It happened much more suddenly than I was prepared for. Actually, I hadn't really prepared at all. I went in for the assessment and the next thing I know I was signing the self-commitment papers at a mental health facility.
Over the last few weeks, Jason and I had become extremely aware that what we had been doing to help my severe depression was no longer working. For months Jason had been picking up the slack that I had been unable to carry. And as wonderful and reliable as he is, he couldn't carry the load by himself anymore. His emotional and physical health were deteriorating as fast as mine was. We decided that we needed to see a psychologist quickly if we were going to save my sanity and our marriage. The good thing was that this new doctor is a great fit for helping us deal with how my depression affects our lives and with working on communication skills. On the flip side, he quickly realized my other problems were more medicine related and, that being said, something he couldn't help with. He strongly recommended a psychiatrist or in-patient treatment to help get me back on track.
Fast forward almost 24 hours later to when I finally realized what I was signing was paperwork for my immediate placement in-patient. To say I was unprepared would be a drastic understatement. They were taking me to the women's unit with only the clothes on my back. I couldn't even keep my bra because it was an underwire and such dangerous things weren't allowed. I hugged and kissed Jason, sobbing into his chest as I sent him 40 miles back home for clothes and basic toiletries. I cried because I didn't even get to say a proper goodbye to Penny since she was staying with friends.
As I rode the elevator with the nurse to the 3rd floor, the overwhelming hospital smells only increased my anxiety; the combination of bleach and medical cleaner permeating the air. By now it was almost 10pm, I hadn't eaten since noon and I was having to forcefully remind myself that this was voluntary. In the common room of the women's unit I was greeted with a strangely welcoming shout of "Hey, new girl, come join us in some fuckin' Blackjack, Nigga." They didn't know me and I didn't know them but we all knew we were here for the same overall reason - either voluntarily or not. We were here for the kind of help we couldn't get anywhere else.
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