Grief Can Be Maddening

After Mike died my life silently spun out of control. I was doing anything I could to numb the pain. I was drinking, smoking pot, taking prescription drugs. People would just hand me something and tell me it would help. It was completely acceptable in the scenario. After all my husband just killed himself feet from me....from my family. They all had the best intentions. I was making bad choices, I slept with an old flame who was married. All terrible coping methods that really just made things worse.
I hadn't touched drugs since I was a teenager. And then I had only smoked pot a few time and tried acid. I was never into substance. I wasn't even a drinker before Mike died. Most of our arguments before he died was about his excessive drinking and there I found myself doing it too. Irony, hypocrisy.

I finally felt as if I couldn't go on. I didn't want to hurt myself I just didn't want to wake up when I went to sleep. My sister and I decided to check me in to the psych. Ward of the closest hospital. I thought I was crazy. I was scared. She was scared.

When they admitted me they did a drug test. I popped for everything. Even cocaine. Which I had not done. It was that moment that I realized. It all fell together. A simple moment of reality, clarity, my ah-ha!

I remember arguing with the nurse. I absolutely took everything else in that positive test but I most certainly didn't do cocaine. I was indignant. It probably helped me look like I needed a room more than not.

When I checked in they took my cell phone. I don't have any number memorized so I was completely alone. They cut the draw strings out of my running pants and took out anything that I could harm myself with. This.was.serious. I told them I didn't think I was that bad off and maybe I should go. The nurse said I could not. It is no longer voluntary like drug rehab. I had to be seen by a doctor to determine if I could be release and on what terms. I looked at my sister and both of us had tears steaming down our faces. She apologized. A million times. She felt so bad. I felt abandoned yet again in that moment. She turned and walked through the door.

By the time all this was done it was 2am. They showed me to my room and I was officially a psych patient. I laid there in my hospital bed with a plastic pee protector under me crunching when I moved, in the pitch black darkness and stared out the window at the sky wondering how the hell I got there. I don't know if I dozed or not but the doctor came in around 8am and began his assessment of my condition.

I explained to him what had happened with my husband, and that I was sure I was losing my grip. He listened quietly and when I was finished I winced waiting for his diagnosis. I was going to be there for a long time. I knew it.

He said I did not have a mental disorder. Not one that would warrant being in a hospital. He said it was grief and ptsd. What?

My husband had ptsd. HE WAS A MARINE IN WAR SEVERAL TIMES. It hadn't even occurred to me that the trauma of his suicide could cause ptsd. With all that I knew dealing with Mikes issues. But I was glad to be assured I wasn't crazy.

I was given the info for a ptsd specialist and release. I was home by 10am.

My sister still feels guilty about that night but I want to thank her. Had I not been admitted, not heard the nurse say out loud that all those substances were in my body, and had that doctor tell me I would get better...I would have continued to cope the only way I knew how and I could have been lost forever to substance abuse.

I credit that experience as one of the most scary but positive moments in my grief and recovery. I was so close to throwing it all away. I could have lost my kids on that road. I learned to cope in healthy ways. I learned the tools needed to heal. I'm still healing nearly two years later.

Thank you sister, for making a hard choice to help me. Thank you for being there when I needed you the most.

I'm not ashamed that I was in the hospital for those few hours, I'm thankful that the staff went out of their way just in case I really was suicidal. Some are not as lucky. I'm happy. I am healthy. I am a survivor.