Hello Neurodiverse Dharma Family,
*This is a long post. I put it here because it has to do with mental illness/personality disorder. If it helps only one person feel less alone, then I am happy to share my story openly and honestly. **TRIGGER WARNING: self harm, suicide, mental illness/personality disorder.*
I believe my last update was three weeks ago. Much has happened since then. I would like to share it all with you.
I was admitted to hospital. I spoke with my psychiatrist who agreed that I should stay. After over waiting 12 hrs, despite being pre-admitted, I get upstairs to the psych floor. On my way to my assigned room I notice there are two police officers sitting outside of a patient’s room… not only that, but I also see two more police officers inside a patient’s room sitting in chairs with the patient handcuffed to his bed. This sends chills down my spine as I’ve never seen this before. As we walk past these rooms, both patients begin screaming and swearing. I nod at the officers in acknowledgement and walk by. We are now at the end of the hallway where my room is… right next door to the patient with the two officers guarding the door. Despite their presence, I do not feel safe. Quite the opposite. I am scared.
Sarah is allowed to take me to my room and stay a few minutes. I’m beginning to think this was a terrible idea. She helps me set up some of my belongings: photos of us during happier moments, my stuffed buddy Luis. I walk her back out to the locked main door. I hold her in my arms for a moment while we both have tears in our eyes. Security opens the door for her to leave me. With a final hug and a kiss, I am now alone.
I walk slowly back to my room past the officers. I sit on the edge of the bed and the tears come. I feel a heaviness envelope me. Maybe I have made a huge mistake.
A nurse comes in my room and asks if I’m okay. I told him no, I’m not. He asks the usual questions: do you feel safe? Don’t want to hurt yourself or anyone else? Are you hearing voices? Are you seeing things that are not really here? I’m honest and tell him that yes, I do in fact want to hurt myself. He asks if I have a plan to do so. I tell him yes, I have a very specific plan, but I do not intent on carrying it out, at least not right now. I am put on suicide watch immediately, which sadly, is nothing new. This means a nurse will come and check on me throughout the entire night every 15 minutes. He asks if he can do anything or if I would like to talk to him about how I am feeling. We spoke for a few minutes. I explained to him that I feel deeply empty, how I hate myself and wish to not exist, how I have thoughts and urges to end my life, how I am afraid of being alone. He assures me that I am safe. He gives me my bedtime medications and asks me to let him know if he can do anything else to help me feel a bit better. He leaves.
I set up my laptop with my favourite show, Seinfeld, playing in the background. I know that I will not be able to get any sleep tonight as my neighbour is already screaming his head off and banging on the walls and door. I get under the hospital bedsheets and lay down. It has been an exhausting day.
Throughout the night I fall in and out of sleep. I wake up suddenly and notice my door is open all the way. This is a common annoyance with these doors. Since they obviously do not lock they tend to slide open by themselves. I get up out of bed, close the door, and return to the covers. I lay there in bed, feeling that time has stopped. I feel numb inside; broken. I slip back into sleep for a few hours.
It is now 5am. I am frightened woken up when my neighbour decides everyone on the floor should be awake at 5am. He screams, swearing and cussing, pounding on the walls. I get out of bed and peek my head out and see the officers enter his room. They ask him why he is so angry. I don’t recall what he said, but I do remember the officers saying something to the effect of, “If you were in jail like you’re supposed to be, you wouldn’t be acting like this.” The patient then throws his clothes out of his room at the officers and screams that he wants to take a shower. The officers ask him if he has another change of clothes to which he says no. The patient is given a hospital gown, handcuffed and shackled, and taken to the shower room which is directly across from my room. I watch as he is led to the shower. An officer goes into the shower room with the patient, uncuffs him, and exits. I hear the shower turn on as the officers stand outside the shower room. The patient is in there for quite a long time. The officers ask if he is okay and he responds yes. He exits the shower room and the officers give him psych scrubs to wear. He is then handcuffed, shackled, and taken back to his room.
It is around 7:30ish at this time. I hear the food carts with breakfast being wheeled around the unit.
Quick sidebar here: It was an entire mess during my stay regarding the food I was given. When I was admitted the night before I made sure to tell my nurse about my dietary requirements. I am diabetic as well as vegan. She entered it to my file. I asked her to please repeat what she had written to make sure that it was correct. She did. However, somewhere along the way, my dietary needs were horribly wrong. I have never had any issues in terms of receiving the correct food during my previous stays. The hospital even has an article on their website proudly stating that they have an array of foods to be inclusive to everyone’s dietary needs because of health issues, religion, etc.
I receive my breakfast to find that I cannot eat anything given to me. It has dairy yogurt, dairy milk, eggs, etc. I explain to the orderly that I cannot eat any of this. I tell her that I’m diabetic and vegan. She looks puzzled. She apologizes and says she will grab something that I can eat after she delivers the other patient’s breakfasts. Thank goodness Sarah packed me some granola bars, almond milk, and a few other things that I was able to eat. The orderly returns with a banana, soy milk, Rice Krispies, and some fruit. I thank her profusely and ask her if she could make sure my dietary information is correct. She says she will do so.
I have my breakfast. A new nurse enters my room. She asks me the usual questions: how did you sleep? How are you feeling right now? Do you want to hurt yourself or anyone else? Are you seeing/hearing things that are not really here? I tell her that yes, I do want to hurt myself. I feel hopeless. She then begins telling me about god and Jesus and how “they wouldn’t like it if I killed myself. They put me here on earth for a reason. Jesus died for me of the cross.”
I firmly believe that anyone can believe/be religious as long as they are A) not hurting themselves or others in the name of god and B) they are not forcing their religion onto others, especially in a clinical setting. Here in Canada, this is absolutely not tolerated and is extremely unprofessional. I can see her intentions were not malicious, however, there is a time and place and right now is neither the time nor the place.
