treatment

I had intrusive thoughts of jumping in front of a train.  I could not sleep, work, or do any meaningful form of thinking.  This is mostly due to loneliness, and missing the love of my life.  It has a lot to do with it being fall, my grandfather being put into a nursing home, still working for jerks, living on a couch, and having nobody to tell everything to anymore.

My mother, having called me several times and finding me barely coherent, thought my state necessitated a trip to the ER.  At the emergency room, I was paranoid, distrustful as I am of doctors and the healthcare system in general, and degraded.  When asked to remove my clothes and put on a gown, it didn't strike me as necessary for a psych referral, and I withdrew.  Then they put the IV in, and I thought they would dope me into incoherence, for some reason.  They took blood, and I called them out on the drug screening, which they denied they were doing.  (They  didn't trust me, why should I trust them?).  

I finally saw a shrink, and he put words in my mouth.  Whereas I said that I had thought of harming myself, he told me that I said that I had intent.  In the small tent of a bed area, a very tight space, I was not taking kindly to any of his questioning, and he didn't even get a full history.  When I acquiesce into getting psychiatric help, I just need to say what I need to say, the whole story, and I didn't get that at any stretch of the track.  Then I asked about meds, and he said its always a last resort AND of course it will be part of my treatment.  This was before he was even done with me.  This did not bide well with the caged animal I had become in the cramped ER bed.  And so, me on intravenous Ativan, I passed the hell out, and he assigned me a GAF of 25. 

The guys in the ambulance during the patient transfer showed me my drug screen.  All clean, bitches.

Okay, the hospital was terrible.  Their website is fucking blank.  There was quite literally, shit on the floor.  The first twenty hours were spent sleeping, playing crossword puzzles and finger-painting, all of which were supposedly "therapy."  Then I complained that I hadn't seen a doctor the whole time and told them I wanted to leave.  This got the doctor's attention.

When I reminded the doctor that it is against the American Psychiatric Association's code of ethics to put orders on a patient without a personal examination, he just wrote "grandiose" on a sheet of paper.  He then told me I was now an "involuntary" patient rather than a "voluntary" one and that I would not be going anywhere for a month.  After said month, he said he would be taking me to court. 

This made me ask for more Ativan.  I certainly did panic.

Well there's more to come, but this post is too long.  Oi! Today was rough.