The Journal: My Days in the Psych Ward

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I spent several years going through some deep troubles including two miscarriages, a suicide attempt and several hospitalizations. This is a record of some of my time during that period.

[Some abbreviations used: 9 Garden North, 9GN, a psych unit; CO, constant or 1:1 observation; SHH, Silver Hill Hospital; NYPres is New York Presbyterian Hospitals; MHW, mental health worker; pdoc, psychiatrist]


Last night I dreamt, wildly. Dr. DeWitt was in my dream and other people from 9GN, where I find myself once again. Today we talked about Husband and how he’s probably withdrawing from school for the semester. I feel guilty about it even though he tells me not to. I can’t help it. All I want to do is cry and give up. I told them (Dr. D and Jodie) that I was feeling rather suicidal. I think it has to do with PMS but who knows. I feel massively dissociated. I can’t get in touch with myself. I’m not even sure I know what’s wrong or why I came back here. The ECT has destroyed my memory.


“We have art in order not to die from the truth.” – Nietzsche

I stole a knife and cut open my latest wound. It’s not very deep. I already sucked it up and told Jodie because she’s my nurse today. I wish I had something sharper so I could cut deeper. Now I feel guilty and I’ll probably end up on one to one. Dr. DeWitt is afraid I’m not going to get better. I’m afraid she might be right. Maybe I need a long stay place to fix me. Maybe I can’t be fixed. Maybe I don’t want to get better. Part of me likes the attention I get when I’m here, another part of me hates it. Why did I tell her? I could have hidden it for a long time. I feel guilty immediately and can’t bite my tongue.

I miss Husband. He hasn’t been to visit in days. I’m not used to being without him and I don’t like it. He fell behind in school and now he’s going to withdraw from the semester. I know it’s not my fault but I can’t help feeling badly about it because my situation has to have had some impact. I’m not making it any better: acting out, punching walls, cutting. It’s so childish. It feels so good though, that’s the problem. My impulse control has tanked; it’s like whatever comes into my head I have to act on.

I’m so tired but I’m so stuck in self-destruction mode that all I want to do is hurt myself more. I stole another knife and it has gone unnoticed so far.


Fuck this shit. I’m back on 1:1 because I cut. I cut because they want me to go to Silver Hill. Jessica said, “On paper, you are scary.” According to them, I need long-term care. SH would be for at least a month. The problem is that it is self pay, so I would have to speak with my parents about it; insurance won’t cover it. I want to die. I want to be dead. I am having trouble caring about anything.


Sharon told me to pull my shit together. I’m back on 1:1. I don’t know what I should do–I want to die but I can’t do anything about it. What I could do is lie, pretend, get released, and then do whatever I want. That would be the clever thing to do.


Everyone keeps telling me how smart I am, how much potential I have; they wonder why I am doing this to myself. Honestly, I wonder too. I have no good answer for anyone. I know I want to hurt but I don’t know why. I don’t like myself, I never have. Everything has always been hard. School was hard to get through, at all levels. Not finishing my master’s is probably what started this whole mess though getting depressed during school is why I couldn’t finish. I don’t feel like I have a purpose, so that makes it hard to motivate, to stay alive. I can’t do it just for Husband, as much as that would be nice. I love him, I just don’t love myself. I feel myself going hypomanic. The other day I legit heard voices. That was the first time that has happened. It was pretty surreal.

Yesterday I stole a knife at breakfast while Song was watching me, then I used it. Cut in the bathroom before she caught me. I felt bad because I love Song but I saw an opportunity and I had to take it. The day before I freaked out and spent hours punching the wall. Now my hand is a fun shade of yellow and purple. I refused to  move away from the wall. It actually surprised me that they didn’t do anything to intervene; I just kept going.

My CO right now wouldn’t let me close the door to shower and go to the bathroom. It pissed me off so much that I punched the wall a couple of times and she called Andrea. The sad thing is/was that I was actually feeling better and then the lack of freedom totally made me snap. Being contained makes me nuts, it always has. That’s what happened at 4 Winds, that’s what’s happened every other stay here at 9GN. It flips a switch in my brain, makes it feel like I’m over heating and I have no impulse control. I know acting out will just make things harder but it’s like I stop caring in that moment and all I can do is lash out. Having no privacy pisses me off and just makes things worse. I don’t know how to impart that to the people in charge of me. Even if I could explain it, they wouldn’t care. It wouldn’t make a difference–they would still keep me on CO. I think it’s the BPD. Makes me perverse. I feel like a teenager. I want to do it more because they tell me not to. It doesn’t make sense.

So now because I punched the wall they put me in the quiet room. I don’t see how this is going to make a difference. It doesn’t calm me down, it doesn’t address the problems. They should have given me an Ativan, that’s something that would help.

I wonder if they have the power to put me in the state hospital. I really hope not…there has to be a way to refuse.

I want to punch the wall again, but I know that will just prolong my time in here. Self control sucks so much. I just want to get stoned and watch TV, maybe go out on my bike, get out to LI and take my board out on the water. I have to pull it together so they let me go and I can do what I want.

I wonder if I would actually kill myself. My gut tells me that I’m too chicken, that I wouldn’t hurt anyone. I’ve had lots of opportunities and I haven’t done it yet so…I’m clearly a wimp. Either that or I just don’t want to hurt anyone. I’m so confused. Confused confused confused. My brain wants two things simultaneously that are antithetical to one another. How am I supposed to get through to myself. Nothing motivates me.

The blow from the Assholes still hurts. I can’t help but feel like shit when I replay how they treated me. Most days I don’t think about them, but when I do it’s really painful. I still don’t understand why they got so mad at me. I don’t think I did anything wrong.

That must be a lingering problem that reinforces my self hatred. It’s so easy to find proof that I’m worthless: Assholes, Marlin, masters, work.

I think I want to be a nurse. I have to look into what is required but I can feel the pull of it. In particular I would love to be a psych nurse. It seems challenging and rewarding. I know I would be a good therapist. I think I’m smart enough to get a nursing degree. It would be hard but I know a lot already just from experience, so I think it would be manageable. Maybe I’ll ask Jodie. I love when she’s my nurse. I wish she was my primary. Riya doesn’t do shit. Plus she’s never actually my nurse, it’s so weird. Today Jodie is handing me off to her when she gets out of ECT. Boo. That’s a bummer. She is definitely one of the reasons I like coming back here. It’s perverted and very troubling. I don’t feel like I can tell anyone about it either. I know it’s wrong but I don’t know how to make it go away.

I am seriously rapid cycling. This is too much Cymbalta. The Lithium hasn’t kicked in yet to balance me out. I want my klonopin back. I wonder if DeWitt would give it back to me, now that I’m done with ECT.

Ok. My goal today is to be non self-destructive so I can get off 1:1, then I can punch the walls in peace and no one has to know. I wish I could break my hand, that’s all I want. I don’t know why. It’s a serious fixation that just won’t go away. I wish someone could explain it to me. Why haven’t they? There has to be a reason. The ativan helps. I feel calmer.

I just realized that because it’s Friday, I’m probably gonna be on CO all weekend. I wonder if I can talk my way out of it. I don’t think I can handle that–it will make me lose my mind. I may not have a choice though. I probably screwed myself over this morning with the punching. Fuck.

So I definitely can’t get off CO before the weekend, but my behavior over the next few days will dictate the decision they make on Monday. I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself. Still no one can tell me why I’m obsessing about it. Dr. DeWitt didn’t have any insight for me. She did examine my hand though because it looks mega fucked up.

My feet smell, because my birks smell.

I am trying so hard not to punch anything. Dr. DeWitt wrote me a script for 2mg of ativan. Hopefully that will help. I asked for ativan before but apparently Jodie gave me xanax, which is fine and explains why I feel like it actually did something. It always makes me feeling more human.

Wow my hand hurts. I finally made an impression. It’s satisfying. Of course I would be happier if it were broken but what can you do.

Riya got me increased ativan for today and rubber bands to snap. That sometimes helps because it really does hurt.

Dr. D says there is a bed open at Silver Hill on Nov. 8 –I would just need to put a deposit down since the program is private pay. This of course means that I need to involve my parents. I’m hoping that I can get into the day program at Cornell instead, so I can go home and be with Husband. Jessica probably won’t hear back about that until the beginning of next week. That one is also private pay, so I still have to talk to Dad, one way or the other, which fucking blows. I don’t want them involved at all, but it doesn’t look like that is an option. I need to make my own money so this isn’t an issue any more.

I wish Husband was enough of a motivation to stop hurting myself, but he’s just not and I don’t know why. None of this logical. I’m so borderline it’s not even funny. I’m not BPD in the scary people kind of way, just in the self-destructive, impulsive way. Awesome.

Jodie told me last night that I -am- scary–what with my cutting and punching and all that. That hurts to hear. I don’t -want- to be scary, that’s not my intention, especially not to people like Jodie. That makes me sad. It’s hard not to be understood but I don’t understand myself so how can I expect other people to get me.

It’s the BPD. I’m going to keep saying that because I think it’s true. It’s the only thing that makes any sense, otherwise there’s no logical train of thought that anyone in their right mind would follow. I am clearly not in my right mind.

The thing I hate most about 1:1 is not being able to close the bathroom door. I am so uncomfortable with bodily functions that this is absolutely torturous. I should just try to ignore them but it is so embarassing.

I think everyone is annoyed by me. It feels like they all hate me and they don’t want me here.

Someone has been coming into my room and rifling through my stuff. They left a container of cereal by my bed and stole my grey marker and rearranged all of my books.

I was just recounting to Yemi part of my 4 winds story. I’m trying not to punch anything, so I asked to sit in the quiet room but they only put me in the anteroom, which means I can still punch a solid wall. This is a test that I feel like I’m going to fail. I failed, but no one is here to notice so I’m not going to get in trouble. Pretty nifty. I got in a few good punches, so I feel better–and no one has to know. The question is just can I maintain. It’s taking all of my energy to fight these urges. It makes me feel all wiggly inside. I can’t decide if I give a shit.

Part of me wants to come clean. The other part says why on Earth would you do that when NO ONE has to know. I’m so fucked up. Nothing I do makes sense. I know the consequences of punching but I don’t know if it’s enough to stop me.

I couldn’t stop myself and then my 1:1 told Jodie. Then Jodie got mad at me for taking up her time, put me in the anteroom and made me promise not to hit anything. I said I couldn’t. “Jess, I don’t have time to be your 1:1. It’s not that I don’t care, it’s just that this is a very busy time of day for me.” I hate making her mad at me. In some perverse kind of way I know I am doing it in part for attention from her. It’s beyond childish. How do I get rid of that desire? It makes me want to die. I’m so stupid. What am I supposed to do?

Before I forget–Virigina came up to me earlier while I was eating a lollipop and asked if she could have some of it. WTF?? Who asks to share a stranger’s lollipop??! So weird. There are a few weirdos here now, some of whom are scary enough to be worrisome, like Steve and the guy who flipped out over his spoon. Then there’s Christobal who is so out of it, it’s like he’s a child with really powerful arms. All of these guys want to be all up in my face to tell me what they think, because their opinion is very important (hah).

