Attempt 5 and the Mental Institution

Two weeks ago today, I cut my arm in an attempt to end my life. My Master interrupted me by coming home earlier than I expected. He talked to me a bit but he did not make me go to the hospital. He talked me down and got my mind focused on other things. I am still coming to terms with the fact that this was the fifth time in my life I tried to commit suicide. The cut wasn't deep enough to cause me to die, but it was about my intent tha made it an attempt.

The only problem was I wasn’t okay. Over that week, I began thinking about other ways I could kill myself and I began to think about the old prescription drugs I had my Master remove from the house. I knew he probably didn’t really rid of them and they were in his car. During the night on Thursday, I quietly got up and went outside. I popped the trunk to my Master’s car. Sure enough, the pills were in the trunk. I noted that the bottles were pretty close to empty so I combined a number of bottles in two pill bottles. One was completely full and one was half full. I took the pills back into the house and hid them in our guest bathroom.

I went back to bed and I waited for the perfect time. On Saturday last week, I was feeling like that time was drawing near. My Master noticed the change in my behavior. He questioned me about it and eventually I admitted that I had a plan. I then showed him were the pills were and he took them. We talked for a bit then, he made me go to the hospital.

I was then admitted to a mental institution associated with the hospital. It was one of the scariest and hardest things I have ever had to do.  I couldn’t see my Master except during visitation hours and I could only talk to him for 10 minutes at a time. Just about everything was considered contraband from shoe laces to dental floss to ink pens. 

It was a co-ed ward and I had to share a room with another woman. We had our own beds and a wall separated us but we had to share the bathroom. Most of the people on my ward were either there for suicide or they were a recovering drug addict. I spent most of my first day there balling. I was still scared and I wanted to go home. I felt very alone and I was uncertain about actually being able to get help there. Legally, I could not leave. If I tried they could get a court order to keep me there because being suicidal is against the law.

I did have a psychology technician notice I was crying in my room. He can in and talked me for a long time. He listened to what I had to say and he didn’t make me feel stupid. He told me that I am not the first person to have come here with the same life story. He then convinced me to go out and socialize with other people. I wandered into one of the rooms with no one and started to watch TV. He sat down next to me and talked me about what was on.  

I began to calm down and I started to talk to other patients. The suicidal people were the cool people but there were ranges of coolness. I quickly became one of the coolest people in there.  I am sure it had something to do with the men on my ward finding me attractive and the fact that my life story was pretty fucked up and even included a pedophile.

I decided as I went to bed last Sunday night that the best way to get out of here is to accept that I am here and accept the help they are offering me. On Monday, I went to all the group therapy sessions and I was social most of the day. I didn’t feel the social pressure there that I often felt on the outside. I guess I had no one to impress and everyone had a story to tell. I didn’t feel so odd when I was there. I felt like a normal person who just happened to have been through some really tough shit.

They did change my medication. I think the change is helpful. I learnt a lot during the group therapy sessions like how to relax and just cope with life. I got released on Tuesday evening.  When I left, I felt 100 times better then when I went in. I felt this drive for life and to make a difference that I didn’t have before.  As I was leaving, my only regret was not doing this sooner. Going to the mental institution was probably the most helpful thing I have ever done for myself. Overall, the experience was positive.

Today, I am at home and still in my pajamas. My parents have stopped talking to me because I was in a mental institution. My mother called my suicidal feelings stupid and she told me that I shouldn’t have told anyone.  That hurt a lot, but my parents were never going to win awards for exceptional parenting anyways. My brothers and sister have been amazingly supportive. They all took my side and confronted my parents. We are all on the outs with them right now.

I am nervous about restarting work on Monday. I am uncertain of how that will go. I know I am still not functioning at 100% and I am coming to terms with the fact that I may never be back at the level I was before all of this.  I have therapy on Monday after work so hopefully that will help to unpack things a little bit more for me.

I am having passing thoughts of suicide now, but nothing like I was feeling before and I don’t have a plan. I am keeping an eye on that and communicating those feelings with my Master. He has been amazing.  I am just so glad I have him with me to be with me as I get better. I do not trust myself, so we have opted to lock up our extra over the counter medication and the prescriptions we are using. We have also locked up our sharp knives and sex toy box. My Master has the key, which is the way we both want it.

Emma