One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

As I've mentioned before, after I was fired from the hospital in 2017, I had a mental breakdown.

I had a baby daughter who was barely seven months old, tons of debt, a wife who now had a history of cheating, and I'd just lost my job. When HR had their meeting with me to tell me I was initially being suspended, the tears wouldn't stop flowing. I felt ashamed, embarrassed, lost, and limp.

Seeing my state, they gave me the number for the mental health department. I called as soon as I found the strength to stand and leave for my car.

After admitting to my wife what had happened (and expecting her to take off with my daughter but being surprised that she didn't), I headed off for an appointment I'd made with a therapist.

I discussed with her what happened, my feelings and how I felt that it would be better if I weren't alive anymore. I said that I didn't have a plan (I lied) but how it would be easier since Willow was so young that she wouldn't remember me.

The therapist immediately called my wife to consult with her about my mind frame and all three of us agreed that I needed to check into a mental health facility for my own good. After the standard medical questions with the therapist, caseworker and medical professional, I was escorted to a different part of the building to begin my time on the "inside."

Now, lots of people have a certain expectation for a mental health facility. Most of those come from movies and TV shows. None of those depictions are pleasant.

I didn't think any of that was accurate but I had no idea what to expect.

When I arrived, everybody spoke in a calm, soothing voice (to help put me at ease). I then had to undress in a private room and remove every object from my pockets. As I changed, I did warn them about a pocket knife I had in my coat (it wasn't to do anything to myself. I would just carry it around with me at the time). They packed my belongings away and handed me my new outfit (at least until my family brought in some clothes that were allowed): scrub top, scrub pants with an elastic waist band and non slip socks.

I was allowed to have my own clothes as long as they didn't require a belt plus no shoes with laces or pants with pull strings were allowed (hanging hazard).

While I waited for my family to visit me and provide the necessary clothes from home, I consulted with the onsite psychiatrist, psychologist, and staff members. Essentially, to go over both my medical history, my current mental state and to let me know what to expect. This was also to figure out which medicine would be best for me.

I was introduced to the other patients and shown my room. My roommate was a very talkative teenager (who I've sadly seen too much in police reports and on those internet child predator sting operations).

My interactions with them mostly consisted of meal times, sharing during group therapy and when watching TV. They were all fairly easy with which to get along. I had the feeling that, for many of them, this wasn't their first time in here and it wouldn't be the last. I wondered if this was also my future.

When my family brought my change of clothes, they also brought me some books to read as well (Death of WCW and The Unauthorized History of ECW. I read through the entirety of the WCW book and about half of the ECW one by the time I left). My wife brought our daughter so I could spend time with her also. My wife seemed quiet and distant and I asked my mom to help her out while I was in there (this led to issues with my wife after I got out, including the coldest hug of my life).

The staff put me on Wellbutrin, which I still take nowadays. However, the dosage is WAY lower and it's mostly as needed. I still see my current psychologist to make sure it's still working for me or if changes need made.

But I was on a routine now while I stayed in the facility. They told me I could leave on a Friday (after two days inside) but I knew I wasn't truly ready. That meant having to stay until Monday since they didn't do discharges over the weekend. This was fine with me because I wanted to be sure that I didn't have any mental relapses.

When I wasn't reading, I would hang out in the main room. It housed the wing's TV room, therapy room and kitchen area. One of the staff members brought in a Kinect for us to use (turns out I suck as bad as Kinect bowling as the real thing but I still had fun). The medicine they gave me did work; even if only a placebo effect for the first few weeks of ingestion.

The only real incident that took place while I was there was when the staff found one of the patients sneaking in cigarettes from her boyfriend to smoke in her room. She had been hiding them in her pillowcase and the staff required everyone to give up their pillowcases after that happened. I understood their position and was more annoyed at the patient than the staff. I don't think that patient shared my mindset.

Monday came around and I was ready to go home. All of my stuff was returned, including the knife (I gave it to my parents for safe keeping). Since I drove myself in, I drove myself out.

As I said before, when I got home, my wife decided to use that time to yell at me for having the nerve to ask my mom to check on her. "What? Did you think I was stupid? That I couldn't take care of myself?"

Cue the hug that I didn't ask for after being torn down for trying to take care of my family while I'd been suicidal in a mental health facility.

Luckily, I haven't been back inside a facility since then (so far). I did go to my regular therapy appointments until they thought I was well enough that I only needed to see them by request. And I already mentioned how I still see my psychologist.

The reason I mentioned this is because I know that I'm a lucky case in my recovery (I'll never say I'm cured because there isn't one) but also that I'm not alone.

If you're out there and going through your own mental struggles, please look for the help you need. There's absolutely no shame in reaching out to a psychiatrist or even spending time inside a mental health facility. I honestly believe that everyone could use even one appointment to speak to a mental health professional.

Life can get crazy but it would be worse without you in it. All of you.

I'll be back with you on Monday.

Have a wonderful weekend, my loves.

-Trixie 😘 ❤️ 





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