I need to start at the beginning though. Probably starting back in early 2016 I had started to feel myself crack or not be able to handle and hold how I was feeling inside of me. I had been off my anti-depressants that I taken after Carson was born for a while but I had started to feel "not right" again. I decided to try some therapy that summer but my therapist and I didn't really match but I didn't know what to say until one appointment I had been forgotten that it was my day and I left determined never to go back to a therapist again. That day though did something more to me. See going to a therapist in the first place was really hard for me because it felt like I was paying somebody to be my friend. I thought to myself "am I really this pathetic?". I got over that pride and went anyway but that day I was forgotten about had me thinking "I'm so worthless that I can't even pay someone to be my friend". Top that off with how I was starting to crack from my entire life at that point (from my earlier blog post) I was starting to go downhill. However, I had a handle on life...I was surviving and that was that. I kept up pretending to be fine, I was cheerful around others, and kept to myself basically.
Go into August of 2016 when I got pregnant with Ben and I was able to be on a temporary high. I was excited to be pregnant again and I was excited because this time we were going to be surprised! I had a plan to stay active to keep the morning sickness at bay and I was going to eat healthy and just make this the best pregnancy because up to that point all of my pregnancies had gotten progressively more miserable and harder. At 6 weeks on the dot the morning sickness hit and it hit HARD. With my first 3 I was really sick but could function and manage somewhat...with Ben though I was knocked flat out. If I over exerted myself the tiniest bit I was even sicker for 2-3 days, heck if I even thought about over exerting myself I was sicker for 2-3 days lol. On my "good" days I could make it out to the floor AND turn the TV on for my 2 kids at home and on my "really good" days I only threw up once after dropping Kenna off at preschool. Needless to say, my pregnancy with Ben was rough. I was NOT active and I couldn't eat hardly anything much less anything healthy. I gave up teaching my boot camp with plans to do it again after he was born and just accepted I needed to get through this pregnancy the best I could.
Well, Ben was born and all went well. His labor and delivery was fast and furious which was new for me along with not having a staffed nursery at the hospital but I had my red headed boy and all of us loved him. I was even pleased because emotionally I was feeling pretty good. I wasn't stressed about breast feeding because I chose to bottle feed him from day one and everything was just going great. Granted the week after he was born was preschool graduation, the dance dress rehersal and the dance recital but hey what's one more kid? That's what everyone told me that after 3 kids the 4th was "just one more" so I was just trying to take it all in stride.
Then summer hit. All of a sudden I was home alone all day with 4 young kids. I laughed at the thought of resurrecting my boot camp and focused on just trying not to be on the show hoarders. The girls still had activities to be driven to, I had a baby to take care of and just trying to keep all the kids alive. Plus Duke was starting up a new business where his employee quit which left him having to do that job after he got done at the radio station (bless his heart that man is amazing). As each week went by I felt myself slipping more and more until about 6 weeks after Ben had been born I knew the depression had hit. I went to my check up where I told my doctor I needed to start anti-depressants and he suggested along with it to see a therapist. Well from my previous experience I told him I was fine and that in the past the anti-depressants had done the job just fine. However, this time I had more than just post partum depression.
Next thing I knew school started. I thought once school started I could breathe. The two girls would be in school leaving me with the two boys at home. I was so very wrong. Monday-Thursday I was having to load the boys up to go pick the girls up from school to run to an activity. Top that off that when football starts Duke is gone on Fridays to follow the high school team. Along with that-that year was a travel year which meant like two overnighters and several very, very LONG drives for games (look at Wyoming-there's no "short" drive anywhere).
I noticed I wasn't feeling better and I was starting to self-harm....a lot. My doctor knew and was encouraging me to go to a therapist but I refused so he upped my medicine dosage to try and help but it didn't. I just started thinking that there was something wrong with me and that I don't need to waste my doctor's time with me not getting better because I couldn't be fixed. I cancelled my next Dr.'s appointment, however he also is Ben's doctor so I would see him every other month or so for well child check ups and being the fantastic doctor that he his would also check up on me too. He knew I wasn't doing well and kept encouraging me to see a therapist but I would come up with an excuse why I couldn't. Eventually though I let him contact my bishop (who's my dad now) to get me the number of LDS family services for some therapist help. My dad called me with the number and I wrote it down with no intention of calling...and I didn't. I kept going the way I was-pretending I was fine, self harming, keeping stuff inside, and not ever asking for help. I knew I was a burden, inconvience, and I didn't need to bother anyone or waste anyone's time.
