Two years ago I was admitted to Riverside Hospital for a second nervous breakdown. I admitted around 7pm, crying and a total mess. I changed into their hospital garb and was given meds to help me sleep.
I cried almost everyday. Anything could and did make me cry. What embarrassed me most was my behavior that got me sent to the ER in the first place. I had a 3 day panic attack. I was embarrassed to tell to my family. To let them know I was okay and doing fine…it wasn't my first time being hospitalized you see. The first time I only did 3 days and was out in a blink. This time I was terrified that they might never let me out.
I was given a number of different meds to stable me out emotionally. Some worked. Some were an epic failure. Some of the nurses were assholes and some were nice. The ones I got along with tend to be the second shifters. I don't know why, maybe because I was admitted in the evening. Who knows.
I had to get up at the crack of dawn (for me anyway) if I wanted any breakfast. I would go to every class and speaker they had. I was getting tired of the same convo all the time. Stop doing drugs. Stop drinking. Stop. Stop. Stop. Like it's that easy for someone. I didn't need to quit anything because I'm not abusing any drugs or alcohol. They knew this but I went because I had too.
I was scared to go home at first. I was scared of what I might do or say. I was afraid of what my family would think of me. Of my husband. Or my children. It took 7 days of talking and working on myself to finally get released.
I promised I would take my meds. Go to therapy regularly. And watch my mood more closely. They let me go on October 31st. Just in time for trick-or-treat candy.
When I walked into the door I was greeted by my son and daughters. My father-in-law was there too and you could see that he was relieved to see me come home. My wonderful hubby came to pick me up btw. 
Everyday I'm thankful for the time I have on this Earth. Everyday I count my blessings, be them good or bad.
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