Jodie wants me to promise not to hit anything. I just can’t promise that–I would feel pointless if I broke my word right away.

Does she hate me? She must.

Why did Husband marry me? He must be crazy to want to be with me.

Über paranoia–Jodie hates me.


Happy Halloween! Virginia is really creeping me out. She comes over and stands next to me and just stares. She also gave Christine coffee even though she’s not supposed to have any, then she got this super mischievous smile and said “no” in response to “did you give her coffee?” She has been wandering into other people’s rooms. I have a suspicion that she was the one who rifled through my bedside table. Makes me nervous to leave my room unattended.

I’m always in a better mood when I first wake up. I don’t want to punch anything right now. We’ll see how long that lasts. Hopefully I can make it last all day so I can get off CO on Monday. Yesterday didn’t go so well so I’m not off to a great start.

Jonty is my nurse. He came to talk to me about CO, wanted me to “tell him why I’m on CO,” express my understanding of why. I just looked at him and told him that was redundant and I wouldn’t do it. I don’t know why they expect me to be cheerful when They talk to me about this shit. I’m not going to state the obvious like a child. There’s going to be a lot of me saying “no” in protest, I can tell already. Today is going to suck.

I was ok most of the day until this evening. I freaked out.

Some guy flipped out at dinner and threw his pitcher at Coralie. They called security and put him in the quiet room. Since then I’ve been anxious and it’s getting worse. I was reading and then I all of a sudden -needed- to pick my scab and open my wound, so I did. Then I cried. Mary made me go get bandaged so I would leave it alone. I opened it once more and Mary made me come out again, then we had to walk around and sit in the hallway. We talked about a lot of stuff, then eventually went back to the room and I read my book and snapped my rubber bands. After a while it wasn’t enough and I gave up and punched the wall. Then Mary made me come out to the dining room and then she made me get my journal. So here we are. I’ve had my meds, I’m sitting here with Leo, Mary, and Yemi. And all I want to do is die. I am fantasizing about my knife.


Yesterday was a nightmare. I started off with a remarkable opportunity: I found a knife in the kitchen and pocketed it. Then I took it with me into the shower and closed the door. The 1:1 didn’t open the door at all so I was able to slice away in the shower. Then I got out, put my clothes on, went back in the bathroom, and cut some more. I made it pretty deep and wide. Then I made a huge mistake and showed my cut to Jonty (small devil sign drawn over his name). If I had just closed it myself everything could have been avoided. He yelled at me and then made me sit in the quiet room for 30 mins.

I don’t remember the full sequence of events, but I know I tried to leave the quiet room and go back to bed. Eventually security was called. They forced me to take sedatives, then they forced me to change into hospital gowns. They took all of my belongings and packed them up into the nursing station. I went back to my room, then asshole nurse came in and took my water bottle, which I violently protested, which got me escorted to the quiet room again. Then they made me lie down and injected me with more sedatives. After that I think I tried to go back to my room again but they made me stay in the quiet room, I think.

Then they made me take off my watch and my wedding ring, which was not OK. “This is not negotiable.” I put in my 72 hr notice–and they’re going to take me to court on Thursday unless I decided to withdraw it and agree to go to Silver Hill. Husband think’s that’s a better idea because I will lose my court battle and then I will be stuck involuntarily. Cornell day program has yet to respond. That would be my first choice, Silver Hill second. I am not going to state, no matter what. I will give up my life for a month before they put me somewhere like that.

I’m chronically suicidal. Nothing is going to change that–but it doesn’t mean I’m a danger to myself right now or that they have the right to hold me against my will.

Jessica just came to talk to me about aftercare options. Silver Hill would cost $32000. The Cornell program would last NINE months and cost upward of $90,000. It’s ridiculous that I don’t get to opt out of these options. I don’t want to ask my parents for that much money–it’s absurd. The Cornell program would make me give up Therapist and Dr T for NINE months…all of this just seems wrong to me. If I’m being honest, these programs won’t work, which is why it seems like such a waste of money!? So unfair.

Jessica did say that she would talk to Matt so that I don’t ever have to have Jonty (barf) as my nurse again. I hate him so much. So so much.

My brain is on fire. I started having a panic attack in “stress management” today because Steve wouldn’t STFU and I hate that dude. He is so disrespectful it makes me crazy. I finally just left and went to as for a PRN. I got xanax and seroquel and now I’m woah, so chill. Anna took my vitals: heart rate was 123 and I was shaking. Phew…

Just got in an argument about how open the door should be when I go to the bathroom. It is so uncomfortable.

[Page with a large Ohm drawn on it]


I feel a little better now with all the meds, but I am seriously fighting the urge to punch a wall. I feel so exposed and trapped.

Jodie just called me to the side and said, “Please don’t give the aides a hard time when you go to the bathroom.” I told her Anna and I already talked it out. She must hate me, which sucks because she is my favorite. I wish I could tell her that, and that it would matter. I know it wouldn’t.

My new goal is just to be chipper and safe so they take me off 1:1, because I surely can’t stand this anymore. I just have to hide what I really feel. As long as I can keep my temper under control then I should be ok. But that is fucking hard.

I seriously can’t go to the bathroom with someone watching me. It makes me feel so exposed and shy. I can barely get naked for Drs. who need me to be naked. My face is red, my ears are red. Mary says that’s a sign that I’m getting anxious. She’s very observant. I just want OUT. Out out out out. Anything but this. This is hell. The groups don’t help me, ECT didn’t help me, and I’m back where I started. Back on Lithium and klonopin, etc. apparently she added hydroxizine (atarax) for sleep? I love how she doesn’t tell me these things: the nurses just appear with new meds once in a while. That seems kind of weird/unfair.

I want so desperately to punch the wall, but I know that will reset my 1:1 timer, and I’m trying to get off of it. I can punch to my heart’s content once I am off one to one. I managed to hold off from punching so far. I iced my knuckles and talked and talked to Alma instead. It is SO FUCKING HARD! I feel like I’m lying by not doing it. I am sitting on my emotions because when I tell the truth I get punished. No good comes from telling the truth here; I just end up with more restrictions.

The difference between self harm and suicidal intent is immense, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference to my Dr. and her team. Self harm is enough to keep me here, according to them. I think that is wrong. BPD patients have issues with repeated hospitalizations and we’re very prone to self harm. I’m not unusual for the disorder that I have, and it doesn’t seem to be very well understood by the staff here.

The stupidest rule they have for me right now is keeping my hands and face visible at all times. Magda literally ripped my blanket off of me at 5 am while I was sleeping so they could see my hands, even though they were making me sleep in gowns and it was freezing in the room. Just like how Jonty ripped my blanket off yesterday when I got back in bed when he didn’t want me to. He was really cruel. None of it would have happened with any other nurse and it wouldn’t have escalated if Dr. DeWitt was there. It was all terrible happenstance. I reacted violently because I was being held violently. It’s an unfair and cruel double standard. “We’re just trying to keep you safe” my ass. They were on a power trip with no compassion. It’s seriously enough to make me insane.

If they let me out right now, I would be fine. I’m not going to kill myself–I love Husband too much and I want to have a family with him. The only things making me sad right now are the restrictions they put on me and how non-compassionate they can be. I knew yesterday was going to be trouble because of Jonty. I can’t talk to him, he just makes me mad, and I knew it wasn’t going to go well. I was right. So infuriating. I made a point of saying that I don’t want him as my nurse ever again, so hopefully that will work out. *crosses fingers*

Jessica is going to write to dad about Silver Hill. I know he’ll say yes, I just hate having to ask for that kind of money, when all these 9GN visits have already cost me so much that I haven’t paid off yet. I might have to ask Husband if we can dip into the joint account to pay that stuff off, otherwise I’m going to have to ask Dad to dig deeper.

One month at Silver Hill is like an average person’s yearly salary. It’s just absurd.

Thank god I have so many benzos now. It’s the only thing keeping me somewhat calm. I gives me enough of a delay to stay my impulses and make better choices–which is all I need to get off of 1:1. I wonder how many days of this I need to prove that I’m in control? Hopefully only one more but I’m not sure about that, given how badly the weekend went, that’s going to haunt me until I am out of the next place they send me to. It freaks me out just replaying yesterday in my head. I’ve never been given so many sedatives before. Even at 4 Winds they gave me one that just knocked me out for a full day. I don’t remember how much I slept yesterday. It must have been a while because the day went pretty quickly after they peeled the dignity from my body. There was nothing left but bruised fruit.

Anna RN understands me though. I can go to her, say very little and she fills in the rest accurately. That was refreshing. I don’t know why I’m so hung up on Jodie. She isn’t even all that nice to me and still I want her attention. It’s so infantile. I know BPD can sometimes lead to fixations on people, so maybe that’s what this is. It’s very confusing. I’m fighting the urge to go ask her if she hates me. I don’t think that would be super productive and honestly I’m afraid of the answer. I chickened out and couldn’t ask–too embarrassing. Anna doesn’t hate me at least.

I wonder if they’ll come in and pull my blanket off again tonight. That was really unbelievable.


I woke up at 5 today. I went to get a Xanax and my 1:1 actually said to me, “Did he give you a medication?” and I didn’t respond except to ask, “Are you in a hurry?” “No I just asked a question. I’ve been watching you for an hour. I’m entitled to know.” My eyes got wide, and I turned back to Tony to get my med because I didn’t think her statement deserved a response.

I got up at 6:20 finally and sat talking with Leo and Brian. I’m determined to be good today so I can get off 1:1. Let’s hope my anxiety stays under control so I don’t freak out. I always start the day OK but as I get more sleepy, I get more anxious and raw.

Mom wrote me to ask if I could take care of Sister now that she’s home so I had to write to her and tell her the truth about where I am and where they want me to go…and how much it will cost. It’s not exactly how I wanted to start my morning but it had to happen at some point, I suppose. Remarkably I don’t feel super anxious about it. Maybe it will kick in later when reality sets in. I think it will depend on Mom’s response.

I don’t think I’m going to shower until I get off 1:1. I have no desire to be naked in front of a MHW. It’s bad enough I have to leave it open to go to the bathroom. That’s humiliating enough.

12:45 I’m off of 1:1!!! Finally, after I don’t even know how many days. Too many, I know that. So I finally got to go to the bathroom by myself and shower in private! Plus I finally got to punch the wall without repercussions.

I talked to Mom a little bit and she was very supportive. She changed her profile picture to one of me and her. She wants to help, maybe too much. She’s trying to convince Jessica about the Lyme disease connection, trying to get her to read a book on it. This means she still doesn’t believe in my dx, apparently–infuriating. She asked if she could talk to my Dr. and I said no, definitely not.

