I wander how other people deal with being triggered.
I am really struggling this evening, I have this sick feeling in my stomach, and my body feels cold but my hands are sweaty, I think posting my previous post triggered me, and I am also slightly terrified of others reading my posts. It's the first time I am putting myself out there, but more importantly it's the first time I am being honest with myself. I won't recover my life if I am not honest with myself.
So I am sitting at home this evening wandering how to cope, I am not drinking, I am not smoking and I can't find my xanax, so I decided to post another blog. Three in one day. I am trying to keep myself busy.
I am on a fair bit of medication which I have been on for about 10 months. After being admitted to the day hospital I was there for about a week and a half and I was finding it really tough, I was an emotional wreck, and I couldn't function in my own life. So there was one night I came home and all I wanted to do was hurt myself. I hadn't done any self harm in over two years, well no significant self harm, or so I thought. Substance abuse is considered a form of self harm, so I guess I have been self harming for a long time! Anyway this night I didn't want just a drink - I wanted to actual cause physical pain, all in an effort to stop the emotional pain. Emotional pain has to be one of the hardest to deal with, nothing seems to cure it, it's there when you least expect it, and I haven't found a way to smother it yet. So I phoned one of the nurses from the day hospital like I'd been told to if I felt overwhelmed. They were lovely on the phone, and I was given some advice and I felt better for having spoken to someone. It didn't stop me from coming down the stairs and finishing off a bottle of wine, I didn't see this as self harm, but rather something that I had gotten into the habit of doing, and I had had a hard day so why not reward myself with a glass of wine (a bottle).
The next morning I woke up a bit fuzzy, but dreading going into the hospital. I felt like a naughty child. It wasn't long before I was called into a meeting with one of the nurses, and they said they had spoken to my psychiatrist and my team and they all felt that I would be better off in the acute unit, which meant staying in hospital, something I had promised my son I would do everything to avoid, and here I was not even two weeks in and I was failing. This is what I told myself anyway. In truth, going in was my only option left to try and get help, and save myself from myself. It took me a few hours of crying and a call to my husband JJ to agree to be admitted. It was a very low day.
I remember driving home to pack a suitcase. JJ was working from home so he would be able to drop me off as soon as I was ready to go. He sent our son round to a friend and I came home and packed my bag, and before I knew it we were on our way back to hospital. One of the nurses was waiting for me at the front door when I got there, they had called to see where I was because we were delayed in traffic. I think they also thought I might be a flight risk. I think I was. Being shown to my room and being shown around the ward is all a bit of a blur, but I sank to a new low. I was in shock being in the day hospital, this was so much worse. To make it worse it was coming up to the Easter weekend, and I was going to be in hospital. I wasn't allowed to unpack my bags until the nurses had come in and checked for contraband. Basically anything that I could hurt myself with, they even took my scarf. This is one of the worst things, watching someone go through your bags removing things they see as a threat.
Once they were done I sat on the bed and burst into tears, I was broken, I was ashamed of where I was and what I had done to my life. I suddenly realised I hadn't told anyone outside of my immediate family and two friends what was going on, I had been so overwhelmed with my own life I hadn't thought about anything else in weeks. For the first time in a long time I didn't even have energy to think about work or anything, I was officially broken.
I remember walking into the shower room, it was a full wet room with a toilet {no toilet seat or lid} in the corner and a small basin. No taps, everything was operated by buttons. I decided to shower, so I turned it on, locked the bathroom door and locked myself away for about an hour. I was just sitting on the floor in the shower for that first hour.
I remember lying on my bed and nurse coming in to say hello, she was apparently from the same country as me, I nodded without saying a word and rolled over. I couldn't muster up anything for my fellow countryman at this point.
At some point someone came to offer me food, I said no. Then someone else came to finish off my admission to the acute unit. She was lovely. I couldn't get through talking about what brought me here without breaking down. I was asked if I would stay the night - I said yes, in my head I said no way, but what was I going to do?
They gave me a sleeping tablet that night which I was so grateful, because if they hadn't I doubt I would have gone to sleep at all.
No comments:
Post a Comment