of it, i'm not even sure he was a doctor.Â
anyway the next 24 hours were a complete fog, with people asking me questions and saying things like 'mood stabilizers' and bipolar disorder and they have to talk to me in bed because blinking my eyes is taking all of my energy. i dont know if it was the drugs they were giving me or the ones leaving my system but combined they felt like 55 tons. so i spent a lot of time in bed until after dragging myself to breakfast one morning wearing the clothes i had come in wearing, with hospital gowns on over it bcause it was freezing for some reason. i asked who is my nurse, social worker, doctor? people came and sopke to me but my brain couldnt remember names or who was who they were like "why dont you get out of bed once in a while: so i did and i started walking around the small unt around and around becuase my muscles ached from the crappy beds and i realized i couldnt leave if i wanted to.
i couldnt sign myself out i couldnt throw a tantrum and curse people out. all that would get me would be more drugs. sweet, delicious drugs. anyway that feeling of being caged is horrible horrible and i would definately die within 15 minutes if i ever had to go to jail. anyway when j visits i am banging on windows, angerly trying to find a crack and vowing to break out. the dr talks she wonders why i wont answer her quetion:are you suicidal? you know, thats a stupid question. no, i was never suicidal. not even when i poured a whole bottle of prescription pills into my hand, not even but i put them in my mouth, nor when i swallowed. it tasted bitter and i had to use a lot of water. i thought about mixing it with booze, that would definately speed things up but ew, warm vodka? a pinapple rum drink? no, not suicial, just on fire. just standing here feeling so shitty you fantasize a satalight would fall from space and land right on your head. suicidal? no. so i said..:no. i'm not suicidal. it seemed like the right answer. i also knew my insurance was running out the next day so really, scrumdeliumptious could also have been the right answer.Â
whats the point in helping people if youre not getting paid, right? i took my meds like a robot anyttime they asked me i walked around walking walking i didnt change my clothes or wash my hair or brush my teeth. j beggd me. at leat the teeth he said. i said i was never brushing anything again. i go to groups we play word games. i realize that if my job was to do art therapy in a joint like this my life would be significantly easier. no biting. no complaing. just drawing.Â
i go to the woman at the front desk, i cant really tell who is who but she is usually nice so i ask how long does it take for the meds to work and she says right away maybe, but gradually reach full efffert in a week or two and i realize i'm totally psyched because that pan in my soul was calmer, the fire was cooling. but i wanted to be sure it wasnt my imagination. "i've been fooled by drugs before' i say. then the word discharge starts coming up and i start to feel better and better, talking to people and even laughing like, twice. a patient comes to me and says she is pregnant by immaculte conception and it happened in 2000 and she is in fact jesus christ and do i have any extra shirts i could spare? by this time i had lost the psycho hospital gown and was wearing one of my favorite tees with the karl denson band on it and black running shorts. i reached into my drawer and pulled out the shirt i wear as pajamas, the shirt i was wearing when i was admitted, the shirt i wish i had the guts to wear in public, the shirt that shouts 'ANI FUCKING DIFRANCO', well apparently jesus didnt like black so i took off the shirt i was wearing and hand it to her. any pants she asks? i take off my running shorts, hand them to her and wear the pants..the plaid boxer shorts that i sleep in, and put them on. she looks great in my clothes and the social worker asks me if i am giving away my belongs because i have another suicide brewing. now its an empahatic no. no.
turns out i'm cured on the exact date my insurance stops covering the bill, and after sincere thanks to the aids, social workers, nurses, art therapists, secretarys and med - givier- outers for reminding me that how someone talks to you DOES make a difference, and a few minutes of attention CAN boost a mood, and positive energy CAN save a life. i realize in my professional life i had forgotten all of this and i thank them for reminding me and having faith in me and i know they will see a million other patient before the week is out but for one minute, they heard me and i thank them. now it is time to go and i am discharged with a young girl who alledegedly threatened somone with a knife and neither of us has a car so we start walking and she immediatelu buys cigarettes and then goes to a liquor store and buys a little bootle, taking the bag and wrappingit around it so the word 'vodka' wont show. she opens it and we both swig from it like old men. maybe this is who i am now? i think i have to start from scatech. but whoever she is, she'll smoke weed.
