Briellewannabe
Bronze Member
Quick background: things have been quite rough lately. I started taking medications for depression/anxiety in May or so, and my meds have been switched up constantly since, for numerous reasons. Every time something's changed (dosage/drug) I seem to plummet and my suicidal desires get more intense and it's harder to think rationally. A couple weeks ago it got particularly bad and I had enough--I stopped taking medication without informing my psychiatrist, though I told both of my therapists (one for talk-therapy and the other for EMDR... kinda... we never seem to get far). My sleep was bad before stopping the meds (like... 3 hours a night IF I got any sleep at all), and so after a month of almost no sleep, the last week has been crushingly difficult. I was barely hanging on, knowing that I definitely did not want to continue living but not being able to shake obligations to people I don't want to cause pain.
I knew a very dark day was coming up... I'll spare you the details, but it's the anniversary of the hardest day I've experienced. I knew that it would be difficult, and I figured it'd be bad enough that I part of my brain that always reminds me of others before making any rash decisions would be silenced. I didn't say any of this specifically to my therapist during my last session, a couple days before my "dark day," but I think it was evident that I was done. I didn't commit to another session, because I have to follow through with obligations usually and I didn't want one added thing to try and stop me, and I knew she was uncomfortable. She didn't want me to go, but I'd be careful not to express any intent. I didn't give her any basis to stop me. She checked in with me over the next couple of days, but I gave her robotic replies. Nothing she could use. I can't lie, but I don't have to supply anything either.
Then the dark day happened... and it was awful. I can't even describe, and I won't try, but it almost worked as planned. I drove to a building I knew had roof access and sat on top, but my stupid brain wasn't 100% into it, and I couldn't do it--I couldn't NOT think about the boys I nanny or my partner. It hurt... knowing all I wanted was to be gone but I couldn't shut off one tiny, tiny piece of me. I couldn't get that piece on board, and for some reason it had strength beyond the rest of the 99.9% of me that had already made up my mind.
It hurt so bad... has anyone experienced that? It felt like I was struggling to breathe and I was underwater and swimming towards the surface, but people were holding onto me, keeping me under the water, not letting me have the breath I needed. My whole body ached, but my head couldn't take much more. I drove to the ER, but that was pointless, because 99.9% of me wouldn't let me go in. I drove home and called my therapist... I'm not sure why. I was crying a lot, because it all hurt, and I told her about the roof, but that I was home now. I hung up after 30 minutes of nothing but crying and her trying to assure me and talk to me. I tried to sleep but couldn't. It wasn't getting any easier. I opened all my prescription medications and counted how many I had: 295. I took 5-10 without really realizing it, kinda in a trance, but made myself throw up when I realized it. I've done this before, and I've told my therapist about it, who didn't like it but understood. When my therapist texted about 5 minutes later, I stupidly told her again... I think I've gotten too comfortable with my therapist. She's been really good at trusting me, letting me say my dark thoughts without freaking out (too bad) and only calling a psych eval once (not 51/50, but they came to her office to evaluate me--they cleared me and let me go home with my partner). So I didn't think much of it, I just shared. I figured she knew I was okay, and that I'd let her know if it got worse. I already knew that I wasn't going to be able to do it, I assumed she knew too. Stupid, I know. She's not in my head, and I didn't convey that to her.
30 minutes later there was a knock at my door. Yep... the police and paramedics. There was no getting out of it. I resisted, trying to get them to understand I was okay, that I wasn't going to do anything, and tried to get them to compromise--that my partner would come home from work and be with me for the 72 hours if need be, but it was too late--they placed me in a 51/50 (involuntary commitment) and took me to the hospital. My therapist had called them.
