A couple of weeks ago I was hospitalized for trying to cut myself. I couldn’t, which is a good thing, but my dad thought I was and panicked, so he called the police.
It was immediately after I had a huge fight with my dad. Basically, he had limitations and I took it personally. I thought that he didn’t care enough to try and change. But that’s just not who he is. I can’t get what I need from him.
About 6 police officers showed up, after my dad said on the phone that I had a knife. I had put the knives away at this point.
I got in the ambulance on my own. I had shut down at this point, and wasn’t really thinking. At the hospital they had me wait 6 hours to see someone capable of doing a psychological evaluation.
They did the test and decided that I was a risk to myself. I told them I wasn’t, and cited the fact that I couldn’t even hurt myself, much less kill myself. But they cited the plan I’ve had for 2 years and never acted on.
I don’t like it when people who I’ve just met pretend to know what’s best for me. Like they know me better than I know myself.
I tell them I don’t want to go to another hospital. They say that I have 2 choices: go with them voluntarily, or involuntarily. I tell them that I’ll leave. They call security. I don’t make any attempts to get out of the hospital bed, or anything like that.
One of the people who shows up is the nicest, most understanding people I met that day. He said that I should do what I need to do and not come back. To avoid scaring people by doing things like cut myself, and that it doesn’t matter how long it takes for me to get better. He sounds like he’s on my side more than the hospital’s. It’s really nice.
They show up with a medication and say that I have to take it or they’ll sedate me. I take the medication.
They not-so-subtly move me to a room with nothing in it. They have me fill out paperwork. I read my rights. The nurse who did my evaluation said that I talk to a licensed psychiatrist the day I get to the inpatient hospital, and they reevaluate me.
If they say I’m fine, they let me go.
They say I’m fine. They don’t let me go.
I freak out. I start closing the door to my room, trying the exits. They sedate me. I’m held down. I don’t try and move. I just don’t give them permission.
All of this was triggering to me. It reminded me of the woods.
This is taking a long time to say.
I stay there 4 days, during which I calm down. I realize that this isn’t the same as wilderness therapy, and that it’ll be over soon. And they have better legal recourse to keep me there.
During that time, I get to make phone calls. One of which is to my dad, who says that “something needs to change” and that he’s fired my therapist. It’s the therapist I’ve had a really good connection with for 2 years. Who I saw the first time when I was 10.
I just had my last session with my therapist yesterday. I’m supposed to start making calls to new ones, but I don’t have it in me.
this situation sucks