Be VERY careful what you say to a therapist or you'll spend 72 hours in a funny farm!

In case anyone was wondering where I've been for the past few days, I've been locked up in the nuthouse...yeah, no joke. I've always tried to tell the Asper side of things on my blog as much as I can, not just to help myself, but maybe help others out there who know people like me or who are like me...it ain't all cross stitch and Disney around here, as most of you know.

You guys know that my meds have been screwed up lately. I mentioned that my shrink was leaving and I would be stuck with APNs, but at least I still had my therapist. The entire office moved to another building, but the problem was, they merged the Behavioral Health Clinic in with the Internal Medicine Residency Clinic, meaning us crazies were in with normals. That was problem enough and made it EXTREMELY difficult for me to even go over there at all, even though they had moved into the old Cancer Center where my Sister worked for years. You'd think I'd be comfortable there because I've been there a lot visiting her, but NO! I complained to one of my docs who, in turn, took it all the way to the board of directors to the hospital and the proverbial "shit was being stirred", but not fast enough.

My therapist called me week-before-last to tell me she was leaving the clinic too, but where she was moving was still local and I could come with her (and she wanted me to), so I got started on making the move from one place to the other. It solved the problem of me dealing with the new clinic's location, but the catch was, it would be the middle of September before she started her new job and, because of a family obligation, my third week in September is fried too (which I know I keep saying I'll talk about in another post), but I really will), meaning it will be the end of September before I get moved over and seeing her again. She is getting her own med provider, so I won't have to worry about shrinks, which is good (and saves me a crap-ton of money), but it still wasn't solving the current problem.

I had been trying to get in to see these new APNs who took over for all the exiting shrinks at Behavioral Health, to no avail and my medicines were making me worse and worse and I didn't know if I could make it until the end of September.

Working in the medical field, I may not personally have "connections", but I know people who do. Last Monday through Wednesday was particularly bad for me and the suicidal thoughts started creeping back in pretty heavily. I mentioned to a trusted friend and co-worker (with connections) on Wednesday morning what I was dealing with, and within five minutes, she had me an appointment with one of the elusive APNs at Behavioral health for Wednesday afternoon.

I got there, dealt with all the horrible social issues of the merged clinics and finally got back to see her. I explained the problem with the meds and what I was feeling, but then she asked me those three little questions that I NOW know NEVER say yes to!

1) Are you suicidal? (obviously, the meds were killing me)
2) Do you think about hurting others? (who doesn't sometimes, right?)
3) Do you have a plan for killing yourself? (well, stupid question...if you've thought about it then obviously you've thought of how, right?)

The rest is pretty much a blur but, next thing I know, I'm strapped into an ambulance where I spent my next three days and nights locked up in a psych hospital.

Picture, if you will, an extreme social phobic, OCD ridden, Asper person locked in a room with NOTHING in it. Activities and meals were mandatory, outside that room, in with the general population of other nutters (I don't use the term loosely...the place was literally filled with NUTBALLS). I refused to leave my room and fought with many a PCT tech (my Sister told me to stop calling them orderlies, but that's what they acted like) so, needless to say, I didn't get to eat until after I saw the shrink which was about 27 hours after admittance (my first one that started this whole mess FYI) and she ordered that my food was to be taken to my room and I didn't have to go to group or activities if I didn't want to (although the orderlies...damn it...they acted like them, so I'm calling them that...kept trying to force me to go out). I came out for med time and phone time and that was it and I bolted so fast in and out my room, I was like Speedy Gonzales.

Every minute of every day I was getting worse. I kept telling the shrink and the therapist this, but they wouldn't listen. My Sister called everyday and when she finally told them that was the worse possible environment for someone like me and I was getting worse by the second. At that, they FINALLY listened and, despite numerous hiccups that almost caused me to snap completely, by Saturday afternoon I was home again.

Issue is now, I'm terrified to leave the house at all. My Sister stayed Saturday night when I got home, but she has a life and I couldn't keep her here. I have to go back to work tomorrow and I have NO CLUE how I'm going to do that. 35 years of Asper training to "appear normal" and be able to function in the "real world" is all gone and I'm that terrified little girl again.

I don't blame myself (well, a bit maybe), I blame them entirely. I told them I couldn't take SSRI's, they didn't listen. I told them them meds were screwing me up, they didn't listen. I was tricked into answering those three little questions in just the right way (damn my brutally honest Asper mouth), and I was forced through three full days of utter hell that has screwed up all that I have accomplished in my lifetime to be able to function socially. And don't get me started on the nightmares...they have been BRUTAL! The odds of me EVER trusting a mental health professional again are next to nil.

Amber (who has more connections than god, or at least is married to a man who does), is writing a formal letter to the hospital board and wants me to do the same detailing my experiences. Other than this rather satirical view of the past few days in blog form, I'm not sure I can rehash every detail from those three days, nor do I want to. It almost feels like it was a dream anyway (I must have spent a lot of time having Out of Body Experiences and just didn't know it). I know the only way to make that place change its practices and not treat all crazies the exact same way (because we're not), is through documentation (and powerful people), but it's still scary.

So guys, be patient with me...I'm extremely "off" right now and I don't know how it will affect blogging, stitching, or Disney anything. It's just too soon to tell. Needless to say, if I do start to have suicidal thoughts again (although, now that the meds are out of my system, I'm fine on that front again), I will definitely plead the 5th on those three trick questions!