Recap: How I Ended Up in the Hospital

This entire past year I've felt awful. Last week or two (the end of May/ beginning of June 2014) I started to feel better. I thought I was turning over a new leaf in terms of my mood. But I was suspicious. If it acts like a duck, talks like a duck, it's a duck. Meaning: it's mania.

And I was right. It was mania.

I saw my therapist on Tuesday, June 3rd. I told him how I felt. At the end of the session we agreed I wasn't manic. It was just normal stuff to get excited about: dating, moving back home to get out of debt, wanting to get my driver's license, and traveling plans for my summer vacation. On Wednesday, June 4th I went to Brooklyn for a Janelle Monae concert with Chavonne and Niama. After the concert Chavonne asked me "What's going on?" At first I didn't know what she was referring to. Then she asked if I was manic. To be honest, I resented the question. Why couldn't she be happy for me that I turned over a new leaf? No longer sad and depressed? Then I had to check myself because I had been thinking the same damn thing! To placate her, I told her that I had seen my therapist the night before and we agreed that I wasn't manic. So I wasn't. But I still couldn't kick the doubt.

I got home from the concert at 1am. I did not sleep all night. I text my therapist at 10:56pm. We text back and forth for two hours. Then we spoke on the phone at 1:30am. I told him what Chavonne asked me and shared my own concerns. After we hung up I crafted the Update Email, but did not hit send because I didn't want to raise any red flags with a 2am email to my family, friends and coworkers. I proofread the email a dozen times. I really tried to lay down. But I kept getting up to add and tweak the update email. I read and responded to a few emails on match.com. I read a little of The Fault in Our Stars. And then it was 6am. Time to shower and get ready for work.

By now I'm totally spiraling into mania. I hit send on the email at 6:35am. I get dressed. I tell my mom that Chavonne asked if I was manic. I make the mistake of telling my mom that I didn't sleep. I really intended to keep that to myself. But I wasn't at my best going on no sleep and all. So I let it slip. Now her antenna is up. And she doesn't want me to go to work. I tell her that I talked to my therapist this morning. And that I was going to skip work Friday to go to Intensive Outpatient Therapy (IOP). I know I need to go get help. But I also need to go to work. It's the students' last day and I want to finish the year with them. I was so sad that I didn't get to finish the 2012-2013 school year with my students. I went out on disability April 19th through the end of the school year. I needed to hold out and finish my last day with my students.

By this point I'm fighting to keep my eyes awake. My mom and I have reached a compromise: I get to go to work but will be leaving early, at noon, then going straight to the emergency room. I try to play it cool and act normal. I sing along to the radio. I try to make light conversation. When all I wanna do is sleep.

Before my mom drops me off at work we stop at Dunkin Donuts so I can buy munchkins for my students. I also grab a coffee and some hash browns. I know I need to eat something. Walking into the building I feel like I'm sleepwalking. In fact my eyes are closed and I am walking slowly to my classroom. I run into a coworker. She sees my eyes closed. Shoot. I make up a half truth about how I was out late in Brooklyn at a concert; didn't get home until 1am. I don't mention that I haven't slept. Finally I make it to my classroom. It is nice and dark. And at this hour the building is still empty. I check the schedule for the day and see that Advisory starts at 8:30am. My advisees graduated on Sunday so I'm free during this time. I pull the beanbags behind my desk and lay down after setting my alarm for 8:30am. It's too quiet and my thoughts are starting to rattle around in my head. I turn on Pandora radio to the Mumford and Sons station and lay down in the darkness. I don't fully fall asleep but I lay there; I force myself to lay still, to rest since I didn't sleep the night before. I wanted to lay down until 8:30am; I didn't make it, I was too distractible. I go to look for my principal so I can tell her about going to the hospital. I preface the conversation by asking her if she read the emails I sent about the new senior elective I want to propose and about using the bipolar memoir in my graphic novel elective. I finally get around to telling her that I am going to the hospital. She is incredibly supportive; I love her so much. The fact that she is religious and a mom of four makes her incredibly understanding and caring. I then make my rounds to tell my colleagues that I'll be going to the hospital. I teach my classes. I read aloud Arthur's Summer Vacation, a children's book. I get great feedback from my students about their experiences in my class. I even cover a class for an absent colleague. I go see my colleague who also is my acupuncturist and she teaches me three yoga deep breathing moves. She tells me if I can get my breath to my gut that means my mania isn't as high. It works. I feel calmer, less manicky. Before I know it, it's noon. Time to go.

Before we head to the emergency room, my mom and I go grab lunch. I wanted to eat at Food, but there was no where to park. So we go eat at the restaurant that's on the ground floor of the hospital. We both order turkey burgers and sweet potato fries. We both cut our sandwiches in half. It took me so long to finish the half of the sandwich. I knew if I didn't make it a priority, then I wouldn't eat. We arrive at the emergency room around 1pm. I don't get admitted to the behavioral unit until 11pm. There's a lot of waiting. I said to my mom that last year's emergency room wait was more fun. She responded, "Krystal, people are sick." Indeed they were. There were a lot of people being wheeled in on gurneys in neck braces. Not sure if they were in car accidents or not. The emergency room was very somber. My aunt comes around 7pm to wait with us; she also was with me last year in the emergency room. While waiting, I text all my friends to tell them that I'll be admitted. I text until my phone's battery dies.

When the crisis worker came to interview me to see if I would be admitted or not, he asked tons of questions. Did I do drugs? Did I do drugs at the concert last night? Am I sure I don't do drugs? No heroin, cocaine, weed, cigarettes, alcohol? I answer a confident no. My vices are not drugs, they are sex and shopping. He asks how much have I shopped; I think I spent $1000 this time around, whereas in 2007 I spent $10,000. He asks about my family's mental health history. I don't have many answers for him. I don't know. My uncle, mom's younger brother, committed suicide when I was in middle school. And I have a cousin who was hospitalized with post-partum depression. But that is all I know. I have relatives receiving SSI, but I don't know what their diagnoses are.