Things kept spiraling downhill. My wrists were nothing but scratches and cuts, my kids were asking everyday why I kept having "owies" on my wrists, my poor husband was worried about me but I still kept pretending I was fine but truth was I was slowly dying on the inside. I didn't want to be around people anymore, I didn't want to go outside, I didn't want to ride my horses, etc. I just wanted to lay around and not be touched. I was becoming a shell of a person...someone who was just going through the motions of everyday life because I had to. I knew I had to be a mother and a wife and keep fulfilling those responsibilities so that people wouldn't become aware that I was struggling. Also, by this time with knowing I would never go back to teaching, not horse riding or doing anything that I did before having Ben I told myself that all I was ever going to achieve in this life is being a wife and mother. That's who I was and nothing else. I wasn't Carrie. I was mom and Duke's wife. Not bad things but I didn't have a name...I was just the person that made sure there was food, our kids were being decent and that we didn't end up on the TV show hoarders.
When November came things started to get scary. Beginning in the summer I had feelings of not caring if I died, but I didn't want to die. Come November those were starting to change to wanting to die. I didn't have a plan right then but I knew I had to escape how I was feeling and stop being a burden to those around me. I was getting desperate and was wanting help but didn't ask because I was embarrassed that I let it get that bad and also I didn't really know how to ask for help since my whole life I hid problems like this because that was what we were supposed to do. The one thing I did allow myself to do was save the Text-In Suicide number for just in case. I kept pushing through though...through Thanksgiving and a Christmas dance recital that McKaty was a part of. Along with spending long hours with the kids and not ever really taking a break. I put on the happiest face I could muster but would cry and scratch at night hoping someone would notice how bad I was doing and make me get help because I didn't know what to do.
Sometime in that month I took Ben in for a well child check up and after the doctor was done checking him over he started talking to me and such. He noticed how bad my wrists had gotten and I admitted I felt like a shell of a person-I didn't tell him I wasn't taking my meds at that time or was becoming suicidal. He asked if I would talk to my bishop at least and I reluctantly agreed. The following Sunday or something I asked my bishop (my dad) at church if the doctor had called him. He told me no and asked why he would be...instantly getting nervous and scared I tried to get myself out of that conversation but he didn't let me (thank goodness looking back now). We ended up talking in his office where he told me he wanted to help me and my family and volunteered to take the boys off my hands the next day for a little bit. He also told me to call him at anytime if I needed anything. I thanked him for being willing to watch the boys and told him I would call if needed-although in my head I knew I wouldn't because calling on the phone terrifies me. I got a short break the next day and such and everything was going okay for most of that week.
As the end of the week got closer I started to get really bad. There was a cheer competition coming up that McKaty was in and Duke had a basketball game that weekend and was going to be gone. My mother in law was going to take the younger kids but I was still really nervous about going because I hadn't been sleeping well for a long time and got tired really, really quickly-especially driving. Top that anxiety off with some more long days with the kids and such and by Wednesday of that week I was falling apart. Curled up in my room sobbing because I needed help...I needed a break but I didn't know how to ask for help. I typed a text to my now dad saying I was in trouble but it took me a good 10 minutes or so to hit send. After I hit send I slid my phone away from me like it was poisonous. Disgusted with what I had done. I had interrupted someones day...I was being a burden and inconvience...he was surely going to say that he couldn't help...nobody could...I was sure I was not worth helping. I was freaking out with what I had done and started cutting more until I could get under control. I looked at my phone and saw that my dad (bishop) had texted me back saying he would call me when he could. He did and I just stared at the phone hovering over the answer button...I pushed it and he asked what was going on. I couldn't talk, I couldn't move...I was literally frozen...but he didn't give up. My dad (bishop) said that he would get to my house as soon as he could being he was a couple of hours away at the moment. I said ok and we hung up. I held on until he got there where I fell apart saying how I was desperate for a break, I couldn't be a mom anymore, and that I was super nervous for that Saturday driving myself, McKaty, and another girl to Blackfoot that Friday. Again my dad (bishop) volunteered to take us and wouldn't take no for an answer even though I tried very hard to refuse his offer.
I didn't know it at the time but that Saturday wouldn't only change my life forever but was an answer to many prayers I had said for many year a long time ago. We all went to Blackfoot...had as much fun as you could in Blackfoot (there's nothing there...) and started home after the competition (which McKaty's team won FYI because they're awesome :) ). During the drive home I opened up more about what was going on with me and through my head and such. Of course I thanked my dad (bishop) a million times for giving up his Saturday to go sit through a cheer and dance competition. On the way home though I felt this weird feeling though-something I hadn't felt since I was very little. It took me until we were almost home to figure out what that feeling was. That day for the first time since I was about 8 years old I had felt like a daughter. I somehow managed to tell my dad (bishop) this and he said that he had kinda felt that way too. I opened up some about how I grew up and such and he said he would be honored to be a father figure to me. I felt good about that and such but I knew that feeling like a daughter was just for that day and even though it was awesome, comforting and great I knew that it was only meant to be temporary....or so I thought.