The lady from Silver Hill is coming to interview me in the morning. If the interview goes well and they accept me then they will discharge me in the afternoon. Whiplash! Sunday I’m sedated, Wednesday I’m released.

I have no faith that the DBT program at SHH will help me. I’m just going along with it because I seem to have no choice. Therapist called. I explained how mad I was and how little I think of this program and what it can do for me. Jodie is also trying to convince me it will be a good idea. I know I want to go home, but going home tomorrow seems really mind blowingly fast. I need to get back to real life. Somehow.

I’m punching the walls again. Night is so hard for me and the anxiety of tomorrow is freaking me out (“Wise men say….only fools rush in…but I can’t help falling in love with you..”). $40,000 for a program that I don’t believe in. Excessive. I wonder what they would do if I self harmed while I was there. I bet they’d send me to the locked unit. I’m such a good liar. I totally convinced DeWitt that I was no longer a danger to myself. I’m not suicidal right now, but all I do when I’m alone is punch the wall. I should go out in the public area so I can’t do this, but the pull is too strong. I still have a serious desire to break my  hand. i don’t know where it comes from.

I brought myself out to the dining room so I could be accountable to others. I’m sitting with Sharon. I don’t know how long I can last out here without going back to the room. It’s 8:30 now. Let’s see if I can make it until I take my bedtime meds.

I feel like I want to cry but it won’t start. I also want to punch stuff. 8:46 this is impossible. Leo is going to come sit with me for a while, so hopefully that will help me sit still out here before I get my night meds. Wanting to self harm is overwhelming me.

Thinking about my mother is overwhelming me as well. I don’t know how to get her to calm down about this. It’s my own fault for telling her about my 72hr letter and asking for help fighting my way out of here. Now she’s all up in arms.

I was talking to Husband on the phone just now and I couldn’t maintain the conversation because I’m so sedated. It’s better than being super antsy and bouncy. Today was a very sedated day. They added more klonopin, more seroquel, and propranolol. Riya kept checking on me because I looked totally doped up and made me drink a ton of water. I don’t know if I can maintain this at home. I wonder if SHH holds my meds for me or of I’d be allowed to self-medicate? I imagine there are nurses. That’s something I have to ask tomorrow. Oh man my hand hurts. If I get in, I hope I can bring my computer or my ipad or my kindle. That would make it bearable. I wonder if the 14-hour day is full of mandatory activities. I still don’t think it’s going to make a difference in my life/behavior/thinking. How could it when all of these treatments so far haven’t made me any better? 9:13 Doing better. My leg is bouncing and I want to cut/punch, but I am sticking to my plan of sitting in the dining room. How much longer can I do this? 9:19 I punched. That’s not too bad; longer than I thought I could hold out. Now I got my meds so I just have to wait for them to kick in. In my sleep I can’t punch anything. I’m so torn. I want to tell someone about the punching but I don’t want the repercussions. I’m so messed up. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. I’d like to participate in my own life.


“Time is a slippery thing: lose hold of it once, and its string might sail out of your hands forever,” Doerr, 276, All The Light We Cannot See.

“I am only alive because I have not yet died,” (377).

I interviewed with SHH this morning. They accepted me into the DBT program under a couple of conditions. I have to stay at 9GN until Monday; then Monday afternoon I would go up to SHH and spend 1-2 nights in their inpatient unit to prove that I was stable enough for the DBT house. I’m so tired of this inpatient crap. And the DBT house doesn’t have–

Gratitude: Husband, my family, my dogs, my friends, having enough money to live, my intellect/cognitive abilities, having enough health to survive, Drs who are competent and care about me, my bicycle and SUP, the Beach club, vacations to Grand Cayman, Passages, my car, my theatrical abilities (& tech), having met sea turtles, dolphins and sea lions in person, seeing a sea turtle in the wild, artistic abilities, PRK (my eyesight)

–nearly as many freedoms as I thought it would: no cell phones or technology, just like at 9GN.

I desperately don’t want to go but I’ve been totally boxed into a corner and I don’t really have a choice. It’s my only way out of here. Christa liked the program so maybe it won’t be the worst thing. I just ordered a ton of books, so I can spend all of my free time reading, which will make the time pass more quickly than it might otherwise.

Sonya sat down with me and had a long conversation about how frustrated she is with me and my treatment/attitude. I know it’s because she cares but it’s still hard to hear. Dad talked to the dept. chair today and that was a total dead-end. He “stands behind my doctors.” I should have guessed.

I can’t stop punching walls, and I can’t talk to anyone about it because I’ll just get restrictions put back on and it would jeopardize my discharge date and my acceptance to SHH. It sucks because I would really like to talk it through with someone, but it would only lead to 1:1 and a withdrawal of my freedom.

10:45 I am not sleepy enough to go to bed. Beeni is making me sit by the nursing station because I couldn’t answer that I wouldn’t punch the walls. Of course, little does she know that I’ve been doing that all day and lying about it. I can’t tell the truth–it will get me in too much trouble and then I’ll never get out of here.

Beeni and I talked about SHH and how I was frustrated because I have to stay until Monday. She said look how recently you were on 1:1, think about the weekend and how rough it was. “You’re not stable yet; you shouldn’t be at home.” She’s more right than she knows.

I’m keeping so much bottled up inside out of fear. I can’t be honest.

I feel trapped, left with no autonomy and no ability to choose what to do. Fuck this. I wish I were dead.

11/5/15 6:38 am

I woke up at 4:30. I finished my book, All the Light We Cannot See–incredible. I took a Xanax but it didn’t make me sleepy at all, just calmer.

“Yoga is the practice of tolerating the consequences of being yourself.” – Bhagavad Gita

I told Dr. DeWitt I felt manic so she is going to adjust my meds a bit.

Today the unit had an emergency. Felix tried to hang himself, which resulted in a huge number of Drs. and emergency staff flooding into the unit. Staff was yelling, “Help help! He’s trying to hang himself! Get a chair! Get scissors!” It was the most exciting moment I’ve ever seen here in all of my stays. It made me very anxious and kind of sad. It also made me think about how much I wished it were me and that I could slice my wrists open. Why would it make me want to die?

Dr. D is going to give me a pass on Sunday so I can go home for a few hours. She thinks it might help me get through the weekend better than last weekend (which I would love to forget).

I stole a knife and scratched a little. I’m debating telling Beeni and blaming it on a fork that I stole. It’s 10:50 and I’m not tired enough to sleep.

I scratched more with the fork and told Beeni. My heart is racing. She is mad at me. “We -just- talked about this!” she said. Then she said she was going to talk to the DOC. I don’t know what the behavioral plan is for this situation. I hope it’s not 1:1, but I am worried it is.

Dr. D upped my seroquel to 300mg–hopefully that will help me sleep and stay asleep. I feel like I’m about to have a panic attack. It’s hard to breathe. I’m getting really sleepy and I’m tempted to just get up and go to bed (currently in the jerry chair by the nursing station). I shouldn’t haven’t told her–I could have avoided all of this. Do I like the negative attention? Do I want people to know how much I hurt?

I’m falling asleep, I asked if I could go to bed, she said wait a few more minutes. I’m so nervous it’s not even funny.

11/6/15 5:45am

Tony made a good point. “Isn’t part of the deal w/leaving on Monday that you stay safe?” I honestly don’t know the answer to that, but I sure as hell hope that I didn’t fuck this up. I don’t know what the repercussions will be but now I’m really worried. It sucks that one moment of weakness could potentially screw everything up. I wonder what DeWitt is going to say. I hope I can make the case that it was just a moment of weakness, that I didn’t do the cut that I wanted, and that I have no intention of doing it again (because I really don’t, especially if it screws with my release date). I hope she doesn’t take back the pass too. I’m so dumb and I feel so bad. I really fucked up. The anxiety of waiting and not being able to fall back to sleep is killing me. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

I’m sitting with Leo as usual and Yemi, because Leo is on 1:1. Getting sleepy but not sleepy enough I don’t think.

Nope, I couldn’t get back to sleep. I gave up and went shopping instead. I spent $2200 on clothes from Shopbop. Oy.

I gained 4 lbs. I think it’s the seroquel and because we keep going up, it’s going to get worse.

I want to go home. I miss autonomy. But I can’t be trusted apparently.

Mom and Sister visited last night, and it wasn’t a terrible experience. They might come back tonight if I want them to.

I wish I could take more xanax and klonopin. I can’t wait until I’m in charge of my meds again.

I don’t want to do anything. I barely want to write. Thinking about reading is kind of overwhelming. The klonopin is making me sleepy, on top of the fact that I’ve been awake for 5 hours.

12 pm I’m punching the wall so that I don’t cut myself, which is what I really want to be doing. This is such a fight. I want so badly to open up my big cut so that it needs stitches but I also know that that is a really bad idea because of what SHH wants from me. I also feel manic suicidal but I don’t feel like I can share that with my Dr. because it will affect what is happening with SHH. I feel so stuck and like I can’t be honest with anyone. What am I supposed to do?

I spent another $1k on clothes. Dr DeWitt offered to come with me and delete my credit card information until I felt more in control. I couldn’t do it.

So…I fucked up. SHH wants me to be self-harm free for a full week before I go to them, which means that I am possibly stuck here until Thursday, but that also means that I could go straight to the DBT house instead of going through their inpatient unit.

In order to further my chances of being good, I turned over the knife that i had in the shower to Dr. DeWitt. It was a tremendously difficult action to take, but she seemed proud of me for doing that. I’m pretty proud of me too because that was definitely not my natural inclination.

Dr. D also revoked my Sunday pass because I told her how I was feeling, and quite honestly I do feel unsafe and I’m concerned that I would do something drastic if allowed out on my own right now.

I told her that the 0.5 of Xanax wasn’t working for me and she agreed to go up to 1 mg. That will help a lot. I know 1mg is much more effective for me, just from experience. Hopefully that makes the weekend easier.

I told Beeni that I was feeling self-destructive and she told me to sit out in the open. I took my 5 o’clock med, plus 1 mg of xanax–so I’m gonna turn into a zombie, a very calm zombie.

Sister asked if mom could come visit tonight. I said yes, but I don’t know if she’s actually coming or not because I didn’t hear back on Fb.

I tried to steal a knife at dinner but Kiba caught me and now the whole staff knows. I wonder if I’ll get in trouble for that.

Husband is depressed. His FB chat affect is totally down. I think he’s upset that I’m not going to be home Sunday and Monday. I feel so guilty and stupid and like I want to die. I’m contemplating climbing on top of the wardrobe and aiming my head at the ground. I wonder if I could break my neck that way. I can’t figure out a way to kill myself here. There has to be a way–I just haven’t figured it out. The only thing I can think of is the wardrobe.

Adam Kaplan complimented me today. He said one of my strengths is filtering complex psychological ideas and rephrasing them in succinct ways with great understanding. He told me I was more in tune than most of his psychology interns. I was very flattered. He didn’t have to say anything to me, so I thought that was very sweet.



