Anywhere but not there

It’s funny how one can want to die so badly, but want to live at the same time. I’ve been having a really hard time keeping my head out of the water. More so in the past few days than I have in the last month and a half. Usually, I manage to keep myself safe and not commit any rash decisions. I know my desire to die is impulsive. I know there’s no going back.  I know it’s just an invasive thought that I’ll somehow manage to relegate to the back of my head eventually.

When it gets too intense I know what I need to do to keep myself safe. Go to the hospital. The psychiatric one, the one no one wishes they would ever have to set foot in. They don’t always keep me. Sometimes the sheer horror of being in the establishment makes me snap out of it. Sometimes I went too far and they have no choice but to keep me. That’s the worst.

In the emergency ward, it’s scary. Everyone passes by the emergency ward, people with all types of mental issues. Once you pass those doors, there’s no coming back. At least not for the next couple of hours if you manage to convince the psychiatrist you’re not gonna do it after all, that you have gotten control over your invasive thoughts. Last time I was there I ended up with a cerebral commotion because I was attacked by a 500 lbs schizophrenic lady. That was just bad luck, the security is pretty good. Then, if they decide I’m unfit to go home, I wait until there’s an available bed in the mood disorder unit. I have borderline personality traits,  PTSD, severe depression, generalized anxiety, agoraphobia and an eating disorder. So yup, I’m the full package for that specific ward. Once I’m committed there, I’m not allowed to even go outside accompanied until they decide I’ve progressed enough. Last time I stayed cooped up for 15 days before I could smell fresh air. Then, slowly, I can go out with a PAB, for an hour with a member of my family, 6 hours accompanied, 6 hours alone, then nights home and then discharged.

So 45 days is the norm for me once I get committed. There’s nothing to do. No internet access, no activities, no therapy, it’s just to stabilize the mood. There are no private rooms or bathrooms. The food is atrocious. Visits are restricted. It’s basically not a nice place at all. But I know it’s for my own safety.

Today, I know I probably should go to the hospital. During the last few hours I’ve done bad things that put myself in danger. I’m scared that if I stay home I’m going to do something irreversible. I’m writing to try and get this crap out of me so I don’t have to go to the hospital. Just thinking of it should make me want to change my mind but it doesn’t. I have an appointment with my doctor this afternoon and I’ll try and tough it out until then. Do things to get my mind out of this funk, somehow. I have to, I need to. I want to live.