The beginning of the following week I felt recharged...more so than I had in a long time. It barely lasted a day though. By the end of the day I was empty again from taking care of kids, running kids to places, not eating, not sleeping enough, knowing I had to do it all over again the next day, and just trying to survive the day with all of the negative thoughts that were running through my head and draining me of energy. I made it some more days but it was during that weekend of McKaty's Christmas dance recital is when my plan formed. I was sitting there watching her and thinking "McKaty deserves a better mom...someone who isn't tired and onery all of the time. Someone who can get her dance ready. Someone who is more patient and etc." I convinced myself that all of my kids needed someone other than me. Then I convinced myself that Duke also needed a better wife. Someone who didn't have so many problems, who could handle the long days with the kids, was better at being a homemaker and etc. I convinced myself that I wasn't needed and not wanted around. My dad (bishop) didn't really want to be a father figure to me...he only said that to be nice. All of these things were going through my head and I formed a suicide plan...but there was a voice in the back of my head saying "no...they need you. What would happen to your kids and Duke?". It nagged me every time I would think about my plan.
The following Tuesday I went to see my doctor...not about my depression and such but about my hair loss that I was having. He checked me over for it and I assumed we were done but he sat down and asked me how I was doing. I said the same and he checked my wrists which were pretty awful since I had been cutting at least once a day...sometimes more everyday for months. He asked me if I felt suicidal which I said yes to...he then asked me if I had a plan...which I reluctantly said yes to. Well that set off a huge domino effect of things. He told me that he was legally bound to have me evaluated by a therapist to make sure I was considered safe. I said no. He said I didn't have a choice and that he would get things set up so I could talk to one that day. I had to get some blood work done so he told me to go get it done then come back to the doctor office side to get things set up. I said ok and left to go get my blood drawn on the hospital side. I got the blood work taken and left. I was NOT going to talk to a therapist. I had a couple of things I had to do since the boys were with my dad (bishop) and on my way to pick them up the nurse from the doctors office called me asking where I had gone. I told her I left because I wasn't going to talk to a therapist and to not worry because I would be fine. She reluctantly hung up and I went to my dad's (bishops) house. I was really nervous and agitated and he asked me to sit and relax for a minute. I did and while I was there my phone started to ring-I knew who it would be but pulled it out to make sure. I wasn't going to answer it but my dad (bishop) saw the number and said "hey that's the doctors office number!". So I answered it. My doctor asked me what was going on and I told him I wasn't going to see a therapist. He replied that I had to and that I could either take myself in to see her or he was going to have to send a cop to get me. I was mad and annoyed so I told him I would head in. I filled in my dad (bishop) on what was going on and he and the boys came with me.
We got to the therapists office and my dad stayed out in the waiting area with my boys while I went back and talked. I was anxious, agitated and just mad overall. It was getting to be time for my girls to get out of school and there was no one home for them. So while I'm trying to talk to the therapist I was also trying to find somewhere for my girls to go. I did thank goodness and got back to the evaluation. I had hit a point where I didn't care how rude I was to anyone but at the same time I knew I had to be honest because if I wasn't things could get worse. I was honest with her saying that I couldn't promise that I would be safe on my own when I walked out that door. I told her I had a plan to down all the pills in my house...no matter what they were. I told her how I thought Duke, my kids and just all those around me would be better off without me. I told her how I thought I was so beyond broken that I couldn't be fixed anymore so why try? She left to make a phone call and my dad came in with the boys and I was a mess but trying to hold it all together still. The therapist came back and told me that part of her wanted me committed right then to make sure I was safe but she also knew of the support I now had around me and that if I signed a safety plan, went and finished my doctors appointment, and set up regular meetings with a therapist then she wouldn't have me committed. I decided to go with the 2nd option. I signed a safety plan saying that I wouldn't be alone but with an adult at all times for like the next 72 hours or something like that, that all the medication in the house would be kept away from me and administered by Duke, that I would finish my doctors appointment and set up regular meetings with a therapist. I signed it, my dad and I packed up the boys and went back to the doctors office.
Back in the office my doctor came in to talk to me again. He said that I was not in a good place and things needed to change. He asked what I wanted to do and I told him I just wanted to be left alone...that obviously wasn't an option. I told him that I didn't want Duke to know...with an upcoming basketball tournament and such I just didn't want to burden him with all of this. Well, that wasn't really an option either. My doctor said that he would talk to Duke for me but Duke needed to be brought up to speed on everything. I was broken, defeated and just lost. This wasn't supposed to happen...I had kept everything together for 21 years....why now did everything have to fall apart? Duke came in and thinking back to that day I can't help but fall more in love with him each time. Not only was Duke not mad but so loving and kind. Telling me that it was okay, that I was more important than work and basketball. Telling me that he knew I hadn't been okay and that now he was there to help me 100% no matter what. Telling me that he still wanted and loved me even though I was falling apart. Everything he said that day helped me feel a little better. After Duke talked to me the doctor and my dad came back in and we came up with a plan for the next few days/week, which was basically the safety plan the therapist put together that I signed but with the agreement that the next day Duke, my dad and I would be calling to set something up with the therapist. Once we were all on the same page, we finally went home.
