within the past five years, i've been admitted to a psychiatric hospital six times. every time we established that animals are, for lack of a better term, a coping mechanism for me. exactly two years ago, i was fighting like hell so they wouldn't send me back. even at the time, i knew fighting would just make matters worse, but that didn't stop me. i was in the elopement risk wing of a normal hospital with four nurses, a doctor and a security guard trying to keep me under control while my mom and brother were in the hallway. the twisted part about it is that i would go back to that day in a heartbeat, i'd go back to that entire stay in a heartbeat, because my brother was there. my brother means everything to me. he came to see me every single time i was in the hospital and i could always count on him to cheer me up. i really don't remember why, but one day they had him and my mom come back into the hospital part to see me instead of me going to the visiting area to see them.
i've actually been wearing hospital scrub pants all day. they give them to you as pajamas until someone can bring you your clothes. these ones in particular hold an interesting memory. i was taken to the hospital without pants. i had overdosed and was in the bathroom cutting my legs up, hence no pants, when the police and the ambulance got there. i was in a shirt and underwear. they wouldn't let me grab pants and whisked me off to the hospital covered by a blanket. so these pants weren't even pajamas, they were my 'real' pants. they're from my like third visit and i've only kept them because they're comfy as hell.
i remember some of the strangest things about the time that i overdosed. i was fading in and out really bad. i started asking about seatbelts in the ambulance and i kept asking for my mom at the hospital. i thought i was home with my boyfriend and i started talking to him. he wasn't there, or even on the phone. i just wanted to go downstairs and get some barbeque potato chips i bought the day before. i was sixteen, so i was transferred to a children's hospital. when they were moving me, i swore i was outside. there was a huge forest mural covering a wall. i remember them moving me to my other bed. lots of lights and doctors. i experienced no more than an hour, on and off, in a seven hour period. then i was out. i spent two days in critical condition, but later i was up and cognitive again. my mom was sleeping on a padded bench. i guess i tried to rip a few iv's out of my arm, so they put adhesive patches on them that ended up peeling my skin off when they removed them. some lady brought me cantaloupe. they made me sign a contract before i left. it seriously said, "i will not ever try to kill myself." you've got to be kidding me.
i guess that's why my mom freaked out so bad. my dad killed himself almost sixteen years ago. my brother had just turned five and i was going on three. he shot himself in the front yard. it was actually more of a blackmail thing, which renders this bullshit. i don't really give a fuck about it, and neither does my brother.
if you've read this far, you're either patient or bored. whatever it is, thanks for seeing what i have to say. i don't have many people to share my feelings with, and the ones i have don't really care a whole lot. i'm wrapping this up here, but i'm glad i've found a community that i can relate with in so many ways. thanks.