JareBear: Remastered
Banned
I'd like to start off by apologizing for typos and rambling. If you make it through this, you will get more than you deserve of both. I have few skills as a writer, and no skill as a proof-reader.
I'd like to share what happened to me recently. I know there are already a couple mental health threads on GAF and maybe I should have just consolidated into one of those, but I am genuinely curious to hear from anyone who may or may not have experienced something similar to myself.
On Sunday, February 10th, I drove myself to the closest ER to my house.
The story that explains how I ended up on that path is long and stupid. I have mentioned it a couple times on here, in New Year threads and mental health threads, but long story very short (or as short as possible):
I have a very severe form of what they call "Generalized Anxiety Disorder" (which I guess means you are anxious at anytime, for any reason, or no reason) that has led to I guess what is considered an actual "panic disorder."
I had a really bad year with it in my early 20s, but it went away on its own with exercise and some short term anti-anxiety meds (light benzo use on and off) over the course of probably 11 months.
This time around it started with mild anxiety returning around this time last year, but I was still able to function. I still worked a couple part time jobs and was able to go out in limited spurts. Panic attacks here and there. I never sought significant treatment, as I hate going to the hospital and kept telling myself "it will go away, it will get better." The only difference is that the first time around I lost a lot of weight (90+ pounds in an 8 month span) each time, however the first time around I did it with lots of exercise, and this second time around I have done it by eating pretty regular, smallish meals, but living almost completely sedentary, which alarms my doctors now that I have told them (more on that, later). Apparently you aren’t ever supposed to lose that much weight, that quickly, without great effort, which I don’t know is really true or not.
I'll skip details.
Flash forward past the summer and to the week of Thanksgiving. At one point that week I was going for a walk around my neighborhood and suddenly felt a "fist like" grip in my upper middle chest area and began breathing rapidly. It didn't feel like I couldn't take a deep breath, necessarily, nor did it hurt to breath, it just felt like I had no control over my respiration rate, just couldn't stop taking shallow breaths. I was alone and it was dark. I made it back home and sat down. I felt better pretty quickly.
Most smart people probably would have gone to the ER at this point. I am not a smart person.
Two days later I was sitting in the home of one of my clients (I provide in-home care for families of special needs clients, have worked in SPED for most of my adult life whether in public school or private sector like this) and was feeling fine. As soon as the garage door opened I started hyperventilating. No pain or grip this time. I was just sitting in a chair and I couldn't catch my breath suddenly.
This was the day before Thanksgiving, and that was pretty much the last time I left my house. I had tried driving to my folks house for Thanksgiving dinner but turned around halfway and ran inside my apartment to "safety."
Pulled that 180 REAL QUICKlike
Anyway, again, more or less, I stayed in my apartment from that day all through Sunday, Feb 10th. My birthday, the Holidays, playoff football, bowl games, watched it all alone instead of with my mom and dad, as per usual.
As I remained isolated it got to the point that just hearing someone walking outside my house caused my heart rate to skyrocket, if someone knocked on my door I would have a full blown attack. I wake up in the middle of the night sweating and insanely warm, in a weird way, even if it's freezing cold in my place. I get random bouts of "shortness of breath" regardless of anxiety level that can happen if I am sitting down, standing, laying on my side. According to my pulse oximeter my blood oxygen will drop as low as 91 but just briefly before climbing back to a reasonable level.
OK, enough:
Let's' get to the nitty gritty.
8 days ago, I had finally ran out of meds. The dream of waking up normal again never materialized. All the herbal supplements never worked. Closest to finding a natural remedy was ashwagandha. but it did not stop the panic attacks at all and caused a lot of GI distress for me, as well as lowered my blood sugar a little too harshly. Everyone is different though. I pretty much tried everything.
I had made a 14 day supply of klonopin last about 5 weeks by splitting pills and trying to meditate and my breathe my way through bad anxiety days by basically laying in bed and staring at my phone most of the time.
After taking my last klonopin following an early morning panic attack (most likely anticipation of what was to come, knowing I had run out of time and needed to take action while the med was at least providing some relief) I took a little nap, woke up, think I GAF'd a little, and then called my mom and told her I was going to drive myself to an ER and I didn't know what was going to happen. I honestly didn't know if my car would start, it had snowed a few times over the 10 or so weeks of isolation. Told her where I was going, and off I went.