Once home I tried being okay. I tried so hard but I couldn't. I was mad that I had said anything at all. I felt like I had just ruined our entire families life...especially Duke. The few moments of relief I felt in the doctors office was gone and I just knew I couldn't be here anymore bringing my family down and being this huge burden on them. I didn't want to talk to a therapist when I couldn't be fixed. All feelings of abandonment, being unwanted, everything that I buried from my childhood was coming out telling me that I have always been broken and that I could never be fixed. There was only one way that I thought I could be fixed at the time and that was by ending myself. I fought with this all evening and well into the night. As I lay in bed that night trying to sleep (going on like day 4 or something of very, very little sleep) I knew I couldn't live through the next day. The next day was going to be it. I was going to grab any pills I could, go out like I was feeding the horses and take them all. For an hour or so this was going through my mind but at the same time fighting back was the thought that I had signed and promised not to hurt myself and if I was I was going to tell someone. I promised not only my doctor and dad that but the man I love beyond anything-Duke. After many agonizing hours I told Duke I wasn't safe and that nothing was going to stop me from being safe. He called his mom to come to the house then took me to the ER.
We got to the ER and I remember just not caring. I didn't care what they did to me, what they said to me, etc. I was literally a shell of a person. I just sat there curled up into a ball. They asked me questions, if I had taken anything, how much I had slept, etc. I just answered their questions in a flat voice or had Duke answer them because I was done with life. Literally done with life. They gave me a sleeping pill in hopes that it would help me relax and sleep but it didn't. I got admitted to the hospital where they gave me a shot of some sort of sleeping medicine. I fought the medicine for as long as I could but eventually crashed. I'm told that I slept for like 15 hours straight...no one could wake me up. I remember waking a few times toward the end of those hours and seeing my dad there but that's it until another therapist came and evaluated me.
I remember her waking me up and telling me she had to talk to me but that was it. I don't know her name or what questions she asked me. I remember sitting up like she asked and just wanting to get it done so I could lay back down and go back to sleep. She evaluated me apparently and left...so I went back to sleep. A bit later I was waking up a little bit again and learned that I had been deemed unsafe and had been put on Title 21...which means I was committed. I was going to be taken to the jail in Kemmerer to be held until I could see a judge. I was confused, still out of it and just wanted to go home. I felt better than I did since I had finally gotten some sleep and wasn't nearly as defensive. I didn't ask much still though because like I said I was still pretty groggy and out of it. Poor Duke though couldn't get anything answered. All the therapist told him was that he couldn't come down or come see me. He had to stay away and a cop had to take me. His dad came and things got a little tense out in the hall because nobody could answer any of their questions or wouldn't answer them. Duke was fine with them holding me but he just wanted information I believe and what to do so that I could come home faster (correct me if I'm wrong babe). After some heated arguments and words I got loaded up in a cop car (in the front seat at least) and started down to Kemmerer. We did have to pick up an actual criminal for the ride down but he rode in the back.
It was like an 1.5 hour drive to Kemmerer and the cop that took me was awesome. He was telling me how everything was going to be okay, how I was probably only going to be in there for less than a day, etc. We get there and they take care of the backseat criminal first because he was going to the actual jail part. All the while I was being assured that I wasn't going to be treated like an inmate and etc. They get that guy taken care of and it was my turn. I'm taken in through a different door to an actual holding cell. Yes, for not being a criminal I had to be in a holding cell. I got patted down/searched, handed a "pillow" and blanket for the "bed", showed where the bathroom was and that I wouldn't be able to leave unless they came and got me-the door was locked from the outside. I was still so groggy and sleepy that everything of my situation hadn't truly sunk in yet. I got as comfortable as I could and fell asleep again.
I slept into most of the next day then I truly woke up. I had remembered from the night before being told that I would be seeing the judge that day (it's Friday now) and that would determine what would happen to me. I sat in the bed trying to remember everything that had happened and how I got to a holding cell in Kemmerer. Of course I knew and remembered all the events leading up to my sleeping shot and I remember being "evaluated" but I couldn't remember what I had said. I felt somewhat better mentally because of all the sleep I had gotten (and desperately needed) but I was starting to feel agitated and anxious again. I pushed the button on the intercom and asked if I could call Duke. An officer came and got me a little bit later and I called Duke. I don't really remember what our conversation was but we were both just trying to figure out what the heck was going on. I told him I was doing okay and was feeling better and that I would try and call him after I saw the judge. I went back to my holding cell where I watched TV and glared at the people that came and checked on me through the window in the door. I was able to shower later and clean myself up (I won't lie I totally kept the toothpaste tube because it says "Maximum Security" and for whatever reason I found it funny-and still do) but then I went back to my cell. I asked the officers when I would be seeing the judge since it was getting to be lunch and such...they didn't know. I decided after lunch I would call Duke again to see if he had figured out anything new. They brought me "lunch" which I guess what was on that tray was considered food. I couldn't tell you what it was and I didn't eat more than 5 bites of it...I tried their "applesauce" but it was honestly the worst applesauce I had ever tasted and I still don't know what the other stuff on the tray was or what was in the cup for a drink.
