Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Being There...

You may. Or may not wonder where I've been lately. Well, I've been hospitalized with complex PTSD and severe depression.
It is sort of a taboo subject. I mean, no one wants to admit that they have a mental illness. It is too yucky of a subject.
Not because the illness is yucky, but because people feel helpless as to what to do to help "FIX" the problem.

Unlike a burst spleen where someone can have surgery,  or even cancer where hope is there that radiation will make it go into remission.. Mental illness is usually a lifetime problem that can be managed but not cured.

I write this from my hospital bed in a Trauma disorders unit that luckily allows access to your phone at certain times of the day. It makes the stay less isolating, I guess.

It has been hard being in the hospital because I am so disconnected from my feelings. Basically,  I'm numb.
I disappointed with myself that I couldn't keep up the facade of being okay. But life just handled. Me too many lemons and I began to suffocate.

As noble and admirable as it would be, in actuality I didn't come here voluntarily. My therapist basically told me if I didn't go to the hospital, she would have to call the police to take me to the I went.
I've mentioned I'm in the hospital on FB, but with no explanation there weren't that many well wishers.
People like to be informed.

"Is it major surgery or just stitches. What am giving up prayer for?"

So I wondered if I should mention I was in the hospital for a serious medical issue because undoubtedly afterward would come the what's and why's.

Two friends have asked to visit me. I've only let one come and I'm one of the lucky few.

Of the people in my unit, I don't think anyone has received a "get well" card or a "thinking of you" card. Hardly anyone receives visitors and the few that do,  have heard complaints from their guests about coming.
The complaints are usually pretty absurd. Either that the family member doesn't believe the patient should be there period, or for as long as they have.  That they don't understand why the patient can't just get over it, that the drive is to far for a two hour visit and things along those lines.

It's heartbreaking, for the patient but also for those around him/her that have to see him/her further unravel.
For as awkward as it is to find out a friend is mentally ill. It is equally if not more awkward and embarrassing for that friend to admit they are mentally ill.

I say all this just to say that the little things can make a big difference. A phone call, a quick visit, a card sent by snail mail, even a text or email.

People in dire need of love and understanding, need to be shown love even if you don't understand.

I hope you all enjoy your night.

I'll try to write more when I actually have something more to say.

As always, thanks for reading.

Jen L.

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