On January 4, 2017, I went to a mental facility…again.
I learned new coping skills and met some troubled but great people.
For the first three days or so, I was angry at my therapist for making me go. I had been feeling very depressed for a couple weeks before, and had even asked my mom to bring me to the hospital. The Prozac had stopped working, and I was in bad shape. I tried my hardest to get through it, but it was just too much.
I didn’t try to kill myself, but I wanted to.
There were situations that I was in that were truly getting to me mentally, and I just couldn’t handle them. My best friend and I stopped talking, my sister and nieces moved away to Texas, and the holiday blues were setting in.
Mentally, I was a train wreck. Every little thing was getting to me, whether or not I showed it. I got through the holidays, but I was still broken.
On January 3, I met with my new therapist, and I told her I wanted to die. She immediately told me that I had to go to the emergency room to get checked into a mental hospital.
I went, and on January 4, I was driven to Beacon Behavioral Hospital in Bunkie, LA and it was my home for the next six days. I hated it there at first. I would call my mom crying that I wanted out immediately. There was nothing she could do. So I stayed. I had to.
I was discharged on the 10th of January, and the next day, I started going to group therapy in Alexandria, LA. This was my second time in group therapy. The first time didn’t go so well, but I like this group. There are too many people at times, which leads to me almost having panic attacks. So far so good though.
The people are so sweet to everyone and to me. I’m on new medicine and I’m feeling great.
Please know that it’s okay to ask for help. Be honest with yourself. Going to a mental hospital is nothing to be ashamed of.
You are worthy of help.