This experience is hazy. Any time something like this happens things don't stay clear. Bear that in mind. NOTE: I take Seroquel @ 100 mg a day which may have affected my ability to keep SN consumed.
From my cell phone texts I overdosed on SN on 12:23 PM last Saturday. I called 911 (do not remember doing this) at 12:34 PM. I lost consciousness before they arrived around 12:41 PM. I died somewhere in the 1:00 hour (sister). They had been in the process of giving me the counter drug and I was successfully resuscitated.
I used an even tablespoon in a 12 oz glass of water. I don't remember if I drank the whole glass, unfortunately. I'm a large person, a bit over 360 pounds. My sister ransacked the house afterwards and disposed of everything.
First, I was conscious for much longer than you usually see claimed.
Second, it hurt. A fucking lot. According to what you read you're supposed to be unconscious during this part of the process - I was not. Extreme muscle, stomach, and gastric pain is what I remember.
Third, the hospital having the counter was chance. I live in a large metro area so they had experience with SN. They cut your clothes off - I have no shoes now.
Death was nothing, a blip. I remember my cell phone in my face, being on the floor, then I was in the ICU. I did not exist. No lights. No fanfare. No angels. It could be that I don't remember death - see first note about memory. It could be that I died, visited Hell, and was brought back, memory erased. What I do know is that I as far as I know I wasn't here.
Aftermath: ICU: they wouldn't give me any of my normal medicines so I couldn't sleep, my blood sugar was through the roof (~1000), and they yelled at me when I got irritable about it. I was truly not hungry or thirsty but was told I'd be put on a tube if I didn't cooperate. They claimed (I have not seen proof of this) that they had a court order for me - I really wasn't in a position to argue. No pain medicines. I was strapped down the first day. My urine was bright blue - think Gatorade Freeze blue - apparently from the counter agent.
You're watched by a sitter. You can't do anything without them being there. In the ICU it wasn't so bad because I couldn't do anything anyway. They chart your behavior, your activity, your attitude, everything.
No television, no books, just the sirens and nurse chatter to keep your mind occupied. In ICU I was allowed visitors - my sister came once.
Aftermath: ICU, Day 3: I was moved to Medical to wait for Psyche. Medical discouraged visitors - they didn't have the monitoring staff ICU did.
Aftermath: Medical, Day 3, early AM: started getting insulin, no sleep or pain medicines. Sitter was there in the shower with me, when I took a bowel movement, when I wiped, every second. Got television, although the sitter had to change channels and such and often would simply take control. Still peeing blue. Some sitters will talk with you, some won't. Some sitters are easy on the rules, others aren't. Complete chance. Day 4, 3:00 PM, I was transported to Psyche.
Aftermath: Psyche, Day 4: insulin, no sleep, no pain on the first day. Paced the floor in my room all night. No threats of force feeding. One patient would launch themselves at staff randomly. They literally tased her, talked to her, then put her back on the floor. Another patient would attack other patients if they got too close. A third started throwing chairs (weighted VERY heavily for the very reason of keeping them from being thrown) when he was denied his pills. Mixed into this was a developmentally challenged 19 year old who wanted her Mom back from the dead and a 25 year old who had fried his brains on drugs. One patient had been there for four months with no change in status. The rules were arbitrarily applied as needed. If I touched anyone else (fist bump wise) I would get threatened with being put in my room (I would guess locked). The 25 year old launched into an attack routine, acting out a movie we were watching, and disappeared for a day. But the first three patients had one on one nurses and seemed to get away with anything. There were twelve people in my area - only three were lucid.
Psyche is lock down. General area, bed, restroom.
Psyche is not comfort. Psyche is about control. For suicide attempts I guess you're more likely to try again right away but the impulse fades? The pillows are thin to keep you from suffocating yourself or someone else. Towels and scrubs are kept under lock and key. Personally I thought about using the detachable shower curtain to tie myself face down in the toilet. There's groups which you think would be like the movies - people talking about their problems, sharing life experiences, whatever. It's not. It's coloring, large children's puzzles. No talk, at all. We were actually discouraged from talking to each other.
They take roll call every 15 minutes. If they don't find you, they will hunt you down. They missed me and I was in the shower and was visited by three people suddenly. Oh, shower is warm. Not hot - could scald yourself. The bars you use to hold on you can't actually grip because they have a metal plate soldered in the middle. (Why even have them?)
There is a phone you can use for 10 minutes at a time. It and the television are turned off all day because group attendance is mandatory. Hopefully you're not like me and actually know the phone numbers you need to call and don't just have them in your phone.
