Bad Dream

Last night was disturbing. It wasn't my frequent wake-up-screaming-and/or -crying dream. But it was a dream I don't need.

I dreamed I signed myself back into the psych unit. It went back through what it took to go to admissions and say "I'm here for a direct admit to 6N", then to give my name and have them bring out the special bundle of papers that awaits you when you commit yourself. I signed that green-edged paper again, the one that I remember in detail despite how horribly ill I was because it was so terrifying, the paper that says I understand I am admitting myself to a locked unit, that I agreed that if I wanted to sign myself out they have a right to keep me for 3 days more (in order to get court certification to keep me), etc. And then the wait for someone to come to take me to the 6th floor. There is no urge to run away like the urge you feel sitting there waiting for someone to take you to where the door is going to close and you'll be staying.

I was sent back to the same room, which I know was just a head game because I know that for any admission I want that room or the one beside it, as they are private and I cannot imagine enduring a roommate when it is so hard for me to handle noise as is. I'm fairly sure I got that room because of Dr. Brain and I know that she'd request it for me again, but there are only 2 private rooms.

When I was really admitted the nurse went through a huge pile of admission paperwork with me. This time they gave it to me to fill in, and I read the blurb about how I'd been a recent patient, had done well, been pleasant, etc. That is a joke. I did do well, more or less, but I was NOT pleasant. Nobody is in that position, but I went into it having decided that I put on a good face all the time and that the prior month of doing so had about killed me and I was going to act like I felt, for once. And I did. I was rude and angry and demanding and shy and impatient and needy, and I did what I felt like doing. I complained and got mad and argued and cried and cried and cried. I may have called Cynthia, the nurse who traumatized me more than anything or anyone else, names under my breath. In fact, the first actual conversation I remember having included me mumbling under my breath how much I hated her and being so glad that the other patient agreed since he was much less sick than I and in much better shape to make clear judgments.

When I was really admitted it was an absolutely beautiful day. In fact, although it was fall and the leaves were changing, it was a day of the kind of blue sky and clearness that reminds me and most people of 9/11. During teh admission process they got me a lunch tray which I picked at and was eventually left with, although i just moved it out of my way. I remember standing at the window, which was so difficult to see out of because it had very heavy mesh, then a blind inside that was partially open/partially closed with no way to control it, the window and a regular screen, looking out and realizing that if only I could see clearly I had a gorgeous view of Lake Erie to the right, a hallway on the other side of the hospital straight ahead (I was then very careful where I stood to change clothes, once I was well enough to even care about that), and to the left a lovely little church with a cross on top that combined with the lovely leaves was absolutely beautiful. And that was when I gave in, realized that I had finally made it to safety, and started crying. Which I proceeded to do for most of that day, stopping at intervals for art therapy and pretending to eat dinner. I'd try to read and people would ask me how my book was and I'd tell them that knowing the author i was sure it was funny but I had no clue. I need to re-read those books, but I still don't read much. I listen to tons of books on CD, but I just don't do full books yet.

In the dream I reached the same point, except this time with more clarity about "this is where I belong". the thing that is bothersome is that I was there for this anxiety. Which is NOT that bad. Maybe I needed a reminder of that. Maybe I needed to think about how anxiety is one of the things easiest to treat without messing with the MAOI restrictions. Maybe I needed to think about how terrified I am of any part of my life crumbling in a way that would indicate this could happen again. (Saying that, I'm well aware that I'll be back there someday. There just are so many interactions and I'm at higher risk because I'm always at higher risk for interactions, that many to most changes in my meds are going to mean a trip to psych. And getting off this if needed and onto something else would mean a long stay, possibly 3 weeks or more. Dr. Brain has confirmed this, but told me that people tend to do well long-term on this stuff, more than is true for most antidepressants, which people burn-out on eventually.

I think the biggest point of the dream was that I am scared because I am so anxious and it is much like it was after I was released, except that then I was also severely depressed still and now at least that isn't true.

Regardless I've had more enjoyable nights and better things to think of. It's so odd that when a time period because that blurry that the memories can still be so specific. Because even though what I described was specific, I remember so little of that time.

Tomorrow I might get to see Dr. Mind. I have no clue how I will manage it if they come up with an appointment, only that I will do my very best to get there.

I hope, I hope, I hope........