I believe I called Duke afterwards along with talking to an officer there. The officer said that the judge was busy for the rest of the day and wouldn't be able to see me until Monday. Duke was trying to figure out what was going on with the county attorney or whoever but he didn't have a clue on what was supposed to be happening either. Everything was frusturating and scary. I called my dad (bishop) to just to talk to someone for some comfort. Other than that I was in my cell...watching TV and freaking out that I would have to be there all weekend along with being mad that nobody knew what the hell was going on.
Then a miracle happened. The sheriff of our county happened to go to Kemmerer that afternoon and found out I was there and that I was married to Duke. He learned everything that had happened and arranged for a therapist to come down and talk to me. He told me that the judge had no plans on seeing me that day...but on Monday. A different therapist came down to talk and evaluate me again. I did feel better and I wanted to go home. She agreed that I should and could go home but again I had to agree to a safety plan in order for that to happen. The plan was that I was to meet with her again on the following Monday, all medication had to go through Duke and any unnecessary medication had to be thrown away, I (again) had to be with an adult at all times until Monday, and I believe that I needed to start taking my meds again. I agreed to it all because I just needed and wanted to be back with Duke and my kids. Thanks to the sheriff and the therapist I was able to get out of that holding cell that night and go home.
I snapped these pictures of my holding cell...I was able to have my phone in there with me right before I left.
The weekend happened...I helped at the basketball tournament, watched McKaty cheer during some of the halftimes, and stuck to my safety plan. However, I knew I still wasn't quite right. I wasn't sleeping again and the suicide thoughts wouldn't leave. I had no will to live and again just knew that everyone would be better off without me. I mean look at what I had just put my family and others through that week.
Monday came and Duke and I met with the therapist to see where I was at and what plans needed to be made. We talked and I answered honestly and such...when she asked me if I could promise I wouldn't kill myself if I were to walk out of that office right now I hesitated. She saw it in my face and I knew lying would be pointless. I told her I couldn't promise her that. After that she gave me two "choices". The first was that Duke and I would drive down to Idaho Falls where I would "willingly" check myself into the Behavioral Health Clinic (BHC) to start getting the help and care that I needed. The second choice was that I would be put back on Title 21 and sent to Casper (I think) to the state mental health hospital whether I wanted to go or not. I asked if there was a 3rd choice but she said no. So, Duke and I took the first choice. We left, I got packed, we dropped the kids off at his mom's house and headed to Idaho Falls.
Once we got to Idaho Falls we went to the hospital (IRMC) and to the ER. There they did a blood draw, asked the questions all over again of why I was there, and then we waited. I don't know how long we waited in the ER but it seemed like an eternity. I was feeling agitated, nervous, scared, annoyed, and a bunch of other feelings which didn't help the wait. Finally, the cop showed up to take me over the to the Behavioral Health Center or BHC. Duke couldn't take me over but at least this time he could follow. Also, this time I rode in the back of the cop car (come on we all knew I would end up in the back of one eventually lol). BHC is literally 5 minutes from the hospital so the ride was quick. When we got there the cop escorted me and Duke inside where we got taken down to the "Adult Unit". This is apparently where all adults go when they first get into BHC. We go into the unit and they search through my bag taking what they call contraband...that word still makes me chuckle...basically it was anything that I could use to kill or hurt myself. They searched me, gave me some scrubs and then took Duke and I into an interview type room. There they went over the questions of why I was there, insurance questions, and what not. The guy doing the interview said that I might have to stay in that adult unit for the night and that I would have a roommate. I seriously gave him my utmost look of disgust. I was mad I had to be there and I was mad I was going to have to share a room with someone I didn't know. He said that he would look some things over and see if I could get transferred over to what they called the "Daybreak" unit.
Me in the back of the cop car that took me over to BHC
Now a short note...there is a difference between the Adult and Daybreak units at BHC. In the Adult unit the patients don't leave the unit at all. They bring meals to them, do the therapy groups and such all in that unit. In the Daybreak unit the patients are able to go to the cafeteria, gym, and to the recreational therapy room...all escorted of course. So now back to the story....
With the questions and information gathering complete it was time to say goodbye to Duke...again. It was hard on the both of us. I didn't want to be left there with these people at this mental hospital (yup I said it!) and I was scared and just wanted to keep Duke with me because he is my rock and best friend. I mean it's not like I could text him and such while I was in there because they took my phone. I know it was hard on Duke because he also didn't want me in there and also now had to go home and try to work and be dad all at the same time. It was hard.
