Still watering over here...

There was a time when I was *this close* to being committed and, for a while, that sounded like a good idea. Seriously, what could be wrong with having your own room, some peace and quiet, 3 squares a day and no housework to speak of. Okay, so a mental ward isn't exactly Eden but, given the alternative, it looked pretty much like a paradise to me.

It was six years ago while I was in the care of Dr. B. During one of my weekly visits, when I let it slip that I could kill my ex (then husband) for what he had done to me the day before (it was sexually violent), I was told that my fantasy of a little getaway could be coming true and sooner than I expected. My doctor was morally and ethically obligated to report me after my confession, at least to her supervisor ... possibly to the police so they could warn my ex of my intentions. It was also suggested that I stay in 'the unit' for at least the weekend until I calmed down.

If I had known that what I said to her was not confidential, I never would have let that out ... I also found out that by saying that I wished the pain would stop and I could just die, I would be put on the "watch list" and extensively questioned before being released. Who knew??

Anyway, there I was faced with the very real possibility of being locked up without a chance to get out until someone said I was no longer a danger to anyone, including myself. I had to convince them that I was not a danger to my kids and that they didn't need to contact social services. Suddenly, the fantasies of that place turned into nightmare and I found myself promising enything just to not be turned in, to not be locked up, to not lose my kids. I royally fucked myself by telling the truth.

A good 4 hours passed in the doctor's office that day while I pleaded my case. When they finally did let me go, I could have fallen down outside and kissed the cigarette strewn grass next to the parking lot. I decided that maybe letting people know my innermost urges was a bad thing and, unfortunately, my therapy didn't progress much after that.

I recently had a chance to visit the very place that I had pleaded so vehemently to not be locked up in. This past Friday, I was asked to make a McDonald's run for a friend of the family that found herself in the "Behavior Management" ward. She belongs in there, no doubt in my mind. She is a danger to herself and, unfortunately, she doesn't care neough to change her behavior yet so she will, most likely, spend quite a bit of time behind those double locked, steel-reinforced doors.

I did learn something very important while I was there. That place would have killed me. As a matter of fact, by the time we left there, I was so shaken, I had decided that I would never let myself slip again. Oh no, no way in hell I'm going back there. It was a scene straight out of Girl Interrupted, and not any of the pleasant outdoor scenes, either. Talk about being scared sane.

Anyway, she is still there and, if she calls, asking for more fries, I'm going to have to figure out a way to get them to her without going back in there. *shudder*


On a sad note, this past week, one of my fellow teachers passed away from cancer. Her kids took karate with my kids for the past 2 years and I was one of the first people up at the dojo that she let know about the breast cancer, which progressed into lymphoma and, finally, brain tumors she was fighting. She was a very brave lady and an excellent teacher.



Oh yes ... still watering over here.