Wishful Thinking

I have always been a very honest person, even if the truth could potentially hurt someone else. That's just how I was created to be. I always expected people to be honest with me, just as I have expected this of myself. Sometimes the truth can kill you and sometimes the truth will fill your soul with happiness. As I've always been honest with myself, I wasn't always open about myself. I kept and keep a lot of words inside still to this day, just as many others do that struggle in the lonely silence. Today, I still can't figure out the exact reason as to why I'm so open about the struggles I am facing, but I have a pretty good idea. I want the people who are struggling in the silence, to know they aren't so alone. Yes, mentally, the struggles you face are on your own but, emotionally, there are people that go through similar and different struggles. To the people who keep it all inside and don't speak about it, it's okay, there's nothing wrong with it. There's no "correct" way to live this life. We weren't born with a manual on how we have to live and what we are suppose to do when we hit rock bottom. The choice is yours and only yours. With that being said, I felt I needed and wanted to tell this story in hopes that if someone is reading this and has been in these situations, they don't have to feel so much emotional lonesome.

During the month of July, I was talking with my counselor. Just as I do every week, at least once a week. Of course, Livi is what we are always talking about and my feelings towards it. Well every week, I go in there and express how much I wish I was dead. The things I would do to have Livi here. The things I would say to have Livi here. The things I would kill to have Livi here. But I can't. There's only one way I can see her, and that's only once I stop breathing. I can't even explain the thoughts I have about wanting to be dead, it's just a feeling in your soul when you feel the unbearable desperation. You feel that desperate feeling so deeply, you feel the only choice you've got is to take your own life. You can be painless. You feel nothing. You're at peace. Maybe you're in Heaven. Nobody here on Earth actually knows for a fact because we are all still alive, that's not a prediction you can just make. Because trust me, I wish more than anything in the world we knew for a fact that if you chose to take your own life, that Heaven is where you would be. Which is the big reason that holds me back every single day. Every single time that I look at pill bottles. Every single time I look or see a knife or a gun. Every single time I'm driving my car. I believe this reason will always be the reason that will potentially hold me back. As much as I wish it wouldn't. I can't bear this life, but the thought of not being able to see Livi ever again, I can't bear even more.

After sharing these thoughts in similar words to my counselor, she continues to feel and look more worried for me. She suggested that I go have a mental health assessment at the ER. I was caught a little bit off guard when I heard those words. What is that? What do I have to do? What's that like? We talked more about it and she explained it to me a little bit. I would have to walk into the hospital and say I needed to have a mental health assessment and then I would be questioned to see if I needed to stay. I told her something along the lines that "okay, that doesn't seem to bad." That maybe, for my family, I should go and just seek it out. So, that's what I decided to do.

Once I left my counselors office, I called my boyfriend after to see if he would just go with me for moral support. So, I picked him up right after counseling and we headed to Bromenn ER, which was also the first time I had been there since Livi was killed. I walked myself into that hospital and I went up to the front desk and simply said I needed a mental health assessment. Then they proceeded to ask me a few small questions, what my name was, birthdate, insurance, etc. Still thinking to myself...okay this is normal. I sat and waited until they called my name. Once they called my name, they took me into a small room to get my weight, height, medicines I was on, blood pressure, etc. Still thinking...okay this is normal. Once we finished that, the lady who was asking me those questions, proceeded to open up the door and started leading me through the hospital. We were walking past all of these "normal" rooms that you always see inside the hospital, passing so many. I kept thinking where was she taking me. Then she started to slow down, as I was observing every inch of what was going on around me. She pointed me to a room and said a nurse would be right with me. I looked at the room she pointed to. What the hell? At that moment, I realized how powerful my words are. The room was obviously the rooms you are taken to when you are not at all mentally stable. One bed in the middle. One chair on the side. No outlets. The TV is boxed up so there are no chords hanging off of it. Camera in the corner of the room, so they can watch every move you make. Bear walls, only filled with some scratch marks. Scratch marks from human nails. I mean everything was as suicidal proof as they could make it. I was most definitely not thinking to myself anymore that this was normal. It felt far from normal. I felt far from normal. I sat down on the bed and then my nurse walked in the little tiny room. Conveniently, I knew this nurse and they went to the same high school as I did. Side note, I have got to get the hell out of Bloomington-Normal. Nothing against this nurse, extremely nice, I just feel like the walls are closing in on me and it's so claustrophobic here. We obviously exchanged a little bit of awkward hello's and she gave me a gown and a cup that I had to pee in. I also had to give up everything I had. My phone. My wallet. Everything that was in my purse and they locked it in a locker. So, after I went to the bathroom that they had to lead me to, mind you I also had to keep the door cracked. I changed into the gown and then peed into the cup and walked out and gave it to the nurse. Then I had to give blood samples and have a EKG. I just kept thinking to myself if this was really necessary. But, I guess to the "right-minded," it is. Tested my blood and urine, looking for anything that could be in my system. Checking my heart rate to see if it's normal. To be honest with you, I was surprised they said everything was normal with my heart rate the way it was pounding with the amount of anxiety and anger running through my body.

