Day Fourteen: Down the Rabbit Hole

Note: This entry is particularly long. I started to separate it into multiple entries, but I could not find a good place to split it that made sense to me. I am going to insert some pauses, if you will, in the form of asterisks, so that if you need to grab another cup of coffee, change a diaper, make a phone call or just take a break, you'll have some way of finding your place again. I apologize in advance for the length of it and offer my sincere gratitude to all of you who are reading. Thank you.

****

It is Wednesday morning and I am on my way to Mass for the third day in a row. This morning though, there is a healthy lunch packed in my insulated bag and although I'm not what I'd call really happy, my overall mood is definitely lighter as I drive along. Yesterday on my daily assessment, I rated the intensity of my depression at a 9 out of a possible 10, although in all honesty, it was probably closer to a 10. I know I was trying to hide it a little bit though. Today though, I feel like it is sitting somewhere around a 6 or 7. It's not a complete 180 degree difference, but definitely a step in the right direction. With any luck, by the end of the partial hospitalisation program, I will be able to get that number down to nearly 0.

After Mass, I feel a pang of hunger and realise that I have just enough time to grab a quick bite and a cup of coffee. I pull into a nearby gas station and go in the convenience store thinking I can perhaps get a granola bar or danish and a coffee for a bit less than going through the local McDonald's for a biscuit. I spy a blueberry muffin that looks pretty good and they have a couple of bunches fresh bananas at the checkout counter, so I snag one of those along with my coffee. I drive to the program and settle into the group room with my breakfast and Big Book. As I eat, I fill in my daily assessment, describing my depression intensity at a 6 and say that I feel emotionally cautiously optimistic. I feel more connected to God today too and despite the fact that Gray and I stayed up talking until about 1:30am, I don't feel nearly as tired as I have in recent months. Soon it is time for group to begin and instead of Samantha coming in to lead the group, there is someone else. I don't know this woman. She introduces herself as Kerri and almost immediately, my walls go up. I have never trusted women easily and the very fact that I trust Samantha in any way at all is a hugely significant thing. Samantha has earned both my trust and my respect. Who is this eejit and where is Samantha? I can feel myself furrowing my brow as I frown. Kerri says that Samantha is on her way and we'll get started in a little bit. She further explains that she's the roaming therapist and will be sitting in with us today. I breathe a quiet sigh of relief that Samantha is indeed coming.

A few minutes later, Samantha enters, apologizing as she makes her way around the table to her usual spot and we get started with sharing our daily assessments with the group. Although the last couple of days have found me reticent to share, I realize as my turn approaches that I feel a lot more like my normal talkative self today and I am ready to share that things seem a little better this morning. When it is my turn, I read down the column on my assessment and when I am done, I look up at Samantha. She is smiling. "I am so glad you're doing a bit better this morning."

I smile back. It isn't my best and it isn't coming from a super happy place, but it is something, I guess. "Me too," I reply. Not long after we finish sharing our daily assessments, we have our mid-morning break and I go to grab another cup of coffee. Not long after everyone has come back into the room, Kerri reappears and announces that she will be leading this session because Samantha has some paperwork to finish up but that she'll rejoin us after the lunch break. Great. I open my Big Book to the page we're supposed to be on and grab my pen and notebook in case I want to jot something down. A few minutes into the session, the door to the group room opens and Samantha comes in, clutching a piece of paper. She comes over to where I'm sitting and crouches down so we're at the same eye level and whispers to me that she had to write up that we disposed of my means yesterday and that she needs me to look over what she's written to make sure it's an accurate account of what happened and then if it is, to sign it indicating that I agree with what she's written. Her expression says that this is one of those formalities that they have to do and not any big deal, so I take the paper from her and read over it. From everything I can read, it is an accurate account of what we talked about and did yesterday afternoon, so I reach for my pen and sign it. As I do, I have the oddest sensation in my stomach that I have just signed my life away. That's ridiculous. It's just a formality. Just a "cover-their-asses" kind of thing. Don't sweat it. I hand the paper back to her and she says thanks and scurries out of the room.

****

The rest of the morning passes by pretty quickly and I spend a relatively calm hour and a half eating my lunch in the main group room while working on my box project. I flip through old magazines and catalogs, looking for inspiration to decorate my box and before I know it, our lunch break is winding down and the rest of the group who have gone out for lunch are returning and settling back in for the afternoon. I start shifting my stuff around, getting ready for things to start back up when Samantha comes into the group room and comes over to me. She says, "Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?"