So, I fucked up again. As per the previous page’s explication, I got so upset that I ended up climbing to the top of my wardrobe and diving off on to my head. I landed on my head, split it wide open, which required staples to close. That night they figured out that I had broken my T6 vertebrae. They wheeled me back up to 9GN and lifted me into bed. The next morning they took me for an MRI (in a wheelchair) where they discovered that I had broken my C5 vertebrae in my neck. They pulled me from my wheelchair after the test and put me on a stretcher because of the broken neck. Back at 9GN they put a hard collar on me and restricted my movement to just the stretcher and using the bedpan, which was always a mess and thoroughly painful. A surgeon (Dr. Ogden) was consulted and decided that surgery was required on my C5. After 4 days on the gurney, I was transferred to McKeen, a medical unit. On 11/12/15 I had surgery on my neck. After that I spent 3 weeks recovering in McKeen and my asshole psych decided that I needed more weeks of psych observation. 9GN wouldn’t take me back so he picked Cornell on E68th St. This is literally the worst unit I’ve ever been in. We tried to get me into IP at SHH, but they said I was “too acute” for them. Followed by “you’re really scary on paper,” from my social worker. So I’m stuck with Drs. who don’t care and want to leave me on 1:1 forever. They are talking  weeks (this turns into a month and more) for my stay. One of the requirements is I need to do a behavioral chain analysis on the day I jumped. I don’t remember enough to do what they want. It’s such bullshit.


First I was told that SHH rejected me because I was “too acute.” Then mom told me that they had been talking to the DBT house and not the inpatient unit. First, that’s so frustrating because it is such a simple process to accomplish. I makes me feel better than I haven’t been rejected–they just don’t have a bed for me. I thought it was really weird that an IP unit ward would reject me for the way that I am now. Except that my current Drs. are poisoning the well by writing really unflattering things about me: they said that verbatim basically.

They want me to do a behavioral chain analysis about the incident. They want me to read my journal out loud. Dr. Dubin accused me of not wanting to make things more real by reading out loud. That’s not it at all. A journal is a private thing never meant to be shared at all. I let him read a section, which was ok b/c I felt like it wasn’t really happening. It’s embarrassing.

They want me to fully and in detail relive my jump. I am done with it, I don’t want to go through it again. I don’t think it’s fair to make someone who has already worked through the problem go through it again just so they can hear it.

I feel so trapped because no one is listening to me. I talk and tell them how i feel and it doesn’t matter, they won’t listen.

So I’m stuck on 1:1 because I haven’t “said” what they wanted me to. No action, no behavior matters. It makes me want to cry. Dr Dubin is an asshole.


The weekend Dr. supports this extended 1:1 situation. I’m trying to figure out what I can do to free myself while still maintaining my morals. I have to ask them again what they want from me because this is ridiculous. I’m obviously OK.

A per diem nurse verified that they will probably keep me on 1:1 for a long time, just because that is what they do. I’m so annoyed hearing from mom all the time “even if it gets you out of hell faster?” She doesn’t understand that it’s more complicated than that. It’s some seriously deep dark shit that they want me to recall and recount to them. That’s not easy and I don’t know that I have the distance from the attempt to speak about it without coming apart at the seams. I prefer to stay in the happy state of mind that I’ve been in so I can continue to be happy. This plan of action makes sense to me.

What they want is an in-depth analysis of the event and a plan to prevent something like it in the future. Yes, it was a serious attempt and I almost died, or [could have] wound up paralyzed. At the time I wanted to be dead. I had been manic because of the 120mg of Cymbalta, which we had just lowered the week before the attempt. That was definitely an influence. Feeling trapped and powerless (having to go to the DBT house) was eroding my sanity. I probably kept cutting to delay the move, on top of all my usual anxious reasons for cutting. The FB conversation with Husband also made me feel like such a terrible burden. That guy trying to hang himself was definitely a large influence.

I’d thought about the wardrobe since my very first visit to the unit. It wasn’t a spontaneous idea, it was just a spontaneous action.

I bet 9GN will never let me back. Hopefully I never need it but that thought makes me really sad.


Dr. Dubin informed me that SHH rejected me again. Mom clarified to say that if I wanted to go,  I could. Visiting hours are only 1 hour a day so I think that it’s better just to stay here and play the game rather than start over. I asked how to get off CO and he said that going to groups is how I’m going to manage that because it shows that I’m involved in my treatment plan.

12/9/15 10:30 mtg

  • Seroquel @ 1 pm
  • which groups are important
  • 8mg of dilaudid
  • Dr. Ogden communication
  • nurses @ 9 am
  • Cymbalta -> mania -> impulsivity
  • Dilaudid standing, not prn every 4 hours
  • 1:1 eating and noise management
  • morning vitals in room?
  • How long are you planning to have her stay?
  • What would tell you why it’s enough?
  • 1:1 why?


Today was awful. First, Venus didn’t show up with my morning meds until 10:25. We had a family meeting at 10:30 that was pure bullshit. 1) I was told I’m not bipolar. 2) I was told they would be taking away my klonopin. 3) I’m on CO indefinitely. 4) I have to go to 3 groups a day. 5) Cymbalta had no effect on my episode. 6) They think I don’t know how my family would have been affected. It was pure unmitigated BS from beginning to end. I managed to go to one group and then I had to lie down/sleep for the rest of the afternoon.


Dr. Brody told me that I shouldn’t focus on my pain any more. Instead I should only focus on my psychological treatment. I am “not allowed” to discuss my pain with my doctors any more. They “agreed” to go up to 8mg of dilaudid, which I can only discuss with the nursing team that comes (now) to see me every day. Luckily Christine is my nurse today so I won’t go insane. Last night I burst, unbidden, into tears because I was in pain and also feeling super trapped and misunderstood. I have no hope in this place. Giving in to them will make them feel like they’ve won, not that I’ve made a conscious choice to try to get out of here–which is only possible if I play their stupid fucking game. It won’t matter if I actually feel better, I just have to appear better.

Some therapist came up to me and asked if I wanted to go to a substance abuse group because my Dr. recommended it. I wish he would talk to me about these things before they get sprung on me. But no, that would require respect on his part, which just doesn’t exist.

They are actively testing me: my frustration, my ability to ask for pain meds, etc. I think they think that I don’t notice. So, the treatment is to try to push me to my limits, not to take care of me or comfortably talk me through what happened. It makes me see red.

They discontinued my Xanax without telling me. I was having a panic attack and couldn’t fix it because I couldn’t ask for Xanax which I have had for almost 5 years. They are also taking away my klonopin, leaving me with nothing, except fucking seroquel which doesn’t work in small doses.

Dr. Nejat had me sit in a case study. Basically I was the subject for a med school class and it was awful. The Dr. asking questions was tricky and mean. It left me feeling used and belittled.

They also took my tylenol away w/out telling me. They made it a PRN–which how can I ask for if you don’t tell me?

It’s 10pm, the door is wide open, the tv is on loud, people are talking in my doorway, my 1:1 is also watching Tammy, the computer is playing something. It’s pointless trying to sleep. I can’t go to the bathroom b/c of the CO.


Today so far has been weird. I got up at 9:30 b/c Nicole game in w/meds. It was loud earlier too b/c people came in to speak with Tammy, and she was not happy about it.

Dr. Nejat met w/me. The Dr. from yesterday agreed w/my BP2 dx, which Brody had nixed. He thought I was intelligent and thought that school would be the best path for me. That is, obviously, what my plans already were. Nice to hear I’m right.

Dr. Dubin will consider changing CO early next week. He kept saying my full name. He avoided answering my bipolar question. He thinks my main problem is interpersonal issues. I told him that he never spoke to me about my life outside of the hospital so how can he judge that that is my main issue? He refuses to consider Xanax at all. He said he would use klonopin. It just doesn’t work as well. “It makes people impulsive” and “you have a history of substance abuse.” I think he has been pushing for me to go to the substance abuse group–but we have literally never spoken about that.


The weekend Drs. showed up at 9 am. One of them said, so I see you’ve been wanting to hurt yourself. That set me off. I’ve never once said that here so Dr. Dubin is making his own fabricated notes. I asked them to come back later because I hadn’t had my meds yet. The said maybe. I didn’t see the Drs. yesterday either, because I asked them to come back.

These Drs. beat me down with questions about Dr. Dubin even after I asked them to come back. She kept wondering why he and I aren’t on the same page and offering suggestions about how to see eye to eye. I don’t have any faith that anything will work. It set me off on a crying spree because I feel trapped and life nothing I do or say makes a difference.


I’m being forced to go to “core group,” which is a substance abuse group, in order to get off CO.


Apparently, someone tried to kill themselves last night, while I was sleeping. Dr. Dubin wanted to make sure that I wasn’t inspired by that event. He also asked what I would do if I were having suicidal thoughts while off CO. In both cases I just told him what he wanted to hear.

He said that if I go to 2 groups for three days in a row, that I would get off CO. Today, tomorrow, and Thursday. It has to be core group and a discussion group.

Today getting to groups was awful. First, I was the only person to show up to Core, so it ended up being a weird 1:1 therapy, no not even, Q & A session. A worthless use of 45 minutes of my life.

Then, I didn’t get my 1pm meds until 1:45. It took my covering nurse a full 10 minutes to break out and dispense my meds. So I didn’t make it to my 1:30 group since it was full and I didn’t want to be a fuss with my two COs and my need for a chair with arms.

THEN I was talking with Dr. Nejat, was let out @ 2:10. The group was changed from 2:30 to 2:00 and I encountered the same space situation so I didn’t go.

I finally got to the 3:15 “stress management” group, which turns out to be 1) useless and 2) barely a discussion. I hope it counts. I’ll have to bring it up w/the Doctors tomorrow.


I didn’t go to any groups today. Dr. Nejat came and found me at 10 something and told me that x-ray was going to come for me so security and the wheelchair came at 10:50 so I said that was going to make me miss core group. She said that was Ok because I had an excuse that they were responsible for. Mom came for lunch and she was kind of sarcastic mean to Venus. I called her on it. She denied and said Venus understood, but I know that she took it as another annoying comment from my family.

They lowered my dilaudid again and raised my neurontin to 600.

So, there were 2 groups this afternoon that I was going to go to, but in each case the time of the meeting came and went and only holiday events were announced. Consequently I stayed in bed and lay there until now (6 pm), sleeping on and off, awoken by Tammy coming in and out incessantly and other people coming in and out.

I suspect I am entering PMS, but it’s hard to tell, and I worry about how I am going to manage it. i.e. what’s allowed and whether I have to use hospital supplies.

It’s almost 6:30 and family isn’t here yet w/food. They’re gonna be super late.

I have a hazy memory of shaking hands with Dr. Nejat this morning about doing something for 90 days. I cannot remember what the something was.

Night meds didn’t show up until 10:20. I am so sick of hospitals and their bullshit.

