The Sleepover

Have you ever been completely certain of something? Like on the movies, when the hero knows that he must sacrifice his own life to save others. He walks into the burning building to save his partner knowing that he will not return.

That resolve came over me twice 1998. The first was when I left my first husband. The decicison was hard, but valid, and I do not wish to hurt any family so I will leave it with the knowledge of just being necessary at the time.

The second was a few weeks later. My 2 daughters and I had just moved into our new place. I thought things were going well but I had been misdiagnosed by a psychiatrist. The wrong diagnoses cause what is called rapid cycling, where I would go up and down in mood several times in an hour. The final result of this is going down and staying down. Pretty far down.

I was downstairs with my oldest daughter who was 2 1/2 at the time. I was dressing her and suddenly realized that I could no longer go on. Every morning that I woke up, I viewed it as just another day until I died. I found no more joy in life and the voices whispering in my ear had become convincing. It was my last chance before the voices got their way.

I had planned my suicide before, and I had decided how and when to do it. At that time, I was still with my husband, and I knew that my daughters would be found quickly after. Now we were alone, and I could not rely on someone finding them in time.

As much as I hated it, I called my ex-husband and told him that I needed help. We went to the town doctor and then drove 2 hours into the city to see a psychiatrist there.

I met with him, and it became clear to me that he was just going to give me drugs and send me home. He thought I had support. On the outside, I can for short periods, appear alright. He started to write prescriptions and give instructions. He reached out to shake my hand.

"If you send me home I am going to kill myself."

I had never said the words before, but I needed to save myself for my daughters.

He paused and then picked up the phone.

That is when I started the sleep over. They told me it was 18 days but I don't really remember. My brain stopped working and I have lost a lot of memories before and during that time. I guess it is like when you damage any nerve,the purpose of that nerve needs to be retaught.

The psych ward is like a giant sleepover. We hung out in our pajamas all the time, we did crafts, and told secrets. The girls did each others hair, and the boys played sports. And the drugs flowed.

As I walked in the giant secure doors, I looked up and saw "In-patient psychiatric Ward". It was the lowest moment in my life. They checked me in, and then it was close to supper time. Your first meal they let you eat in your room, easing you into the full extent of where you are and who you have become. I sat on my bed, and ate with tears falling on my tray. I was in the observation room, the one with the windows on the door, so the nurses can check on the most at risk regularly.

That night I slept, thanks to the wonderful sedative dessert I received. About every 15 minutes my door opened and a flashlight shone on me, the nurses checking on my safety.

The terror of morning was overwhelming.