I nod and say, "Sure." I start to slide my chair out to stand up when she tells me to go ahead and bring my Big Book and my personal stuff. Oh no. What is this? That odd sensation swoops through my stomach and I feel my heart rate increase just a bit. I comment to her as I stand up, "Why do I have a bad feeling about this?"

Her face is unreadable and she gives a little shrug. "I don't know," she replies and then immediately says that she'll meet me in the room where we did my initial intake in a couple of minutes. I nod and start packing up my stuff. That odd sensation has turned into a knot in my stomach, but I tell myself I'm just reading too much into it. That said, I am definitely nervous about what Samantha wants to talk to me about. I go in the intake room and sit down. About a minute later, Samantha enters and closes the door behind her. She sits down opposite me at the table. There is silence for a moment while I wait for her to speak.

"As you know, we have our weekly staff meeting on Wednesday during lunch and we discuss the patients and their progress. Obviously, given what you and I talked about yesterday and what we did by disposing of your means, I had to discuss that with the rest of the staff. As a result of that discussion, we have decided that you would be better served by going inpatient for a few days, getting on some meds, and getting a little more stable," she says.

My mouth suddenly feels like a desert and my heart leaps up into my throat. "No. No. NO! I don't want to do that. That would not be helpful. I want to stay here. This is helpful," I say in reply, all of this rushing out of my mouth in one breath. I look at her face and I see the briefest glimpse of discomfort flicker across it. She didn't want to have to tell me this. There is more.

"Let me put this another way," she says slowly and cautiously. "You cannot stay in this program. Dr. Bartlett has already signed your discharge papers and we've already got you a bed at Pine View," she says and I suddenly find that I can hardly breathe. There is another feeling I am feeling but I cannot put a name to it just yet. I am still trying to process what she has just said.

"What are my other options?" I manage finally. She explains that I can either go back to seeing Dr. Alt and Pendragon periodically or I can go inpatient. Neither of these are acceptable options. I need this program. I need the every day of this program so I can relearn the skills I've forgotten and recover from this. Going back to the limited care that Dr. Alt and Pendragon can give me every week or every other week isn't enough. Going inpatient isn't going to help either. It's more than I need. I don't need to be separated from my family and my home. I need this program. This is what I need!! I am suddenly aware that my face and chest and neck feel hot as though all the blood in my body has rushed toward them and my arms and hands are shaking even though they are resting on the table in front of me. My eyes fill with tears and I don't even try to stop them spilling down my cheeks. "No. No. I will not go inpatient. I don't need to get more stable. I was doing better today. I want to keep doing better. If I go inpatient it will just set me back! I won't do it. I won't!" I am speaking louder and louder as I say this and I am suddenly aware that what I am feeling is a complex mix of panic, anger, and a sense that my trust has been violated in a major way. I suddenly realise that the odd sensation I felt earlier when I signed that piece of paper was my gut trying to tell me that something more was going on that what I was being told.

"I know it's a scary thing to think about, but I really think it could be helpful to get you on some meds and then once you are more stable you can come back to partial. We would definitely welcome you back," she says, obviously sensing my panic at the prospect of this. "And it wouldn't be so long. It would only be about a couple of days, 3 at the most." She doesn't get it. I don't want to be away from my husband and my children for 2-3 days, locked up in a mental ward. It doesn't matter how long it is. I. don't. want. this. I stare at her in disbelief and shake my head slowly.

"I am so sorry," she begins again and I feel my anger intensifying. "We just really think it would be best if you go inpatient for a few days so you can get on some meds and get more stable. You know I think that if you'd been on some medication, that you might not have gotten as low as you did yesterday and it really would be a good idea to get some meds on board to help stabilize things a little more."

I explode.

"I WANTED to get started on some meds!!! I told you yesterday afternoon that I wanted to see Dr. Bartlett today so I could get started on some meds. I told you twice more today that I wanted to be sure to see him today so I could get started on something. I'm not refusing to get on meds!!!" I can feel my anger rising in my throat with each word. "What MORE was I supposed to do???" I am so loud now that I am almost shouting, but I don't care. Samantha repeats the line about taking a few days inpatient to get on meds and get stable and I wonder if that's the line she's rehearsed before coming in here. She is, despite my ever increasing volume, relatively calm and her calmness just infuriates me all the more. "I don't WANT to GO to the HOSPITAL!!!!!" I am now shouting and I am inserting every expletive I can lay my brain on into my sentences in every possible place where they even remotely fit. I think I'm even inventing a few new expletives in the process.