If you're in Psyche do yourself a favor and just do what the nurses say. If you don't you're just hurting yourself pointlessly. Nod, smile, stay respectful, get the fuck out. You're not getting help with life while you're there. Really, Psyche did more damage to me than most of my life experiences - I realized I was alone, truly alone. It is just like abortion - they want to keep you from going anywhere but don't want to help you once you've been "saved." Don't joke. They don't like jokes. My BPD makes me think everyone likes jokes. No, they don't.
I was assigned a social worker who filled out my forms with absolutely zero interest in the answers. "When were you sexually abused?" "Are you still thinking of hurting yourself?" I was told I was probably going to be there for a month or more and I began to panic. I needed my job but had no ability to communicate with them. If I lost my job, I lost my insurance, I lost my medicine, and I'd be dead within two weeks due to capitalism. Don't mention dead, death, violence, or anything. Like I said, nod, smile, shut the fuck up. Why save me just to destroy me?
Aftermath: Psyche, Day 5: insulin, sleep meds (finally!), Tylenol allowed. Found out visiting hours consisted of one hour during business hours, maximum 15 minutes, visitor had to agree to be searched and provide photo ID. I received no visitors. Got to finally choose my food.
Aftermath: Psyche, Day 6: insulin, sleep, Tylenol and Lidecain (sp) patch allowed. Got yelled at because my blood sugar was high. Accused of sneaking food - from where? From fucking where? Saw the psychiatrist for the first time for 5 minutes.
Aftermath: Psyche, Day 7: discharged around 10 AM. From complete control to the street. My clothes had been cut off so I left in scrubs - nothing in the lost and found would fit. They did give me a cab voucher. Took the cab to my sister's (one win: knew her address due to Amazoning her stuff but not her phone number), got my wallet, keys, and phone, Ubered home. Brother-in-law loaned me some clothes. Am posting this to blow off steam.
No change in meds, no therapy, no change period.
So I'm here. My sister visited twice. No one emailed me. No one called. No one texted me. No one Messengered me. I'm in my empty apartment right back where I started, except now I know to dispose of my phone before I try again and I don't know if I'm employed.
I am alone.
I wanted this to be more comprehensible but honestly, it's pretty triggering for me so I'm going to go with what I have.
Apparently I received the hospital bill for ICU and medical via email (Epic). Looking at $60k. I have insurance so I won't have to pay that, but...
From my cell phone texts I overdosed on SN on 12:23 PM last Saturday. I called 911 (do not remember doing this) at 12:34 PM. I lost consciousness before they arrived around 12:41 PM. I died somewhere in the 1:00 hour (sister). They had been in the process of giving me the counter drug and I was successfully resuscitated.
I used an even tablespoon in a 12 oz glass of water. I don't remember if I drank the whole glass, unfortunately. I'm a large person, a bit over 360 pounds. My sister ransacked the house afterwards and disposed of everything.
First, I was conscious for much longer than you usually see claimed.
Second, it hurt. A fucking lot. According to what you read you're supposed to be unconscious during this part of the process - I was not. Extreme muscle, stomach, and gastric pain is what I remember.
Third, the hospital having the counter was chance. I live in a large metro area so they had experience with SN. They cut your clothes off - I have no shoes now.
Death was nothing, a blip. I remember my cell phone in my face, being on the floor, then I was in the ICU. I did not exist. No lights. No fanfare. No angels. It could be that I don't remember death - see first note about memory. It could be that I died, visited Hell, and was brought back, memory erased. What I do know is that I as far as I know I wasn't here.
Aftermath: ICU: they wouldn't give me any of my normal medicines so I couldn't sleep, my blood sugar was through the roof (~1000), and they yelled at me when I got irritable about it. I was truly not hungry or thirsty but was told I'd be put on a tube if I didn't cooperate. They claimed (I have not seen proof of this) that they had a court order for me - I really wasn't in a position to argue. No pain medicines. I was strapped down the first day. My urine was bright blue - think Gatorade Freeze blue - apparently from the counter agent.
You're watched by a sitter. You can't do anything without them being there. In the ICU it wasn't so bad because I couldn't do anything anyway. They chart your behavior, your activity, your attitude, everything.
No television, no books, just the sirens and nurse chatter to keep your mind occupied. In ICU I was allowed visitors - my sister came once.
Aftermath: ICU, Day 3: I was moved to Medical to wait for Psyche. Medical discouraged visitors - they didn't have the monitoring staff ICU did.
