This is the way that E, a kind writer with a knack for dark humor, described the inpatient psychiatric unit I was in for a week.
So yeah, that happened.
I last wrote about how I was really struggling and overwhelmed with coming back to NYC. What I didn't really mention was that for the past three months, I've been in a huge depressive episode. This got especially bad after I got back from Italy, with my mood dropping and my desire to "do" recovery very, very low.
When I returned, I was struggling even more than I had before I left Denver. I had a couple of events really break me down even more, and by Friday, I hit the lowest low that I've ever experienced.
I want to recognize how truly amazing my treatment team is. I went to therapy on Friday, feeling completely helpless and the idea of seeing Saturday was next to impossible. I just didn't care. I had been struggling from this depressive episode for so long that I no longer cared about my recovery at all, I didn't want to be around anyone, and I truly felt like there was no point.
My therapist is a God-send. I've raved about her before, and I will continue to do so for years to come. She sat with me, and after about 20 minutes, recognized that the state I was in was one that couldn't be managed as an outpatient, at least not for the crisis period I was in. She quickly canceled the rest of her appointments, got me into a cab, and took me directly to the emergency room. She stayed with me there, helped me endure the painful and uncomfortable first hour in the ER and helped me talk with my family, and feel less alone.
I am SO thankful I got myself to therapy, and was honest with how I was feeling. I am so thankful for my therapist and her wonderful soul and the way she always looks out for my wellbeing.
I am thankful that I kept myself safe, even though that meant admitting to the inpatient psychiatric unit for a week.
Hi, I'm Charlotte! I'm a 24 year old navigating life in NYC and mental health recovery. I am passionate about public health and eliminating stigma.