When Duke left I just sat curled up on a chair. One of the workers said I could watch TV so I changed the channel to something I liked and tried to distract myself. There were some other patients who were in the group therapy room just off the TV room playing a game. They made me uncomfortable with how they were acting and such (I know I shouldn't judge but put yourself in my shoes for a moment). They asked me if I wanted to play and I shook my head. After Duke left I literally lost any and all desire to talk or care about anything. I felt onery and just wanted everyone to leave me alone. Thank heavens they didn't try and bother me any longer and I just sat in that chair watching whatever I was watching trying not to think or feel.
I don't know how long I sat there but after a while a worker came to me and said that I was able to be transferred to the Daybreak unit that night. So we gathered up my belongings and walked down the hall to Daybreak. The poor worker tried to make small talk but I just ignored him. We go into Daybreak and he hands me over to the workers there. They take my things...inventory them...let me have what I'm allowed to have and ask me if I need anything else. I shake my head and the head worker tells me what room I'm in and asks if I want to join the other patients who were all watching a movie. I shake my head and quietly say I'm going to bed.
I went into BHC on December 18th, 2017. I learned that the longest stay was usually 5 days so I hoped that I would be out in that amount of time. The next day I talked to a million different people and learned we get checked in on every 15 minutes...even at night. I learned that there was a schedule of things each day and believe me they STRONGLY encourage you to do everything. In the morning before breakfast we would have to fill out a sheet where we would write down a goal, what we would do to achieve that goal, and rate different feelings like anxiety, depression, self-harm thoughts, suicide thoughts, etc. Then at night we would say how we did on our goal for the day and rate ourselves again. Every damn night I would get asked if "I'll be safe". Ugh lol just thinking about that annoys me lol. Those first few days though I still didn't talk hardly, refused to go to any of the groups, refused to eat and just refused to do anything. All I wanted to do was lay in my bed for the rest of my life. I was empty and broken.
It wasn't until one of the psychologists there finally got upset with me enough after the 3rd or 4th day of me refusing everything and hardly not talking to tell me that either I could choose to use the help available or I was going to go somewhere else where I would be forced. Well I didn't want to know what that would be like so I slowly started participating and eating some again. I was still pretty onery but I was doing stuff. However, with the encouragement of Duke along with him telling me that he and the kids wanted me home helped with my decision to stop fighting everything and start participating (there were phones there but old school phones on the wall).
Each day was basically the same. We would get woken up, get our vitals taken, do our daily goal sheet, go to breakfast, then there would be morning group therapies, lunch, afternoon group therapies, gym time, dinner, free time, evening goal sheet recap then free time until bed. We would be pulled out to talk to our therapists and psychologists throughout the day as well. Let me just say right now I really hated being on a schedule, I hated that I was checked on 15 minutes a day, and I hated that like 10 minutes until the time a group therapy started those damn workers would "strongly encourage" us to go (I actually ended up liking most of the nurse people that worked there but still!). I mean I would be showering and when it came time for them to do checks they would come banging on the bathroom door (which had no lock by the way) to make sure I was still alive. I mean I get why they do all of those things-its for everyone's safety-but that didn't make it any less annoying. I compare my time at BHC to being grounded as an adult. We were chaperoned everywhere, couldn't be alone for more than 15 minutes and had to talk about why we were in there, talk about how we were feeling along with learning coping skills.
I think it was around the 5th day is when I started to get anxious and frustrated about still being in BHC. By the 5th day I had seen a good amount of people come and go while I was still stuck there. I knew I needed to be honest because my dad constantly reminded me that it was my dishonesty that had got me in this mess to begin with (he also told me that my lack of willingness of participation was why I was still in there) so when we would do the group recap at night and I still felt suicidal along with high scores in the depression and anxiety that made me frustrated too. I got frustrated with the therapists because they would ask me what made me, me and what I enjoyed doing. I mean I was a mom and a wife and that was it. I had lost my love and enjoyment of riding and being outside...probably the 2 last things that I had left that made me who I was. And now being in BHC I couldn't be a mom or a wife so I felt like I wasn't anything. I flat out hated group therapy (recreational therapy was alright). The psycologists kept asking me if the meds were working and would change things around which I hated and most of all nothing was working to help me feel better.
