10-13 – 72 hour psych hold – The story of a bipolar outcast. (This is a 4 part series.)

The story: My hubby and I went tubing the week before everything happened. There was a lot of rain so the water was rough, but we decided to go anyway. We were probably a quarter of the way down the river when I hit a rock that knocked me out of the tube and underwater. The tube fell on top of me and when I finally stood up my anxiety was bad I couldn’t breathe. The moments after this are kind of blurred except the fight with my husband (when it gets bad there is ALWAYS a fight with my husband.) The next days after that it kept getting worse and that feeling in my stomach wouldn’t go away. I left where I was that Friday and rushed myself to the ER convinced I was dying of something. (I tend to be a tad bit dramatic.) The dr in the ER told me I was just experiencing some mild anxiety and prescribed me Ativan (3). (We now know I can’t take Ativan because it makes me manic.) The entire weekend was just a blur. I know I wasn’t sleeping, then I was and then I tried to run out of the condo naked a few times and drive my car. (if you’ve read the exorcism post this should sound familiar.) I  got time confused and started texting and calling people at all hours of the night. When Monday finally came around I crashed then on Tuesday I had a doctors appointment and that is when it all happened.

I don’t trust general practitioners to this day because of this. It was Tuesday, July 16, 2013, I went in at 8:30 am for a dr. appointment and somewhere I scared the hell out of Nurse Practitioner with closing blinds, turning off a light and sitting in the dark (I’m sure other stuff happened I can’t remember.) I sat there for awhile and then the doctor came in and said we are taking you across the street to the hospital (Morgan Memorial), but when I said I would drive they said, “No the nurse will bring you.” I should’ve known something was up then. When we got to the hospital there were security guards and nurses around the check in desk and then I knew something was wrong. After I checked in they put me in a bed by the nurses station and every time I had to go to the bathroom they would follow me. (This should’ve been my clue.) between then and about 2:30 I had nurses and doctors in and out asking me questions taking my blood. I called my husband trying to keep him updated until he was able to get off work to sit with me. I kept asking when I was going to leave but no one would tell me anything and THEN finally that evil bitch walked in, the on staff psychologist. We played 20 questions and she pulled out a pile of papers and started playing 150 questions. I got irritated and asked if I could leave and she in this most condescending way possible says, “If you leave the sheriff will come and find you.” I still had no clue what the fuck was going on and she finally told me. “You were placed on a 10-13 (in the state of Ga) involuntary psych hold. So we are trying to find a bed for you at a psych hospital.” There was never anything comforting or further explanation besides, “You are bipolar, manic and a danger to yourself and others. We will come back when we have a bed for you.” That was it “a bed.” In the eyes of the state I am no longer a person, just “a bed.” I had become a number, a warm body to fill the bed and line the pockets of the insurance companies.

When my husband got there I told him the news. I was completely devastated and confused. We still weren’t completely sure of what was happening.  I tried to explain to him what was happening but it didn’t make any sense because NONE OF THIS MADE SENSE. The evil bitch finally came back when they had “a bed” and she could barely get the words out of her mouth before he got angry and started demanding answers. She explained everything to him and he said, “I want to take her there.” She said, “No she has to go by ambulance because she is in the care of the state.” I was “a bed” “in the care of the state.” I want you to think about how fucked up that is. They took my identity from me and made me a statistic, my illness at that point defined me. My husband talked her into letting him take me. He rushed home grabbed our daughter and some clothes. (If you aren’t familiar with psych hospitals; No shoelaces, no drawstrings, no belts, nothing sharp, nothing offensive, nothing triggering,) So he was able to run home grabbed some clothes and flip flops and my daughter. This still bothers some people because my daughter was there when I was dropped off.

We are getting to the good stuff…..

If Emily Rose was a doped up schizophrenic it would look like this.

