The ER

I'd forgotten it was September. I thought it happened in October. It's such a blur. September 11th, how did I forget that date? I was at the end. The end of my patience, the end of my tolerance, the end of my endurance. I was done. This was it. I cried all day. I couldn't move, could barely open my eyes, it was so silent. I had to tell myself to breathe. My body was finally dying too. The will to continue was gone,  I was already dead. I didn't get out of bed all day. I told Mr. Purrington over and over how sorry I was. That I loved him. But that I was so tired. He layed down next to my head and put his paw on my shoulder, he stayed like that all day and night. I wrote my suicide note. Then I fell asleep.

I woke up the next morning in tears. I did not feel any better. Around 11 a.m. I called the Crisis Line. A nice lady answered. I was almost hysterical. I cried to her "I don't know what to say but I think I'm supposed to call you." She talked to me for 30 minutes. She was amazing. She was calm, she was empathetic, she was funny, and she was concerned. We made a plan. Plan A was to go to the ER immediately. Plan B was to stay at home and call the crisis line every 30 minutes for the rest of the day. I wasn't safe enough to be home, so I chose Plan A. She agreed. She talked me into eating a little lunch first, in the meanwhile I text my cousin Emily to let her know I was ok and was going to the emergency room. The crisis lady said they'd probably give me something for the anxiety immediately, which sounded unbelievably relieving. I ate an egg sandwich, and drive the mile down the road to Harrison Hospital.

I sat in my car for a good 10 minutes before I went in. I was extremely nervous. I'd never done anything like this before. And I was alone. It was terrifying.

It was 1:00 p.m. I went into triage right away. I was grateful for that. The nurse got me checked in and the registrars got all my information. Then I continued to sit in triage for probably 30-40 minutes until a room became available for me.

Finally I went back. They had me change into a gown and took all my belongings, except my phone. I was relieved they let me keep my lifeline to Emily. The nurse came in right away and did a few things, I can't remember what. Then the doctor came in and asked me a couple questions. I had a security guard in the room with me at all times. It was a very hectic couple of minutes. No medications were given. Then everyone, minus the security guard, left the room and I was alone again. I turned on the TV. And I waited. By this time it was close to 2:00 p.m.

They told me they were busy, and that the social workers had been very busy all day. However when someone finally peeked their head in at 7:00 p.m., I wasn't the least bit impressed.

She was a nice lady, but obviously frazzled. She asked me a few questions and we talked for a bit. It was the normal questions about depression. Go to any website on depression and find their questionaire and that's what we talked about. She was in my room for about ten minutes. A six hour wait for a ten minute talk about the obvious signs of depression. I don't think she heard a word I was saying as I was describing how I'd been feeling and how horrible my life had become. I was so disheartened. She asked me if I wanted to talk to someone about being admitted somewhere. I said yes. Finally maybe a bit of relief.

About ten minutes later another social worker came in. I was already angry with the first lady and I'm sorry to say, but I took it out on this new one. I was sobbing and my voice was raised as I told him the first lady didn't listen to me and that as he and I were talking I didn't feel like he was listening to me either. He was kind and calm, but I was very angry and hurt.

He came back several minutes later and told me he didn't think inpatient was appropriate for me. It must've been around 8:30 p.m. by now. At this point I didn't care anymore what they said or what I felt, I wanted out of there. So I said ok. Even though I told everyone there I didn't feel safe at home, didn't think I'd survive at home, couldn't face going home, they wanted to send me home anyway. Every gut feeling I had told me this was wrong, but I felt helpless to ask for more. I was irritated, I was embarrassed, and I kept saying I never should have come. However unfortunate it is, I worked in an ER for several years, I know how "psych" patients are revered and treated. I somehow thought years later and a million miles away, my experience would be different.

I was given instruction to go check myself into Kitsap Mental Health on Monday morning. And at 11:00 p.m., I was released to go home. And I did.

Would I recommend a suicidal person go to the emergency room? Yes. If ONLY because it provided a distraction. I truly felt I was worse off when I left, but the exact moment of crisis and anxiety earlier in the day had passed. I was around people all day, I had access to food and water, and I was able to calm myself enough. But that is the only reason I would recommend someone go to the ER if they're suicidal. It was not a good experience for me. When my "how did we do?" survey came in the mail a couple weeks later, I let them know that.

What I would recommend is calling a crisis line. She did more for me in a half hour than 10 hours of sitting in the ER. They're calm, they're trained, and they're very skilled at bringing down the crisis of a situation and finding you a reason to go on. I would call the crisis line again in a heartbeat if I ever felt what I did again in that dark, dark night of September.

I have realized writing this that it has been extremely difficult putting into words my experience. It's not something I've done yet in this kind of detail. I have found it exhausting. I was going to go into more detail about the social workers, but by the time I got to that point, I was too emotional reliving those moments.

I have also found it healing. No longer is it shamefully kept inside, but I feel free in writing about an incident that is never, nor ever will be, shameful.

I have come a long ways.