The psych ward was awful. Apparently there are good ones, but this one wasn't. The paramedics told me it was my consequence, a ER nurse told me maybe I'd learn my lesson, and the psychiatrist told me that he was going to hold me 5-14 days and maybe I'd hate it so much that I wouldn't come back (like it was my choice). The staff was rude, treating me and the patients like we were incompetent (which some were, but still). They yelled, were rough. I had patients tough me inappropriately, one guy came into my room at night and stood over my bed, watching me sleep. I had a panic attack when I woke to him there and he left; I went to go tell the nurses, but I couldn't breathe or talk and kinda froze... they yelled at me, told me to get over it, to go to my room, but I couldn't move, so they dragged me to my room and left me on the floor. I still have bruises on my arms. ANYWAY, it was awful. It was scary. And it traumatized me in so many ways, making everything worse.
When I got out I was required to see my therapist (the one who called, they wouldn't let me see the other one instead) the next morning. I was livid. This woman had betrayed my trust--she hurt me and made my situation worse. Yes, she was following procedure and I get that, I understand that, and she is not licensed yet and is working under someone else's license, so she had to be extra cautious, but I have such anger. Like... it feels so personal. Maybe it's because I started thinking of her as both a friend a therapist (we are the same age and have a lot of similar interests, attended the same school--at different times--etc.), but her calling, even though she knows how hard it is for me to be around people and in new places I don't know, to not be in control (my trauma stems from being kept in a space and having no control over what happened to me... repeatedly), and yet she called. I know rationally that I shouldn't be mad at her, but it hurts so bad. Because of that call things got worse... I didn't even know that was possible.
I know this is long, and perhaps no one will read it... maybe I just needed to type it out, but I'm struggling with knowing what to do. I care for my therapist, as she is the only person that I have found that I trusted, that was easy (in comparison to others) to talk to, and who I felt genuinely cared and wanted to help. She made therapy not torturous, which is hard to do. She always listened when I called (which in the last 2 months has been way more than I'd like to admit, though the previous year I called her 0 times, so, I recognize things have just been difficult), and she does check-ins when she knows things are difficult, which helps pull me out of my head a little bit. She's a good therapist. She remembers everything and connects dots like no one's business. I've been incredibly lucky to have her... until now. Now I'm just angry, hurt, and feeling betrayed. I don't know if it's even worth it to try and move on with her. If I don't, I don't think I want to start with another therapist. If I continue, I'll never be able to share like I used to. It'd be paranoid of her reacting like she was, and if I sensor myself too much, then I doubt therapy will be useful.
I'm at a loss of what to do.
I knew a very dark day was coming up... I'll spare you the details, but it's the anniversary of the hardest day I've experienced. I knew that it would be difficult, and I figured it'd be bad enough that I part of my brain that always reminds me of others before making any rash decisions would be silenced. I didn't say any of this specifically to my therapist during my last session, a couple days before my "dark day," but I think it was evident that I was done. I didn't commit to another session, because I have to follow through with obligations usually and I didn't want one added thing to try and stop me, and I knew she was uncomfortable. She didn't want me to go, but I'd be careful not to express any intent. I didn't give her any basis to stop me. She checked in with me over the next couple of days, but I gave her robotic replies. Nothing she could use. I can't lie, but I don't have to supply anything either.
Then the dark day happened... and it was awful. I can't even describe, and I won't try, but it almost worked as planned. I drove to a building I knew had roof access and sat on top, but my stupid brain wasn't 100% into it, and I couldn't do it--I couldn't NOT think about the boys I nanny or my partner. It hurt... knowing all I wanted was to be gone but I couldn't shut off one tiny, tiny piece of me. I couldn't get that piece on board, and for some reason it had strength beyond the rest of the 99.9% of me that had already made up my mind.
