Life has for the most part been wonderful for me, but I always knew I was a little different than everyone else. I knew that I thought differently, and saw the world in completely different eyes than most people do. Then one day when I was around twelve something completely disastrous happened. At the time and until just over a year ago I have managed to suppress the horrible event in my memory. I came home from a friends one night to see my step father on top of my 10 year old sister. I tried to ignore it, pretend like it didn't happen....
Then one drunken night, bad memories started floating to the surface. I don't remember too much of this night, but that it got a few eyes on me. I am active duty in the US military so I imagine you could understand how any suicidal gesture easily gets eyes on me.
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What I do remember is suddenly I started crying. A lot. then I went to my barracks room to try calling my sister, who at the time was actually in labor with her son. (pretty odd, eh?). I don't remember much after that, except that I tried to asphyxiate myself...which isn't easy to do when your drunk. The next morning was a blast...it started out with me having words with a Sergeant. I thought that's where it would end. But later that day my platoon sergeant came to tell me he knew about the incident and that I would be placed on suicide watch until the morning when we could get a psych evaluation.
I didn't sleep much during this night. Perhaps because I was constantly being watched, or because perhaps dysthymia had turned into a full blown major depressive episode. The next morning came and we went to the hospital... all the way to the 13th floor (irony is a gas, eh?) where the psychiatrist pretty much said I was good ... (I'll tell you later about my opinion on psychologists and psychiatrists.)
But I wasn't good. Perhaps its because I told him absolutely nothing that he drew that conclusion. Perhaps, however, if he showed an ounce of compassion I would have.
Next week drew on slowly...and miserably...it seemed that everyone around me knew I had problems...that I was broken...
Friday came and I started developing a plan for my next attempt. an overdose on one of the easiest to overdose OTCs available. Fortunately, however, I failed to investigate the side effects of the added sleep agent in the stuff I used, and woke up two or three hours after I ingested 100 of the pills. Stumbling in a stupor of confusion and incoherency. I barely remember parts of this night. I remember two people looking over me as I was put on a stretcher, I remember parts of fighting with the people at ICU, of yanking out the IVs they put in me, and the tube they stuck down my throat. After that they sedated me with Versed though, and I woke up the next morning with a doctor above me asking me what day it was, who was the president, and what my name was.
After two or three days (time is not very relevant when your tied down to a hospital bed and being forced antidotes through a plastic tube stuck in your nose) of being in ICU I was sent to the 13th floor to stay a while in the inpatient ward. (Until monday, so almost a full week I imagine).
This is where I started hating psychiatrists. Mind you I've only seen two, but they are both exactly alike in many areas. The psychiatrist in inpatient had absolutely no compassion. His line of work was exactly that to him -- work.
After my stay at the inpatient ward, I was referred to a psychologist as an outpatient. The psychologist seamed to genuinely care for me as a human being -- not as a number -- not as an entity -- not as something that needed done. Something she wanted to do. She left the hospital before she felt my problems were resolved, and referred me to another psychologist. This guy also showed the same qualities she showed.
Anyways, that's all I have. Thanks for listening.
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