fledglingdragon36
New Here
Hello. I was homeschooled during my adolescence, have c-PTSD from that and from the family dysfunction. I've struggled for a long time with symptoms of anxiety, and have on occasion sunk into depression. I self-isolate, but have a mostly happy marriage. I am in therapy and take medication for these issues, and it was recommended to me that I seek out a support group.
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Recently I have been dealing with an adult trauma that resurfaced seven years after the fact. My husband and I were going through a bad patch, I was anxious all the time, and my MIL observed that the house was messy. After a fight with my husband in which I was very angry and expressed a fear that I would end up killing myself if the anxiety didn't get better, he contacted his mom. She came and convinced me to go to the hospital. Having c-PTSD, I deferred to her judgment and let her convince me that going inpatient for a few days would make me better and magically save my marriage. She talked to hospital staff alone for a long time. They sent me home with her and said to bring me back the next day if I still felt the same way.
She wouldn't let me go back home to my husband--I slept with my in-laws that night. I was calm the next morning. There was no longer any emergency. But my MIL asked if I wanted to go back anyway. I was now deep in magical thinking and believed it was the thing that would fix everything. She took me back and coached me to say I was still considering suicide. I feel terrible that I lied to the hospital staff like that. And I promptly learned that karma is a b****, because that hospital stay was the absolute worst week of my life, bar none. I didn't know that even though I was voluntary, the doctor had decided I should be there and legally taken away my right to refuse further treatment and go home. They told me after I was locked in. They would not commit to a time when I would be released, so I had all the fear of being locked in indefinitely. I went into instant fawn mode, eager to cooperate with everyone, so grateful they were here, and so on.
They take away all of your personal possessions--your phone, your street clothes, everything that makes you feel like yourself. They took my wedding ring, which would have been such an anchor for me--I could have looked at it and gone "Well, I'm terrified I'm going to die in here and I don't even feel human, but this is who I'm doing it for." But we couldn't have anything like that. The nurses got to wear shoes, but we weren't allowed to have them. I felt like they might as well have gone the rest of the way and shaved my head.
The nurse who took me to my room strip searched me. She made me squat on my heels, and spread my knees out to my shoulders like it was a freaking porno, to show her that I hadn't smuggled anything in my vagina. Only then was I given the plain unit scrubs. I had to do origami with her later. She was impressed that I could fold the crane from memory. I tried to show her how and she couldn't do it.
We had to ask for supplies to shower. I got my period and had to ask for hygiene supplies. It was hell after being homeschooled in a house where I had to ask for permission for everything. I didn't even feel like a person anymore. They had taken me away from my husband and my bearded dragons and everything I loved and lived for. My husband could only see me for half an hour every evening. But I acted normal and ate the food and did the activities. I was out in a week, though I was so scared that they did an EKG before I left because my pulse rate scared them. I was twice as suicidal leaving than I had been going in. And the doctor had no idea.
I got my stuff back and I was a human being again. I had all my rights back in the eyes of the law. I was numb, maybe a little angry with my family. I never told my mother in law anything important again. I was terrified that if I couldn't keep the house clean she'd have me put back in, even though I'm a legally competent adult. It drove a wedge between me and my husband for years after. He went into the hospital shortly after I did and was actually diagnosed and put on good medication. We stopped fighting as much then, but my stuffed feelings about the hospital were putting up a wall between us, and I didn't even realize that was what it was.
We live across the country from my in-laws and that hospital now. Two months ago, we were talking and I told my husband about being examined by the nurse, and he told me that they had let him change in private and keep his own underwear. It all exploded. I started having flashbacks and emotional flashbacks, thinking I was going to puke in shame.
Then, two weeks ago, I was finally diagnosed with ADHD. That was why the house was in a bad state. I'm just neurodivergent.
Then I read an NPR article that said that risk of suicide goes up drastically after hospitalization. That the UN says forced mental health treatment is a human rights violation and urges countries to ban it. I realized that my human rights had been violated, that we have bad mental health laws in this country. And I stopped gaslighting myself, telling myself it was meant to be therapeutic and I was just defective. It's bad treatment, and makes people worse. I was angry for three days straight.
Now, I am just having flashbacks again. Again, I'm in counseling and taking medication--the right medication now. I've been told I should find support groups and look into advocacy, trying to make it better for people who have to deal with this crummy system.
