About a month ago, hence the long delay between posts my family thought it was in my “best interest” to have me committed. As I am not working, they have been my only source of money, but cut off money for medication I need to live. Taking 20 pills a day is not fun and is not easy. Arbitrarily dropping to 9 because someone thinks you take too many or does not like my mood because of the side effects of the pills when they have no clinical training to make such judgment not only put me in physical danger but caused me gross undue psychological harm.
To put all the cards on the table, in an earlier post, I mentioned my “lovely”mother wants me to kill myself. She tells me I am draining her resources and hates illness and by extension hates me. So in a fit of disgust with no real intention of doing anything, I said “Fine, you win. I will.” I was terribly under-medicated and the anti-convulsants have been known to cause suicidal ideations. When you take the copious amounts that I do, and you’ve been denied them for the extent that I was it just came out.
The next thing I knew my stepmother called the police and had me on a 3 day Baker Act. I was terrified,enraged, and worried that I had no change of clothes, no pills, and no plans for the dog. At that point, I probably did sound hysterical. Nevermind the fact I was told I would only be going to talk to someone for an hour at most.
As I began to realize my visit was more extended, what’s that saying? The best defense is always a good offense. I began to observe, shut up and look around. I started to calm down and began dropping small nuggets of information.”I have epilepsy. Where are my pills? You cannot keep me here without my pills.”An hour goes by. “Where are my pills? You do realize I will convulse on your floor and you’ll get sued if I don’t get my pills, correct? ” I then said, oh and by the way, I have a Master of Science in Counseling. You are aware that withholding my pills causes these side effects and keeping me here is ludicrous , right?”
Two more hours of observations go by, me of them, them of me. I am a level 2, meaning I am monitored every 15 minutes. Well, I must have hit the room and roommate lottery. I get room 205 and a lady who looks like a guy who openly urinates and defacates on herself. I did not know she was female when I got in the room. Some of you will appreciate the significance of being “awarded” room 205, a place I am now barred. Still without medication, I ask for a different room and denied. I still have not eaten anything since 9:00 a.m. that day, it’s now 10:30 p.m. 1:00 a.m. rolls around and said “lady” does her “business” and marinates in it, seriously Chico is neater. I walk outside, inquire about the pills which they’ve had for four hours. They give me pills and let me change from crap house to new room.
I finally see the psychiatrist in the morning and told him about being denied pills, my mother’s hatred of illness, what she had said, etc. He says she needs to give me more money to live until I am financially stable. I state she refuses and has left me convulsing on the floor. He does not understand her logic (nor does anyone else) of age to epilepsy. I will have it for life. He saw that while I was terrified to be where I was, I was lucid, rational and just disgusted. I told him all she wants is gratitude. He does not understand what for, and neither does my therapist.
After that, I had to wait out the process to be told I am ok, just surrounded by unfeeling assholes who choose not to understand what I am dealing with. That’s a direct quote from a psychiatrist. I sat in the lobby and got a big shock. A new patient was asking questions about medication. She spoke little English. I speak Spanish. In this situation, it’s safer to stay out of it.Sad, but true. Every sane or not person for themselves. Before we could blink an eye, four huge men were pinning her down in front of us forcing needles in her. I watched in horror and fear.
I don’t understand what can be therapeutically useful about a person like me who is being denied meds, a person like the crap lady (sorry to offend) and a guy screaming obscenities at the top of his lungs then trying to grope women all being lumped together. There were so many extreme degrees of mental health issues there it was alarming.
Besides said crap lady, the place was not clean, and supervisors were 21. I could be there mother. It makes no sense. I left feeling no more abused than I do by own family for a condition(s) I can’t control without fix, but validated by a psychiatrist who assured me it’s not me. It’s my mother. I have pills I can’t pay for at Target. $5 to my name and no gas.