I left off with the statement about not remembering the first four days of my incident.. I’m hearing bits and pieces of those days. I saw some of the pics yesterday…wow, there are no words. I almost pulled it off. I almost died. I really feel ashamed of myself. Too late for that though.
I was told when I was found, that I only had a few breaths coming from my stomach, very shallow and very few. I had no chest breathing at all. In the pictures, my face was really swollen with water and apparently, I had tried to get up and unlock my door, falling and tearing a hole in my face up by my eye. Once they got me to the hospital, they got me up to the intensive care unit and stable. They got me hooked up and there I lay, fighting to live. At some point I tore out my IV cussing them out, telling them to leave me alone or let me teach them how to get the damn thing in right. They stitched up my eye and sent me through CT and MRI. Luckily, I didn’t get any brain damage at all. The only thing that was there was the previous damage from years before.
I guess the second day I was in ICU when the nurse tried to give me my meds I told her to get that shit away from me I wasn’t a pill popper… Funny not funny. Apparently, on day 2, I decided to try to use the IV to tear up the bottom of my arm. I also complained about my ugly toes and dirty hair so my nurse cleaned me all up, did my hair and gave me a pedicure including painting my toes my favorite color red with glitter and all. I don’t know who cared for me, but I am very grateful for her kindness and putting up with me. 2.5 days later they moved me to the behavioral unit.
I don’t remember any of the first day nor much of the second. I have been told that I talked to a couple of people on the phone and was pleasantly funny given the situation with all of my sarcasm. There’s a positive to every negative; my positive happens to be sarcasm in a fun way even on my worst days. On days 4-6 I refused to eat and had triggered and worked at tearing up my arm some more. My nurses very compassionately bandaged me up and spent some time talking through some things with me. On day 7, I finally ate a little and attended my first 2 groups…not willingly but I did.
Jeff had been bringing the older kids one at a time every night to see me. Even though he had worked 10-16 hours a day. They brought me my art stuff, my favorite blanket and pillow. I treasure those kindnesses and visits very much. I started taking my art stuff out into the main room for others to use. It’s great therapy and I started connecting and expressing my thoughts and feelings with the other patients.
I had to see the doc and therapist daily. They were trying to get my meds regulated and stable again. For anyone who deals with depression and anxiety, you can relate to how miserable this can be. I wasn’t sleeping much even with double meds at night, I would wake up hourly. Because of what I had done, my PTSD was out of control. I slept with the lights on and the door open… I was a wreck. I cannot thank the staff on the unit enough. They were kind, understanding and compassionate. They instilled every day how important my life was. There was no judgement, no negative talk or actions. I had a really rough go of things and I know I wasn’t always pleasant to be around but I am forever grateful to those who helped me through this crisis.
I didn’t have to share such private things going on in my life, but I felt it necessary so that maybe just one person won’t do this to themselves or the ones they love. I was living daily against everything I fight for. I am a contridiction to all I believe is wrong. So here we go;
We are each a beautiful amazing piece of art that completes a grand masterpiece. We are important and loved. We matter. We are worth it. Never give up. I won’t. I will continue to battle until I figure out all of the above for myself and will always battle for others who fight the same demons inside of themselves.
YOU ARE AN AMAZING, PERFECTLY IMPERFECT PERSON. YOU ARE LOVED AND YOU ARE WORTH IT!
More love. Less hate. H