Before I start this I need to say the following: The only person I will mention in this blog is my husband. The names of other person involved will be listed as person 1. I want to thank person 1 for everything they did during the time it was happening and I’m sorry for everything I did and ruining the friendship we had. I was overly medicated, selfish, a bitch and reflected symptoms of a sociopath. (Don’t do drugs kids) which in no way can make up for the pain I caused, but it was my fault and I’m sorry.

So let’s start on August 27, 2015, we just got back from vacation and I was not on my meds. I laid in the bathtub and took excessive amounts of lamictal, Fanapt, Xanax and Valium. I know this much for a fact. (Do you see a trend here?) I took Lamictal whenever I wanted to and I would skip it for 7 or more days and then take 8 or 9 at a time. I stopped taking my antipsychotic which at the time was Fanapt except when I felt like it and then I took 6 or 7 at the time. What I did not stop taking was Xanax. Xanax and I have a long extremely unhealthy history. I also need to mention that at this time I was also mixing Xanax with Valium and a bunch of diet pills. So after that I asked person 1 for help. (They are in no way affiliated with a church) They were “counseling” me (it is hard for counsel someone who is so high all the time but I thank them for their efforts) One day (I think it was the end of September beginning of October) I told them that I was having memory lapses and it felt like someone else was in my body talking for me like I was possessed this is where it gets interesting. The person possessing me was Legion. (if you don’t know who he is- Legion” is the name given to a demon or group of demons, particularly those in two of three versions of the exorcism of the Gerasene demoniac, an account in the New Testament of an incident in which Jesus performs an exorcism- google.) I apparently had quite a few conversations where “Legion” talked to them and texted them. (I have yet to figure that part out.)  and then we decided to try and solve the problem and do an exorcism on me. I want to remind you again that person 1 is in no way affiliated with a church so none of this was a good idea.

The first time in October. I couldn’t tell you what I looked liked but I’m sure it was a high manic psychotic person. They did the Bible verses (https://www.catholic.org/prayers/prayer.php?p=682 and I think that is where they came from) and the frankincense and myrrh anointed on my head. I shook and jerked around speaking in “tongues” (it was just swearing excessively cursing everyone including God.) I tried to choke myself with a cable and when that didn’t work I climbed up a flight of stairs screaming incoherent sentences mixed with the constant verbiage of fuck damn and shit. In my head I swore I summoned serpents and talked to Legion.)  I came to on the staircase completely confused of what was going on with me. When that was over I sat on the couch completely just fucked up. I didn’t know what was going on I was hearing things and I was so confused so I took Xanax and not a little Xanax 12, 1 mg Xanax and I had to be somewhere at 5:30 and about 45 minutes after I did it I said oh shit and tried to counteract the Xanax with Redbull. (There is proof of all of this.) I drank 3, 20 ounce Redbulls because in my head one will fix the other. (Again don’t do drugs kids) so when I got there and I’m so mixed up between emotions, medicine and just complete manic denial. I just left and went to the ER. For whatever reason God decided to have mercy on me and they did not take my blood. I drove completely fucked up and to this day have no way to tell you how I made it anywhere safely. (I have big regrets about that now.)

Now the memory lapses are back and worse than before and “Legion” is getting stronger, so I thought, this entire time I’m just steady popping pills. So we decided to do this a second time and my husband was there. Person 1 was talking to me and I went blank then I took off running and my husband clotheslines me to get me to stop and I popped back up like nothing happened. They held me down again reciting bible verses trying to get me to stop and eventually I got exhausted and stopped. I always call my psychiatrist whenever anything is happening and I had to go in and see him and he threatened me with inpatient if I didn’t stop. He also cut off my Xanax and Valium and I lost all privileges to do anything so no more diet pills. No more refills so when I ran out I was out.

The last time was at my house. It was like 1 in the morning and I was on my usual routine of popping pills, my husband is up with me trying to take care of everything that was happening (God bless that man) when I flipped my shit again. I ran to the kitchen and got a knife and we fought as I tried to stab him then dropped the knife and went running through the yard screaming (thank God my daughter saw none of this) he again had to clothesline me which accomplished nothing. I tried to stab him again and then proceed to grab my keys and try to get in my car to leave. He fought me the best he could pulling me out of the car. I kept screaming and running I fell down repeatedly in the process and I’m pretty sure I ran into a tree, but I was doing everything “Legion” told me to do.

