the time i was committed against my will to the psych ward: part II

this is my story of dealing with postpartum depression, OCD, and psychosis. for the prologue go {here} for part I go {here}


morning.
i open my eyes and remember where i am. i reach for my phone to check the time, and then remember that i'm not allowed to have a phone here. i wonder if remington is awake, if he has eaten.

i swing my feet to the floor and glance around. there is a cup on the end table next to my bed. it is filled with a brown, bitter smelling liquid. what is this? am i supposed to drink this? i peek out of my bedrooom door. the coast is clear. the clock in the hallway informs me that it is 6:30.

a tech is walking by. i ask him about the brown liquid filled cup in my room.
"oh, that? it's broth."
i am losing my mind. what now?
"yeah, last night you asked me to bring you some broth to drink."
"no i didn't. i don't remember that."
"i promise you did. that pill you took must have really knocked you out."

all i can do is laugh hysterically.

i walk into the main living area and see several of my fellow patients, most have wrapped themselves in the pink blankets from their bedding. i'm feeling braver after a good night of sleep and the hilarity of the broth incident, so i greet them and start conversations. breakfast comes. the food is awful and i leave most of it on my tray.

a nurse finds me, takes my vitals, and informs me that i will be seeing the psychiatrist this morning. i ask if i can please have my clothes back now and also take a shower. the nurse tells me that the washer and dryer are backed up, so it will be a few more hours, but i am free to take a shower. she goes to the office and grabs the sensitive skin soap i requested last night. (i am not allowed to have personal items and as i am a freak about what touches my face, i refused to use the cheap bar of soap they provided, and instead put up a fuss about using what i wanted to use.) then she walks me to my room and unlocks the shower for me and instructs me to bring the soap back after my shower. because apparently i might drink it or something.

i take a leisurely shower, singing at the top of my lungs. i'm not allowed a razor for obvious reasons, and i'm pretty grossed out by my armpit hair. oh well. i dry off and inspect the cheap hygiene kit they gave me. toxic free deodorant. miniature toothbrush. someone has brought my pants and bra back. awesome. i put them on and then a gown over top for a shirt. i wish i had make up or a cream to tame my curly hair. when i worked for valley mental health in a facility similar to this, i always thought they should allow the girls to have make up for their confidence. i know i would feel a lot better if i were allowed to groom myself.

even so, i feel like a new woman after the shower and brushing my teeth. i'm summoned for a physical. everything checks out with my health, which is awesome after the past year of hearing how many things were wrong with me, from hyperemesis, low blood pressure, high pulse, detaching placenta, rotting teeth, preeclampsia, torn vagina. feels good to be healthy again, at least physically.

then it is time for the thing i have been dreading.

the psychiatrist finds me and escorts me to his office.
asks me what brought me in to the E.R. yesterday.

it's the same story. he is a man. a stranger. he does not understand pregnancy, giving birth. but i know that this will help me if i let it, and i'm sure it has to be costing a fortune. so i try.

i tell him about my pregnancy, the depression i've been having, my suicide plans. that my OBGYN referred me to LDS hospital and from there i was committed. he takes a history, asks if i have had depression before. so i launch into the whole story of the past ten years. sexual assault, attempted suicide, depression, PTSD, anxiety.

after the history, he focuses on the postpartum depression. asks that question i don't want to hear.
"have you had thoughts of wanting to harm your baby?"
trying to decide how to answer, i search his face. silently begging with my eyes for him to understand these feelings that i don't even understand.
"it's not that i wanted to hurt my baby. i love him." those three words just don't do justice. "but i have had strange thoughts and dreams."
he is waiting patiently for me to continue.
"i' have dreams about him dying all the time. last week i dreamed that i was giving him a bath. the water was too deep and i couldn't get him out. he was drowning and i couldn't lift him up. then the dream changed and it was that i didn't want to lift him up. and he drowned. why would i dream that?"

i check his face and he doesn't seem too fazed so i continue.
"i'm afraid that he is going to die, all the time. every time i put him down for a nap, i am convinced that he is going to smother. i see strange things in my head, like when i get him dressed, i picture how quick it would be for him to smother on his shirt going over his face. i see him dying all the time. if i fall down the stairs. if i accidentally step on him. i see graphic, violent images. but i don't want to see them. it's not like i want to hurt him. i hear him crying all the time. i run to check on him and he is fast asleep. by the time i make it downstairs again, i can hear him crying. i just feel really scared and sad all the time."

he is writing notes. i think about all the things i'm not saying.

like how while i was making lunch, i was cutting a piece of cheese. holding the knife, i noticed red splotches on the wall by the stove and on a tin container on the counter. i looked at the knife and saw red dripping from it. all the sudden, i knew that i had stabbed remington. i ran to go check on him in is crib where he was napping. i was terrified to check on him because i was convinced that i had killed him. i could see the pool of blood in his crib, all the open wounds from the multiple times i had stabbed him with that knife. when i pushed his bedroom door open, there he was. sleeping peacefully, no blood. how had i gotten so confused about the spaghetti sauce on the stove from dinner the night before?

or about how whenever remington coughed, i saw blood dripping from his mouth.
or about the dream i had about someone breaking into our house, drowning remy in the bathtub, like so graphically that i could hear him gurgling and crying, and then handing him to me, blue and cold, while i sank to my knees screaming.
how to explain how sometimes thoughts came into my head telling me that remington was possessed by the devil and that he was evil.
that i felt like remington smiled for everyone but me. that he didn't love me.

and besides all of that, how to explain how angry i feel at God. that i had to have hyperemesis. how to explain the loss i feel that i will never have another baby grow in my belly, feeling it kick and dreaming of who it would be.

it's too much to say to this stranger. so i leave it.

we talk for a while longer about how when a person has had at least three depressive episodes, it probably means they have depression and that medication would benefit them. i have had more than three in the past ten years. we talk about how depression literally kills your brain and how medication helps it heal. i ask him a zillion questions about side effects, how it works in my brain, and what to expect. i am hesitant to take antidepressants. i feel weak for being here. but i finally consent to trying one. we start with Lexapro. the side effects may include nausea (my favorite!) and loss of sex drive and/or trouble climaxing. awesome.

he tells me he wants me to stay a few more days. i ask him if i can be out in time for the 24th of July fireworks. he says he'll consider it. i leave his office and walk back into the main living space with everyone else.

i notice that i'm sitting next to the man who was walking with the blonde woman last night. i don't see her anywhere. he is in the middle of what sounds like an angry rant. apparently the techs caught them making out in her bed later that night and she was transferred to a different floor. is this real life? i wonder.

a nurse brings me the pill and a cup of water. i am sitting with strangers in hospital gowns. i take the pill from her and announce, "let the brainwashing begin." the nurse stares at me, and it's bottoms up.

xo