It hurt so bad... has anyone experienced that? It felt like I was struggling to breathe and I was underwater and swimming towards the surface, but people were holding onto me, keeping me under the water, not letting me have the breath I needed. My whole body ached, but my head couldn't take much more. I drove to the ER, but that was pointless, because 99.9% of me wouldn't let me go in. I drove home and called my therapist... I'm not sure why. I was crying a lot, because it all hurt, and I told her about the roof, but that I was home now. I hung up after 30 minutes of nothing but crying and her trying to assure me and talk to me. I tried to sleep but couldn't. It wasn't getting any easier. I opened all my prescription medications and counted how many I had: 295. I took 5-10 without really realizing it, kinda in a trance, but made myself throw up when I realized it. I've done this before, and I've told my therapist about it, who didn't like it but understood. When my therapist texted about 5 minutes later, I stupidly told her again... I think I've gotten too comfortable with my therapist. She's been really good at trusting me, letting me say my dark thoughts without freaking out (too bad) and only calling a psych eval once (not 51/50, but they came to her office to evaluate me--they cleared me and let me go home with my partner). So I didn't think much of it, I just shared. I figured she knew I was okay, and that I'd let her know if it got worse. I already knew that I wasn't going to be able to do it, I assumed she knew too. Stupid, I know. She's not in my head, and I didn't convey that to her.
30 minutes later there was a knock at my door. Yep... the police and paramedics. There was no getting out of it. I resisted, trying to get them to understand I was okay, that I wasn't going to do anything, and tried to get them to compromise--that my partner would come home from work and be with me for the 72 hours if need be, but it was too late--they placed me in a 51/50 (involuntary commitment) and took me to the hospital. My therapist had called them.
The psych ward was awful. Apparently there are good ones, but this one wasn't. The paramedics told me it was my consequence, a ER nurse told me maybe I'd learn my lesson, and the psychiatrist told me that he was going to hold me 5-14 days and maybe I'd hate it so much that I wouldn't come back (like it was my choice). The staff was rude, treating me and the patients like we were incompetent (which some were, but still). They yelled, were rough. I had patients tough me inappropriately, one guy came into my room at night and stood over my bed, watching me sleep. I had a panic attack when I woke to him there and he left; I went to go tell the nurses, but I couldn't breathe or talk and kinda froze... they yelled at me, told me to get over it, to go to my room, but I couldn't move, so they dragged me to my room and left me on the floor. I still have bruises on my arms. ANYWAY, it was awful. It was scary. And it traumatized me in so many ways, making everything worse.
When I got out I was required to see my therapist (the one who called, they wouldn't let me see the other one instead) the next morning. I was livid. This woman had betrayed my trust--she hurt me and made my situation worse. Yes, she was following procedure and I get that, I understand that, and she is not licensed yet and is working under someone else's license, so she had to be extra cautious, but I have such anger. Like... it feels so personal. Maybe it's because I started thinking of her as both a friend a therapist (we are the same age and have a lot of similar interests, attended the same school--at different times--etc.), but her calling, even though she knows how hard it is for me to be around people and in new places I don't know, to not be in control (my trauma stems from being kept in a space and having no control over what happened to me... repeatedly), and yet she called. I know rationally that I shouldn't be mad at her, but it hurts so bad. Because of that call things got worse... I didn't even know that was possible.
I know this is long, and perhaps no one will read it... maybe I just needed to type it out, but I'm struggling with knowing what to do. I care for my therapist, as she is the only person that I have found that I trusted, that was easy (in comparison to others) to talk to, and who I felt genuinely cared and wanted to help. She made therapy not torturous, which is hard to do. She always listened when I called (which in the last 2 months has been way more than I'd like to admit, though the previous year I called her 0 times, so, I recognize things have just been difficult), and she does check-ins when she knows things are difficult, which helps pull me out of my head a little bit. She's a good therapist. She remembers everything and connects dots like no one's business. I've been incredibly lucky to have her... until now. Now I'm just angry, hurt, and feeling betrayed. I don't know if it's even worth it to try and move on with her. If I don't, I don't think I want to start with another therapist. If I continue, I'll never be able to share like I used to. It'd be paranoid of her reacting like she was, and if I sensor myself too much, then I doubt therapy will be useful.
I'm at a loss of what to do.