The long awaited final part of Bipolar Outcast booty juiced filled 72 hour involuntary psych hold.

So as I’ve promised here is the conclusion to my 72 hour psych hold.

I lunged forward my clothes soaked I sweat my eyes adjust to the darkness as I look around trying to familiarize with my surroundings, my roommates snores are rumbling through the room and as I mentioned before the room is at 80 degrees. Her snores are almost deafening. I couldn’t sleep much anyway even with the klonopin and other sleep meds all I could think about was my daughter and my husband. My room is a small 6×8 room it was covered in ugly paneling, stained white tiles covering the floor. There are two twin size beds with plastic mattresses and pillows beside them is a small particle board dresser with two deep drawers, a sink and mirror jammed in the corner. We have one plastic window with a taupe roller shade that I am not allowed to open because it sends my roommate into fits. I figured while she was sleeping I could change the thermostat so I wouldn’t die of heat exhaustion (that is a bit of exaggeration.) I get up to go to the bathroom knowing room checks are coming soon and even though I am more relaxed all I want to do is talk to my husband. When the nurse comes in she is a little less of a bitch and tells me that they are turning the phone on before breakfast and she will make sure I get to use it, but I need to go back to bed to sleep so we don’t have another incident like yesterday. That made a world of difference and I was able to sleep.

As soon as they come in to wake us up I dart out of the room and straight to the phone. I think everyone knew about yesterday because no one got in my way. The second I heard my husbands voice I broke down. I gave him my patient number so if he needed to call they would know who he is calling for. I also got to tell my daughter good morning which made my day better. I think the nurses were hoping this would keep me out of trouble…..

After breakfast we went back to group therapy where we did more worksheets on how to handle stress (I still have them) and during break the drama lady got back on the phone. (She had a sheet of paper with numbers listed.) We did get the TV remote and watched part of “Bridge to Terabithia ” (I watch it every year on this day.) after this I slept through the majority of group therapy and after my spectacle they stopped trying to wake me up and let me sleep. I told them that either way I was going to sleep so it’s best to not fight it. We went to an activities class and played basketball then we made bracelets. I saw my fucktard doctor again who after I explained I was sleeping all day upped my fucking klonopin to .5 and had me take them twice a day instead of once day. That is how you stop someone from sleeping all day give them more benzos. This time he talked to me for 10 whole minutes and changed his mind again and deter,i Ed that I was in fact bipolar. He is still a fucktard who said antidepressants would be just as effective as mood stabilizers. So off I go again he upped my Lexapro and Klonopin even though it takes time for antidepressant to get in your system upping them was the right fucking idea. I called him a douchebag amongst other things. I had to fight to see him and that meant the constant threat of booty juice because he was too fucking important to see his patients and he took days off during the week without any referral to someone else while I was fucking stuck in there. I watched people go home everyday two or three people were going home and my anger kept getting worse. I was arguing and being combative with the staff when I wasn’t sleeping because I wanted to fucking go home. In this time no matter how many times I asked no one would/could tell me exactly what I did to get in there. When the candy cart came around the nurse would distribute pills she always checked your cheeks to make sure you weren’t checking them for suicidal reasons or as currency for cigarettes. I finally was taken off suicide watch (which until I was off I didn’t know I was on). We were in activities (by the way the counselor we had was the nicest and the only qualified person there.) turned on some music and told us to put our heads down and listen to the guitar instrumental he started talking about our family and friends the more he talked the more my mind cleared I thought about that day when they left me and I fell apart. For the first time since I’d been there I felt the pain in me I stopped being so angry and was ready to heal some. I also figured out this point how to figure out how to bullshit people enough to get the fuck out of there. I participated in all the group therapy started filling out the worksheets and finally the fucktard psychiatrist came to his senses and freed me from the horrid hellhole they locked me in. I remember seeing my husband shoes when I came out the door and my daughter yell mama. I was wearing green sweatpants a holy orange shirt I needed a shower a brush and food!!!!

My story from this point forward only gets more fucked up but this is how my mental health story began.

🖤 20 fun facts about the bipolar outcast 🖤 DAY 2

🖤 I love deli meat more specifically Italian deli meat. I eat it straight out of the bag no bread needed.

