Five day's in the psych ward... Day two...

So day two was my 28th birthday, a Friday.

From what I've been told the doctors plan was to release me that day.

But after talking to my psychiatrist with my ornery cynical attitude that morning 

he decided I probably ought to stay over the weekend.

Then
I filled out my morning form.

It asked you to rate from 1-10 how 

depressed

anxious

angry

suicidal

you were feeling that morning.

You filled this out every morning and evening.

I answered a 10 for everything except for being anxious.

This was right before "the incident" in my room with my blanket.

It was my birthday and somehow EVERYBODY there found out.

There are simply no secrets in the psych ward.

I was offered cake for dinner, "happy birthday's", and asked how old I was.

Everybody was excited about my birthday except for me.

Though I had decided to live, I still didn't want recognition for that day.

My mother deserves any praise for that day, 

I felt like I was only the fruit of her womb that had rotted.

The rotting part being entirely my fault not my sweet amazing Mama's...

(Love you mom!!!)

By late morning I was finally feeling uplifted and happy.

I had decided to live.

I could do it!
But it still didn't feel right to celebrate my birthday.

The nurse came to assess me right before lunch.

When they do this they ask you a million questions, 

from how would you rate your pain to;

when your last bowel movement was.

I was content at that moment.

I felt good and somehow ended up telling this nurse what I had been planning to do that morning.
I figured it was fine to talk about because I had overcome that dark moment.

She asked me for details and I hesitated, not wanting to give anyone ideas.

We were out in the common room area with everybody,

like I said, 

there are no secrets in the psych ward.

So I whispered.

She typed a few more things into her computer, 

asked me a few more questions and was then off to assess another patient.

I didn't think anything of it.

I just felt good and kept smiling, played some wii bowling.

Socialized, teased, paced.

I was getting really restless being locked up in there.

Not long after that she (the nurse) came and sternly told me to get my things.

I was going to "the other side".

I was confused...

"the other side"

What was "the other side"?

To understand this you need to understand the lay out of the psych ward.

I could go into a detailed description exhausting my writing skills, 

but a picture is worth those thousand words:

So you have the two sides with the nurses office in the middle.

There are windows so the patients can see the staff in there, and they could see us out there.

We could also see through to "the other side."

I was not sure what I thought that "other side" was for, I wondered about it though. 

I could see women looking through the window, 

probably wondering the same thing about "my side".

Being brought over there was a huge deal.

There were repercussions for my actions.
In the psych ward, suicide isn't a joke.
It's not something you do for attention.
It's serious!
Though I tried to smile off the seriousness of attempting suicide,
I couldn't.
Even though I'd made huge steps forward,
there was no denying that I could easily slide backward.
And the nurse and staff new that better than I did.

So I was moved to "the other side".

The high risk for suicide side.
There was less over there.

A table in the common room with chairs, but nothing else.

No book shelf, no games, no huge screen TV.

There weren't hospital beds, there were normalish beds with no gap in the bed frame to tie anything.

The funny thing is that the beds were soooooo much more comfortable than the hospital beds.

There was a solitary confinement room.

When I got over there, there were three other women.

There was an early 20's girl with short cropped hair, glasses, and deep cuts up her arm.

There was an incredibly forlorn looking woman probably in her fifties who couldn't seem to stop crying and kept wringing her hands saying she just wanted to go home.

And then there was a 41 year old woman who mumbled constantly.

I couldn't understand most of what she said...

Though I did finally pick up that she kept telling me that she'd "kick my a$$".

I kinda wish she'd tried, I was so bored in there it would have been somewhat entertaining....

When I had first got to the hospital I had decided I wouldn't make any friends.
But that became impossible and I soon made friends with all the patients on the "first side".
And then I was moved.

I didn't know anybody and the staff did not seem nearly as friendly 

to "this side" as they did to the "other side".
I didn't want to make friends again.
But it wasn't long before I found myself once again laughing and joking with the other patients.
I made friends quickly with the girl in her early twenties.
Though she looked like a total wacko I was surprised to find that she was incredibly
funny, creative, full of stories, and entertaining.
This was her good side, she also managed to work in an
angry, cynical, hating, bitchy, complainer.
Always going on about how her medication would cost 400 dollars.
I don't know why, it didn't matter what medication it was,
it always turned out to cost $400...

I liked this girl, lol!
We got along just fine.
I'd listen to her complain and she'd entertain me with those complaints.
Or I'd listen to her stories, I'd tease her, we'd laugh.
We laughed a lot.
I was glad to have met her.
Crazy people are still people.

The same day I got over there the forlorn woman was being sent home.
Which is why she walked around wringing her hands and crying.
She was sick of waiting.

She finally left, while another woman was brought in.
She was led to my room,
I'd have to share again.

This woman was in her fourties.
She was really nice, but also had a cynical side.
Most everything that came out of her mouth was a complaint, but also funny.

We spent a lot of our time in there complaining....
Yep, even me...
I think it was mostly a way of coping.
Of affirming that this was NOT the cool place to be.

This woman was brought in against her will.
From what I could gather,
she had gotten drunk,
spouted off about committing suicide,
and so was brought to the hospital and committed.
The funny thing was,
she kept saying,
drinking alcohol was what landed her in the hospital,
and all she wanted to do was get out so she could drink alcohol.

I thought that was really sad...

I'd come in because I was on the verge of suicide,
and all I wanted to do was get better so I could get out...