I was lying here remembering my attempt. I didn’t write a note. Does that mean something? I remember sliding down the wardrobe and I remember opening my eyes next to Bev’s bed. I may have passed out. Then Bev came in, walked slowly past me and around her bed, then back out of the room. After that–wait. Before Bev came in I lay there in so much pain for what felt like forever. Anyway. People came in, trying to assess what had happened. I was bleeding profusely from a gash on the top of my head. I couldn’t move without crying out in pain. Finally they got a Dr. and he ordered me to the ER. Magda was there with me until I left the unit. I miss her. I remember being shifted painfully on to a stretcher. We made our way to the ER. They tried to force me to pee in a bed pan so they could do a pregnancy test. I couldn’t and it was so embarrassing (literally) and painful. Next there was a CT scan. Ow. Then I remember getting staples put in my head. I wonder if they did an x ray and I just forgot. At any rate, they spotted the 3 fractures in my T6 vertebrae and sent me back on the gurney to 9GN. While we waited an hour for transport, I tried and begged for morphine. They ignored me for so long. Back up in my room I don’t remember what came next. They got me into my bed. I cried a lot.


The next morning Sara came in and told me I was going to get an MRI. I remember being helped to the bathroom, in extreme pain, before being loaded into a wheelchair and hauled off to MRI. MRI was fine because I was lying flat and just closed my eyes for the whole time. I think I even fell asleep. Afterwards, I was helped to walk from the machine to my wheelchair in the other room. We waited for what felt like a very long time. The result was the discovery of my shattered C5. Next, the radiology staff found a stretcher for me b/c I couldn’t be in a wheelchair with a broken neck. I was wheeled back to 9GN and once I reached the nurses’ station, there was a small scuffle about putting on a neck brace. The one I got was the wrong size. Regardless it was put on me and I was placed in the center of my room: to the left of my bed and in front of the infamous wardrobe.

Today has been shitty. At 6am they came to give Tammy a med, which she refused. Then from like 8am onward it was a constant stream of people opening and slamming the door, so of course I couldn’t sleep. My nurse didn’t show up at 9 so I lay there annoyed until she finally came around at 10. Then I had to assert my case to get my 4 dilaudid. “I’m just doing  my job” and “don’t you want to see how your regular meds do first?” My brain spasmed in anger. Then I was told she had another patient and it was going to take time (Patricia “you know what that’s like”), OR I could walk with her right now and get the meds at the medication room. Because I didn’t want to wait forever for the med, I dragged my broken bones out of bed and went to the medication door, stood there for 10 minutes, and go back in bed crying in pain. The part that is so annoying is that she could have gotten the med and it dropped it off on the way to Patricia, who is down the hall from me.

I just brought that up with her and she just got bitchy with me.

She said to Dr. Dubin that I was irritable about meds. It was my fault for not telling my 1:1 to grab someone to tell my nurse that I was ready for meds. How is this always my fault?


So Cecelia made yesterday the most infuriating day on the unit. It turns out that her input that I was irritable about meds was what got my 1-3 off CO canceled, because the other nurses said it was weird that I was irritable since I’m not usually. What in the actual fuck. THAT is what prompted them not to give me 2 hrs. off. Today Cecelia smiled and said hi to me in the hallway. I just huffed and ignored her. She did not understand what she did to me. And the fucking Drs. were like, “well she’s senior staff so her opinion really counts for something.” I swear this place and these people are making me feel homicidal.

Last night was surreal. [Carrie Mayfield] showed up. So weird. So we ended up sitting w/her and her parents for a while and talked all about this place (blech). Then we traded for Sadye and her dad with Carrie, which was fun. Then ultimately it was me, Carrie, Sadye, and Hassan and Carrie was drilling them for personal information. It was really amusing and amazing to watch.

I got the OK to stop wearing this brace as soon as I get the new one, and I don’t need surgery on my T6. #winning

I didn’t sleep well last night. 1) No dilaudid at bedtime. 2) Stress and caffeine. 3) Every CO was loud as hell. I don’t know how many times I had to ask someone to close the door. At one point I told a guy he had cleared his throat 9 times since he arrived, which worked out to a load throat clear per minute. He didn’t clear his throat once after that.

I’m off CO for the day (fucking finally) but sadly they’re putting it back on at night, which is the worst. And to be off I have to check in hourly with my nurse and initial a little sheet. WTF. It’s like being a child.


So they moved Tammy out of my room and moved Gerda in. Then I freaked out and started crying because I was overwhelmed. I told them why I couldn’t room w/her and they worked it out so I’m going to room with Carrie.


My COs kept Carrie up all night. I feel bad. I had an argument with one @ 6am because he wouldn’t close the door. He wanted it “just ajar.” His name was Kevin. He said it was for my safety except I don’t think he understood why–safety from him attacking us. He called for a nurse. I explained the situation and she said if he was inside the room having the door closed was fine. Point Me. Then, sensing he had lost, he fell back on, “Well I’m not comfortable leaving the door closed” (as opposed to ajar). So he won because he said he was uncomfortable.

Next point of joy. Sharon comes to introduce herself @8 something this morning. She was extremely rude to Carrie, who was trying to get her to be quieter because I was still asleep, which she refused to do of course.

I must have fallen asleep again because I woke up at 9:30 to Sharon yelling at me for not checking in at 9, which I didn’t do b/c I was asleep. Either before or after that I hear a page to have me come to the med station to get my morning meds. That must have been before she came to me because I call buttoned her back and said usually people come to me. She said something like, you can’t hurt that much you have a Fentanyl patch on. Then she was done with the back and forth and hung up on me. That must be when she showed up in my room.

So I go get my stupid fucking vitals done (which Sharon had said was necessary for my patches but literally 0 other nurses have indicated that. I asked to speak to the attending. I go to the meds window and stand forever wating for her. The attending comes out and I explain how it is ok w/Dubin if I say I am going to lie down and I don’t need to get up to check in on the hour. No one believed me until the resident talked to Nejat and I was confirmed. Before it was all “well that’s not what’s in the care plan” and “I can’t rely on your perspective.”

Finally we get back to my room, she puts my patches on (sloooooowly), and gives me my shot. Then I tell her I am lying here until noon. If she wants me at 11 that’s where she can find me. She agrees to this and I am left to recover. That is until the Drs. come to speak to me and are of course no use. “Well, your suicide attempt was made when you told staff  you were safe.” “No, I told them I was self-destructive.” No rejoinder for that there. They leave. I cry as the pain becomes more real. And here we are.


So many things are happening. I talked to Ray and he is going to put 4mg of dilaudid at 9 3 and 9. He’s going to stop the fentanyl patch so we can see if it’s actually doing anything. Apparently  it doesn’t do anything for Sister so it might not be effective for me either.

Carrie left yesterday because they decided it was migraines and not bipolar. That makes more sense. Having Carrie here was intensely weird. She is so animated that it’s kind of tiring. Now she knows my dark secrets. It was so depressing to see her go after just getting here and w/no diagnosis.

Today I am PMS-ing. I didn’t tell Nejat that these are my most suicidal days. There’s nothing I can do here anyway. We talk about what I would do if life got so hard that I needed a hospital, and I said I just wouldn’t go. Like after 4 Winds I didn’t want to go to a hospital ever again. That is what this year has taught me. Hospitals are ineffective and expensive. I’m too stubborn to follow behavioral health plans. I do what I want when I want to and that is that. Even Nejat said I was extremely resistant about achieving my goals. I’m a fighter when I’m in the right mood. I give up totally in other moods–except, I guess if people are going to do something I really don’t agree with. I am super stubborn.

Mom has been a little too present lately. And she insists on talking to my care team, which can be really off-putting. For instance, she went and yelled at Raymond (the NP who is in charge of my pain management) yesterday. I spoke with him today. He was extremely useful and kind. He also said he really didn’t enjoy the conversation he had with my mother. He was like–you’re an adult, I’d like to deal with you–and I fully agreed. Having her here this much has made her bold. She always wants to talk to staff for me. It almost never works out.

Dr. Dubin found me in the hallway and asked if it was ok if Dr. T came in. I said of course. Then he added that he thought my family should be involved. I shook my head so hard. I tried to explain that they don’t belong in this part of my life, that my relationship with Dr. T is private. Husband is involved sometimes but that’s it. Eventually he agreed even though he wasn’t really behind the idea.


I took a shower.


I had another shitty morning. Bad Paul is my nurse today. First of all, I had been up late and awake early, so I was already disposed for being in a bad mood. Then I’m asleep when I’m woken up by a page at 9:30 to come get my meds. That moment, I knew what kind of day I was going to have. I tried the call button, but it was futile–it doesn’t work. I’m alone in a single w/a broken back and no way to communicate to the world if I’m in need. *shakes head* Then a while later Paul runs into my room, yells come get your meds, and then runs out before I have time to reply and leaves my door wide open. I yell for help. I yell again. Nothing. What little feelings of safety I had plummet. I’m alone and in pain and there is no way to get help without hurting myself. I decide to stick my ground. Meds in the room. That’s the deal here. I get up and hunch my way to the door and slam it because I am beyond pissed and frustrated at this point. Now it’s 10:10 and checks comes in. It’s Hilda. I tell her how my call button isn’t working. She tests it. Nothing. Ok. She heads off to the nursing station. Another nurse comes in and asks what I need. I explain the whole thing. Paul is dealing with an emergency right now so he’ll be a little while. She leaves and I dissolve into tears of pain, exhaustion, frustration, anger and a host of mixed emotions. I punch the wall once and feel a little better. 10:36 Paul comes in (w/a female chaperone) to finally medicate me. I am quiet for the most part except for insisting that he gives me my shot in the arm rather than the side as he related that he was going to do. He drops a Dilaudid. They finally find it and he goes to get me a new one. He gives me the pain meds first because he knows I’ve been waiting. They leave. I cry softly for a while until I can breathe myself into a less charged state.

Almost immediately after this, Drs. Dubin and Nejat come in. Dr T. cannot make it today. They are also still working on a way to get me home. I need to find Therapist’s cell #. Dr. T will be off all of next week and back on Jan. 4. If I can meet with Therapist couple times next week and see Dr. T as soon as he gets back, they would be ok letting me go home Monday-ish.

I can’t stay here longer than that. It’s been too long already. I just want to go home to Husband and the dogs, go back to my life.

Last night and this morning I’ve been having major regrets that I didn’t die. I wouldn’t have had to deal with any of this had I been successful. I truly wish I had died. I don’t think I can tell that to anyone because it sounds too dangerous. It comes with thoughts like–maybe I should try again in a more definitely fatal location. If I say anything, that gives them ammunition. And that’s the last thing I want. So I’m stuck feeling these things with a smile on my face. I know too that part of this is PMS etc, b/c that’s always bad. But I wonder if the PMS just dredges up the feelings that are there but I am keeping down so I don’t have to deal with them or share them with people who have control over my life.

I don’t think 9GN will ever let me back — so I’m never going to a psych unit again. Unless an attempt fails and I have to, but my next attempt will not fail. 6ft or less and landing on my  head almost killed me. I can do better.