Sorry about the novel here--I've just got all sorts of stuff going on right now and I'm at the stage where it's all exploding out and new stuff keeps coming up. I appreciate your patience.
***
Recently I have been dealing with an adult trauma that resurfaced seven years after the fact. My husband and I were going through a bad patch, I was anxious all the time, and my MIL observed that the house was messy. After a fight with my husband in which I was very angry and expressed a fear that I would end up killing myself if the anxiety didn't get better, he contacted his mom. She came and convinced me to go to the hospital. Having c-PTSD, I deferred to her judgment and let her convince me that going inpatient for a few days would make me better and magically save my marriage. She talked to hospital staff alone for a long time. They sent me home with her and said to bring me back the next day if I still felt the same way.
She wouldn't let me go back home to my husband--I slept with my in-laws that night. I was calm the next morning. There was no longer any emergency. But my MIL asked if I wanted to go back anyway. I was now deep in magical thinking and believed it was the thing that would fix everything. She took me back and coached me to say I was still considering suicide. I feel terrible that I lied to the hospital staff like that. And I promptly learned that karma is a b****, because that hospital stay was the absolute worst week of my life, bar none. I didn't know that even though I was voluntary, the doctor had decided I should be there and legally taken away my right to refuse further treatment and go home. They told me after I was locked in. They would not commit to a time when I would be released, so I had all the fear of being locked in indefinitely. I went into instant fawn mode, eager to cooperate with everyone, so grateful they were here, and so on.
They take away all of your personal possessions--your phone, your street clothes, everything that makes you feel like yourself. They took my wedding ring, which would have been such an anchor for me--I could have looked at it and gone "Well, I'm terrified I'm going to die in here and I don't even feel human, but this is who I'm doing it for." But we couldn't have anything like that. The nurses got to wear shoes, but we weren't allowed to have them. I felt like they might as well have gone the rest of the way and shaved my head.
The nurse who took me to my room strip searched me. She made me squat on my heels, and spread my knees out to my shoulders like it was a freaking porno, to show her that I hadn't smuggled anything in my vagina. Only then was I given the plain unit scrubs. I had to do origami with her later. She was impressed that I could fold the crane from memory. I tried to show her how and she couldn't do it.
We had to ask for supplies to shower. I got my period and had to ask for hygiene supplies. It was hell after being homeschooled in a house where I had to ask for permission for everything. I didn't even feel like a person anymore. They had taken me away from my husband and my bearded dragons and everything I loved and lived for. My husband could only see me for half an hour every evening. But I acted normal and ate the food and did the activities. I was out in a week, though I was so scared that they did an EKG before I left because my pulse rate scared them. I was twice as suicidal leaving than I had been going in. And the doctor had no idea.
I got my stuff back and I was a human being again. I had all my rights back in the eyes of the law. I was numb, maybe a little angry with my family. I never told my mother in law anything important again. I was terrified that if I couldn't keep the house clean she'd have me put back in, even though I'm a legally competent adult. It drove a wedge between me and my husband for years after. He went into the hospital shortly after I did and was actually diagnosed and put on good medication. We stopped fighting as much then, but my stuffed feelings about the hospital were putting up a wall between us, and I didn't even realize that was what it was.
We live across the country from my in-laws and that hospital now. Two months ago, we were talking and I told my husband about being examined by the nurse, and he told me that they had let him change in private and keep his own underwear. It all exploded. I started having flashbacks and emotional flashbacks, thinking I was going to puke in shame.
Then, two weeks ago, I was finally diagnosed with ADHD. That was why the house was in a bad state. I'm just neurodivergent.
Then I read an NPR article that said that risk of suicide goes up drastically after hospitalization. That the UN says forced mental health treatment is a human rights violation and urges countries to ban it. I realized that my human rights had been violated, that we have bad mental health laws in this country. And I stopped gaslighting myself, telling myself it was meant to be therapeutic and I was just defective. It's bad treatment, and makes people worse. I was angry for three days straight.
Now, I am just having flashbacks again. Again, I'm in counseling and taking medication--the right medication now. I've been told I should find support groups and look into advocacy, trying to make it better for people who have to deal with this crummy system.
Sorry about the novel here--I've just got all sorts of stuff going on right now and I'm at the stage where it's all exploding out and new stuff keeps coming up. I appreciate your patience.
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