Alone in another saint's city, trying not to call.
Don't call Her.
Don't call family - they never know what to say and just feel awful anyway. Besides, they don't really know who I am in a lot of ways, so in some ways it makes the alienation worse.
Don't call the friends you've neglected in favor of Her (they, having lives, are busy anyway, jackass - it is Saturday; you're the one sitting at home alone trying to figure out how much Klonopin is too much for one day). They wouldn't know what to say anyway, most of them, and probably don't really want to know. So what does it say about me that I feel like I've failed when a friend relates later that she or he was really depressed and didn't call me? I actually want to hear them, help in any way I can, I think because it takes me out of my own head.
Probably half of them secretly don't believe depression is a real disease anyway. I want to waive bona fides to legitimate my misery, like a dispossessed mother standing on the street with her hungry children in a Dostoevsky novel: independent diagnoses of either moderate or major depression by five-count-'em-five different psychiatrists dating back 18 years. A not-insignificant list of medications tried (see previous post). One state-reviewed & -approved period on psychiatric disability some years back.
And now, a 5150 to add to the resume. Oh yes, this final humiliation was added to the list last week. I went to my shrink to see about going back onto Lamictal, which seemed to work well in the past (why'd I ever stop? well, see, we depressives, when well medicated, look and act just like normal people...and sometimes we look in the mirror and we could just swear that that's a normal person looking back at us....and, well, we make stupid decisions).
Long story short, after 15 minutes, she decides that she's never seen me in such bad shape, wants me to consider hospitalization. Uhm, no, I don't think so, thanks. Well, how about if we have you evaluated by a neutral 3rd party shrink, and you can ask about what hospitalization might entail? What have you got to lose? (she uses these exact words)
Now I am not denying that I was having suicidal ideation all over the place. I mean, why not? No job, no idea what kind of job to even be looking for, over 40 years old, girlfriend just decided out of the blue to leave me, and now I'm all alone. Seems pretty fucking rational, actually. But no means, no plan, no plan to obtain means, no giving away possessions, no making goodbye calls or emails, etc. Not that she asks those questions, BTW.
Anyway, I sit around the ER for like 5 1/2 hours waiting for this mythic psych consult, during which period she gets more and more concerned (based, again, on like 15 minutes of talk, during which I never said anything about a plan or means to kill myself).
Mr. Second-Year Psych Resident Guy finally shows up, talks to me for like 25 minutes (nota bene: almost twice as long as my actual shrink) and ends up agreeing with me, that I should just go home and get some sleep. Asks me to hang out for a minute while he makes a few necessary calls to clear it.
Comes back looking glum and sheepish...with a security guard. My shrink wants me held involuntarily, despite his assessment.
Long story short? I end up wasting a bed in a psych ward for a night and get an excellent look at the therapeutic modalities available (which is what she'd wanted me to check out in the first place). Here is what I was able to avail myself of during my day in the lockup:
- A 'group therapy' session that consisted mostly of people saying their name (or whatever their name(s) were that day/incarnation, and why they were there, and how they were feeling. Meanwhile, massive amounts of cross-talk from many of the other patients because they're, you know, crazy.
- Got to pet a doggie for about 45 seconds. This was styled as "Pet Therapy". Ah.
- A very nice nurse (truly) asked me to write down (and I'm reaching down to get the document so this is verbatim) "25 things I am proud of or I like about me!" (exclamation in original)
- Finally get to see attending psychiatrist and his factotum (another resident, maybe?) early afternoon. Am able to impress upon them my utter rationality, lack of emergent status, lack of imminent danger to self or others, and balanced sense of irritation with being placed here in the first place.
I've noticed that in situations like this being able to deploy a vocabulary that is just slightly more sophisticated than the person you're trying to influence is useful. Too much and you breed fear/resentment/suspcion. Doing things like counting off argumentative points helps, too, as in:
"Firstly, I never stated any actual plan. Secondly, while I did express suicidal ideation, it was wholly divorced from plan, means, or any plan to obtain means. Thirdly, I reminded the doctor of my desire to restart treatment with the previous drug. Finally, I feel that she misrepresented the nature of the 'consultation' that she talked me into having, which I could forgive, but which is still a breach of trust that will have serious consequences for our ability to work together in the future."
Being able to speak in complete sentences ex tempore has always stood me in good stead at moments like this. Soon enough, they exercised their customary allotment of whispering and announced that I was to be released at some point later that day.
Ye ghods. But now I've got an involuntary commitment for psychiatric hold on my record. Fucking great.
Meanwhile, She continues to ignore all emails. Does not call. We are to see our old couples therapist on Thursday, for a refereed conversation. I woke up this morning in a panic, as it was suddenly clear to me why she relented and agreed to this: she's getting advice from somewhere to just cut all ties with me. It's not something she'd do on her own.
I don't know if I can survive another one of these.
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