The place is close, about 4 blocks away. The drive was decent. I was trying my best to breathe slowly and deeply. I parked and kind of had this "ok pussy, gotta pay the price now" moment with myself in the car. Walked in, was clearly anxious, fidgeting, kept rubbing my chest for no reason, sweating, breathing rapidly but still coherent.
Scribbled my name, nodded and said "yes" a couple times, showed my insurance card, and boom.
I lay down, they run blood tests, EKG, both normal (like always). My blood pressure upon first being admitted was 170 over 110. That's by far the highest it has ever been for me. Never seen it higher than 150/95 in my life. At home when relaxed it is typically 105/70 according to my Omrom monitor.
They give me 1 MG of Ativan and it calms me a little, pulse remains elevated throughout my whole stay, never going under 100, staying around 110. This had me a little concerned as I am typically under 80 at rest, but again, anxiety gonna anxiety.
My mom shows up and we explain the situation, every detail, basically everything I wrote here but a lot more other little details I didn't want to waste your time with.
They say that at this kind of ER they can't prescribe the meds I need, but they have a behavioral specialist they can call in. I figure, no problem, this lady will show up, give me a lot of benzos to keep me sedated for a few months and we will see where that goes.
Wrong.
Lady shows up and we repeat the details. She then pulls out a clipboard and starts interviewing me from three pieces of paper. She runs tests too (like one was to name as many animals as I could in 60 seconds, and the other was to draw a clock) that I don't understand the relevance of.
She says "Don't worry, I am gonna get you meds."
But then she says, "I am putting you on an M1 72 Hour Hold."
My mom gives me a weird worried look like she's expecting some reaction from me but the thing is I don't know what that is. I am a little sedated and probably riding an adrenaline dump from the anxiety of the day. I honestly have no fuckin clue what is going on.
Before I can ask any questions the lady leaves and a nurse comes in and wheels me into another room with a security guard posted outside. At this point I think I start understanding what just happened. My mom is in my ear explaining how this will be the turning point I needed, this will be the help I need, this will be the start of a good thing, and they give me 2 more MGs of Ativan, at which point I fall asleep.
I basically nap on and off for 4 hours, never fully there. They explain to me what is happening. I have to ask the guard everytime I need to piss. Standing up makes my head feel like a 2 ton dildo. I’m like a pathetic life size bobble head man.
I meet one of the three criteria to be deemed medically unfit to leave a hospital, which are:
A.) Harm to others
B.) Harm to yourself
C.) Gravely disabled
She checks me as Gravely Disabled, as harming myself or anyone else couldn't be further from my mind. They are looking for a room for me in a behavioral health center that has a unit suited for me. I am not an addict, or a violent offender of any sort, so they don't want me with the wrong population, I guess. Their words, not mine.
A couple more hours pass. Turns out that all the hospitals around our greater metro area are full and they are going to transport me to a hospital an hour away. They ask me to sign some papers and I am feeling half-dead so I politely decline. I was in no place to sign anything.
But I have accepted it. I am about to be locked up for 3 days in basically a "mental hospital," and apparently there is literally nothing I can do about it.
Considering that I had lived the past 10 weeks completely terrified of leaving my apartment and devoid of any human interaction other than some emails, texts, and GAFing, I figure this is gonna be a fucked up ride.
I make through the ambulance ride up. At this point I still have a false conception of what I am walking into. I figure it will be like "adult summer camp" with a mental health emphasis. Nah.
First thing they do is strip me, cut off the hoods on my sweaters, and confiscate basically everything I own. They take the strings out of my clothes and shoes and basically leave me with a pair of underwear, sweatpants that wont stay up, and a t-shirt.
It is about 11 PM when I get in to the unit and the nurse on duty sits me down and lazily goes over whats up. He seems about as competent as day old bagel. I learn later that everyone in the unit complains about this guy and I don't see him again after this night.
The hospital is privately owned, and it shows. This place exists to make profit. It is built like shit, with poor insulation and dogshit amenities. My bed feels like a sack of coyote dicks. It's freezing ass cold. My roommate is the kind of guy who,. at one point later on, walks in and says "man the food here just goes right through ya!" and rips righteous ass right in front of me while maintaining eye contact.
He does this a lot during his sleep too, but is at least nice enough to ask "bro I'm not keeping you awake, am I?"
I also learn the next morning that no one stays for 3 days. My roommate was going on his third week.