🖤 I can watch every episode of Family Guy and The Simpsons repeatedly

🖤 I have a partial dentures (Blog topic)

🖤 People call me a human phone book (I memorize numbers easily)

🖤 I’ve had over 10 jobs most were big box retailers and a bank

🖤 I look like a large mouth bass when I sleep

🖤 I snore so loudly I can shake walls

🖤 I wipe my drink cans twice before I open it and still don’t open it completely

🖤 I don’t reheat leftovers

🖤 My best friend (who has a diagnosis like me) lives over 600 miles away and we’ve never met before. She saved my life and I call her Tater. ( don’t know where it came from.)

🖤 I am a Christian. My husband is a deacon at our church. We are extremely progressive in our beliefs.

🖤I have 8 tattoos and have sketched out the rest (blog post)

🖤 My moods have names.

🖤 I love to walk but not at the gym because I feel like I’m on a hamster wheel

🖤 My dr is currently in the process to try and stop my dreaming (my request)

🖤 My previous doctor threatened me many times with ECT.

🖤 My dream vacation is going to New York.

🖤 I don’t like politics AT ALL! My husband loves it so I take short naps in the middle of conversations.

🖤 I’ve gone more than 4.5 days without sleep

🖤 Amazon is my best friend

That was hard to do!

18 years with my hubby!!!

Wayne,

We’ve been through a lot in the last eighteen years, but no matter what you fought for me. You fought for our relationship when I didn’t know how. You fought for my life when I couldn’t. You gave up part of your life for me and every time I asked you why you always said it is because I love you and I could never understand how or why that was ever enough to deal with someone who kept making the same mistakes who didn’t want help who gave up on everything and thought their existence was a burden, but you held my hand, and I know there were so many times you held your breath every time the phone rang hoping it wouldn’t be that call. I never understood that love until we lost everything and I watch your world fall apart. I understood this love you had for me. I understood what it meant to fight for someone other than myself. I understood how to be selfless and that this love is greater than any darkness we will ever see. For the first time in 5 years I want you to know this time I will be okay. That tomorrow will come and I won’t salivate over pill bottles, look at myself in the mirror and say I’m not worth it because I am and you’ve always made sure I knew it even when I didn’t believe or understand it. I could never have done any of this without you. You are most incredible, stubborn, good looking (with a beard 😂) guy that God made. You are a deacon at our church and you take care of our city. Youve become the man God intended you to be. I love you and to many more years together! I never knew that I would find my soulmate at 16, but couldn’t picture my life without you.

🖤

How I feel about my overdose

I was numb in my first post about it and I gave you the logistics of what happened, but I never explained to you how I felt then and how I am feeling now. I am mourning the loss of a piece of myself and yes it was fragile and broken, but it was still a part of who I was and still am. I feel like once anyone reaches this type of milestone we should celebrate our hard work but mourn that piece of you that had to die for you to get here. The piece of you that was a tidal wave of emotions that made you cry and was so angry for no reason. The one that couldn’t live without benzos, that was so selfish I forgot about others, I lost so many friends but it never mattered, being high and numb was the only thing that mattered as long as I was high I never felt ashamed. I pushed everyone away because my death would be easier that way and determined that no one loved me anymore. I isolated myself in my illness and addiction I wasn’t a person anymore. I know it’s been said so many times about people with addictions but it is true. I mourn her still, I will still mourn her because she was a lost child digging through a sea a demons drowning in pills never seeing her opportunity to free herself from everything but now I am free.

I looked in the mirror yesterday and I cried for her mourned her loss even through everything and where I am I could still see her reflection. She still lives in there that sad little girl and as much as I wish I could save her but I would never be able to reach her without falling back down the rabbit hole. I want to tell her I’m sorry I won’t be able to save you, but I love you.

A year ago today I overdosed.