The absolute worst thing though was that I was in there over Christmas. I remember how excited I had felt earlier in the month because for once I had Christmas all ready and I love watching my kids on that day...plus it would be Ben's first Christmas. As Christmas drew nearer I remember how awful I felt and I would ask Duke or my dad often when I called them to just come and get me. I knew they really couldn't but I didn't want to be in there any longer but I couldn't leave because I still wasn't safe. I remember on Christmas Eve I was super depressed because I was missing the Christmas party with Duke's family, I was missing out on our own little Christmas Eve traditions, frantically finishing wrapping on Christmas Eve because I put it off because I hate wrapping, watching my favorite Christmas movies while I frantically wrapped, setting up and filling up the Christmas stockings, and most of all enjoying and talking with Duke about how fun the next day will be and just being with him. It was one of the most intense emotional pains I had ever felt and in that moment I had wished I had none of it so that I wouldn't have to feel so awful about missing it.
Christmas morning did come and the staff had given those of us in BHC at the time a present which was a coloring book and a really nice blanket...of course we had to give back the bags because of the strings on them lol. The silver lining of the day was that Duke brought the kids to BHC so we could open presents together. It wasn't ideal but at least it was something. My beyond awesome mom, dad, and brother had wrapped all of the presents and gotten the last minute stocking gifts for so that Duke didn't have to worry about all of that. We had a great time opening presents and Duke showed me pictures he had taken of the kids from that morning. We spent a good 3 hours or so together I think and the staff was awesome in letting them come as well. But of course they couldn't stay...so when it was time to go I said good-bye, hugged all of my kids at tight as I could, hugged and kissed Duke as tight and as long as I could and watched them walk out of the door wishing I was with them. The rest of the day was very tough for me emotionally even though I didn't show much on the outside except to my bestie Jessica. Not only that but there had been no regular group therapies or individual therapies on Christmas Eve or Christmas which made for some long days as well.
It was the days between Christmas and New Years that I learned about ECT or Shock Therapy. During one of my visits with the on of the psychologists I happened to get the one that day that did the shock therapies. For those that don't know shock therapy is when they give you a seizure, you're put out and it takes less than 15 minutes. She explained to me all the scientific stuff that it does to your brain but I just tell people that it basically resets your brain. It's not a one and done deal though...I think the normal series was like 8-10 therapy sessions done over a series of weeks. Anyway, I told her I would think about it, read the info she gave me and talk to Duke about it then get back to her. Duke and I discussed it and I even asked my dad to weigh in on it. In the end I figured that meds weren't getting me any closer to getting out of there so lets give this a shot. I told the psychologist that I wanted to do it so we got started on the all the paperwork (insurance crap basically) and tests that needed to be done to get it going. I was nervous about it but excited at the possibility of hopefully getting out of there because up to that point I had been in BHC for over a week and wanted to get out but couldn't because I still wasn't safe.
We got through the paperwork hubbub and I got approved for the shock therapy from my insurance and I was set to go. The timing of it all though I had to wait until January 2nd for my first shock therapy so that meant another holiday in BHC and a couple more very long days. Basically me and the other patients had a movie marathon which was fun but just long and I was really restless. I was done being in there, staring out the windows wishing I could go outside...I had only been outside once since I had gone in there-when I got taken to the hospital for some sort of scan. I was done being checked on every 15 damn minutes, was done with schedules and talking to people, I was just done with the place. I wanted to get back home with Duke, my kids, my animals, the family that had taken us in and just start trying to get back to mom and home life. I missed everything I loved and needed it back badly.
January 2nd finally came and I got taken over to the hospital for the first therapy. It felt so good to go outside! Duke met me there and I was nervous but excited and for the first time in a long time hopeful that something would get these suicidal thoughts out of my head and maybe help me get feeling better. The worst part was the IV (ugh!)...but once that was in I got wheeled back. Shock therapy is just an outpatient deal but they stick the electrode things to your head, hook you up to monitors and put a cuff on one of your legs so that they can measure the length of the seizure because the rest of your body is relaxed from a muscle relaxer I think. Then they put you to sleep, do the procedure then take you back to wake up. I remember waking up and of course at first I was groggy but I remember being so happy that Duke was there. I felt really tired and such but once I could get myself dressed I got taken back to BHC and I was able to sleep some. I remember though that I felt lighter and a bit happier and my thoughts weren't constantly on thinking how everyone would be better off without me. My brain felt lighter. I don't really know how to explain it but I felt better. I met with my psychologist later that day and I told her how I was doing and FINALLY she felt that I was ready to go home. She wanted me to stay one more night to make sure nothing crazy happened from the shock treatment but she was sure I could go home the next day. I was thrilled to finally hear those words and so was Duke. He stayed that night in Idaho Falls and that night I had a hard time sleeping but at the same time I was also getting nervous. I was nervous about going back home. What if I got set off again? What if I couldn't handle things? What if I got taken away again? What if I hurt myself? What if...what if...what if? I had called my dad and told him the good news but also told him my fears. He assured me that yes it would be hard but things were different. I had people around me that love and care, and more importantly I had him and my mom around to help me get better...something I never had before. He calmed my fears some but they were still there.
