I’m fresh out of the hospital where I spent the last four days getting my medication balanced. If you read my previous post, “Manic 2,” you know I was not well. I went to the hospital not long after writing that.
Thoughts of suicide are not healthy. Simply put, they are an indication of something far off kilter. I was just that way, and it was quite awful. I took myself to the emergency room and signed myself into the psychiatric ward. I’m grateful for a friend who suggested it. I’m grateful for my caseworker who suggested it, and I’m even grateful for the anonymous crisis-line worker who suggested it. Yes, I called around looking for answers. I took all their advice and went.
I was able to completely relax knowing I was in a safe place. The atmosphere was healthy and loving. I felt cared for.
Through the data on this site, I can see the searches some people use to find this blog. The question of whether or not to go into the hospital comes up occasionally. I’ve been hospitalized three times now, and I can say without question that it was necessary each time. I have found restoration in the hospital. While I’ve been scared going there each time, on arrival I’ve been relieved. It’s almost like diving. Standing at the back of the board is scary, but taking the plunge is so relaxing and, in the end, invigorating.
For me, hospitalization has proved successful.