So, there I sat in the room. My mom, my boyfriend and myself. We had to wait from somebody from SASS to come and question me and my feelings. We waited. And waited. And waited some more. After about the 5 hour mark, I was beyond livid at this point. I was thinking to myself that I have to get the hell out of here, they aren't going to keep me in here. I immediately opened my door of the room I was in and went to the nurses desk outside and started to look through it to find keys so I could get my belongings out of my locker. I couldn't find them, which only made me more angry. I started banging on the locker my things were in so I could try to open it. Of course, the nurses had to call security to try and get me back into the room. I was yelling and cussing at everyone. They tried to grab me, but my boyfriend told them stop and just wait so he could talk to me. He just calmly told me "Ellie please just go back into the room, because otherwise if they touch you, I'm going to get pissed and get in trouble." Of course, I didn't want him to get in trouble and he looked extremely serious. So I went back into my room. For him. Surprisingly enough, they didn't restrain me to the bed like they were about to. There we were waiting. Again. Boy was I pissed. There was nothing I could do at that point, which made me more livid. We had to wait 2 more hours before SASS finally came to talk to me. Making this a total of 7 hours of sitting in that room against your will. Believe me, if you've never been forced against your will to be in there, it would even make people in their right minds go crazy. I can promise you that. Once SASS came, they asked me a few questions about what had happened, what are my feelings on certain topics, what are my hobbies, etc. I talked to him for about 15 minutes. FIFTEEN MINUTES after that 7 hour wait. Then he told me I was good and that he was going to tell the doctor that I was okay to leave. Yes, I was beyond eager and excited to leave, but damn was I pissed I was there for a 7 hours just to talk to someone for 15 minutes what I talk to my counselor about weekly for at least an hour. So, after that I immediately left with no doubt in my mind I was ever going back.

Last Thursday, I decided to take myself to Prompt Care. I hadn't been feeling well at all for the longest time and figured it was time for some antibiotics. Turns out I went in and she diagnosed me with bronchitis. Then the doctor started to question me. She said she had noticed that I was taking pills for anxiety. I said yes. Then she asked if I was depressed. I said yes. Then I had told her my situation with Livi. She proceeded with the very un-original "I'm so sorry" and then asked me if I had suicidal thoughts. Now, like I said, I am a very honest person and typically to anyone who asks me that, I would say yes. But, I learned my lesson from the last time I made that mistake. So, I didn't say yes, knowing she would send me straight to the hospital. I re-explained my situation and claimed how I wish so badly that I was dead. Well, she took that to heart and exaggerated and said she had to go talk to another doctor outside about the medicine she was going to prescribe me. The medicine can typically have side effects of depression and anxiety, so she didn't want to make it worse. Once she came back into the room, she told me that she couldn't prescribe me the medicine because of the potential side effects and that I had to go get a mental assessment at the hospital. Yeah right. I told her I would go, obviously lying, and that I would go right after I left. She wouldn't let me leave and said someone had to pick me up from Prompt Care so I wouldn't drive. She then began to tell me if I didn't go, that there would be an ambulance sent to my house. If you're wondering if I wanted to deck her in the face, the answer is yes. But I didn't. I was livid by now. Again. What a surprise.

Long story short, I had to repeat the whole process. For 5 hours this time. I guess that's better than 7. I'll admit this time, I was a lot calmer with how I acted because I knew what to expect before I went in there. I wasn't any less angry than I was before, but tried to contain it better so I could get out of there. The only difference that happened between the first time and the second time I was there, was the second time I actually had to hold myself back from cussing out and hitting one of the nurses. She was asking me normal questions and I told her it had already been almost 8 months since she was killed. She had the audacity to tell me, "I understand why you are feeling this way. I have a sister, I would 100% feel the same way. But, medically, after 12 months, these symptoms should stop interfering this much with your everyday life...but it's only been 8 so, it's fine." Let me tell you, the only reason I didn't do to her what I wanted to so badly was because I knew damn well I was not leaving that place. I told her there's no time limit on grieving. Because there's not. That's your typical sentence spoken from the inexperienced. A very uneducated opinion. I don't give a shit what doctors have tried to prove medically. I hate to break it to the ones that have never experienced grief, but let the truth be known that you just don't know what the Hell you are talking about. You couldn't even grasp the feeling. You couldn't even imagine how you would react.