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My Psych Ward Story... READ ME!
About This Group:

I noticed there are many groups for each illness. So I thought of an idea to have a group where we can talk about many different mental illnesses, share our stories, suport each other, and hopefully make friends. Anyone is welcome who has a mental illness or knows someone who does or is just interested in this discussion. Topics covered include depression, anxiety, bipolar, autism, schitzophrania, and ect. So feel free to mintion other mental or emotional problems that arn't listed too.

Founded by innerchild09 on November 18, 2009
383 members
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My Psych Ward Story... READ ME!

This is not a question.  It is an odyssey of anxiety and depression.  My hope is that maybe something in ths will help someone in need of something that actually worked for me.  My childhood was perfect, I was the baby of the family, with doting mom, older brother, and older sister.  When I was 15, my sister and her three young children died in a house fire.  I was beyond devastated, and unconsolable.  I felt like she left me right when I needed her the most.  My poor mother was in no shape to be of any help to me.  In school, I got into the bad crowd, smoked pot, smoked cigarrettes, drank alcohol, and was very promiscuous.  I literally did every bad thing a kid could do.  I was hurt and angry, and refused to listen when anyone tried to tell me to stop.  Whenever I found myself alone, with no one in earshot, I would just stand and scream, long and full of pain, until my throat hurt and my head was banging.  I began to have periods of dissasociation (sp?) and numbness in my extremeties.  I continued to act out whenever I could, barely graduated high school, abd refused to go to college.  Then my life became a slow but steady more downward spiral.  I dated men my mother didnt like, just because she didnt like them.  I worked sporadically.  Started having babies at 18, four of them altogether, fathered by men who wre irresponsible in awful ways.  I became convinced that I was worthless, and stopped caring about alot of things.  I was abused in every possible way, and convinced it was my fault.  The years went on, with me basically trying to raise my kids, and not doing a good job of it.Finally, when my youngest was only a year old, I met a man who wanted to get to know me.  Of course I knew I'd mess this up too, or he would.  So I went through my motions of not being nice to him, pushing him, testing him, to see where things would break.  And came to the conclusion that this guy was a flipping rock who would not be put off, no matter what I threw at him.  He cooked and cleaned for me, and babysat my kids while I worked.  When I cried, he held me.  He listened when I spoke, even if I wasn't being nice.  By then I had already begun a regimen of Zoloft through my moms doctor, in an effort to calm me down.  That worked for awhile, and I was keeping jobs longer.  I found myself falling in love with this man, whom I will call James.   He fell in love with me and my kids at the same time.  I started to be nice to him alot more often.  We began our (now) 17 year relationship, and enjoyed a good life for several years.  Then I suffered a severe nervous breakdown that lasted two weeks, during which I had to be cared for like a small child by my family (thank God for them).  This was due to stress at work, and the doctor added Klonopin to my Zoloft.  I stayed on that a few more years, feeling a bit better, but I could still feel the anxiety inside, waiting to come out.  I suffered panic attacks regularly.  The doctor put me on Rispiridone and Ambien.  Again a bit of releif, but not enough.  Stress at work continued until I couldn't take anymore and I quit.  My thinking there was not only to get away from this major stressor, but to give myself a bit of a break while I looked for more work.  I found a handful of jobs, and all of them brought the anxiety back full force.  I attempted suicide, twice.  My doctor became uncooperative at that point and wanted me committed right away, I refused.  I changed doctors to one that would not only work with me, but also had a psychologist in his practice, who would also see me, and share their findings about me with each other, which I found to be a great idea.  He took me off rispiridone and Zoloft, which he deemed unnecessary, and put me on effexor.  He warned me that it would take awhile (weeks) to work.  I took it as he said to, and gave it plenty of time to work.  Nothing.  Zero improvement.  I was sleeping 16 hours a day, and rarely left my house.  I couldnt work at all like that.  I was also having some sort of (what I was told after a CT scan) harmless pseudo-seizure activity, which scared me to tears.  One day two weeks ago, I was woken up by seizure activity so severe that my body was jumping every few minutes.  I treid distracting myself, eating a meal, showering, then finally I thought a nap might help.  As soon as I got into bed, I just freaked.  I didnt want to spend one more day in bed.  I sat there and screamed and cried and shook, and had to call for help because I was hyperventilating.  At the local hospital, I was given the opportunity to enter a mental and behavioral health ward at another hospital not far away.  The thought scaed me to death.  But continuing to feel awful evry day scared me worse.  I agreed to go, signed all the papers, and was whisked off in an ambulance to ST. Mary's Hospital in Jefferson City, Missouri.  Once there, I continued to panic until I was given a shot of trazadone, which I found comforting, and was able to listen calmly while a nurse xplained how the ward worked.  I would not be restrained unless I became a danger to others, my room would never be locked, and I would have 24 hour access to the halls and activity rooms in the t-shaped ward, as well as any help I needed from the nurses.  I would not be allowed outside, or even off the ward until the hospital psychiatrist said I was allowed to go home.  That could take three days or three weeks, depending on how much help I needed.  I had a room mate, who was a very nice girl.  She helped me find my way around, and explained the rules of conduct, which were all easy and reasonable.  The nurses were awesome.  I got determined to make the best of my time there.  I needed it to work.  I ate my meals, saw the doctor, got meds that worked for real (six of them!), went to every group and activity meeting.  I spoke up and asked questions.  I helped to comfort others who were in distress.  I joined peer conversations and learned how to cope.  I took notes like a maniac.  I showered, made my bed, wore clean clothes, and enjoyed good personal hygeine.  I told my doctor that I would not leave until I was better (in spite of everyone else who just wanted out).  One day, on a Thursday, I saw the doctor, and as usual, he asked me how I was feeling.  Something in me clicked, like puzzle peices coming together, and I grinned really big: I felt really good!  He saw all this on my face and said 'you are going home today.'  And he grinned right back at me.  I had a whole booklet of skills to take home, plus scripts for all my meds plus a refill.  I was home by that afternoon.  Ever since, my life is wonderful.  I have structure in my life, and I am happy to get out of bed every morning.  I do not nap at all.  I go to bed only at bedtime.  I go out and socialize with friends, shopping, etc.  No job yet, but that will come at the right time.  My life is mine again.  I hope this story is useful to someone... - Blu

1 Comment
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909415_tn?1390585342
I had a similar experience in the hospital last year 2012.  Same type scenario. And am doing pretty good until they changed my meds 2-3 weeks ago.  but they did it at my request.
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