Past life

 I finally made it home yesterday after spending the last 3 months in 4 different psych wards.  I wrote my last blog on the 16th of February and the next day I was sent to the ER again.  I was in day program and told the facilitator that I just wanted to be euthanized. She then said that I had to go to the ER- and I refused.  "I'd only go if they are going to euthanize me" I told her.  I had a choice- go myself or go by force. I gave in.  I had to see my therapist at the program before being sent to the ER for screening purposes.  While he left the room, I grabbed my lanyard and wrapped it around my neck pulling with great force. I just wanted to die. Sure enough he came back moments later, at first he didn't see what I was doing, as he sat down and typed away.  It took a good amount of time before he realized what I was doing and attempted to force my hands away.  I wouldn't budge. I wanted it to end.  Sure enough I gave in- I realized my plan won't work- and I gave up.  I was then escorted up to the ER.  While in the room, the first thing I noticed were cords.  Yes..I thought.  I was desperate.  I sat in the hospital chair- practically lifeless.  It was as if a demon took over my body.  My eyes wandered over to the plug- Do it the voice inside of me said. So, trying to be as secretively sneaky as I could I grabbed hold of the plug.  The nurse that was in the room darted up and grabbed the cord.  Goddammit I thought as she took it away.  My eyes looked about to see what else I could use- another cord, the sharp container, the outlet. I had so many options or so I thought, but the nurse was now watching me like a hawk.  Godddamnit.  Why won't they just euthanize me- It's that simple!



  I thought the psych ward experience back in 2006 would be my last; boy was I wrong.  It's sad knowing that about 6 months ago I was reminiscing about the psych ward experience and how grateful I was to not have an episode since and not be suicidal.  Then, as the saying goes- like a ton of bricks- it hit me and it hit me hard.  I learned the hard way that to go natural when you have a mental illness is really difficult.  I thought I could be my own pharmacist/doctor because I wanted to be the one in control of my own health.  I don't like the idea of not knowing how to heal my own body. I've had a hard time trusting doctors.  A lot of this is caused by trauma I experienced while being treated in the medical field.

In this one situation- a doctor broke my hymen and tested me for STDS when I was still a virgin.  Not cool- especially since I told nurses and paramedics that I never had sex when they asked if I was pregnant.  However, when the doctor came in and asked me if I was sexually active- I said yes. I was confused. I  didn't understand the real meaning of sexual active.  Who knew kissing or making out wasn't  a form of sexual activity. I understand I may have put myself under the bus at that time, but I was really naive and innocent.  (I didn't understand sex despite what was taught in school. I honestly thought I would be a nun so I never paid attention in Health class on sex, drugs, etc.) To give an example of how naive and innocent I was- my sister  told me what a blow job was at age 18, she was 13.  I didn't know what masturbation really was about until I was 24.
So looking back,  I didn't understand why they didn't confront me and more importantly I didn't understand why they didn't explain why they were jabbing with a lot of force what seemed like a long metal sword up my vagina....in and out...in and out.   I squirmed and screamed on the top of my lungs FUCKING A, only to be yelled at to stay still.  This night still haunts me to this day.  It doesn't help either the fact that by the time I was ready to have sex with my boyfriend of 1.5 years a year after this incident, he broke up with me a week later. I must have been that good!

Another medical field experience I had was when I had a pulmonary embolism caused by birth control when I was 24.  I won't go into much details regarding this, but I had a pulmonary embolism, gallstone attack (which later led me to get my gallbladder out), and kidney stones.  It took me 4 visits to the ER before they finally evaluated and found that this was all going on in my body.  The story of this one would take up a whole blog.

It's interesting how suppressing such incidents/forcing yourself to not believe they even happened  will come back and bite you in the ass.  Since moving home, I've been reminded of all my skeletons and demons in my closet- from this incident to being raped, to being bullied, to failing miserably at dancing to being sexually harassed by a therapist to many other situations.  Being home reminds me of the  time I was five years old where an adult neighbor told me I was ugly, stupid and wouldn't amount to anything.  When most people would have used those venomous words as fuel to a fire burning within their soul, I absorbed those words and made them my own and have  been believing that that's all I am all of this time.  It's sad that some of the baggage we carry around goes back to our innocent years as children.  I feel as though the purpose of living as an adult is to undo and let go of all the shit that happened to you as a child.  Sometimes I can't help but think, suicide is more of a reset button. It's sick what your mind can come up with.