TimeHop Reflections

I discovered an app after Mike died that goes back in time to recover what you posted every year from the date on social media. I found it really helped with my grief reading what our family was up to in snapshots of time. The one I saw today brought back such vivid memories of the hazy time period just after Mike passed. It was the morning I was released from the psychiatric facility I was admitted into the night before. It was the most surreal experience. I learned quite a bit in the 8 hours I stayed...and I was asleep for 6 of them.

It was just about one month to the date that Mike had died. I was not coping in ways I felt were safe. I slept all day. Awake all night. I was avoiding everyone. I had sought comfort in the arms and company of an old boyfriend who was married. I was drinking, smoking pot and taking any pill someone offered to numb the pain. People were well meaning but there was no shortage of drugs being handed to me in that time.

Me...Miss Anti Drug...the girl who didn't even drink but on a rare occassion. I was slipping into an abyss. I am a child of addicts. I had always been very conciencious of this. I knew I was doing this all wrong. There had to be something wrong with me.

On top of the terrible coping skills adopted I noticed new weird traits I had. I was hypersensitive. I had a ridiculous startle reflex. On a field trip with my middle child a balloon had popped in a science experiment and it caused me to involuntarily get up from the session and run to the parking lot. Puking on the pavement in front of staff and school children was super embarrassing. The 21 gun salute at Mike's funeral made me faint. It happened once again when a basketball hit our aluminum garage door. I was out for a brief second but came to crying hysterically.
It was Halloween season at that time and I was sitting on my front porch when two teenage boys walked through the cul de sac with what looked like the same rifle Mike used in his suicide. I didn't run away that time. I ran to the boys hysterical. Ripping the guns from their hands asking them what they were thinking walking around my family with weapons. They were terrified. They were toy props and part of their costumes. They didn't know what had happened in our home. How could they? Why in the world did I go charging at kids just enjoying the holiday? What the hell was wrong with me?

More odd behavior on my part. I couldn't function in public. Everytime something out of the ordinary happened I reacted in the most embarrassing ways. I never knew what was going to trigger it and how I would respond. I just stayed in bed. I could control the confounds of my my walls. I didn't want to die. I just didn't want to wake up.

I'm pretty sure I blogged about my experience being admitted into the hospital before. It was humbling, scary, and a real eye opener. It was that moment that I realized I was heading down a road that was not only self destructive but would surely damage my babies. I had to get help. Either diagnosed with whatever mental illness I'd developed or be removed from hurting my kids more. Up until then I was so selfish in my pain. I wasn't putting the kids first. I couldn't control my bodies reaction to ordinary situations...I definitely wasn't being a good example. What happened to my life?

The thing I remember most about being admitted to the hospital was being drug tested. I popped for everything on the list. Even cocaine. I remember being ridiculously adamant about never trying cocaine. I copped to all the others. Absolutely. Benzos, yep. Pot, sure. Amphetamines, my ADD meds. But NEVER coke. I was pissed and offended by the result or "accusation". As if the combination of all the other drugs weren't bad enough. Lol  My sister looked so pissed at me like I wasn't honest with her. She was once a user and knew how insanely dangerous it was. I swore I had never done it. In my whole life.
...turns out it really was a false positive. The next morning the test was done again and no cocaine. I remember feeling indignant. "Haha told you so!" Lol my brain worked in mysterious ways back then.

The other thing that stuck with me was how serious the tone was when I was moved to the psych floor. They went through everything I packed. They took things I never imagined could be harmful. Apparently people have attempted to hang themselves with their bra straps.

After this my sister and I were both in tears. I said maybe I'm not as bad as I had thought? My sister said "you can change your mind. It's voluntary." The nurse shot back with "no. It's not drug rehab. You can't be released until a doctor releases you and he won't be in until the morning" if the tears weren't flowing before they sure we're now. My sister just kept saying she was sorry and she didn't know. She felt terrible as if she was at fault. I held back my tears and said she did the right thing. I'd be ok. I hid the fact that I was scared to death. They gave us a few minutes to talk as my room was prepared. They handed my sister everything I packed but was not permitted including my cell. I hugged her and she disappeared out the door. The nurse directed me to my room. The door closed and I noticed it locked from the outside. What the fuck had I just done? I laid there as I tried falling asleep wondering if I'd be there forever. I wondered if I'd made a big mistake or was truly crazy and just didn't know. I prayed to God and Mike. I must have drifted off...

I woke to the doctor in my room the next morning. After a full exam and a million questions he gave me his diagnosis. I wasn't crazy. It was such a relief. Instead I was told my condition was a combo of grief and PTSD from the experience of Mikes suicide. At the end of our conversation he gave me the information for the trauma specialist and told me I was free to go.

Only one problem after that...my sister had taken my cell phone and purse the night before. I couldn't for the life of me remember my phone number, or hers, or my moms...I was stuck at the hospital still! I had no money. Luckily the front desk nurses had a contract with a local cab company. A cab was called and I was taken home.

I suprised everyone showing up at 9am unannounced. Again my poor sister apologized. The truth is that experience saved me. She did the right thing. It gave me a new perspective and a chance to evaluate my priorities. Mostly the doctor validated me. I was given a proper diagnosis and a specialist. I had a new starting point. It was not a mistake. It was a gift. I wasn't scared straight but I my eyes were opened. I had something I could research. I could work on it. It and I could get better.

Thank you sister for making hard choices for us when I couldn't. I'm glad God and our parents gave me you.