I don’t think I’m ever going to have children, nor do I think I should. These two MC’s are a message that I am supposed to learn from. Husband is scared to do it because I can’t guarantee that I won’t be suicidal and successful when we have kids. I can’t promise anything because I still firmly believe that the way I go is by suicide.

After some help from a MHW I got a computer long enough to get Husband’s message with Therapist’s phone #. I got it to Dr. Nejat around 5:20.

This is the weirdest Christmas eve I have ever had. Husband, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa, Cousin, Aunt, and Uncle all came to see me. Mom would have come but she is having severe digestive problems b/c of barium she took today. They discovered what was wrong with her esophagus, preventing her from eating properly. She’s lost a ton of weight. All it requires is a small laparoscopic surgery to snap some muscles that are tightening too much at the top of her stomach. It’s an outpatient procedure.

Husband and I had a rough lunchtime. I made the mistake of saying I thought kids might be a tether for me. He really did not like that. He expressed his dislike and worry that he’d be left with kids and no wife because what if they turn out not to be a tether.

I’ve gained so much weight here. It has to be the food they’re bringing me and the lack of exercise.

He wanted reassurance. I don’t know how to give him that. BPD is ambivalence. I am totally ambivalent about living. I always have been, as long as I remember being psychologically aware. Heh. Psycho logically. I didn’t learn about BPD until a few (4 maybe?) years ago. Though Mom claims someone told her about it when I was a teenager. Why she didn’t tell me over a decade ago is beyond me and it makes me angry at her.

Anyway. We were mis-communicating. I heard one thing and he’d say he said something else. I don’t know what’s wrong with my brain that twists some things into seriously dark shit that wasn’t intended by the other person. By the same token, I don’t think he always hears how he is coming across. I broke down. I was already having a shitty day because of Paul; I knew I wasn’t going home Monday; I have my period; and I hadn’t slept well at all. Too much noise. I have a single. Yay. But it’s the loudest fucking place in the unit because it’s right in the central lounge.

A flash–I want to die.

So I sleep with earplugs that block out a small amount of the cacophony outside. I tell you what, when I get home I am going to relish the silence I can control. Omg.

Husband began to cry. Then I began to sob because everything was crashing in on me, including this morning’s long thought process wishing I had succeeded on Nov. 6. Remember Remember. I can’t tell anyone.

The noise is making me feel crazy. Rosa is yelling, “Miss, miss, miss, miss!”

I just read the beginning of this journal. Wow was I in a state. I’m truly not in that place or state of mind any more. I don’t know what changed, but something is very different. Maybe being in a nice medical unit and then a shitty psych unit bleached the feelings out of me.

I have the nice Irish nurse again tonight. She is so timely and considerate. I wish I could catch her name.

I’m getting in bed b/c my back is screaming. Merry Fucking Christmas.


I know I’m not going home tomorrow (Monday) because things aren’t settled with my Drs. I wonder when they will feel settled. He had said that they want me to go before NYE, but if neither of my docs is available, I see that as less and less a possibility. Dr. T isn’t back until 1/4/16; I have no idea about Therapist.

There is a concert in the back. They have those little gathered(?) hand cymbal  things that I cannot remember the name of and they are really loud. I think the level of noise here is actually making me depressed.

Grandma made Nancy a birthday cake that said “Cornell Weill Fuck U” or Weill Cornell, I can’t remember.

Venus told me this morning that I had made a lot of progress because I am willing to talk about things whereas when I first got here I kept saying no, I’m fine and I feel fine and I don’t have any thoughts of doing anything bad. Which, btw, was true. I did feel fine and OK and ready to go home. It frustrates me to no end that being sad and feeling badly might have gotten me out sooner. That’s not fair. The reason I started talking is because PMS and being on the unit were making me depressed so I lost a huge chunk of my filter, as always happens. Maybe at home I would have sunk into this little depression too, or worse. Maybe I was in a kind of denial/shock for a month+. I didn’t want to say anything that would give them ammo to keep me. I wanted to get off CO so badly. The fixation I have right now is climbing up the central lounge computer bar and taking a leap like at 9GN. This music is making me want to die. On paper I am scary.

Husband didn’t come yesterday because I didn’t message him. He assumed I didn’t want company. I told him, as always, to assume the opposite. Better he didn’t come, he thinks, because he is not quite himself. I can’t help him the way he needs right now. I can’t reassure him the way he wants. I still wish my fall had been fatal. I was so close. I never wanted injuries, recovery, therapy…I wanted out of the whole thing. My memory is so patchy in the days before and the day of. I remember a couple of things clearly: FB messaging w/Husband which made me really sad and angry at myself; I remember sitting in front of the nurses’ station as per ordered by Beeni; and I clearly remember listening for rounds, waving hello at whoever had the board, then I grabbed the chair and pushed it up against the wardrobe, I climbed up, it was dusty, then I slid my hands down the front of it and let myself fall. I don’t know why I didn’t write a note. It never even occurred to me at the time, I was so hell-bent on just getting it done.

I don’t know what to do now. I think it might be because they are ready to discharge me and that always makes me panic to some extent. Maybe it’s because I don’t know if I can trust myself. I am really good at saying I can, but not as good at feeling it. I don’t know if I can trust myself. I am really good at saying I can, but not as good at feeling it. I don’t have Dr. Nejat any more because they’re doing a team switching thing, so unless Venus is around, I don’t have anyone to talk to who actually knows my story. I need a nap.

Part of why going home always intimidates me is because I have to do stuff…like get back into my real life with all of its chores and whatnot. Thinking about all my laundry is almost terrifying and just thinking about it exhausts me. Plus, Husband is super judgmental about it. We already have mom and dad’s “stuff” dynamic way down.

The visit tonight was weird, and I don’t quite know why. It just left me feeling really unstable and alien. I know Husband has been “off” but that doesn’t account for the whole thing.

There was an order to weigh me every day and I said fuck no. IDK where or why this order came about but I don’t like it. I’ve gained back weight and then some. I am really worried the clothes I bought won’t fit at all. I hate thinking about weight–it automatically makes me depressed. I don’t like being fat. This makes me sad.

Before they got here I was first napping and then wokne up for vitals, and then I spent a long time deciding how I would kill myself on the unit. I just played it over and over, watching different scenarios unfold. In some people would grab my legs. In others I’d say “stay back or I’ll jump” but then I jump anyway. No, the best way to kill myself is to get released and then do whatever I want to (namely, jump off of the balcony because it has the highest potential for success). I really don’t have any intentions right now–just ideas for the future. Things I can’t get out of my head because at my core, I really don’t want to be alive. I’m a waste of time and money. I don’t appreciate what people do for me. Dr. DeWitt was afraid I would never get better and I think she had it right. I don’t feel like I’m ever going to get better–I’ll just learn how to hide it better. I’m depressed. It’s only 8 pm and I can barely stay awake.

Plus I’ve had a headache since yesterday and it’s making me very irritable. It’s a head/neck/shoulder ache. There are no more pain meds to take, unless they called the DOC and I got a one time dose of something.


10:22 is when I keep looking at my watch. Maybe Oct 22 is impt?

Husband didn’t come today. He cited cleaning. I knew something was wrong. We talked a little on FB and then on the phone. He was so clipped that I couldn’t take it, so I was going to just cry–I  hung up. So yes, I did hang up on him because it seemed like he had nothing to say and I didn’t want to cry on the phone.

I FB’ed him later and he was mad. “So you hung up on me.” I told him we could talk about whatever he wanted. We did, eventually I just called him because refreshing FB messages is really fucking annoying. We talked for like 2 hrs I think, but he feels better. I got him laughing and I think more comfortable. He just missed talking to me for the most part. He felt alone and scared. Not suprising, but sad. There were a lot of things I could have taken offense to, but I decided to try and let it be about him as much as I could–I think it worked.

Dr. Dubin says they think I am ready to go. The holdup is Dr. T, who, I am told, still wants me to do a partial program. I left him a msg on his emergency line explaining the situation and also declaring my dislike and rejection of a partial program. I don’t know who’s telling me what and if what I hear is true. If they make me go to partial to leave here, I will go for a day and then never again. FFS I’m sitting here writing with a crayola fucking marker. I’m 30 years old with a huge intellect writing with a damned marker. What I really want is to be dead. I have been fantasizing all day about climbing up on something in the lounge and taking a dive off of it. These are strong and possible feelings. I don’t feel like I can vocalize this to anyone at all. I don’t wanna go on CO, which is what would happen because they don’t know any other way to deal with stuff.

Debating. I’m trying to wait until I can just fall asleep instead of enacting my plan. Reasons. Reasons not to jump: 1) Husband. This is a huge reason. He loves me; I love him. He wants to build a life with me. (This should be enough, right? Why doesn’t it feel like enough?) 2) Family. They have been here for me every day since I jumped. I am thankful and perplexed.  3) Nursing as a future pursuit. I think I might be good at it and it would be rewarding. Also practical because there is a nursing shortage and I could get a job literally anywhere. 4) My dogs, who I love dearly. I am always horrified when something happens to one of them. 5) Friends? I am feeling very BPD about them right now and I don’t fully know why. Some of it is S’s pregnancy. That crushes my soul.


I woke to the pleasant drill of my nurse crowing, “[Girl Girl Girl..]” through the intercom. It was 9:14 am. “{Girl} you have to come to the medication window and get your meds. You’re supposed to check in every hour, you’re not following protocol.” I try to get a word in edgewise and she refuses to let me say my peace. It hurts to stand in the morning, so getting up to get my meds is both painful and unnecessary because the nurse has to come into my room anyway to put my patches on and give me my shot. It makes most sense to acknowledge my pain by coming to the room and putting my patches on at the same time.

I come out of the room guns blazing because I am simply beyond my threshold. I try to find Dr. Dubin. I see him in the conference room. I knock and then I am ignored. Dr. Brody is standing outside the door so I stupidly relay the situation to him and he says rather than getting me a new nurse, it would be useful for me to have a conversation with her. I voice that I disagree. Audrey turns out to be sitting  in the nurses’ station. Dr. Brody calls her over and we claim an empty table. She launches into her, she needs to come out and get her meds, etc. I explain my point of view. Somehow it escalates and Dr. Brody completely ignores my POV. I yell at him that I don’t get this from 97% of the nurses. There is a verbal altercation, the details of which escape me. I know I launched insults and Dr. B told me that I had issues that needed to be addressed. I finally gave up and take my meds because there will be no other outcome. Dr. B thanks me. I say something and he says “we are done here.” Audrey walks away to get my patches. I debate how to act next. I want to throw my water at something or someone. I walked over to Dr. Brody holding my cup of water and he literally jumped backwards because, as he said, I startled him. I walked away, saying, “we’re done here.” He walked over to my bedroom and declared, “I’m putting you on CO.” He thinks I need to “cool off.” Because I walked by him with water. This gives me a headache.