My mouth almost goes numb when I say it. It is hard to fathom where I was a year ago compared to where I am today. I don’t have a lot of memories from that day and everything that is a reminder is erased. These are a few of the things I could find. I know that I was popping Halicon and Xanax chasing it with whiskey. I was in a “support group” on Facebook and those ladies were watching my downward spiral. I made several lives in the group one of which was me staring in a shower head and then there was the final curtain call. I was down to the last few pills in the bottle and I went live. I have no idea what I said but I know I ended it and passed out. I don’t know how long I was out for but the ladies in the group freaked out and started blowing my husbands phone up. I remember coming to when my husband came rushing home pissed at the entire situation. I realize now that he wasn’t just angry, he was terrified. If I never went live then I would probably be dead. He picked me up and threw me in the truck and took me back to work with him. I was passed out but the moments I came to were nothing but incoherent screaming. People have a lot of preconceived notions of overdosing. It isn’t always like what you see in the media. You can overdose not throw up, not have your stomach pumped and just go in and out of consciousness for hours. So now it is after 3:00 and we pick our daughter up from school and I’ve managed to slightly stabilize myself (in my mind) to have a really good shouting match with my husband. He sends our daughter outside while I’m screaming and swearing. (I didn’t eat anything that day and I had enough benzos in me to knock out a horse, I’m slightly intoxicated and I’m manic.) I have no idea what I yelled about, but I guarantee you it was nothing but slurred speech, half sentences and swearing lots of swearing. We got into a huge fight and he called my mother and kicked me out. I didn’t know if I was going back inpatient but I didn’t give a shit I just didn’t understand what was happening. The suicide attempt to me wasn’t a big deal it wasn’t my first time and me abusing Benzos also a norm for me. He took my phone and wouldn’t let me have it. I wasn’t allowed on social media or to talk to about it to anyone who wasn’t involved or aware what was going on. I found out later he did this to keep me from going inpatient unless he felt like I needed to. I slept on a mattress in my moms living room for 3 days. The first night I passed out and felt like shit when I woke up. I was so hungover blinking hurt and detoxing was torture. My marriage almost ended and I have forever traumatized my daughter from the ordeal. We forget sometimes that our actions can kill the people around us even if they don’t kill us. This doesn’t mean that I won’t ever get bad again and I won’t deal with suicidal thoughts. It just means that I’m finally at a place where I can get help the right way.

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Hello booty juice (part 3)

All night they do checks on the patients, every 15 minutes to be exact. It didn’t matter where you were or what you were doing they were going to find you. There is more to that story soon, but now after NO SLEEP they wake us up at 6:30/7:00. We all start to file out and people have made friends and they are all talking to each other and I’m just there. We all go to breakfast (the only plus is the food is good.) and then we are placed in groups. I was placed in the progressive group. This group were for people who had problems but could still function in the everyday world. Then it happened the most horrid retched thing imaginable. We were put in GROUP THERAPY for 8 hours. Yes you read that correctly 8 fucking hours of group therapy. We broke for lunch and dinner we also had small breaks in between but mostly it was GROUP.  The first woman in there who claimed to be a “psychologist” explained to us how alcoholism and drug abuse is hereditary and no matter what we do we will probably suffer form of it. Of course someone who has never experienced anything like this has now become more anxious. We are listening to her go on and on telling her all of her families issues (at some point I wondered if she belonged to with us.)  They would give us small 5 minute breaks and as soon as the break word break came out of their mouth they would swipe their badge and turn the phones on. It looked like a Black Friday sale everyone jumping to get on the phone. There was a middle aged woman who called everyone in her family and we heard her entire life story. (If you’ve ever seen OITNB she is the Hispanic lady crying on the phone. There are things I don’t care if you are a stranger or not you shouldn’t say in front of other people.) After the second break and another part of her life story the “counselor” came in and left the area to turn the phone on open and stepped back out to talk to someone and I ran over and flipped the button on so I could call my husband. I’d probably been on the phone with him for about 1.5 minutes when the “counselor” came back and said, “No one is supposed to touch that button who turned the damn phones on.” I just want to remind everyone at this point that I am sleep deprived, manic, confused and so fucking pissed off I didn’t care. “I did because this bitch wouldn’t shut the fuck up.” The “counselor” stood back her face turned red, her eyes begin to narrow as she pursed her lips. “We will calm you down. That is your last warning.” Her knuckles kept turning whiter and whiter. “I don’t give a fuck.” I said laughing. You could tell that she was frazzled like she had lost control of the group. So we talked some more, she glared at me the whole time I didn’t pay attention. Next comes lunch and after the candy cart came around. For those of you who aren’t familiar the candy cart is the wonderful nurse/pharm tech that brings around the pills. You know the good stuff that makes 8 hours of group therapy bearable. I went up and the nurse snapped, “We can’t give you anything because you haven’t seen your doctor.” She whipped around pushing the cart down the hallway.