THREE WEEKS
In the morning as I am shaking in my bed trying not to hyperventilate and keep my shit together a 19 year old is raging through the hallway kicking trashcans like she's god damn bending it like Beckham or some shit, screaming about wanting to go home.
Great start. I'm in hell.
I've written so much garbage. already. I will try to rap it up.
The doctor meets with me in the morning and prescribes me BuSpar, which apparently is a med designed specifically to combat anxiety through changing shit in the brain, or whatever. He also puts me on this anti-psychotic medicine to replace benzos, and that shit makes me a legit zombie. I can't keep my eyes open. Feel so awful. After a few days I am able to get that changed back to Klonopin, which is habit forming and creates withdrawal symptoms but at least does a good job and keeps me functional.
We eat, and we do groups run by kids who make 14 bucks an hour where we talk about feelings and shit. At one point, in a processing group, a girl who is half Jamaican and half Spanish (and the most attractive person I have ever seen) talks about her panic attacks and how she has problem straight up lighting herself "on fuckin fire" if she feels like it. I dunno why but that stuck with me.
It’s a mind numbing monotony, void of joy.
On Wednesday, basically my fourth day, but technically third day, I am told "you will be discharged either Thursday or Friday."
Great! One or two more days. Cool! Am I cured? No? Is the BuSpar helping? Uh I really don't notice much. I am on a benzo most of the time so how can I tell if I am feeling better or if I am just sedated as usual?
But whatever. I wanna go home, and at least I proved that I can leave my house and not die.
Well Pump The Fuckin' Brakes
Later on that same day the social worker comes to me and says that, basically, my insurance doesn't want to pay for this place anymore, apparently it is 1000 dollars a day, and want me closer to my home, in their network. I ask "why didn't they figure this out sooner?" and get no answer, I ask "can you just discharge me? I am scheduled for it and it has been almost four days" and get no answer. I ask "will this restart the whole process for me wherever I go?" and she says "probably."
lol.
So Thursday I got transported to a hospital close to the big city I live near and, yes, I am starting from square one. They tell me it will take "5-8" days most likely.
I could go on forever but I will try to wrap this up.
This place is nicer, and has a better staff. Room has it's own thermostat and a pretty comfortable bed. I think this is gonna work out fine, and for the most part it does. Except my roommate has a guitar, and he only plays Nirvana songs.
It sounds cool at first, but once we got to the third tour of Smells Like Teen Spirit, I am ready to Sarah Connor my way out of here.
Again, I could ramble on and on.
I went through the motions, and smiled every time I was interviewed, and sat through the bullshit groups. I left today with BuSpar, which I don't think works, 10 pills of Ativan designed to get me to an appointment with my healthcare provider, and an anti-depressant that works well for "extreme anxiety."
They take my vitals every morning and my pulse is always a little high and my BP is always slightly elevated diastolic side, which they say is just anxiety. One day both numbers were high, even after taking a pill just for BP, and they tell me, oh it is just anxiety. I ask if someone from the medical wing next door could at least look at me, and they tell me I worry too much. I tell them I am a little short of breath sometimes and they tell me it just anxiety.
I don't feel cured, I feel slightly calmer, I was still fighting panic on the way home today. I have an appointment tomorrow, I will need Ativan for that will be fighting panic through that, but they say these things take time to work.
It's really weird not having freedom. I forgot about things like the Anthem launch, and missed sports events I was looking forward to, and all the days kind of blended into one. I got told often that it is very rare for anxiety to get this severe, that they rarely see people like me in these programs. Usually it is self-harm or psychotic episode patients, lots of drug rehab cases too.
I'll stop here, sorry for wasting anyone's time who made it this far, and sorry for the grammatical errors I am too lazy to fix first.
Question:
GAF, have you ever been to a psych ward voluntarily, or involuntarily? What do you think of your experience, does it compare to mine?
Thanks for your time.
Long Live GAF.
I will try to clean this up later, I am feeling tired and a bit dizzy, gonna sit down and switch to mobile.
One thing I was shocked by was how little time I actually spent talking to doctors. They go through room to room like numbers on a list and just check us off. We talked to dozens of other, lesser qualified people who all ask the same questions: “how depressed are you from 0 to 10,” “are you hearing voices?” It’s like, yeah bitch, I hear your fuckin voice.
So many small little details and interactions I would love to share. Maybe I will if any conversation arises. One thing I liked was both places had a DVD of Dumb and Dumber and both movie nights were the only times everyone in the unit chose the same activity.
