Reading really helped me get through my times in the hospital. Our apartment is littered with books because one day I was manic and decided to order everything I might want to read while I was away at the new psych unit. When I was able to focus, when the meds weren’t draining my brain so much that I couldn’t make sense of the words, I ate books. They were great escapes. They let me leave the walls of the psych ward, escape the eyes of the staff, forget that I was feeling trapped in my own feelings. I like to read memoirs in particular. Continue reading “Great Escapes and Silver Linings”
I live in New York City, which is the worst place to be around Christmas time. Midtown, Times Square, Rockefeller Plaza, and now, mostly because of Trump, 5th avenue are all tourist traps and full of people both flocking home for the holidays and on vacation. It is mayhem and misery for those of us who actually need to do stuff in that area of town. Traffic is insane so it takes so much time to get anywhere, and the subways are crowded and uncomfortable (even more than their normal crowded and uncomfortable). Plus it’s freezing outside so it will be hot and sticky in the subway, or expensive in a cab or Uber. Whine whine whine. First world problems. Continue reading “O Rockefeller Christmas Tree, how you suck”
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 Continue reading “The Journal: My Days in the Psych Ward”