Anyone been in the psychiatric hospital and had a great, fun-loving, good ol’ time?
I apologize to those who have experienced trauma in the hospital, who have been in there involuntarily and/or due to an attempted suicide or depression or instability or any of the difficulties related to those. I was probably the person you most hated in there.
My experience in the hospital was a manic one. But I felt safe and I felt like I could be who I was. I felt the rush of mania – that extreme, euphoric feeling where you can be and do anything, and why are all these other people in here not having as great a time as I am? I had forgotten any and all negative experiences I have ever had and was floating near the moon for the first half of my trip.
I felt slightly more and more defused when I realized I didn’t care whether I got out or not. When I started to realize that my kids were out there without me, and that I didn’t really care all that much cause I was just having too much fun.
Trust me, I came crashing down, so those of you who are rolling their eyes at my insanity, know that I got what was coming to me.
But I just wonder if there’s anyone else who actually enjoyed their stay? I got food made for me (best part), I had a shower (almost) every day, and that alone was incredible. I had spent so much of myself taking care of others, that being manic and so exorbitantly happy made me a fool, but a happy hap-happy one.
I FELT so much of everything. Ah, mania. You tricky trickster, you. If only I had realized it was all destined to come crashing down. I could have selfishly stayed that way forever, not knowing or caring the difficulties my family was having on the outside.
But I did stay manic for quite a long time. When I got in there, they had taken me off of all of my meds (do they do that for everyone?) and I was med-free for almost a week, and boy did I have fun. I felt like I was truly ME.
I’m not trying to glorify this experience (although I totally am.) It’s just that mania is really something special. I know it’s dangerous. I know it spins out of control. I know eventually I want to rip off all my clothes and be naked and the irritability and anger comes eventually. But music sounded better, dance parties were spontaneous and rock-hard awesome, and food was the greatest thing ever. I just felt alive and felt like I was finally ME.
Please, oh please, please don’t hate on me for this post. Cause – just to justify this post – last night I was wishing I could reach back to the back of my skull and rip my hair and skin off of the top of my head, pull forward, and reveal my skull and hopefully let all of the agony seep out. Cause I hated myself so much that I just wished and wished that I was dead.
Oh man, that was totally unnecessary to add. I’m a douche sometimes. I guess it is pretty obvious by now that I feel immense guilt for having such a great time. I had no responsibilities, and to those who were carrying them all for me, I’m so so very very sorry. I just can’t deny that I felt free. Maybe you would have, too.