I read via bathroom light the night before when I was unable to sleep that by law I had to see my psychiatrist 24 hours after the 10-13 was issued and according to the paperwork the 10-13 was issued at 9:30 am so I am well over my 24 hours and now I am pissed. I slam my fist on the desk and start yelling, “It’s been over 24 hours where the fuck is my doctor?” The counselor rolls her eyes and motions for the door as soon as I walk out there is another person waiting for me and again they trying to calm me down but all I see is red. “Do we need to calm you down?” Her brows crease and her eyes glaring through me and I decide to get cocky. “You keep fucking threatening me with that but you ain’t bout shit.” As the words slip off my tongue here comes a nurse with a needle in her hand. She grabbed my arm and drug me down by the nurses station the needle still in her hand. It was like waving a gun when robbing a bank. I sit with group that has the “loose girl” in it. I am sitting there while they are coloring still grumbling when I see the nurses station door open. I am inclined to mischief and not learning my lesson from the previous time I walk in the nurses station and sit down to use the phone. (I really wanted to talk to my husband to calm myself down and though I feel like I have expressed this it seems they would not listen.) Then it happened…..I got booty juiced.

I wake up a little later in a room that I’ve never seen before. I was able to sleep a little longer so I wasn’t so pissed. The nurse came in and said, “Are you going to follow rules?” I sleepily nodded and was escorted to a list of small glass offices. I sat my legs shaking furiously when a small Middle Eastern man walks in and introduces himself as the psychologist. I asked as nicely as I could for the psychiatrist and see said, “You have to see me first.” I will save you from the ignorant angry words I said. Finally this smug, douchebag walks in he looks like he is 20 years old and of course he is my psychiatrist who talks to me for like 5 seconds determines they I may not be bipolar but severely depressed. ( There is no way in such a short amount of time he could diagnose me.) He prescribes me Lexapro, Klonopin, and one other medicine to help me sleep. Now the candy cart will be my best friend and I am sent back to my group. I eat dinner finish up and head back to the common area to get ready for bed. I make it back to the room sit on the toilet when someone swings open the shower curtain. ( There were no doors.) “Leave me the fuck alone. I am trying to take a shit in peace dammit.” She gives me a smug look, “We are doing a count do we need to calm you down again.” “Bite me bitch.” I say getting up to wipe. “Are you going to help me out?” She frowns and exits the room. I take a moment and hope in the shower and here she comes again. ” There is no way it’s been 15 fucking minutes already. Leave me the fuck alone.” She stands there staring at me. ” Unless you plan on helping me you need to fucking leave.” She starts to giggle and exits the room. This is my first of a hellish 72 hours.

Weekly update 1

-I promise I am almost finished with my 4 part series. I should have it up by tomorrow afternoon.

-Information on my book is coming up and these will be private post for subscribers. I am ready to release bits and pieces for feedback. I also have poetry.

-I haven’t really exercised in awhile so I have no weight loss updates.

-I have psych appointment stories coming up too.

-I am not going to clickbait you because clickbait is for people with nothing useful to say.

-Monetize? It sounds cool but I am not censoring myself. I know nothing about it.

-To everyone who’s liked and subscribe thank you so much for your support. I am learning more about this everyday.

-We need to end the stigma people! Let’s talk about our health without fear of judgement.

-New post should be daily or at least every other day. (Depends on how much I have going on.)

I appreciate all of your love and support.

❤️❤️❤️

Media (social) killed suicide, addiction and mental illness

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I wish I could talk about everyone who was fucked over by the media for their illness, addictions and suicides but it would be a whole book.