Dr. Dubin eventually appeared and we went to talk. He agreed w/Dr B that I needed to be on CO to let my impulses calm down. I have never been talking about suicide more, he says, so that is concerning. This is even though he admitted that he knew the difference between the two. He wondered why I was talking about that more. I said, because you told me I was leaving so I felt safe to say the things I was was feeling. I don’t remember the content but at one point Dr. Dubin said, “Well you’ll have to journal about it.” This was instead of giving me an answer to whatever I had brought up. He said we’ll do CO until tomorrow morning so I could “cool off” effectively . He ended at 10 mins with “I need to move on.” As always. No time for patients.

At 3:30 he comes up to me and says, “I want to talk to you about CO.” Guess what–his team sat down with him and they decided that I could come off CO. SMH. I can’t believe I had to go through all this bullshit AGAIN. The only good thing to come out of this was our convo w/Tim, the nurse manager. We solidified that my morning meds are to be brought to my room. The downside is now I have to go to the window at EVERY other med time. I am really not happy about that at all.

So when Audrey went to put on my patches, she aggressively asked me to show her where. When she pushed on my shoulder too hard, I asked her to lighten up and she responded by saying, “Ms {Girl}, if you don’t tell me where, you’ll be refusing your medication. She continued to push too hard and she continued to respond irrationally. The she told me she was going to kill me with kindness (isn’t that kind of like her job?) because she’s not angry like I am, insinuating that I’m an angry person. She was so ignorantly self righteous.

Brody has no idea how close I came to throwing that water on him. My brain was satisfied by his startled jump. Then he took a self righteous pose and decided to punish me for nothing by putting me on CO. It’s comical how stupid it all was and how avoidable it was, had the nurse been kind and done her job w/out 1) yelling at me through the intercom and 2) actually spent one second listening to me. All her. Fuck.


Dubin came in at 8am–something told me he wanted to talk to Dr. T, who is apparently adamant about partial because someone told him I wasn’t going to groups. There are no fucking groups to go to. They’re all stupid Holiday bullshit or things I don’t done (ie Wellness and medication management), so then I’m punished because they don’t offer things that are useful on a consistent basis. I still have to check in every 2 hours. I refuse If the punishment is CO, then I have cause to make a huge discussion about it. Punitive measures where there is no reason to do either punishment. 1:30 “Wellness” is code for “we’re going to watch a movie on YouTube on the computer.” Except that once I got there, she couldn’t use the speakers, so we couldn’t hear it, and so we didn’t watch it. Instead we are discussing support groups that you can look up online–discussing what they are like and how to get involved. This would be great if I didn’t already know ALL of these damn resources. Go to groups, go to groups–yes, but why? Some days there simply aren’t groups for me to attend that would be beneficial.

Dr. Dubin says Dr. T is coming here tomorrow at 2pm. “We still need you to check in every 2 hours.” “Why?” “We think it’s beneficial. You’re off CO so we want to keep tabs on you.” “You said on Monday you thought I was ready to go home. What’s the difference between here and home?” “We’re still evaluating whether or not you’re ready to go home.”

What in the actual fuck? So last week having no group to go to informs Dr. T that I am not at my baseline, so he wants me now to go to partial, whereas before he was leaning towards letting me just resume my normal life.


The Irish nurse Anne is my nurse tonight. She is so sweet. I can never remember her name.

Both Mom and Husband were giving me behavioral advice. I told them, “Please do not give me any advice about how to behave.” Husband said, “Deal” and Mom said, “Ok.” It was all about Dr. T’s visit tomorrow and how I should act to make the best impression. Fuck that.

I feel broken. I decided in Art that they had officially broken me. I feel like I have no will to fight for myself any more. They win.


Dr. Dubin stops me in the hallway and says, “We’re going to have our meeting at 2 today, ok?” In his most condescending voice. Then I asked, are we going to meet alone? “This will count as our meeting for today.” I could punch him. I’m not generally a violent person, but when you use that tone I am automatically furious. Now I have to see if I can talk to Dr. T alone. I suspect they won’t like that request but if they deny me private contact with my personal psych., then they don’t know what’s coming for them.

8:31 My impulse right now is to kill myself, but that would just prove them right. The 2 pm meeting was like being put on a butcher’s skewer. I felt ganged up on. I felt like no one believes what I say and no one cares how I feel. I’ve been here for 5 weeks and he still wants me to check in every two hours. Husband told me that if my stay is extended because I refuse to do them, he’s not visiting any more.

Dubin started the Talk with residential. They are convinced I need a stepdown program. I need more time in a safe environment, blah blah blah. I said no. I’m not going. I’ve spent too much time in treatment and I want to go home. Lots of conversation about my poor interpersonal skills, my anger. He used the fucking incident with Brody as an example of WHY I’M NOT READY. Fuck this fucking bullshit already.

Then I spoke. I think I made a good argument, whatever I said. Then Dubin brought up partial. I could see Dr. T wasn’t going to let me just go home. I had to agree. I just need to get out of the building. Then I can do anything I want. [Happy fucking New Year!] I am not doing a 9:30-2:30 group program. NFW. I’ll go the day they release me, and then I’m never going back. If Dr. T objects, then I find a new Dr.

Husband and I fought. It was dumb. We made up. We always do. No matter what.


Uneventful. They moved me into a double because Gerda doesn’t know how to interact with humans. My new roommate Caylynn seems harmless. She’s 32, white, a reader, and can carry on a real conversation. When I told her I thought I was moving into her room, she said, “Thank you.” I didn’t want Gerda either. She should have stayed in that single. Lonniel contacted environmental services for me because the floor was so gross. I found a petrified bread roll in the desk. There was so much gunk leftover from Gerda, it was absolutely disgusting.

I slept most of the morning. Then I went to the BS social work group. I voiced my dislike about Dubin lying and me being here for 5 weeks.

I refuse to check in for Dubin. I honestly don’t care what he thinks and if he DARES put me on CO the day before I leave, he will have a whole load of shit come at him. Nobody has to do that shit in the real world. Other than, “Look, she follows dumb rules” and ” we need to keep tabs on you” and “we don’t want you in your room,” I just don’t get it, and I don’t know what punishment he has in store for me. Family keeps pushing for me to do the checks, but I just can’t. I’ve been doing them for weeks now. No more. I am staunch in my position and nervous as well b/c Dubin has proven himself to be rather senseless, arbitrary. Crazy people love it here because the whole staff is nuts.

I am done with psychiatric care. I will not ever enter a hospital voluntarily again. At least not in NYC. NFW. This system is broken.

“Do you feel like harming yourself?” No, fuck you. I wouldn’t tell you even if I did. I know what happens. I lose all my rights to selfhood and I become a constantly followed ward of the unit. No. I don’t, because I want to go home even though you want me to do anything but that. I have a balcony on my apartment. That must have delayed my release.

My downfall is always when I tell the truth. I won’t do it any more if it’s going to deprive me of my rights and basic existences as an adult. I shouldn’t have told them that I believe eventually I will die from suicide. They have been seriously using this against me. I don’t know why though. It could be any age. Maybe I’ll be 90 and take a flying leap from a splendid location and make the news.

Now that people have been told about it, I actually have to write the article I’ve been threatening to write. It is stressing me out. I probably have enough written in here to edit into something pretty but I’m not sure. Let’s see:

  • noise is unbearable, TVs on until 12am
  • 7am LOUD vitals wake up
  • Audrey Tyler – torrent of words then hangs up; refuses to give me my meds in my room – Sharon and Cecelia do the same but earlier
  • mean Paul yells at Tammy, Eugenia, etc; came 1 hr and a 1/2 late with morning meds
  • Dubin thinks I have less pain when I’m up and about – urges me to spend most of my time out of bed, while having a broken neck and back
  • required to go to Core Group, which is code for Substance Abuse group because of my now 7 year old resolved coke addiction
  • spent 3 weeks on CO — core group and 2 discussions every day to get off 1:1
  • Carrie Mayfield spends 4-5 days here because she is “Bipolar” when what she actually has is migraines.
  • Sadye is forced to have her panic attacks in the public eye because of an incident where she banged her wrists on the desk – but all they did was come and close her door, then make her come outside. No medical or comforting personal reaction
  • Julian climbed into the outside bathroom’s air vent and tried to shimmy out to escape. He ended up shredding his hands. He was on CO less time than I was and left last week
  • They fucked with my pain meds — 8 mg to 6 mg right away, ignoring the medical order from Columbia. Took two weeks for the MNP to work with me, and it took until last weekend before I was on even a decent regime (of my own design — I added 4 mg back into my day)
  • they took away my Xanax and 0.5 Klonopin that I took midday because they think benzos make people too impulsive. Xanax is the only thing that stops my panic attacks. “We just don’t like to use benzos here.” Even though I’d been on it for 5 years.
  • “You are not allowed to discuss pain with your doctors,” – Brody. This @ 2 weeks when they brought Roy in who said he would see me every day and has not even come close to that
  • “We have decided that you are not bipolar,” – Brody.
  • Studied by med students and the famous doctor who reported that I was bipolar, smart, and should be in school


There are few things more annoying than a super loud fire alarm going off while you’re stuck in a locked unit. My thoughts add up like crumbs: Is it a drill? Do I need to move? If it’s a real fire, do I need my shoes and where will we go? Could I run away?

The older art intern Amy came up to me today randomly and, referencing a conversation from yesterday, said she thought I would make an excellent nurse. I was surprised that she had thought about that and flattered. She’s a very nice person.

Yesterday I excelled in creative writing, putting together a micro story in the span of minutes. At the end everyone was silent, after I read it out loud, until someone said, “I want to hear more.” Then, “You should continue this story.” “Yeah I totally want to know what happens next.” So that was an ego boost.

Later I went to art therapy and while I colored we talked about my degree(s?), medieval history, my aspirations about nursing, and more. They made me feel like more of a person than a patient and it was refreshing. Lots of tiny boosts to my ego.

Today Dr. Dubin stopped by in the morning with a new resident, the gay guy with glasses and a mohawk. No more Dr. Dumford. I haven’t spoken with him much, but he seems smarter, so that’s good. No, I didn’t do the checkins. [Surprised expression.] “You went to groups!” Yeah…I know how this place works. It’s sadly group centric instead of individual-centric. It’s ALL about groups.

I’m moving bedrooms again. This will be my 5th bedroom in as many weeks. We are waiting for the guys to roll the bed from the new room, a single luckily (at least), into this one. Last time we waited on them for a million years. I stupidly loaded up my bed to move easily, so now I have to make room for myself to lie down and wait.  I wanted to shower.

Dr. Dubin and Pat Murphy would be in touch with me whenever she heard something from the partial program. Nothing yet.

I packed, so I hurt. Writing hurts too. I have to lie down.


I’m actually mad that I can’t think of a way to kill myself here. Just theoretically. I imagine putting a chair on the desk and jumping again. That’s about all I got.

I showered last night, so that made me even more sore and tired.