Well of course the next day came, Duke showed up that morning, and we met with the psychologist I think to go over my plan of things that I needed to do when I got home like set up regular meetings with my therapist and schedule a meeting with my doctor. She asked about the support system at home and all of those types of things. It seriously took a half day to get me out of there but finally Duke and I walked out of there and I was able to walk out of that building without a chaperone and go where I wanted to go! I wasn't on a schedule, I was with my best friend and the man I love and I was going home! Still terrified yes but excited and ready too. We ate at a restaurant before going home and on the way home I told Duke about my fears. He assured me that between him, his family and my new family I was going to be okay. Our kids had been at his mom's house and when I first saw them I was excited and they were all over me...which was fine for like 10 minutes then I was done. I felt bad that I needed them away but I did. Duke sensed it and we got loaded up in our car and headed home since it was almost bed time anyway. We got home and I helped to the best of my ability with bedtime and such but I had a hard time I won't lie but it felt good to be home.
I was in BHC for 16 days. Since coming home January 2nd I went back to Idaho Falls for up to 10 more shock treatments I think. The shock treatments helped get me out of BHC, stop the constant suicide thoughts and helped me stay out of BHC. I was glad when I was done with the shock treatments though because they did take a lot out of me and I couldn't drive while I was getting them which is like the worst thing possible if you live in Wyoming. It was a hard adjustment getting back into mom and home life with the kids but I had Duke, his parents, and my parents that took me in-all helping and even though there were lots of up's and down's I made it through that crazy time and I'm still making it lol. It's been hard not being able to handle and cope things the way I used to...by bottling up everything and not talking about how I feel...or crawling back into my hole as I call it. It's been hard to not self harm when I've had really extreme emotions take over me, it's been hard to tell Duke and my parents how I feel and reach out for help when I've needed it. The reaching out for help part is still one of the hardest things for me to do. I've had suicidal thoughts come back to me but not like before and they never lasted more than a day. Also the suicidal thoughts since the shock treatments were more from wanting to escape from a situation I was in...not because I actually wanted to die...I know just crazy stuff. It's been hard accepting that for me to stay mentally okay I need to take time for myself away from my kids and doing things I enjoy...like I need a good chunk of time a couple times of week. I feel guilty for needing that. I've had a hard time trusting that my Bishop and his wife who took me in as their daughter weren't going to leave and abandon me so I would have to go through all of that again. I've had a hard time trying to fit into a family as a daughter and sister because let's face it I never really felt like either one of those with my old family. I still constantly feel like I'm a burden to those around me and an inconvenience. I still feel like I'm a mistake. Just a lot of things from the past 21 years that came flooding out that I haven't felt in a long time and never dealt with I've struggled with.
Despite all of that I am getting better. Those around me see it more than I do but I've seen small changes in myself. I trust that my mom and dad (Bishop and his wife) aren't going to abandon me no matter what and that I can tell them anything without a big overreaction...even if it's not great. The self-harm is less of a struggle and I've almost beaten it. I'm actually having good days and feel happiness and hope at times. I have a support system of family and friends around me that I can lean on. Probably the best thing though that came out of all of this was making a couple new friends that I love very much-Jessica and Emily I love you guys! Along with the new friends was being taken in my parents and their kids. The feeling of having a family I never knew was so healing and comforting...especially parents that love and care about you no matter what. Along with that my kids love having another set of grandparents and they are awesome with my kids. I feel whole and complete since they took me in and they help and make sure I don't go back into my hole as well.
The biggest hero out of all this though is Duke. He stayed by my side even though it was crazy hard. He kept things running at home (of course with help from his parents and mine) and made sure things ran as normally as possible. He kept it together for the kids even though I know he was falling apart on the inside. He drove the 2+ hours to Idaho Falls to visit me as often as he could and was strong for me the entire time. He helped me so much after I got out and he is still my rock and huge help. Despite this being very traumatic for both of us and we've had struggles since January I've never felt closer to him. I wouldn't be doing as well as I am if he wasn't around by my side.
Thank you for taking the time to read my story. I'm not sharing it for attention or sympathy but in hopes of maybe helping someone avoid what I had to go through. If any of the things I described above sound like what you are going through or someone that you know and love is going through please don't be afraid to speak up and help them. I remember wanting so badly to have someone realize I wasn't "fine" and tell me I needed to go get help. Also remember you can always call the suicide hotline at 1-800-273-8255 or if calling isn't your thing then text the Crisis Text Line by sending a text to 741741 and sending the word HOME. The texting line saved my life almost a year ago and it was easier for me to talk through text.
Along with all of that I'm grateful for an amazing Doctor who didn't let me fall through the cracks or give up on me, a very caring therapist who gets me, awesome friends who are there for me, amazing parents and family that took me in and basically completed me, resilient children, amazing in-laws, and of course my most amazing rock solid husband. Without these people I wouldn't be where I am now.
