Have you ever regretted being honest with your psychiatrist? I mean raw with your words? With your description of events? I now find myself in a position where I’m defending myself. I’m defending against her strong recommendation I go to a Crisis Residential setting. I was simply being honest in an update. I just started a new medication and of course I’m on high alert for well, anything. I think anybody would be.
It wasn’t a good night. I thought the devil was in the house and I needed to protect myself. I couldn’t tolerate the chanting. I grabbed a knife, the biggest one we have. I stood heavy in my body. I held the knife high. I purposely wasn’t tense, so I could be quick. I don’t necessarily know how to fight evil, but was determined to stand my ground. If the devil was coming for me, I was ready. Little did I know, I so wasn’t ready. My husband flew into the kitchen after me and pried the knife out of my hands, fairly easily I think.
The chanting, loud, demeaning, and demanding, was too much for me. I had to cover my ears. It just wouldn’t stop. I yelled at it to “GO AWAY!” “STOP!” But, my demands were not met. At least not immediately. I dove into my husband’s chest with such force he fell back. I couldn’t be held tight enough. Nothing could convince me the voices weren’t predicting me future. Soon, not sure how soon, I would die. I was willing to go back to bed, but not to go to sleep. I didn’t feel safe. I sat straight up several times fearing I could hear him. My husband would just rub my back and I laid back down. Sleep finally came.
I think the idea of going to the crisis residential is for quick medication adjustments, as well as trained staff available 24 hours per day. I understand. However, I do not thrive in those types of environments. I tend to get overly anxious in new environments where I have to be social. This would be about 6 women living in a home for a short stay while contending with their mental health issues. I did not handle this very same environment when I was trying to get sober. I had a terrible time fitting in and feeling comfortable. Whereas at home, I have my own routines and my husband who knows me well and knows how to talk to me when these types of situations occur. Plus, these hallucinations only tend to last half an hour to an hour in length. Rarely 2 hours. The rest of the 24 hour day I am pretty good on my own, esp knowing my husband is available if I need him. I don’t want to sound foolish and minimize what is happening for me, it is very frightening and disturbing. It then becomes disheartening. But, not to the point I need the level of supervision being recommended.
Honesty is the best policy. Or Honesty is the best medicine. Any way you slice it, I have to keep telling the truth. I have to talk about what is happening. I have to use my words to explain things in the exact way I remember them to be. The moment I shut down, all that I have falls apart. I fall apart. I want to be in the getting better business. I’m tired of being sick. I’m tired of hallucinations, delusions and paranoia taking over my life. Even if it’s only for a few minutes, it’s too long. This road to recovery is the longest I can remember so far. Its painful and monumental at the same time. My shoes are wearing thin. My mind is over tired. My cheeks cannot take another stream of tears. While this is all true and I feel the pain all the way down to my toes, I will still rise up tomorrow to face another day.