The End of Me: Part 2

Instead of calling a family member or friend, I called the Employee Assistance Program (EAP) number provided by my employer at the time. I spoke to a young woman whom I'll call Andie.

Andie was very patient and listened with compassion as I sobbed on the other end of the phone. I told her how helpless I felt. I told her what a failure and a disappointment I was. I even told her that I wouldn't mind not waking up the following morning. My life was not falling apart, it had fallen apart and I was finally seeing that I was no where near as strong as I thought I was. I was ready to admit that maybe I needed help ... *cringes* ... mental help.

Andie explained to me that there was nothing wrong with seeking help for one's mental health. "Mental health is just as important as your physical health. When you're sick in your body you go to your doctor. So, when you're sick in your mind you need a doctor for that too." What Andie was saying made sense, but somehow I still felt like some sort of freak.

The more we talked the more concerned for my safety Andie became. She asked me if I would be okay at home alone and I couldn't give her a definitive answer. "I don't know," was all I could say. I really didn't know. Like I said, I was torn between wanting to fight and wanting to give up and that really scared me.

Andie was worried that I might hurt myself and that I needed medical attention. I was too ashamed to call my family so she persuaded me to get into my car and drive to the nearest hospital. So, I did.

I drove to the nearest hospital and after an assessment from the ER doctor, I was transported via ambulance to another hospital.

During the ride I was so tense. I kept imagining something terrible was going to happen to me. I felt like being admitted into a hospital due to "stress and anxiety" was an indication that I had failed and that I lacked the faith to press on. It meant that I was a waste of life and didn't deserve to breathe.

I couldn't look anyone in the eye as I was wheeled through the hospital and up to the psychiatric ward. Now, instead of crying because my life was a wreck, I was crying because I was going to "prison" and no one knew where I was because I didn't tell anyone. My family was going to be so worried and it was all my fault, as usual. See, I just couldn't do anything right!

I arrived at the psychiatric ward around three o'clock in the morning. At that point I was a little disoriented and very tired. But, I was too afraid to fall asleep in this strange place.

I endured another probing assessment where the lady asking the questions kept giving me weird looks everytime I answered one of her annoyingly nosey questions. And I cried through a freakin' strip search! The two ladies conducting the search kept telling me that everything was going to be okay and that the search was just procedure but I had never been in this kind of situation before and there was nothing they could have said that would have comforted me.

I was finally allowed to go to bed around four o'clock in the morning, I think. By this time I had a killer headache from all the crying I had been doing and I fell asleep in no time. In fact, I slept so good that I think I forgot where I was because when a phlebotomist woke me up a few hours later to draw my blood I stared at him for several seconds in fear while wondering what the hell he was doing in my bedroom!

to be continued ...