Joey had to wrestle me to the floor and I remember thinking "he is using all his strength. He's so strong, I'll never make it." But in general I don't remember a lot of it. I remember that I was screaming for help. I remember racing thoughts of paranoia and persecution. I thought some of my friends were gods. I thought others were demons. We were all doomed. The police and ambulance had to come and take me away. I ended up in handcuffs on a gurney in an ambulance.
Nothing like this has ever happened to me and I am still not sure how to process it. In that state I was convinced that everyone was involved in a massive plot against me. It was terrifying and I never, ever want to go back to that nightmare place. Poor Joe.
It was 7 days in the psych ward, they had me on suicide watch and they let me out with the caveat that I attend a women's group therapy program. So I went, 10am to 3pm for a week. There I learned a great deal about how violently stress and anxiety can impact a person. I hadn't realized how losing my job so suddenly in November had started a downward spiral into depression and anxiety. It's no joke. The women there are incredible, everyone has a totally different story but yet it's all the same, somehow. I can't say enough about how much it has helped me.
I would end up in the psych ward two more times, and in group therapy two more times. This most recent was in early May. The ward is not a place I ever want to go back to again. Whenever I feel exhausted from the sheer effort that this is all taking, the depression weighing on me like the proverbial ton of bricks, when I think about giving up, it's the thought that, short term, "giving up" probably means I go back to the ward, that helps keep me on track with my routine. That, and my friends constantly encouraging me.
I'm considering writing more about my experience on the ward if people are interested.