By early November I was out of everything covered in cuts and bruises and then withdrawals. I hate withdrawals and withdrawing from everything I was on felt like death, but by the time it was over with the damage was done. Relationships ended the truth and what was a lie is still obscured  some to me. What I did learn from this is were people possessed schizophrenic? Was I actually possessed or was it the medication and schizophrenia that got me? I will never know the answers to those questions. I sit here 3 years later writing this and I realized how fucking stupid this sounds. I had to leave some out for other reasons but this was the worst of it. So yeah there was a time I had exorcisms performed on me. It was one of the highlights of my mental health timeline.

Suicide videos and Redbull

I will trigger warn now:

My first suicide attempt in September (there are 5 attempts to be exact) wasn’t my first time trying in the last 5 years I want to say over a dozen times so this concept wasn’t new to me. I preferred overdosing, if you wanted an out you had one, self harm is to painful, guns are to quick and permanent, hanging is just gives me chills. If there was a way to kill yourself I knew it and probably attempted, tried or googled to see the success rate. You get the point.

Whenever this happens I make videos. They are long winded apologizes and I love you’s to everyone who mattered in my life, (pour out a little redbull, chug the rest of the redbull) and then there is the honest to God truth about people because you are about to die. I watched one of those yesterday and I cried but mostly I laughed. I can almost guarantee I was high. I know some people will read this and think what a horrible person I am for saying it, but is okay. We all handle our illness differently and sometimes the only way I can cope with it is to find humor in it. The honesty I gave probably helped me more than I realize. I would post the video but the last thing I need is for it go viral.

Bipolar, suicide, schizophrenia, psychosis are scary. The deeper I get the more open I will be about my illness. I think we all need to be open about our illness, our coping mechanisms, and the most important that we are still a fucking person. Our illness doesn’t make us a robot, incapable of empathy towards other. We probably have more empathy than other people because of what we deal with. We are stronger, it takes someone with great courage, will power, determination to move when your muscles leave you paralyzed, you forget how to speak, there is only darkness, you watch the world crumble around and by the Grace of God or whatever you believe you get up, you move and function like everyone else. It hurts like hell but you do it, but sometimes you can’t it just won’t work and people need to understand that. It may not seem like much to you but for us it is frustration and the feeling of defeat, so you tell someone who is suffering who can’t do it that it is okay and be there for them. If we admit we are having problems and confide in you there is a reason. It is also okay to not be okay and I think with the stigma people forget about that. We are strong people but we suffer more than people realize. If you aren’t okay don’t hide it please please please tell someone and don’t let that pit of hell consume you. You can talk to me. I don’t care if I know you or not I will be there for you and I will hold your hand through it because I know how it feels. I love you, other people in your life love you and you matter.


A year without suicide

Last year I had every intention of dying before I ever saw my 34th birthday. I was suffering with severe mood swings, psychosis and in the process self medicating with benzodiazepines and not taking my medicine as prescribed. On my memories from Timehop there are several goodbye videos, and I found this. I wrote this note the first time I tried. Which was exactly a year ago today. I went to my spot on the lake with a bag of pills a Redbull, music and a made a video explaining how I wanted my funeral, to be cremated, the playlist on my phone for my funeral so I didn’t have to listen to shitty music as I watched from heaven. Tomorrow is my 34th birthday. Tomorrow I will be 34 years old and by the grace of God I’m still here fighting. We are counting to my first day of my life changing decision. It hasn’t been easy but in the process I’ve found me again. ❤️ I made it.❤️

Suicide is real.

My pain was real.

It wasn’t because I was selfish.

It was a permanent solution to a temporary problem. My illness will forever be a struggle and a permanent problem in my life.

