Locked Up, Day Eight

I startedthe 600 mg dose of Seroquel Sunday night and finally slept soundly. It was the first time I slept until they woke me for meds. I did, however, sleep very restlessly, with pillows thrown and blankets kicked off.

I was happy for Monday simply because it was the day with art therapy twice. Art therapy helped me so much. Enough I'm still doing art projects at home. But then I was sad because the morning one was cancelled.

I had extreme anxiety again that day and needed my PRN earlier than usual. I think a lot of that had to do with discharge and wanting to know what was happening, some was because I hated that others were leaving and I wasn't well enough, and part was the beginning of hypomania. I don't think it helped at all that between the anxiety meds and the higher dose of Seroquel I was very, very sleepy. I also was scared about asking to stay until Wed., even though I knew it was psychologically better.

When I saw the dr. he was fine with the Wednesday discharge. He did make sure to remind me I couldn't become too dependent on the safe environment, but I pointed out that I had never been a suicide risk like the last week had been and that I know pretty well how to judge my own safety because I've been doing it a long time, and only a few days after wanting to hurt myself was not a great deal of time. He was fine with that.

I spent time that day reflecting on the week and how different it had been from what I'd thought. It was (and still is) so odd to think that I drove up there on a beautiful fall morning, felling tired and sad and wanting to die, 15 minutes after arrival the door locked behind me, and I proceeded to totally fall apart and then start to recover. In 7 days. I also thought about how wrong my expectations had been. When I discussed this with Dr. Brain we didn't get too specific. Partly this was because she didn't know precisely what would happen since I didn't do this the way the manufacturer suggets. Partly we were supposed to have one more appointment before I went into the hospital. But I had thought that I would go in, start Emsam day 2, have everything else stay the same med-wise, and walk out in a week feeling much better. That wasn't quite the story. I had no idea how scary and horrible it would be to come off the med completely.

I also felt impatient that day. I'm used to pills that you take 4 days and can increase the dose, or whatever rate. Because of my sensitivies I generally am started on the lowest possible dose of things and raised gradually, as fast as allows my blood to stabilize. With the patch that can't be done. You have to wait it out for what seems like forever. I did increase after 2 weeks, but the hospital doctors wouldn't have allowed that.

I spent time on the phone that day making arrangements for things like Dr. Mind appointments (lots) and a Dr. Body appointment. I made a list of things that needed to be picked up on the way home. I also continued to feel very pressured and manicky, and realized eventually that I was hypomanic. I started wanting nothing but to go home. Oddly, along with my hypomania I was exhausted and had to fight to stay awake for the last group.

I was on a regular diet that day, but still they kept vegetables from me and once sent me creamer but no coffee or milk. I decided at that point that dietary hated me.

I wrote on and on about things I was tired of. I won't bore you. I was very upset that evening, and it was the first time it hit me that I really should have been talking to SOMEONE for therapy 1:1 while I was there, and that I was really upset this didn't happen. I almost sound panicky in my need to talk about it.

The final straw in my decision to discuss leaving on Tuesday after all was a new guy. Again, I don't want to say much about other patients. But he came in with this attitude that it was stupid and not what he wanted (yet it was a voluntary unit) and made lots of comments about HE had things in his life that were important and that HE didn't let things mess up his life and HE was functioning fine, just hadn't been compliant with his meds (which I don't think he saw as a problem). I hope he didn't realize how terribly insulting he was being, because he clearly saw the rest of us as a group that he viewed negatively and judged. I already knew I was hypomanic. Listening to him made me realize that I needed away from people and that I was losing all patience rapidly. I was so angry at him...

And that was the last full day.