They Took My Phone: Journal Entry Part 4: How NOT to Handle a Meltdown

Posted: September 10, 2015 in mental health
Tags:

Again, thanks for everyone who’s still reading these things. We’re on Day Three of a six day trip, so there’s not much left.

This also contains what I would have posted to inform my friends, so it repeats stuff. Sorry.

Also, CN for ableist language.

So, today I got stuck again. For some reason. Maybe they think my blood is so weird that they needed a sample to keep in the Archive of Weird Blood types.

You know, in case of the Uprising.

Seriously, I’m not keen on this.

I’m not keen on not having my vitals checked either. Sorry the machine sucks or my arms suck. But I can’t help that. But that doesn’t mean I get skipped today.  No fair.

No groups either. They can’t make me. I will not get overwhelmed again. I hate that shit. I’m here to be selfish, to deal with myself, not with a bunch of strangers. And their noise. How am I supposed to participate when I can barely hear?

I should learn more ASL.

Jodi came by. We talked about what to tell my ‘adoring’ social media public. I should have written down something. It would have gone like this:

Hi guys!

So, I’m in the mental health ward. I know, I know, I’m like years behind on being here, LOL

I checked myself in on Friday and don’t know when I’ll be out. They took my phone, the fuckers, so I have no clue when I’ll be getting that back. The scrubs are a lovely shade of dark orange rust. A little early for fall. Thankfully I’m allowed my own clothes.

The food is stand cafeteria fare, edible, but I’d steal a baby for some fries. And a chai.

I have Ioz, my MP3 player, going nearly much all day and for right now, I have order to not have a roommate. It’ll like I can’t handle people or something. Being an eldritch troll in human skin is hard. Thirty minutes checks get in the way of having moments to just relax. But I get to spend time in my room.

And at least there’s sherbet. Orange. Mmm. The flavor that is also a color.

Anyways, I’m safe. I’ll catch everyone up when I’m released – Crisis Intervention at the Mall of America, such a great story. For now I’m maintaining. Food, a bed, AC, my skulls, my writing and books. Also my own underwear. Something comforting about wearing your own underwear.

There’s a lot of crap I can’t have, obvious stuff if you’ve spent some time in a similar place. No cords, drawing, fireworks, fragrances, guns, toxic plants named Aubrey, shit like that.

I like candy and skulls. And people willing to run an errand.

So yeah, that’s it.

Ta-da and shit.

Don came by. Brought my spider blanket and the shawl I made. Brought some mouthwash but it wasn’t in my bag. We talk about the house.

I had a meltdown after he left. Ebon, my cane, has a broken rubber foot, so that’s why it slips. It was the last straw all of a sudden, and I cried.

Then I screamed. That felt good. Too long I keep this shit inside. Don’t cry too loud, don’t say the thing, shut up, be small, stay in your head.

They don’t like screaming ‘round here. So I better savor that moment unless I want to be moved to the more troublesome side of the ward.

Damn shame. I could use a good scream now and again.

So, I’m supposed to be getting a cane today so I can get around.

Not here yet. Not sure how to hobble over to even ask. At least I have the red “klutz” non-slip socks.

Once I calmed down from my fit, I wrote all my feelings about how I was treated. Some of the stuff is common sense, like “hey, don’t refer to a meltdown by an adult as a ‘temper tantrum’ or ‘the time to get a reasonable answer is NOT while they crazy is having a crazy moment’.

And by the way, having my “I don’t know” ignored is hella triggering. The Bitch used to hate those words. It’s not helpful to expect a hit when freaking out.

So, I wrote my feelings down and yapped at the nurse. Don’t know if he heard me. I want to know how to alert staff when I’m melting down without scaring everyone. Didn’t get an answer.

Got a goal, though. What starts this shit? It’s nice to allow the moment to happen, without holding bock, because I’m here to figure this shit out and crying in the middle of a Target never did anyone any good. Write it down. Go me. Gold sticker.

Skull sticker.

Silver foil. Gold isn’t my color.

OH! Jodi brought me candy!!

Advertisements

Comments are closed.