[Please note: This post is somewhat graphic]
This past weekend was a nightmare! To say the least. It started out pretty bad. There were some events that I'd rather not delve into, but they had to do with the male species. I always seem to make mistakes when it comes to them. When will I get it right?! What is so wrong with me that no one thinks I'm special enough?
Anyway, Saturday night was a lot of fun. I went out to the bar with a few friends, and ran into more friends when I was out. I literally only had 1.5 drinks, so no major drunken decisions were made. I shook my new booty and that is always fun.
Then Sunday showed up.
Sunday morning wasn't so bad; I had a nice phone conversation with my Mom and sister. I even got to chat with my nephew! But a few hours after I got off the phone the feelings started to flood me again. This time, more powerful than any recent times. I got the image of cutting in my head and although I remembered the contract I made with my therapist, I easily talked myself out of calling her for help.
You know that feeling that you literally cannot get anything done, even getting up off the bathroom floor, without cutting first? Well I got that feeling. I literally couldn't even brush my hair because I knew I had to cut to accomplish anything. Once I had that thought in my head, it does not go away.
So I cut. And cut. And cut. Basically all up and down my arm. I felt defeated and devastated, but FINALLY I cried and cried and cried. It felt so good to cry. I had not cried in a very long time and something about the cutting just let the tears flow. For a while I didn't even clean up my arm. I just watched it bleed, and watching the blood pour away was like watching my emotions leave my body.
Although I had no intentions of killing myself, I was still home alone (my roommate had left for the weekend). I was scared! I was scared I would let something else happen to me. So, I got in my car and drove to the Emergency Room- which ended up being the best worst decision ever.
They got me right into a desolate room surrounded by security guards. After being there for several hours, the social worker came in and said, "The doctor said since you were trying to kill yourself, we have decided to Baker Act you."
"WHAT?!" I yelled. I wanted to say, if I was trying to kill myself, I would NOT have done it this way!! But I didn't. Instead I just tried to brace myself for what was about to happen in the next 72 hours.
Oh, and since they had no beds in the Unit I was supposed to be in, they stuck me in the "acute" unit. (Which is a nice way of saying Extremely-Crazy-Person Unit) It's for people that are schizophrenic and for people that have gone completely off their medications. After a nightmarish night and half a day there, they transferred me to a more stable unit. One where I could actually have conversations with people.
I ended up getting out of the hospital Tuesday morning. I think its because I had a session with my therapist scheduled that day at 3pm. But either way, I was glad to get out of there. Needless to say it was nice to get out of the dress and undies I was wearing since Sunday!
Before all of this happened, I could've easily told you I was depressed, sad, and lonely. But I could not have told you I was going to end up in the hospital because of it. Even my Dad, who I talk to everyday, said to my Mom he didn't expect this. It just goes to show you how reckless and terrible the eating disorder and depression can be.
Now, I say it was the best worst decision I ever made going to the hospital, but I want you all to know the eating disorder thought it was the worst decision. It is important that if you ever have any self-harming thoughts, that's very serious and it is extremely responsible and important of you to take action and get help.
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