Six years ago today I went into the hospital for a mental break down. I was only 100 pounds and dropping weight fast. I was a wreak. I refused to eat infrit on anyone. I cried at a drop of a hat. I could do anything without feeling like a loser. It was miserable. I was miserable.
I remember that night I held the pills in my hand. My husband walked in and saw them. He immediately came to my aid not yelling or mad. He came to me peacefully and with love. He made two calls. One to my therapist and the other to my best friend. Both said the same thing. Take her to Netcare. So I went.
My husband drove me all the way across town and had to drop me off. He had to leave me to strangers. They had to take care of me. It was the hardest thing he has ever had to do. My heart raced as I waited for an opening in a facility. Someone to take a broken mother of four. OSU Pshyc took me.
The first night was difficult. Lots of talking and repeating everything that had hurt me. All my emotions were on the table. I was pumped with meds and let soon was feeling "better".
Over the next couple days I was dianosed with BPD (borderline personality disorder) ED (eating disorder) and a mood disorder (in 2013 finding out it's bipolar disorder). Since 2009 I've been working on myself. Making sure that I don't end up there again.
I've been going to therapy regularly for 6 years and have taken DBT classes three times. I see a therapist, nurse and counciler once a month. I also take my meds on an everyday basis.
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