Big Gulps huh? Welp, see ya later!
I'd like to share what happened to me recently. I know there are already a couple mental health threads on GAF and maybe I should have just consolidated into one of those, but I am genuinely curious to hear from anyone who may or may not have experienced something similar to myself.
On Sunday, February 10th, I drove myself to the closest ER to my house.
The story that explains how I ended up on that path is long and stupid. I have mentioned it a couple times on here, in New Year threads and mental health threads, but long story very short (or as short as possible):
I have a very severe form of what they call "Generalized Anxiety Disorder" (which I guess means you are anxious at anytime, for any reason, or no reason) that has led to I guess what is considered an actual "panic disorder."
I had a really bad year with it in my early 20s, but it went away on its own with exercise and some short term anti-anxiety meds (light benzo use on and off) over the course of probably 11 months.
This time around it started with mild anxiety returning around this time last year, but I was still able to function. I still worked a couple part time jobs and was able to go out in limited spurts. Panic attacks here and there. I never sought significant treatment, as I hate going to the hospital and kept telling myself "it will go away, it will get better." The only difference is that the first time around I lost a lot of weight (90+ pounds in an 8 month span) each time, however the first time around I did it with lots of exercise, and this second time around I have done it by eating pretty regular, smallish meals, but living almost completely sedentary, which alarms my doctors now that I have told them (more on that, later). Apparently you aren’t ever supposed to lose that much weight, that quickly, without great effort, which I don’t know is really true or not.
I'll skip details.
Flash forward past the summer and to the week of Thanksgiving. At one point that week I was going for a walk around my neighborhood and suddenly felt a "fist like" grip in my upper middle chest area and began breathing rapidly. It didn't feel like I couldn't take a deep breath, necessarily, nor did it hurt to breath, it just felt like I had no control over my respiration rate, just couldn't stop taking shallow breaths. I was alone and it was dark. I made it back home and sat down. I felt better pretty quickly.
Most smart people probably would have gone to the ER at this point. I am not a smart person.
Two days later I was sitting in the home of one of my clients (I provide in-home care for families of special needs clients, have worked in SPED for most of my adult life whether in public school or private sector like this) and was feeling fine. As soon as the garage door opened I started hyperventilating. No pain or grip this time. I was just sitting in a chair and I couldn't catch my breath suddenly.
This was the day before Thanksgiving, and that was pretty much the last time I left my house. I had tried driving to my folks house for Thanksgiving dinner but turned around halfway and ran inside my apartment to "safety."
Pulled that 180 REAL QUICKlike
Anyway, again, more or less, I stayed in my apartment from that day all through Sunday, Feb 10th. My birthday, the Holidays, playoff football, bowl games, watched it all alone instead of with my mom and dad, as per usual.
As I remained isolated it got to the point that just hearing someone walking outside my house caused my heart rate to skyrocket, if someone knocked on my door I would have a full blown attack. I wake up in the middle of the night sweating and insanely warm, in a weird way, even if it's freezing cold in my place. I get random bouts of "shortness of breath" regardless of anxiety level that can happen if I am sitting down, standing, laying on my side. According to my pulse oximeter my blood oxygen will drop as low as 91 but just briefly before climbing back to a reasonable level.
OK, enough:
Let's' get to the nitty gritty.
8 days ago, I had finally ran out of meds. The dream of waking up normal again never materialized. All the herbal supplements never worked. Closest to finding a natural remedy was ashwagandha. but it did not stop the panic attacks at all and caused a lot of GI distress for me, as well as lowered my blood sugar a little too harshly. Everyone is different though. I pretty much tried everything.
I had made a 14 day supply of klonopin last about 5 weeks by splitting pills and trying to meditate and my breathe my way through bad anxiety days by basically laying in bed and staring at my phone most of the time.
After taking my last klonopin following an early morning panic attack (most likely anticipation of what was to come, knowing I had run out of time and needed to take action while the med was at least providing some relief) I took a little nap, woke up, think I GAF'd a little, and then called my mom and told her I was going to drive myself to an ER and I didn't know what was going to happen. I honestly didn't know if my car would start, it had snowed a few times over the 10 or so weeks of isolation. Told her where I was going, and off I went.