I am livid. This isn't just anger. This is white hot rage. I am crying and shouting and crying and swearing. Samantha lets me rage on, unchecked and she just sits there, waiting for me to take a decent enough breath that she can get a word in edgewise. I tell her that I trusted her and that she has destroyed that. I tell her that I trusted Green Tree to help me through this program and that they have destroyed that trust. I tell her that there is no way in hell that I want to go to the hospital but that I don't want to go back to such a limited therapy either because that wasn't enough. I tell her that I want to stay here, in the partial program, but I know even as I am saying it that there is no way I will be allowed to stay, no matter how convincing my argument is. This is a done deal. Not only is this a done deal, but it was done without talking to me at all. Dr. Bartlett hasn't seen me since Monday, much less spoken to me today. Samantha has barely spoken to me today except briefly during the daily assessment this morning and to ask me to sign that god-forsaken paper. The director of the program has never spoken to me and I am not even sure he has even clapped eyes on me. The other therapists who were a part of this know nothing of me or my situation. This was all decided without me and behind my back. I am so enraged that I want to destroy the entire room around me and I have to fight the most intense urge to slap the professionally detached calm off of Samantha's face.

She finally says to me, "It is your choice, but unless you go inpatient and get on some meds, you can't come back here. Maybe you want to take some time and talk to Gray about it." I spit back at her that I do want to talk to Gray about it and in private, thank you very much. "Of course. I'll just give you some space. When you're done, just tell the secretary and she'll let me know to come back." I exhale sharply and nod, scowling at her.

****

After the door shuts, I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. I am trembling so much that it takes me three tries before I manage to hit the right numbers to dial Gray's cell phone. He answers on the second ring, "Hey hon, what's up?" He sounds so normal and so like himself.

I immediately burst into tears and start babbling about how they have discharged me and want me to go inpatient. He stops me and has me repeat what I just said because he can't understand my words through my tears. When he finally understands me, there is a long pause and he says some things that somehow don't really register in my brain. I hear him, but the rage I am still feeling is difficult to penetrate. Suddenly though, something he says cuts like a knife through the haze of anger. "You know, hon, maybe the doctors are right."

I can hardly believe my ears. I snap back at him, "I'm sorry.....WHAT?" He is agreeing with THEM?????? He can't agree with them. He just can't. He's my husband. He's supposed to have my back. He's supposed to be in my corner. He has always had my back. I don't understand this. How is this happening? I can't. I just can't. I am in a full blown panic attack, sitting here at a table on the phone with my husband. In this moment, my entire world has turned totally upside down and I have suddenly fallen down the rabbit hole. But this is no Wonderland.

"Hon, I don't know how to keep you safe anymore..." he says softly. "I think you probably do need to get on some meds to help you out...and you could do that there and maybe get some rest too..." he continues, trying his best to stay calm and reasonable, but I can hear the strain in his voice.

I tell him that I cannot believe that he is siding with them. I say that I don't know who he is anymore and although I have ceased shouting, I am crying the entire time. He tells me that I ought to consider that it could help. I am so hurt and cannot understand how he can even think this. I tell him this and he simply says, "Hon, I love you...I just want you to get better..." and I say, a bit more quietly that this isn't the answer, that it isn't going to help, but I know that he doesn't hear me. He replies, "Hon, I don't want to lose you...I love you so much..." I can hear the emotion in his voice as though he is on the verge of tears.

With that single statement, my resistance crumbles into dust and I feel myself giving up. What I want no longer matters. "Okay. You win. You all win. I give up. I'll go." I say and my voice is barely more than a whisper. I have accepted that I have no real choice in any of this and that it is more about what is best for everyone else than what is best for me. I hang up the phone without saying goodbye. I don't want to hear anything else he has to say.

****

I open the door and let the secretary know that I am done. She calls Samantha who comes back in and sits down at the table again. I feel the anger coursing through me again, but I somehow manage to tell her that I have talked to Gray and that I have decided to go. She assures me that I am making a good decision and that it will only be 2-3 days at most and I'll be back at the partial program before I know it. I say nothing to this. She asks if I need directions to Pine View and I say no, I can find the directions online. She says okay and then says she needs to go get a couple of pieces of paperwork for me and then she leaves. While she is gone, Gray calls back. He is angry and concerned because I hung up on him so abruptly. I tell him that I am leaving. He freaks out a little bit, worried that I mean that I am leaving for good. I raise my voice and hurl back at him, "I'm going home to pack a damn bag so I can go to the damn hospital, okay?" How dare he get angry with me! I am beyond angry with him and everything all over again. I hang up on him again, trembling with the force of my anger.