Just call someone and tell them you love them and ask them if they are okay.

I am a survivor.

I am a person, not my illness.

I am not embarrassed or ashamed of my suicide attempt.

You shouldn’t be either.

F@$! judgmental people. They don’t matter.

Your story can save a life


The freight train of moods derailed

So, if that title confuses you it means my moods aren’t really stable. We will begin with psychosis. The psychosis is currently happening while I’m sleeping which is better than when I’m awake, but that’s like saying a sprained ankle is better than a broke one. I wake up confused and I stay confused for hours at a time. I forget what house I am in, I have large pieces of my day missing. If it involves my husband I trust him to tell me what happened, but then I have to put my faith in others and that is what scares me. People call it negative energy, but it really isn’t. I am scared of what I might say or do so it is easier to not make a personal connection with people. I don’t know how to explain that to people.

I cried yesterday and I couldn’t tell you why. I didn’t post yesterday because I knew it wouldn’t make sense and it might not make sense now. I hate when that happens because then people look at it you strange. I can’t just tell them that I’m bipolar so this is completely normal. I wish I could but I know that remark will come with additional questions and assumptions. People make a lot of assumptions about me most of them are wrong or misguided but they aren’t concerned enough to ask.

My psychosis is pulling the mood down and we are going down quickly. Last year on 9/28/18 I tried to kill myself and was self medicating. I have almost made it a whole year without it and I am still working hard with it, but honestly I am struggling not with self medicating with the other stuff. The memory lapses, confusion, crying, the depression that is coming and knowing I can’t stop it.

I wish I could explain to people how hard it is to deal with this.

My first 5 days of diet and workouts

In 2015 I actually weighed close to the same as when I was pregnant. I worked hard to lose that weight and sadly learned some unhealthy habits in the process.

Now let’s fast forward to 2018 and stepping on that dreaded metal scale at my psychiatrist office. (You know the scale it goes up in increments of 50 and makes unusual loud clicks as you push it over.) and I stood in disbelief. I made her do it two more times taking my shoes off in hopes the flip flops I was wearing at the time would make 10 pounds disappear, but it didn’t happen. I weigh more right now than I ever have in my whole life and I cried and even though I tried to find a million things to blame the only person I can blame is myself. So I’m starting to work on it taking small steps but I can’t wait to for that feeling again. Sleeping good having energy and my moods starting to stabilize on their own.

Saturday- Just a normal day and a two mile walk

Sunday- My little firecracker (my daughter) wanted to walk with me and even though I didn’t get the exercise in I wanted she had fun.

Monday- I got to walk with my best friend, it was 3 miles of exercise and catching up.

Tuesday- Short walk with my firecracker again. We had to go to Dollar General so it was a mile, but her smiles and laugh made it worth it.

Wednesday- It rained so I didn’t walk, but had an amazing day with my husband. (We did work out a little 🤭😬🤫)

Something I do everyday: Drink a gallon of water and 25 squats every time I go to the bathroom. Sometimes I plank…yes I get a towel and lay on the bathroom floor to plank.

I am eating better and gave up sodas and coffee (life without caffeine sucks.)

I plan on weighing myself once a week and not give up if the number doesn’t change.

I’ll try to update daily.


From both sides of the couch

Hi! If you don’t know me, my name is Tarsha and I have bipolar disorder, severe anxiety, schizophrenia and issues with psychosis. I’m 34 years old and officially diagnosed in July 2013 when I was involuntary placed in a psych hospital. From 2013 until now I’ve been on list of medication so long it could fill up an entire page, shitty psychiatrist to finally a good one, multiple suicide attempts, two exorcisms ( if you don’t come back for anything else come check for that) and so many different therapist and psychologists I’ve lost count, but I’ve always had one stable factor in my life, my husband who through all of the chaos is my rock and needs a Purple Heart for the wars he’s one and lost. If you decide to follow my goal for blogging everyday for an entire year. I am hoping to do some personal therapy, finish my book and lose weight. Welcome to my crazy life.