The place is close, about 4 blocks away. The drive was decent. I was trying my best to breathe slowly and deeply. I parked and kind of had this "ok pussy, gotta pay the price now" moment with myself in the car. Walked in, was clearly anxious, fidgeting, kept rubbing my chest for no reason, sweating, breathing rapidly but still coherent.
Scribbled my name, nodded and said "yes" a couple times, showed my insurance card, and boom.
I lay down, they run blood tests, EKG, both normal (like always). My blood pressure upon first being admitted was 170 over 110. That's by far the highest it has ever been for me. Never seen it higher than 150/95 in my life. At home when relaxed it is typically 105/70 according to my Omrom monitor.
They give me 1 MG of Ativan and it calms me a little, pulse remains elevated throughout my whole stay, never going under 100, staying around 110. This had me a little concerned as I am typically under 80 at rest, but again, anxiety gonna anxiety.
My mom shows up and we explain the situation, every detail, basically everything I wrote here but a lot more other little details I didn't want to waste your time with.
They say that at this kind of ER they can't prescribe the meds I need, but they have a behavioral specialist they can call in. I figure, no problem, this lady will show up, give me a lot of benzos to keep me sedated for a few months and we will see where that goes.
Wrong.
Lady shows up and we repeat the details. She then pulls out a clipboard and starts interviewing me from three pieces of paper. She runs tests too (like one was to name as many animals as I could in 60 seconds, and the other was to draw a clock) that I don't understand the relevance of.
She says "Don't worry, I am gonna get you meds."
But then she says, "I am putting you on an M1 72 Hour Hold."
My mom gives me a weird worried look like she's expecting some reaction from me but the thing is I don't know what that is. I am a little sedated and probably riding an adrenaline dump from the anxiety of the day. I honestly have no fuckin clue what is going on.
Before I can ask any questions the lady leaves and a nurse comes in and wheels me into another room with a security guard posted outside. At this point I think I start understanding what just happened. My mom is in my ear explaining how this will be the turning point I needed, this will be the help I need, this will be the start of a good thing, and they give me 2 more MGs of Ativan, at which point I fall asleep.
I basically nap on and off for 4 hours, never fully there. They explain to me what is happening. I have to ask the guard everytime I need to piss. Standing up makes my head feel like a 2 ton dildo. I’m like a pathetic life size bobble head man.
I meet one of the three criteria to be deemed medically unfit to leave a hospital, which are:
A.) Harm to others
B.) Harm to yourself
C.) Gravely disabled
She checks me as Gravely Disabled, as harming myself or anyone else couldn't be further from my mind. They are looking for a room for me in a behavioral health center that has a unit suited for me. I am not an addict, or a violent offender of any sort, so they don't want me with the wrong population, I guess. Their words, not mine.
A couple more hours pass. Turns out that all the hospitals around our greater metro area are full and they are going to transport me to a hospital an hour away. They ask me to sign some papers and I am feeling half-dead so I politely decline. I was in no place to sign anything.
But I have accepted it. I am about to be locked up for 3 days in basically a "mental hospital," and apparently there is literally nothing I can do about it.
Considering that I had lived the past 10 weeks completely terrified of leaving my apartment and devoid of any human interaction other than some emails, texts, and GAFing, I figure this is gonna be a fucked up ride.
I make through the ambulance ride up. At this point I still have a false conception of what I am walking into. I figure it will be like "adult summer camp" with a mental health emphasis. Nah.
First thing they do is strip me, cut off the hoods on my sweaters, and confiscate basically everything I own. They take the strings out of my clothes and shoes and basically leave me with a pair of underwear, sweatpants that wont stay up, and a t-shirt.
It is about 11 PM when I get in to the unit and the nurse on duty sits me down and lazily goes over whats up. He seems about as competent as day old bagel. I learn later that everyone in the unit complains about this guy and I don't see him again after this night.
The hospital is privately owned, and it shows. This place exists to make profit. It is built like shit, with poor insulation and dogshit amenities. My bed feels like a sack of coyote dicks. It's freezing ass cold. My roommate is the kind of guy who,. at one point later on, walks in and says "man the food here just goes right through ya!" and rips righteous ass right in front of me while maintaining eye contact.
He does this a lot during his sleep too, but is at least nice enough to ask "bro I'm not keeping you awake, am I?"
I also learn the next morning that no one stays for 3 days. My roommate was going on his third week.
THREE WEEKS
In the morning as I am shaking in my bed trying not to hyperventilate and keep my shit together a 19 year old is raging through the hallway kicking trashcans like she's god damn bending it like Beckham or some shit, screaming about wanting to go home.
