Thursday, October 20, 2016

Word Bombs Everywhere

So a few month agooooo.... I had an interesting conversation with someone and it kept bugging me so I wrote about it. I didn't get around to posting it because I'm lazy and I felt like I needed enough of a buffer to not be obvious about it. It was a post explaining the feelings I had that ended with an uplifting message about forgiveness and empathy. Today, I'm feeling a little different about the situation because today I'm in one of those 'zero fox given' modes. I keep telling myself to put down the keyboard but I'm a sucker for dramatics so away we go!

Hey. What's up? You seemed a little pointed in that conversation we had. In fact, everyone I shared it with, which I seem to have a lot of people who care about me so I shared it with quite a few, all thought it was pretty fucking ridiculous. They wanted me to respond with some fairly harsh words but here's the thing, I don't care. I do not care how you feel about me. I don't care if you feel I wronged you in some way because I know that anyone else who looks at this situation would agree that you were the one who is being irrational. You disliking me for what essentially you made the choice to become involved in, doesn't affect my life one iota. I'm not going to feel bad for something I had nothing to do with. And I can promise the other side of the party that was actually involved, doesn't give an eff either.

Also, if you haven't realized, everyone has shit in their lives. You act like you are the only one dealing with it, you're not. You're not some special circumstance where everything falls on you just a little harder than everyone else. One time you told me there are two types of people in the world, those who act like a victim and those who don't. There are two other kinds of people, those who try see things for what they are and handle it in a healthy, understanding way and then there are those who decide to be a Negative Nancy and attempt to make others feel bad because they feel they are owed something. I can admit, sometimes I'm the latter but at least I fucking own it. At least I'm aware of my own unhealthiness and I don't blame it on other people.

Feel free to take some time to reflect on exact what you're pissed off about. If you're able, which after all these years of holding on to shit I have very little confidence you are, take a look at it from the other side. Don't just look for reasons to justify your feelings, open yourself to the possibility that there was and maybe still is something much deeper than the initial issue you chose to attach your feelings to.

Me writing all this might seem like I give a shit but I assure you I don't. I'm writing all this because I feel like you obviously surround yourself in people who only try to cater to your best interest, whether they truly feel that way or not. It just makes me feel grateful I have family and friends that call me out on my bullshit. It would really kind of suck to live in a world of self imposed ignorance.

*drops mic*

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

The Time I Was Committed - Part One

I figured I'd write this post for anyone who is curious as to what it's like to be sent to a "psych ward" because I can't lie, I've always been curious myself. Luckily for you little wombats, I went crazy, got sent to one and can tell you all about it! I'll be writing this in a series since it takes place over a few days. So here is part one, starting after the police transported me to the hospital around 4:00pm or so on the fateful Wednesday afternoon.

Once in the emergency room, I sat in triage until a room in the actual emergency room opened up. Apparently they only have one or two behavioral rooms so it was a very long wait. Like 6 hours long. During this time, I had a police officer guard my door, then eventually a hospital security guard once they realized I wasn't going to do anything but sit there and wait. While I waited I had an evaluation with a psychiatrist over Skype, after the evaluation she recommended a committal. Knowing I had no choice and hoping it would make things easier, I gave my consent. I figured if I committed myself, I would be able to leave whenever I wanted. Later I would find out, that is not how it works. Finally a behavioral room opened up and I was moved. At this point they take everything you have, since I had my husband with me, they allowed my personal belongings in the room. I was asked to strip down to my underwear, I was not allowed to keep my bra, and given one of those open robe things to wear. The furniture in the room was made of this hard plasticy foamy type stuff. There I would stay until they could find me a bed somewhere. As it got later, they brought me in a "bed" to sleep on.

I can't say I don't understand why they have to take the precautions they do, I get it completely. It's a safety thing. Around 11pm, a nurse told me they received a court order and they could now legally place me. This shocked me, I figured since I volunteered to a committal that we wouldn't need to go through the courts but I was told no, the only way they will place you is if you get a judge to sign off on it. I don't know how accurate this statement was but at the time I was feeling a thousand different things so I didn't even ask anymore questions. I don't remember what time it was, very early morning I think, the nurse came in to tell me I had been placed. She assured me it was one of the nicer units in Iowa, a hospital called St Anthony's. They had placed a call in for a transport and were waiting to hear back. Throughout this entire endeavor and the huge stress that had come with it, I wasn't really in the healthiest place. After the several hours that had past, I began to gain the lucidity back and realize what was going on. Once the reality began to set it, I was frantic. Never having been in a situation like this before, I was terrified as to what I was about to experience. I had no idea what to expect and all I wanted to do was go home. At about 8:30 am, the transport arrived and I was loaded into a car and driven a little over an hour away to the hospital.
Between waiting for a place to sit in the emergency room to waiting for a bed at a behavioral unit, I waited about 16 hours. I was not overly surprised. Prior to that visit, I had gone to a hospital in a nearby city after my family had a small intervention on me to commit myself and was told there were no beds, no one would be discharged until at least the next day and there was already someone in the ER who had been waiting for 22 hours. Yes, this is the actual state of affairs when it comes to someone trying to get help. Because I was with family and would have support at home, they sent me on my way but there are many people who need the help that don't have a family to keep them safe.

So this is part one of my story. The next part will be my arrival and first day or so at the hospital.   

Friday, October 14, 2016

Postpartum Depression

Super exciting news everyone! On Wednesday October 11th, 2016 we welcomed into the world the newest member of our family, Piper. I am once again an auntie! Everything went perfect and she's a perfect bundle of joy. I was lucky enough to be there for the entire experience and witnessed the miracle of childbirth firsthand. I think it is best described as UUAAAHHHHH, *toothpaste squeeze*, POP! SPLLOOOSHHHHH, WATERFALL OF LIQUIDS, WAAAHHHHHHH.

Overall it was very interesting and very rewarding. Unfortunately, the reality soon hit me and my emotional train choo choo'ed right out of the station. What sucks is how you can be so happy for someone but so sad at the same time. Just being up in the room, becoming an auntie to a new little angel but at the same time becoming the only woman in the family who has yet to have a child of her own. Every time the doors of the elevator open and the big window of the OB nursery fills my view I remember back to a time I was so full of hope and nervousness, so sure that I would be having a baby within a year. Those memories never go away either. The baby class, the pamphlets, the happy browsing for what items I was sure we would need, potential names, announcing to our stepson on a car ride to a concert, "So how do you feel about becoming a big brother?!". Just knowing it was finally time to bring a new life into the world. Then the pangs of sadness come, the memories of the bloody sign my period came again, the negative pregnancy tests, followed by negative ovulation tests. Blood draws, consultations, more tests and bad news. The tears that never seemed to stop, the emptiness, the hope turns to hopelessness, self doubt, wondering if this is the universe telling me "You are unfit to be a mother". Then the self-hate, telling myself I don't want kids anyways, I can't even take care of myself how would I handle taking care of someone else. Attempts to convince myself, I don't even like kids. What makes me think I'm allowed to have a child, I'll just fuck them up too. I should just be alone forever, I don't deserve anything. The anger at the world, I should have had that, this should be something I know about firsthand, this should be me.

There is so much more than that though. There are so many emotions wrapped up in the whole situation and unless you've been through it, it's hard to understand. Impossible to understand. As much as I like to pretend it doesn't bother me and that it's not a big deal or joke about my barren womb, it sticks with you. It affects so much of your life in ways you can't even explain. Even if I were to have a child someday, those memories will never fade. That struggle will always stay with me as long as I live. And it sucks but it's a part of who I am. I just hope that in some way, somehow it made me stronger.