I’m reading Gone Girl and I am sort of upset with how much I identify with the way Real Amy thinks. How she casts about for personalities, becoming the right girl at the right time. I used to be really good at that, sliding into whatever situation I was in. I am more settled, now, kind of. I can still lie with incredible ease and dexterity. I do that most days.

My last roommate Caylynn got here on Thursday and left here on Monday. She was here b/c she purposefully od’ed on Xanax bars and heroin. She knew how to play the game. She was bright, cheery, in the milieu. She went to groups while I was busy taking a little vacation.  I cannot believe she was released that quickly. Her release is why I now have a single that’s basically in the dining room and rear lounge. It’s quieter than my front single, but my last room was better.

The director of the partial program stopped by today at 11:30, found me in still in bed as I usually am, and began a conversation in which she seemed thoroughly unimpressed by me and everything I had to say. I couldn’t lie to her (I love groups! They work so well for me!) for 2 reasons: 1) I have openly and adamantly stated my passionate dislike for groups. It is on the record. If I said otherwise it would come across as deliberately manipulative. 2) I don’t want to go there and bringing myself to say otherwise was too much for my already overloaded conscience to bear.

This is what my family doesn’t understand. I can’t just smile, beam, applaud, and lie my way happily into the program, which is what they want me to do. It’s too late for that. I can -show- her that I’m5555555555555 awake in the morning and I go to groups. It’s so annoying though because I go to groups–just not enough groups. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. So now I’m stuck until partial thinks I can hack it. No one mentioned my like/dislike of groups though, so maybe she just needs to see me up in the mornings. It’s so hard to motivate for a plan I don’t want and will immediately abandon. I feel grimy about it, cold. My PT friend suggested I got to PT here since it will line up nicely with partial. It was hard to say, “Yeah, totally, sounds great.” She said she was gonna try and get someone from neurology to come see me, since no one has since before I left McKeen.

Those were a weird 3 weeks. The first couple of days were dark and stormy. I remember being sick to my stomach and having to roll over, practically in tears. I remember IVs and drips and bolases (sps?). I slept, sort of. I remember being in the OR, being lifted on to the table. I couldn’t see much from my POV. I whined a little from the pain. Then someone said something and it was lights out. Next I knew, I was in the recovery area disoriented. I remember looking at C while someone did something to me, crying in pain, rolled on my side, with her telling me to look at her and breathe, breathe, breathe. People visited all the time. [Names of family and friends…] S and C were there for a few days at the beginning. S, pregnant, fainted in the hallway outside my room. I barely saw her. I have a totally irrational hatred of her pregnancy and child. I understand where it comes from but man is it loathsome. I hate that part of myself a LOT–like, “you deserve to be sliced up and dropped in the East river,” kind of bad. Anyway. Mom, Dad, and Husband took turns sleeping over. I also had a 1:1 staff member so I was never alone. There I didn’t mind the 1:1 for a while. I had a catheter in so I never got out of bed anyway. It was only when I started to get up to go to the bathroom that my familiar loathing of CO kicked in. Can’t close the door the whole way. Infantilizing.

I want to go read but I keep finding myself comparing myself to Amy. I didn’t marry a “Nick” kind of guy, but her easy persona switches, her hiding the truth, the watching, the knowing, the always thinking. This is why I turn to drugs. It dulls the thinking, hides the darkness; at least for a while. I told a good lie the other day. I said  I don’t want to smoke. I always want to smoke. Husband bought it. Dr. T bought it. I’m good. My downfall is always this rebellious and troubled side trying to hide behind lies and secrecy; and my nerdy side wanting to be totally honest and get the attention deserved, be it little or too much. I tell the truth too much, at weird and needy moments, and I lie too much. “Diary Me” might be oddly interesting to some people.

Sleep beckons. Back hurts. Book calls…


Nothing from Partial, but I did enact the Me-out-of-bed-by-10 thing today. I went to another, different creative writing group this morning. I really enjoy writing fiction. The gimmick is finding a picture and then writing a short story. At first (furst) it was only me and Gerda. I almost left but what the hell. She decided she couldn’t do it without water, so I went and got her water, then asked for a cup from the med room as well. Suddenly I was her favorite person, she was so grateful. “There is honor in a cup of water,” but in German. Then Lisa (Japanese woman w.small underlip tattoo and great origami skills) joined us. Then Gerda decided she needed a sweater and had to leave. The leader had asked if she was cold about ten minutes earlier. “I’m actually getting hotter,.” I yelled at her in the dining room when she insulted and shooed away 2 Jewish women. Finally she realized I could fight back. “I am older and I am smarter than you.” Me- “You are older, I agree.” Ultimately she dropped the fight because I had been so nice to her earlier in the day.

Husband and I had a weird, extended “fight” today. It vacillated between laughing and having serious, deep meaning conversation.  I got mad a lot. A lot of what he said really upset me. He thinks the way I’ve handled my stay here has been dysfunctional, that Dr. Dubin is much more right than I give him credit for, and other general problems with how I handle life in general. He talked a lot about weed. He thinks my mother being around has made me hostile. Maybe? I definitely never wanted my parents involved to the degree that they are. It makes me wildly uncomfortable and I am going to have to spend some serious hours on Therapist’s couch dealing with it. (My fingernails are absurdly long)

I need to be out of here so much.


It’s Thursday. I’m not leaving tomorrow. So it’s once again: “Maybe early next week.” I know we’re just waiting for a spot at Partial, because that is protocol but ohmygod. I’ve been here forever. And today I learned officially that I’m involuntary so I basically have no rights.



Resident came by this morning to coach me on what to say to Debbie, the Partial director, who is coming back today.

Amy R. died in her sleep last night. I knew her at [College] and we reconnected a little because she was recently at 9GN. It makes me very sad, and I wonder if that’s code for “she OD’ed.”


I am leaving for Partial in the morning. Today is Monday. I am still debating whether I want to go to partial. I figure my day there will help make my decision.

Yesterday Husband and I had a long disagreement. He didn’t believe me when I told him Dr. Resident said I could have my phone the other day to deal with insurance stuff (they thought it had lapsed; turns out I just had a new card so etc etc.). He thought I was just being sneaky to get what I want. He doesn’t trust me anymore in general. I’ve been lying “so much.” It’s going to be an ongoing conversation. We made up at the end.


Once I walked up to the computers and found a human poop on the floor that had been left there by (oh) Gerda.

Being home has been nice because of having Husband, dogs, and privacy. The first day of Partial did not go well. I could not fake my interview with the pdoc and they ended up learning my plan to come to partial for just a day and then go home. Let me back up a little. They made me skip the first group because I had to go ” register” for the program. All of this information was already in NYPres systems. So by the time I get to the pdoc and the LCSW, I had been made late by 11 North and lugging my bag around, I was done. He wanted me to tell  him why I was here. He hadn’t read my chart at all. That made me really upset because it felt really redundant as usual. They just kept giving me condescending answers about why telling it all from my point of view would be better than reading a chart. I was in no mood. I explained how I wasn’t going to talk about certain things and how I never wanted to be in the program in the first place. And I didn’t. And everyone close to me knows why and is FINE with it. Dr. T wanted to call my parents and explain what a dangerous time this was, how partial would have been better, and what they should be looking for. I said no, you may not call my parents. I am an adult. My parents share my POV. I even texted mom to tell her to look out for a call and to say nothing,  and she responded with all the same things: that’s absurd, I’m an adult, there’s no need. Dr T was surprised I got my mom’s support that quickly (texting while in session). He looked confused.

Anyway… I had a long conversation with the LCSW after the terrible conversation with the two of them. She wanted to have Husband come in for a conversation before I left that day. I suspect to corroborate my story about everyone knowing that I HATE groups and I wasn’t going to be coming to the program. I told her no, that wasn’t going to happen and she just would not be convinced of any other position to take.  I was to leave at 1pm. I asked if she was going to stop me. No, she couldn’t. She was trying to shame me into staying. I was done. So as soon as she let me go, I grabbed my suitcase and dragged it out to a cab, made my way home. I was really upset that what should have been a good day turned into a stressful and argumentative day. Then I had phone calls with Drs. Strimbu and T. LCSW “Well I’m going to have to tell your inpatient Drs.” Knock yourself out. The nice thing about leaving IP is that I have human rights again. Who, what, where. These are MY choices. This hasn’t been true since November.

Husband is upset that I haven’t “done more” since I got home. “This will be just like every other time!” The descent into depression. All because I’ve had a relaxing week, playing video games, watching TV, going to Dr. T appts. Makes me furious. I just want to decompress until I’m ready to do everything that I said I would do. He said he’s just gonna call me out on this all the time. Motherfucker.


I saw Therapist early this morning. I saw her for the first time yesterday and we had to talk about everything. It was weird to have to replay everything to someone who knows me so well. She kept saying that the way I tried to kill myself was “chilling.” I guess that means it was just so intense and calculated to end in death. I had no intention of walking away from the situation. Chilling. She also thinks I had some serious dissociative or psychotic break because it was so unexpected based on my mood just a day earlier. To me it feels like that. It was so cold and I felt unlike myself. Like something had snapped and I was no longer in control. People kept asking why I didn’t write a note. It’s because I was swept away by the momentum  of the moment and hadn’t made plans until like 10 minutes beforehand. I will always remember sliding down the wardrobe, and pushing myself off so that I would definitely land on my head.

We talked today about how Husband has been doing throughout this. He’s been going alright, but I know he’s depressed. His refrain for a while was, “You tried to kill my wife.” Anger and sadness and hurt and relief, I imagine. I’m trying to help him as I can. It’s hard, and takes a lot of energy. I can’t apologize because I’m not sorry that I did it. I’m sorry that I woke up. I’m sorry that people have to take care of me. I’m sorry that the care is so expensive. I’m sorry that people felt hurt and worry because of what happened. I wish I hadn’t woken up most of the time. Dealing with the aftermath of a failed suicide attempt is MILES worse than dealing with the depression before a suicide attempt.

I went to PT today and I just couldn’t answer, “How did you fall?” I have to make a goofy face and chalk it up to something really dumb. It’s shameful. There’s so much stigma. I feel like she’ll treat me like I am less deserving of treatment than if it was just an accident.


Today I felt the bitter taste of pure rejection. I went to see Dr. Weinberger at Columbia Doctors Pain Management, just off of Columbus Circle. I filled out the forms. I spent a long time with the resident talking and doing physical exams.

Then the doctor comes in. He shook my hand, sat down and launched into a series of questions about my injuries. Then, I was asked who my GP is. I replied that it’s all in the paperwork. I will never forget his expression after that. He looked me dead in the eye and said, “If you don’t cooperate, we’re done here.” I was stunned. “Are you serious?” “Yes. If you don’t cooperate, we’re done here.” I turned to the resident to ask if this was normal. She said nothing and merely looked ahead. He got up. “I guess we’re done here. I’m at a point in my life when I don’t have to deal with people like you.” And he walked out.


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