Great start. I'm in hell.
I've written so much garbage. already. I will try to rap it up.
The doctor meets with me in the morning and prescribes me BuSpar, which apparently is a med designed specifically to combat anxiety through changing shit in the brain, or whatever. He also puts me on this anti-psychotic medicine to replace benzos, and that shit makes me a legit zombie. I can't keep my eyes open. Feel so awful. After a few days I am able to get that changed back to Klonopin, which is habit forming and creates withdrawal symptoms but at least does a good job and keeps me functional.
We eat, and we do groups run by kids who make 14 bucks an hour where we talk about feelings and shit. At one point, in a processing group, a girl who is half Jamaican and half Spanish (and the most attractive person I have ever seen) talks about her panic attacks and how she has problem straight up lighting herself "on fuckin fire" if she feels like it. I dunno why but that stuck with me.
It’s a mind numbing monotony, void of joy.
On Wednesday, basically my fourth day, but technically third day, I am told "you will be discharged either Thursday or Friday."
Great! One or two more days. Cool! Am I cured? No? Is the BuSpar helping? Uh I really don't notice much. I am on a benzo most of the time so how can I tell if I am feeling better or if I am just sedated as usual?
But whatever. I wanna go home, and at least I proved that I can leave my house and not die.
Well Pump The Fuckin' Brakes
Later on that same day the social worker comes to me and says that, basically, my insurance doesn't want to pay for this place anymore, apparently it is 1000 dollars a day, and want me closer to my home, in their network. I ask "why didn't they figure this out sooner?" and get no answer, I ask "can you just discharge me? I am scheduled for it and it has been almost four days" and get no answer. I ask "will this restart the whole process for me wherever I go?" and she says "probably."
lol.
So Thursday I got transported to a hospital close to the big city I live near and, yes, I am starting from square one. They tell me it will take "5-8" days most likely.
I could go on forever but I will try to wrap this up.
This place is nicer, and has a better staff. Room has it's own thermostat and a pretty comfortable bed. I think this is gonna work out fine, and for the most part it does. Except my roommate has a guitar, and he only plays Nirvana songs.
It sounds cool at first, but once we got to the third tour of Smells Like Teen Spirit, I am ready to Sarah Connor my way out of here.
Again, I could ramble on and on.
I went through the motions, and smiled every time I was interviewed, and sat through the bullshit groups. I left today with BuSpar, which I don't think works, 10 pills of Ativan designed to get me to an appointment with my healthcare provider, and an anti-depressant that works well for "extreme anxiety."
They take my vitals every morning and my pulse is always a little high and my BP is always slightly elevated diastolic side, which they say is just anxiety. One day both numbers were high, even after taking a pill just for BP, and they tell me, oh it is just anxiety. I ask if someone from the medical wing next door could at least look at me, and they tell me I worry too much. I tell them I am a little short of breath sometimes and they tell me it just anxiety.
I don't feel cured, I feel slightly calmer, I was still fighting panic on the way home today. I have an appointment tomorrow, I will need Ativan for that will be fighting panic through that, but they say these things take time to work.
It's really weird not having freedom. I forgot about things like the Anthem launch, and missed sports events I was looking forward to, and all the days kind of blended into one. I got told often that it is very rare for anxiety to get this severe, that they rarely see people like me in these programs. Usually it is self-harm or psychotic episode patients, lots of drug rehab cases too.
I'll stop here, sorry for wasting anyone's time who made it this far, and sorry for the grammatical errors I am too lazy to fix first.
Question:
GAF, have you ever been to a psych ward voluntarily, or involuntarily? What do you think of your experience, does it compare to mine?
Thanks for your time.
Long Live GAF.
I will try to clean this up later, I am feeling tired and a bit dizzy, gonna sit down and switch to mobile.
One thing I was shocked by was how little time I actually spent talking to doctors. They go through room to room like numbers on a list and just check us off. We talked to dozens of other, lesser qualified people who all ask the same questions: “how depressed are you from 0 to 10,” “are you hearing voices?” It’s like, yeah bitch, I hear your fuckin voice.
So many small little details and interactions I would love to share. Maybe I will if any conversation arises. One thing I liked was both places had a DVD of Dumb and Dumber and both movie nights were the only times everyone in the unit chose the same activity.
Big Gulps huh? Welp, see ya later!
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