So, I was in the hospital from late October to late November. I was in a mixed state at first with some psychosis. For instance, I don’t remember the fight with my daughter or how I got to the hospital or even the first 4 days of being in the hospital.
Our days were filled with groups, our meal times and evenings were spent coloring, talking and watching tv. The groups were actually very good (which is a first in my experience) and I learned a lot. There were some good nurses and some bad ones, but mostly good. My doc was really good; every morning we met, and I was able to tell him how I was experiencing things, how I felt, what I thought I needed and took all of that into consideration when making a treatment plan. It was a collaboration rather than the doc just telling me what was gonna happen. So after 3 weeks, just 2 days before Thanksgiving, I was released back into the wild and quickly found myself overwhelmed and sliding downward again.
When I arrived home, I found my entire apartment had been devastated by a tornado (my daughter) in the wake of her leaving here to go to her dad’s in Oregon, while I was still in the hospital! I had thought she was a missing person, until 3 days later when she emailed me that she was in OR. As I sorted through the mess, I got rid of my daughter’s things that she had left behind, as I assumed that she abandoned them and wasn’t coming back; that she had taken what she wanted and gone. She took 2 sets of luggage (now I have none) and gave away her guinea pig. I was sure she wasn’t planning on returning.
So, I cleaned the apartment and sorted and tossed and washed. And by the end of that, by the end of 3 weeks out of the hospital, I had to check back in. This time, my mania/mixed episode with psychosis was not the problem, my bipolar depression was. I had a complete episode from mania/mixed episode with psychosis to depression, starting in November and ending in January. So, I went back in. All I could think of was dying and all I did was cry. This time I stayed in the hospital for 4 weeks, over Christmas and New Year’s. This time they changed my meds again. Finally it seemed to be working. I can’t say I was truly happy, but for the first time since October, I didn’t have continuous thoughts of death; I wasn’t planning on dying or obsessing and I was looking ahead to my future life. I got home January 16 and got a roommate too to help me save money for a car. She was a really cool chick named T, but unfortunately, she couldn’t pay rent so she moved out in a month. But another friend needed a place, J, so he moved in instead. As much as I want to be alone, independent, I know I would isolate if I didn’t have a roommate. I’m not even that close to my current roommate, but just having him around, someone to shoot the breeze with, is nice. It is comforting and it connects me to the outside world. I have very few friends, and all but one live very far away from me, so being connected to the outside world is important.
My second hospital stay I left feeling like I could cope, could handle life, again. That I have a future once again and have plans to make for it. And that wonderful feeling has lasted up to now, where I am again feeling my world slip out from under my feet as I slide down down down again. Will this ride never end?