Hospitalization

I don't think Depression is nearly as interesting as Mania, at least in my experience. It is the most painful of the two ends of the spectrum for me, but it has been less destructive in an overt sense than mania has been in my life.

While mania usually announces itself to me before it completely takes over, Depression does not. I will be happy, or fine, or flossing my teeth and suddenly I get bowled over by soul-consuming Depression. Then, I stand there in shock for a few moments, wondering what in the world set off the big D in my brain. Usually I can't find an explanation for being Depressed, other than it usually follows a Manic episode.

Depression kind of scares the people who meet me while I am Manic, and vice versa. I can easily go through photographs of my self over the years, and point to one and think: "Yep, I was Manic/Depressed in this one," just on the way I looked. In Mania, I am trim and wear fake eyelashes everywhere with full makeup. In Depression, I am lucky if I wash my hair regularly, I am overweight, and I am typically found in sweat pants from a thrift store. People tend to not recognize me if they have only seen me in one episode or that other.

Hospitalization - 2011

The one and only time I was hospitalized was at the end of the holidays in 2011. I went voluntarily, yet on the advice of my doctor, mostly due to feeling suicidal and having intrusive thoughts (later diagnosed as OCD).
I also went to the hospital because it was the holidays and my psychiatrist's office was closed for several days, and the emergency line was not going to be active.

It was a horrible experience. Not that going into a psych ward is supposed to be a luxury hotel or a spa day experience...but this was atrociously bad.

One of the nurses looked at me smugly and said, "You don't look like you have it that bad. Maybe this will give you some perspective." I almost yelled "Fuck you, bitch!" but I didn't. In all reality, going to the hospital made me worse, not better. That experience made me saddened because how many people who do have it worse off than me don't seek treatment when they need it because a) it's an awful experience, and b) it is ridiculously expensive (3 days for $2000 with insurance!).

The only solutions they could offer me were ECT or a visit with a psychiatrist, which is supposed to happen within 12 hours of admittance. I did not see a psychiatrist for 70 hours, despite repeated requests and then demands. When I did see him, he prescribed some Klonopin and told me to go home and follow up with my regular doctor.

I was enraged. Sedatives?! Really?! I had plenty of those already at home. I didn't self-admit to acquire some god-damned sedatives. I self-admitted because I was a hair away from blowing my brains out with a gun, and pre-occupied with ways I could kill myself. He offered me sedatives.

I did follow up with my lovely regular psychiatrist, who became visibly upset when I described my experience. He apologized that it was so rank and dark. Even though there have been a few instances where I should have been hospitalized since then, I avoid it at all costs. I'd rather deal with my symptoms in the comfort of my own home than go through what I went through in the hospital.

That brings up the issue of quality mental health care, and what that looks like. All I know is that what I experienced was not quality mental health care. What I wanted was a doctor to see me immediately (within the 12 hour time frame, which was part of the patient contract), and for me to have a time out of sorts to regain my balance. Did I need to adjust my Seroquel? Did I need to start a new medication? Those were all questions I had, and I had no way of answering them except in a hospital.

I was originally going to make this post about Depression, but it turned more into my hospital story. I'll leave it at that. Depression can take up a topic another day.