When Samantha returns, she has a piece of paper with my admissions information on it and a map with the address and location circled on it. She asks me if I want to go straight there from the partial program or go home and pack a bag. I look at her as though she has completely lost her mind for even suggesting that I go there without any of my personal belongings. I manage to say with my jaw clenched that I will go home and pack a bag. She tells me that I am free to go then, wishes me well, and says that she'll look forward to seeing me again in a few days. I stand up from the table and say goodbye to her. I don't trust myself to say anything else. The rage that diminished slightly while talking to Gray has resurfaced and I am seeing every shade of red in the available spectrum.

I stalk down to my car, purposefully stomping hard on the steel grate steps that take me down to the parking lot from the second floor. Once I get in the car, I turn on my phone and call up Facebook. I fire off a message to Chez to let him know the horrible turn things have taken. I pull out of the parking lot and start the drive home. I am barely aware of what I am doing as I drive along, Facebooking with Chez at traffic lights. I turn off the main road and the next thing I know, I have somehow arrived at the point in my journey where I am about six miles from home. I am shocked to realise that I have no recollection of how I got here.  Soon I am greeted by the huge stately oak in our front yard and the familiar sight of our split level house. Home. My home. Our home. Oh God, I don't want to leave this place. I don't want to.... I cannot even think the words. I am crying all over again.

I fumble with the lock and go inside. As I sink into the rocking chair, I am frozen. I am supposed to be packing a bag, but I just can't make myself do it. Gray tried to call me just after I left the program building, but I ignored his call. He also tried to text me. I ignored that too. I am still ignoring it. I sit there, unable to move. Then my phone rings again. It is Gray and I know I cannot ignore him forever. He is at Sif's, just having dropped off the girls for the afternoon. He asks if I want him to come home and take me. I start to cry anew. I tell him that I can't do this without him. I don't want to do this at all, but I have to do it now. There is no backing out of this. I have no choice. Gray tells me that he loves me and that he is on his way.

****

He arrives home and pulls me into his arms. I cry and cry and cry and he holds me close and strokes my hair, letting me cry. I tell him repeatedly that I don't want to do this. He says he knows I don't. Eventually, he leads me upstairs and I collapse onto the bed. Gray gets a bag and starts to put clothes in it for me. I sit there and let him do all of the packing, answering his questions about what I want and don't want. I suddenly know that I want something that will remind me of my girls. I grab pictures of my all three girls and tuck them inside my Bible. I put it, a spiral notebook and pen, my copy of Christian Prayer, and a couple of other books into a backpack along with my rosary. I stumble back upstairs to the bedrooms and into GB's room. Her crib is empty but I can almost see her laying there grinning up at me. A sudden wave of emotion hits me and I grab her soft baby blanket that is laying crumpled from her sleeping and hold it up to my face. I breathe in, instantly smell her sweet baby smell, and clutch the blanket close to my heart. She is not attached to this blanket really, so I carry it out of her bedroom, fold it and tuck it in the bag with my clothes. Gray asks if there is anything else I want. I tell him no, nothing that I think they will allow me to have. I need something else but I don't know what it is. I am so confused and angry and scared and heartbroken. We stand in the hallway upstairs and Gray pulls me into his arms again. Then he gently pulls away, peels off his shirt, turns it right side out, folds it and puts it in the bag with my clothes. My tears flow once again and I lean into his bare chest and inhale the scent of him, trying to fix it deep into my memory.

We finally finish and Gray says that it is time to go. He opens the front door and I walk towards it, but then stop with my hand on the door frame and take a long look over my shoulder. My eyes take in the beige carpet, the green rocking chair, the plaid couch, our fireplace with its pictures and the crucifix over it, and the children's toys neatly stashed (thanks to some church friends who were babysitting earlier today) in the plastic bins by the window. So many things I want to remember. I don't want to go. I don't want to go. I don't want to go. I can't do this. Oh God, please....I can't do this. Gray lays a hand on my shoulder and tells me that I will be back here. This isn't forever and I will be home again. I let out a sob and with a final glance, stumble out the front door, my tears mixing with the misting rain.