This time, my doctor gave me little choice over my hospitalization. She looked me in the eye and told me I could go to my local hospital as a voluntary patient on an open ward, or if I refused she would section me as an involuntary patient in a locked ward at the state psychiatric facility.
Of course I cried, I told her i was fine….it was just a bad day. I pleaded and begged, but she held fast.
“Ethically, I can’t let you go home” she told me. My mind went a million miles, wondering how on earth I was going to tell those closest to me that I was a giant screw up. Again. A failure of a mother. Again. I’m a PhD student researching mental illness, I should be on the OTHER side of the fence. This cannot be happening.
The days preceeding my admission had been nothing short of strange. I wandered around in a foggy vagueness. Blips of craziness punctuating my constant level of physical illness. But having the equivelent of gastro for 6 weeks would drive anyone a little crazy?
On the day of my admission I put a pretty dress on. I dropped my son of at daycare, kissed him good bye and went to the shops. I bought a few items we needed for the house then sat down to a large meal at a cafe. I ate approximately four bites before rushing home and being ill. I had planned to clean the house and pay the bills, because I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted everything to be perfect because I knew I was going to die. I didn’t have a plan and I can’t even say it would have been suicide…but I had a strong gut feeling that I wouldn’t be in my house that evening. I was done. Something had to give.
Six hours later I was being shown to my narrow hospital bed, I guess I was right. Before I even knew it was happening I was falling down the rabbit warren again.