If you are an everyday person like me getting diagnosed with an illness is just that a diagnosis. No one is reporting my suicide attempts, addiction issues, the medication I am on and it is because I am just a normal everyday person. Of course my immediate family and friends are concerned but it doesn’t make the front page of magazines or posted on all the social media outlets with tacky and smutty titles, however if you are a celebrity that changes and it is sad that so many of them hide their illness or addiction for that reason and that our society is so desensitized they lack all forms of empathy. The only thing people see is green. That dollar sign for who gets the scoop from a close family member, the autopsy report, pictures of their death but the media doesn’t grieve the loss of someone who had an impact on the world, the same people whose very words may have saved your life. We don’t see that we won’t remember them for their accomplishments or the impact they had on us. We will remember them for every controversial thing they’ve ever done all indiscretions made public. We do it for the views right? to get a retweet? for more followers? We’ve made that our priority instead of seeing this happening and demanding a change. We need our government to do more for us, we need as a society to stop desensitizing death, mental health, and addiction. I know we can’t save anyone, but instead of finding the negatives in their lives let us find the positives the amazing accomplishments but most importantly let us make mental health an open ended conversation. We need to be more comfortable with who we are and the media (social) needs to back the fuck off. Celebrities are still humans and I think as a society we’ve forgot this too. Let’s work on bringing up mental health in a more positive light.

What are your thoughts?

Property of the state… (part two of my story.)

They gave me my papers and told me I had to be there by 7:30. I went to SummitRidge in Lawrenceville, Ga, don’t go to Summit for ANY REASON!!! My husband and daughter walked me in as far as they could go, I handed my papers in and said goodbyes. The big wooden doors beeped as they swiped their badges and I was quickly ushered in. My world was crushed and I was still so confused and hurt by what was going on. They brought me into a room with 4 or 5 other people and I sat with my bag and my stuff shaking and crying because no one would tell me what was going on. I remember I love Lucy in captions in the waiting area. About 9:30 or so it was finally my turn. This small little bald white man who was extremely grumpy and unfriendly started asking me about my insurance and financial questions and I was a bitch and told him all I wanted to do was go home and he said, “You will but not for 72 hours.” He smirked and I called him a bastard. “If you can’t control yourself we will take care of it for you.” He meant booty juiced. I’ve become very familiar with booty juice. For those of you who don’t know, booty juice is when they take a shot of thioridazine or haldol and if the nurse is a bitch it is a bit of both and jam it in your ass to calm you down. So now it is after 10:30 when he finishes and I am ushered through more beeping wooden doors to a larger waiting room. This is when I met the on staff doctor. While I waited for my turn holding my stuff and more papers, a few people “got loose.” as the nurses called it. There was a woman there I don’t remember her name but she walked around and had touch everything and kept moaning something I couldn’t understand. I don’t think she could actually talk to you and if you went near her she would freak out and go the other way. In the process of her “getting loose.” her shorts dropped down and she was walking shorts around her ankles and the nurses were laughing. We are now after 11 pm and I am tired, pissed off, and still confused none of it felt real. When I walked in to the room to see him (there was no nurse or any woman in the room btw.) The nurses took my stuff and started rumbling through it. When I walked into the room the dr. who was an asshole as well asked me my name and birth date then says “squat and cough.” I’ve seen this on movies but it is real.  So I did what he said, even though I was extremely uncomfortable and expressed this more than once. He said pull out from under your bra to make sure there is nothing hidden. I am still extremely uncomfortable as he takes my temperature and blood pressure asked about tuberculosis (that is a common problem)  then sends me back out with no more conversation. Now it is close to midnight and I finally was placed in “a bed” They give you exactly 1 sheet, 1, pillow, 1 blanket a wash cloth and a towel. They also give you a small piece of soap, 1 bottle of shampoo and conditioner then 1 toothbrush and a small thing of toothpaste. You could not get another towel or washcloth until you turned in the previous pairs. I was handed all of this with my bag that was all out of whack and sent me to my room. It was separated into three separate wings, the men, the women, and then the teens. We had one common area to share. My roommate was already sleeping (she kept the room at 80 degrees and there was no negotiating with her. She had been there for almost 3 weeks.) So I wrapped my blanket around me and went out to the common area and sat on the couch crying. The nurse who was French…I think was very harsh and told me to go to bed or they would make sure my doctor knew and I would stay longer. I didn’t even know who my doctor was no one told me. I was sent back to fill “a bed” and as I am walking she reminds me that I am property of the state so now I try and sleep but it starts to get better…….

to be continued

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…..