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I got home from detox yesterday. It wasn’t bad, although I did have a seizure from alcohol withdrawal the second day I was there. All in all it was a good experience. I had my own room with a tv, the staff and other patients were nice, and the food was good. They kept me doped up on Valium for the first five days, so I pretty much slept through the worst of the withdrawal. My only gripe was there was nothing to do. They don’t have groups, and I only had one brief meeting with my primary counselor.

I chose to come home rather than continue with an inpatient follow up program because I couldn’t go another 14 days without a cigarette. They wouldn’t let me have nicotine gum, they only offer the patch, which gives me horrible heart palpitations. I passed out twice in the span of four hours one day.

I got to sleep in my own bed last night and I am currently on day number eight of sobriety.

Spinning Out 10/12/18

I’m having a really hard time today. I’m having auditory and visual hallucinations. Lights are flashing and sound is whooshing around in circles. The voices are more vulgar than normal. My anxiety is out of control. I took an extra dose of my antipsychotic and sleep meds. I have also took two muscle relaxers. I’m so dizzy.

I should probably go to the psych emergency room but my water heater is leaking and I’m waiting on the maintenance guy to come and fix it. I guess I have to just ride it out until later today.

A Not So Idle Threat

Group meeting number three today. Things aren’t going well, I have had several drinks every day but one in the last two weeks. Today the group counselor threatened to place me in an inpatient program if I am not able to string three sober days together. I have to stop. I want to stop. If I could on my own I wouldn’t be there.

The “D” Word

I had my final session with session with the therapist from my company’s Employee Assistance Program. We reviewed my progress and the tools we have created to help me get through everyday life. I told her about the trip to the Emergency Room over the weekend and about my anxiety even being on the property. For the first time since we have been meeting she brought up the dreaded “D” word… Disability. She told me that even with the progress we have made that I may want to pursue disability rather than making my overall mental health worse by continuing in the hell that is my job.

Hell is the perfect word to describe my job. Working in a call center for a cable company is hands down the worst job I have ever had in my 30 years in the workplace. I am not the only one who feels this way either. Of the 19 people who were in my training class only 8 remain after eight months. As miserable as I am I am proud in an odd sort of way that I have outlasted over half the class.

Widespread Panic

Yesterday I had the worst panic attack I have ever had. I was at work and the first call I took was a complaint from a woman who was not receiving all of the channels she should have. She was rude and abusive, refusing to allow me to ask any questions, or to speak at all really. After about ten minutes of verbal abuse she demanded to speak to a supervisor. I passed her over to a supervisor and my first instinct was to run. I ripped my headset off and ran for the door. By the time I was to the door I realized that running wasn’t an option, so I went to the restroom and vomited. After vomiting for what seemed like 20 minutes I returned to my desk. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to explode. I was having a hard time catching my breath and I felt like I was going to pass out. Not wanting to get hurt if I dod pass out, I sat on the floor and tried to regulate my breathing.

One or more of my coworkers alerted my supervisor who came over to check on me. Her first reaction was to have me call the employee nurse line. After being on hold for about ten minutes I described my symptoms and the nurse asked to speak to my supervisor. She told my supervisor to call 911. The ambulance arrived shortly thereafter and took me to the hospital. At the hospital they gave me an EKG, blood tests, oxygen, and a saline IV. After spending close to four hours in the ER, they let me go home, agreeing with me that it was indeed a panic attack, and told me to follow up with my own doctor.

Today I am feeling much better, the only lingering effect is a large bruise on the back of my hand where the IV was. The ER doctor told me I can return to work on Monday. I am kind of worried about going back. My coworkers saw me in a vulnerable position, with absolute terror in my eyes. During one of the phone calls I can’t remember it was 911 or the nurse I was asked if I took any unusual medications, I blurted out something about antipsychotics. The fact that I take a large dose of antipsychotics is something that I didn’t need anyone I work with, particularly my supervisor knowing. Everyone that was there yesterday saw exactly how fragile my mental state is, and will now think lesser of me. I am really not looking forward to going back.

February 14, 1985 – 30 Years Later

On Thursday February 14, 1985 I was a 16 year old junior in high school, extremely depressed and angry at the world. The pain was unbearable and on this night I made my first suicide attempt. I wrote a note, swallowed a bottle of antidepressants, slashed my wrists and laid down waiting for it to end. Two days later I woke up in the intensive care unit, EKG leads all over my body and a tube down my throat. I remained in the ICU for three days and once I was stable enough I was transferred to a psychiatric hospital where I remained for 46 days.

When I finally was released from the psychiatric hospital I was faced with the task of resuming everyday life. The one thing I knew for sure was there was no way in hell I was going back to my high school. I had missed nearly two months of school by that point and would have to repeat 11th grade. The prospect of stepping back into that building and being branded as the freak who tried to kill herself by 3,200 students was a no go. I begged and pleaded with my parents to let me transfer to another nearby school so I could complete my education. My father who was the stingiest person I have ever met refused to let me transfer because it would cost money. Because I wasn’t allowed to transfer I had no choice other than dropping out of high school. The day before my suicide attempt would be the last day I set foot into a classroom until I started college at 40.

So much and so little has changed in the last 30 years. I still suffer from crippling depression, I still have visible scars from that night. I’ve had 3 more stays in psychiatric hospitals. The changes that have occurred are profound. The biggest factor in my depression back then was my gender identity. I knew that I was a female on the inside but society told me that I was a freak for feeling that way. As I got older I started realizing that there were other people like me. I read as much as I could about the topic. I finally transitioned when I was in my mid-forties.