So I've been having suicidal thoughts for a while now, and it's gotten really bad in the last couple of weeks.
When I spent the week alone in my parents' house, I planned to overdose as soon as they got home. (Details of plan are in my personal journal) I couldn't manage to tell anyone in real life about how I felt, until my boyfriend dragged it out of me and made me promise to try to get help.
At his insistence, I went to the ER on Tuesday and told them I was planning to kill myself. As I expected, I was Baker-Acted and sent to the county mental health facility.
I've been hospitalized before for mental reasons, though in private hospitals up until now, and I had forgotten how much it shakes me up and scares me to be in a mental hospital.
I was so stressed and shaky that I got wildly upset at any provocation.
Oh, and BTW, public mental institutions suck even worse than private ones.
At least in a private mental ward, they let you have your own clothes and toiletries without a fight. Expecting to be Baker-Acted, I packed three changes of clothes, my comb and brush, my toothbrush, baking soda (which is what I use to brush my teeth), my shampoo and conditioner, my soap, my deodorant, and pads and tampons since I was expecting my period to start (which it did this morning).
As soon as they took me to the mental health center, they took away my clothes and toiletries, giving me back only two pairs of trousers and my housecoat (no clean underpants or undershirts or shirts) and my toiletries. I finally got some of that back this morning, when I told them my period had started and I NEEDED to shower and put on clean clothes.
There is no dignity or humanity in being poor and mentally ill.
I saw the doctor there twice. He put me on Wellbutrin (which used to work for me fairly well, when I could get it) and sprung me this morning with a prescription for Wellbutrin and a voucher to get it filled once, and a list of sliding scale mental health clinics.
Hoo fucking ray.
That was really fucking helpful.
I'm hanging on because my boyfriend made me promise to "give him time to try to help me." I keep trying to tell him that there is no help for me, that there is nothing that will make me okay. I'm not okay, I've never been okay, and I never will be okay. His determination to help me is only going to bleed him financially and emotionally, just as it has my parents, to the point that I now have to steel myself to ask my parents for anything at all, even to answer "what do you want for your birthday" type questions.
There is no help for me. There is only one way out.