Monday, July 10, 2006

Days 3, 4, and 5.

Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.


This day was a little less humiliating, but not by much.

I woke up long before we had to, though I lounged on the bed, reading. Around 8, I heard - from the sink area - "Wake up, Kaitlyn."

"I am."

After that, I assumed we'd be getting breakfast and hygeine things soon, but no. We have to wake up and sit there. Luckily, I had books.

Over the intercom, I heard come "Vitalsigns."

So, I booked out, I'm not going to be late.

I was the first there, so I got checked first. High blood pressure, low temperature, etc, etc. Mr. Cliff was there and he told the therapist next to him, "Watch out for this one. She cries. (to me) That's not going to happen again, is it?"

"No, sir."

Run back to the room, crying.

The only thing notable in group therapy was the feedback on my last 24 hours. "You need to stop crying so much."

A whole lot of nothing for the rest of the day.

The boys and girls were split up. We stayed in the day room, talking to a therapist. I repeated myself for the zillionth time.

The only reply I remember? "There's no homebound in college."

Oh, forget it.

Later, we had "recreational therapy" where we played a boys vs. girls family feud type game. The girls won, naturally. It was a lot of fun, and they really need to increase that.

Mom came, and she brought food, however, I'd just eaten, and if you don't eat, you're in trouble. So we talked about what happened that day. Mom brought some books and more clothes, and I gave her the ones I'd finished. A nurse had to go through the books and asked if all these were allowed. I replied that the doctor authorized this. She said good, we don't want you to escape in them.

The evening was spent with movies, books, and games. We had a wrap-up session with the shrinks. They asked what we learned today. I was silent.


Sunday moring, palm Sunday.

I woke up very early, the sun was still making its way up. It was very beautiful, though the wire in the windows was a detracting factor.

I heard an announcement for a church service and that was it.

It seemed like everything was later that day, and it appeared uneventful.

It wasn't.

That was the day I got chewed out every five seconds for not saying sir, and the day when this one kid lost it.

It was the group therapy session, first thing after breakfast. I said nothing new, but one kid didn't want to do it. He came from another psychiatric facility, so this was nothing new. We are allowed to ask to leave or not participate.

He wanted to leave.

They wouldn't let him.

He walkd to the door, and they grabbed him.

We were all sent to our rooms.

Then the girls were sent to another day room to do school work. Whatever. The only thing notable about that was when the door opened, we could hear him shouting, "I don't want a shot!" The next time we saw him, he was out of it.

We had more recreational therapy - musical chairs.

It was so trippy - moonwalking to Billy Jean.

Two other not-so-good things happened that day.

One girl came in late Saturday. She cuts her arms and they're so deep they're held together by staples. She was not allowed to be alone in her room. The only other person who required that was literally out of her mind. Well, she walked back to her room, right past the nurse's station, and got chewed out. It's not her responsiblity, they never tell us a thing, but we have to know how to behave.

I asked in the afternoon if we were supposed to shower every time we got the hygeine bucket - twice a day. Yes, we were. I said my dermatologist doesn't want me taking excessive showers. The nurse in charge, this annoying white guy who chewed me out for not saying 'Sir', he said don't worry about your dermatologist, take your shower.

I didn't, naturally, and sat in full view of the camera, reading. The speaker went off later. Oh shit, I'm dead. Nope, do you want to make a phone call?

Of course!

When Mom came, she asked about it, and a nicer nurse told us some of these kids won't shower unless they're forced to. "It doesn't apply to you."

Mom raised hell for those losers. Everything I said, she told them.

Oh, Mom told dad where I was. "Don't tell me she tried to commit suicide!" he grumbled. That's my daddy.

And that was Sunday. I met with the shrink Saturday night - he called his patients to the hallway and asked us questions. He asked me if it was working yet, or was it too soon to tell. I said, no, it's not working, thinking he was referring to the therapy. But no, he meant the antidepressant. Of course it's too soon to tell!

Also - they could not get my medication straight until Sunday, and even then we had problems.


Monday - I'm going home!

This isn't in chronological order, just what happened.

The shrink told me I seemed happier, I'm like duh, I'm going HOME today.

I am, aren't I?

Yes, the release papers are signed. Yay!

Unfortunately, I still had to participate. I wonder what would have happened if I'd sequestered myself in my room, reading.

Group that day sucked. Mr Cliff's an idiot.

He told me that he had to have another person in there when I was there, to make sure he didn't say anything bad. Apparently, Mom went and told the head people everything about him.

"You have more important things to talk about with your Mom than what Mr. Cliff said." Bullshit. Mom knows everything, you think I'm not telling her everything that happens here?

Then I saw the shrink.

I came back to therapy and gave feedback, participating. This one guy, he really hides behind his "controversial" ideas about religion and life. So he mentioned that day that God didn't exist. I gave him the first feedback - there's a time and place for this, etc. Everybody else gave feedback, mainly about how you shouldn't dismiss God.

I jumped back in for the last feedback, saying, "See? Every time you talk here, you mention your ideas. That is all people focus on, preventing any genuine help."

Mr. Cliff said, now, it's not that serious.

Ergh.

Then the shrinks and therapists came in and asked us for feedback about this place. I said we need more physical, fun activity. If we're all depressed, sitting around for hours doesn't help.

During 'school', I had to meet a therapist. The only thing I got from that was a hang up about addiction and that I came in at an inconvient time. Thursday patients are overlooked because Friday is spent getting others ready to go. And nothing's done on the weekend.

That's my fault? If you're going to take people in every day, you should be able to handle them.

Then the therapist came in to the day room, and we discussed ways of dealing with depression and anger.

I learned jack.

I tried to say something about my reaction to whatever with a preface about my family's reactions, and she said, no, this is about you, not them. And my parents don't affect how I behave?

Recreational therapy was painting door hangers. My doggy was purple. I think it ended up in the trash.

I didn't get picked up until it was almost time for dinner, in fact, we were sent back to our rooms so they could get dinner up here.

And I bit my mom's head off when she picked me up. I was tense and I honestly don't know why.

She couldn't get out early, and Becky was sick, but Dad took her to the doctor because if he came to pick me up, I'd still be there.

I got home and sat out in the backyard, with Wickett in my lap.


So, what was accomplished?

Nothing.

I don't know if the Cymbalta's working, they're all jackasses.

I've seen a shrink since then, and all I did was cry. He was disapproving in my eyes, and I didn't like him at all. I never spoke to him on the ward. Why didn't I get the same shrink? He didn't take the insurance out of the hospital setting.

Please.

I was told to buy the Feeling Good Handbook.

I've looked through it, and I'm not doing it. I refuse to fill it out. It seems to totally ignore the chemical part of depression.

Plus, there are way too many excalamtion points in there.

Mom says if I get bad, I have to do it. I agree, but I'm not bad.

My suggestions for that place - fully segregate the sexes, not this piddly stuff where we can't talk to each other, or can we?

Divide us up by disorder, not gender. I didn't belong with the angry kids.

This one girl who had a seizure and lost her mind didn't belong there.

More physical therapy.

More one-on-one with therapists.

Let us go outside, we're children!

1 comment:

Becky said...

Yeah.

Well while mom picked you up, I had to deal with father dearest at mmg.

"your shoes are ugly"
"youre in a gang with red white and blue"
"are you sure you have pnemonia"


BLAH. ily.