I explain to the nurse that I do not believe in such things and that I am a Buddhist Priest in Training. She says, “Buddhist? You know of Buddha?” I said, “Yes, I know somewhat of the Buddha.” She then tried to tell me that Buddha is a god… clearly she is not listening to me. I allow her to finish without getting angry or upset. I want her out of my room as fast as possible. She gives me my medications and leaves.
The day is slow. I have a lot on my mind. I mostly stay in my room. Since it was the weekend, there are no activities, groups, or doctors to be seen. These things help in creating a routine for me. But since none of that is going on I walk around the unit. During my walk, I realize most of the patients are in their mid 40s - early 50s, something I’ve never seen before. I feel like I’m one of the younger patients on the ward.
I return to my room and close the door. I look outside through the window and see life going on: cars driving around, folks walking, the breeze gently blowing through the trees… and I feel that I am in prison. I think about many things; what would happen if I left hospital? Would I be okay? Could I manage? What would happen when I am inevitably left alone? Would I self harm or worse? Did I make a mistake in coming here? I think about people waiting in emerg, desperately needing psych care but not having a bed available to them. I begin to feel that I am taking up much needed space for someone that needs this intense treatment more than I do.
I sit with this specific thought for a long time. In that moment I decide that I am going to go home. Since I am here voluntarily, I am able to leave without being stopped or forced to stay.
Sarah comes to visit. I tell her my feelings. Initially, she is completely opposed to the idea of me coming home so soon. I tell her how I don’t feel safe here, I’m not getting the proper food, and how I am taking away a bed for someone that is worse off than I am. She reluctantly understands my position. I tell my nurse that I’m leaving. He wants me to talk to the on call psychiatrist first. I agree. Two hours go by without seeing anyone. I told my nurse that I am leaving without seeing the psychiatrist. He tries to reason with me but my mind is made up. I sign a form stating that I understand I am leaving against medical advice. My nurse walks us out. As I collect my things from security, again he tries to stop me from leaving. I can see that he is very concerned about my welfare which is understandable. I thank him for his concern and let him know that this is not the right place for me right now. He lets me know that I can always come back if I need to.
Several days go by. I have an appointment with my psychiatrist. As we sit down in his office to talk he gives me this look; a look as if to say, “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” I explain everything to him from not feeling safe to taking away a bed from someone in need. I also mention a previous diagnosis that has haunted me for years that I refused to acknowledge or tell any of my medical team about.
Sidebar: In 2010s while I was hospitalized in Edmonton, Alberta I had a thorough psychiatric exam and intake done. The psychiatrist concluded that I have major depression, generalized anxiety, as well as Borderline Personality Disorder. When he told me this I absolutely refused to acknowledge it. I was ashamed and embarrassed. BPD has a very bad rap not only in society but in psychiatry as well. Back then (in the 2010s mind you) patients with BPD were “incurable” and “a waste of medical resources and time.” One of my best friends that I have been talking to mentioned this forgotten diagnosis to me in conversation as she was present when I was diagnosed. I did some research about it and oh my goodness. What I discovered was like looking into a mirror. For me to finally accept this as a part of me… I’m still working on that by the way. I was shocked. All this time we had been treating the wrong thing. All that time wasted.
I told my psychiatrist about this diagnosis that I refused to accept until now. I told him that I am now determined to work on this and that I need some help in order to do so. He thanked me for being so honest with him and asked what he could do to help me. I had seen an outpatient program called Track to Wellness on the hospital’s website. This is a 12 week program that is skills focused that includes psycho-educational sessions including mindfulness, basic activities of daily living (something I struggle with), CBT, ACT, and DBT informed skills, relapse prevention, and help with increasing current level of functioning. I asked him about it. He asked me if I was interested in completing this program and I said absolutely. He said that I should do another round of TMS (Jundo knows all about this!) treatments to which I agreed. He also increased my anti depressant as I am on a low dose. He asked me if I would be willing to speak with his colleague to get a second opinion and to see from another professional’s standpoint. I accepted and agreed. I made it very clear that I am determined to work on this and to improve my level of functioning. I told him that I did not want to be hospitalized at this time. He reminded me that hospitalization is still on the table, so to speak, in case I need to return.
It has been a little over a week since I saw my psychiatrist. I have begun taking the increased dosage of my anti depressant. I have started seeing my psychotherapist weekly instead of monthly. I explained everything to her so everyone is on the same page. I came across a workbook specifically for BPD that introduces DBT (which was created by a woman with BPD herself). I am told that DBT is amazing for BPD folks. I’m willing to try anything at this point. My psychotherapist said she would be more than willing to go through the workbook with me, step by step, as we complete it together.
I am nowhere near “cured”, nor will I ever be “cured” of this. I am, however, beginning to accept that this is a large part of me, but this is not all of me. This is a part. As there are many parts: husband, friend, Buddhist Priest, dad to 4 fur babies, mentor.
I am still struggling. I have moments where the world is falling apart, where I am full of rage and sadness, and times that I don’t want to exist anymore. I don’t know how I am getting through it, honestly. It has been extremely difficult.
I am still ashamed and embarrassed to reach out and ask for help. Someone to talk to, someone to text, someone to call. There are moments where I do not feel worthy enough to have the oxygen that I breathe, the space that I take up. But I know that getting better takes time, practice, and patience - 3 things that I am not good with managing!
Thank you if you have made it to this point. I know this was a long post, but I felt that it needed to be written. If nothing else, please know that you are not alone in your suffering despite your brain telling you that you are. Please know that you are worthy of love, kindness, and compassion.
Gasshō,
On
Sat today/LAH
) I recognise large chunks of your story and can completely validate the sorry state of mental health care here.
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