Aftermath: Medical, Day 3, early AM: started getting insulin, no sleep or pain medicines. Sitter was there in the shower with me, when I took a bowel movement, when I wiped, every second. Got television, although the sitter had to change channels and such and often would simply take control. Still peeing blue. Some sitters will talk with you, some won't. Some sitters are easy on the rules, others aren't. Complete chance. Day 4, 3:00 PM, I was transported to Psyche.
Aftermath: Psyche, Day 4: insulin, no sleep, no pain on the first day. Paced the floor in my room all night. No threats of force feeding. One patient would launch themselves at staff randomly. They literally tased her, talked to her, then put her back on the floor. Another patient would attack other patients if they got too close. A third started throwing chairs (weighted VERY heavily for the very reason of keeping them from being thrown) when he was denied his pills. Mixed into this was a developmentally challenged 19 year old who wanted her Mom back from the dead and a 25 year old who had fried his brains on drugs. One patient had been there for four months with no change in status. The rules were arbitrarily applied as needed. If I touched anyone else (fist bump wise) I would get threatened with being put in my room (I would guess locked). The 25 year old launched into an attack routine, acting out a movie we were watching, and disappeared for a day. But the first three patients had one on one nurses and seemed to get away with anything. There were twelve people in my area - only three were lucid.
Psyche is lock down. General area, bed, restroom.
Psyche is not comfort. Psyche is about control. For suicide attempts I guess you're more likely to try again right away but the impulse fades? The pillows are thin to keep you from suffocating yourself or someone else. Towels and scrubs are kept under lock and key. Personally I thought about using the detachable shower curtain to tie myself face down in the toilet. There's groups which you think would be like the movies - people talking about their problems, sharing life experiences, whatever. It's not. It's coloring, large children's puzzles. No talk, at all. We were actually discouraged from talking to each other.
They take roll call every 15 minutes. If they don't find you, they will hunt you down. They missed me and I was in the shower and was visited by three people suddenly. Oh, shower is warm. Not hot - could scald yourself. The bars you use to hold on you can't actually grip because they have a metal plate soldered in the middle. (Why even have them?)
There is a phone you can use for 10 minutes at a time. It and the television are turned off all day because group attendance is mandatory. Hopefully you're not like me and actually know the phone numbers you need to call and don't just have them in your phone.
If you're in Psyche do yourself a favor and just do what the nurses say. If you don't you're just hurting yourself pointlessly. Nod, smile, stay respectful, get the fuck out. You're not getting help with life while you're there. Really, Psyche did more damage to me than most of my life experiences - I realized I was alone, truly alone. It is just like abortion - they want to keep you from going anywhere but don't want to help you once you've been "saved." Don't joke. They don't like jokes. My BPD makes me think everyone likes jokes. No, they don't.
I was assigned a social worker who filled out my forms with absolutely zero interest in the answers. "When were you sexually abused?" "Are you still thinking of hurting yourself?" I was told I was probably going to be there for a month or more and I began to panic. I needed my job but had no ability to communicate with them. If I lost my job, I lost my insurance, I lost my medicine, and I'd be dead within two weeks due to capitalism. Don't mention dead, death, violence, or anything. Like I said, nod, smile, shut the fuck up. Why save me just to destroy me?
Aftermath: Psyche, Day 5: insulin, sleep meds (finally!), Tylenol allowed. Found out visiting hours consisted of one hour during business hours, maximum 15 minutes, visitor had to agree to be searched and provide photo ID. I received no visitors. Got to finally choose my food.
Aftermath: Psyche, Day 6: insulin, sleep, Tylenol and Lidecain (sp) patch allowed. Got yelled at because my blood sugar was high. Accused of sneaking food - from where? From fucking where? Saw the psychiatrist for the first time for 5 minutes.
Aftermath: Psyche, Day 7: discharged around 10 AM. From complete control to the street. My clothes had been cut off so I left in scrubs - nothing in the lost and found would fit. They did give me a cab voucher. Took the cab to my sister's (one win: knew her address due to Amazoning her stuff but not her phone number), got my wallet, keys, and phone, Ubered home. Brother-in-law loaned me some clothes. Am posting this to blow off steam.
No change in meds, no therapy, no change period.
So I'm here. My sister visited twice. No one emailed me. No one called. No one texted me. No one Messengered me. I'm in my empty apartment right back where I started, except now I know to dispose of my phone before I try again and I don't know if I'm employed.
I am alone.
I wanted this to be more comprehensible but honestly, it's pretty triggering for me so I'm going to go with what I have.
Apparently I received the hospital bill for ICU and medical via email (Epic). Looking at $60k. I have insurance so I won't have to pay that, but...
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