My Mania.

These are pieces of what mania typically looks like for me.

1. Trouble falling asleep or less need for sleep.
2. Less appetite but
3. Greater tendency to cook.
4. Tendency to clean walls, doors, or cabinets whereas I usually don't even notice them.
5. Need for constant stimulation, which may include a
6. Need to listen to music constantly or 
7. Drive to remain in constant conversation with others.
8. Tendency to sing or dance frequently as part of a 
9. Need to perform.
10. Psychomotor agitation that may include
11. Inability to sit still,
12. Shaking hands,
13. Fidgeting or odd posture, or a
14. Need to walk or pace, usually while listening to music.
15. Tendency to open my eyes too wide.
16. Racing thoughts, including
17. New ideas that may or may not make sense and a
18. Tendency to talk to myself or intense have one-sided conversations aloud.
19. Pressured speech, which can manifest as
20. Rapid speaking,
21. Interrupting (or struggling not to interrupt), or
22. Long, frequent text messages or E-mails along with a
23. Desperate need to say everything I think and feel.
24. Grandiosity, sometimes including a
25. Belief that everything I think and feel (23) is vital to me and some others, a
26. Belief that I am or should be fascinating to everyone (and great disappointment if I'm not clearly so),
27. Specific and often unrealistic moment-by-moment, emotionally-charged expectations of others (exactly what one will say or do), or an
28. Inflated belief in my abilities and even interests.
29. Overthinking and over-analysis of everything, including
30. Scrutiny of everything important people say and do, word-by-word, glance-by-glance, and a
31. Likelihood to become hurt, insecure, and combative with little provocation.
32. Obsessive thinking, which can include a
33. Desire to become completely enmeshed with someone or someones, a 
34. Conscious or unconscious belief that my happiness or wellness depends an individual or individuals, a
35. Need for hyper-intimacy, sometimes to the point of disrupting another person's routine, 
36. Intense bouts of research on a particular topic, or
37. Fixation on certain objects or ideas.
38. Intense attraction to lists, systems, categorization, and ranking, whether or not it is significant or makes sense.
39. Irritability, often related to 27.
40. Perfectionalism or a critical perspective, related to greater noticing of details (as in 4).
41. Impulsivity, which can include
42. Excessive shopping, particularly online and usually with a certain fixation such as makeup or paper dolls,
43. Starting arguments or escalating conflicts in a (usually futile) effort to get something I need, or
44. Making sudden changes in plans (which is usually unlike me) or making new plans.
45. Tendency to excess in activities such as
46. Prolific writing in some form,
47. Highly-focused reading or reading from numerous sources, or
48. Intensely-focused tasks or projects, whether or not they are valuable or appropriate at the time.
49. Greater awareness of and confidence in personal appearance.
50. Almost self-destructive vulnerability.

Three Nights in Purgatory: Night Three.

I quickly got up, surprised to see so many people. I walked among them out of the vault, out of the ED, and out to a van. They told me where to get in. They were carrying paper bags of my belongings. I huddled close to the window. They were calling out instructions on what to do with me, so I guess one person was training. Still, it seemed like a crowd to transport me. I tried not to think about what sort of roommate I'd have. How nice? How sick? How social? I hoped for very, not very, and not very. One nurse talked for a long time about how this van used to belong to her department but disappeared for "repairs" and never returned. 

We arrived at a small, two-story building. They let me out and all confirmed, "Level 1," with each other. I assumed that meant that I was well-enough behaved to be on the regular floor rather than an even more locked-down ward. 

The halls, walls, and doors looked fairly new, and I eagerly spotted twin water fountains. I hoped I would have access to them if I needed them. My entourage told me that so far, I didn't have roommate. This was good. I wouldn't have to worry about it, and it meant that the ward wasn't crowded; the nurses might not be too busy or overwrought. 

The transport team dropped my bags off at the nurse's station and disappeared as if they'd never been there. Two nurses spoke to me as I stood awkwardly in my hospital gowns. One of them took my bags, and I wondered if I'd actually see any of what I'd packed. The other took me back down the hall to a small, hot room. She asked all the questions. She asked if I were interested in men or women, which I don't remember anyone's asking me before. She had to check every bit of skin, so I cooperated, and she made note of a bruise on my thigh. I didn't know how I'd gotten it. 

She walked me back to the nurse's station and a room directly beside it. It was a fairly spacious room with many windows covered with semi-transparent screens. I could see the other patients out on a patio having group therapy. I hoped they couldn't see me. The room had two wooden beds, and I noticed that these each had a white blanket as well as a sheet. The nurse directed me to the bed closer to the window. Beside each bed was a blue rubber tub with a lid. The nurse said it was for dirty clothes, but I could also use it as a nightstand. Open wooden shelves stood in one corner. She gestured to clean hospital gowns and a hygiene kit at the foot of the bed. Flimsy toothbrush, toothpaste, roll-on deodorant, and a brittle black comb. She pointed to a door with a slanted opening at the top so that someone could look in. That was the bathroom, and I could take a shower if I wanted. A shower!

So I did, after drinking from the sink. I hoped the dispenser in the shower wouldn't run out of soap because it was all I had. My long hair required a lot. Even though it wasn't specially formulated, that soap felt good on my face. When I felt totally clean, I dressed, figuring out the snaps on the gowns, and brushed my teeth hard. Then, I sat down on the bed with the comb. I had no conditioner, no leave-in conditioner, and no brush. My hair is unruly. But I settled in and started at the ends, combing one small section at a time. Eventually, my hair was basically detangled. 

I went to the nurse's station and asked if I could call my husband. The nurse pointed to a phone around the corner but said I would have to wait until group was over. I hoped there wouldn't be a rush for the phone. He made me happy though--he held up two large handfuls of cloth. Clothes! He said I was allowed to have three of each item. As I took the clothes, he pointed to a skimpy tank top with a built-in bra and said I could only wear it under another shirt. "You can have both pairs of shoes," he said. The nurse who had checked me in said, "Look at those slippers!" I didn't remember slippers; I only remembered the dark blue slip-ons I'd arrived in. But there they were, hot pink slippers with little silver polka dots. I said a sort of prayer of thanks to my past self who'd packed that bag.

I actually remembered very little about what was in the bag, But I unrolled three pairs of high-waisted black leggings and three long-sleeve V-neck shirts in teal blue, fuchsia, and purple. I'd even chosen good colors and anticipated that the ward would be cold. Even the unders were in pretty colors. But then, I had a terrible thought. Thanks primarily to lithium and other medications, I weighed a lot more now than I did when I made that trip to Target. But luckily, everything was stretchy and fit fine. I took leggings, unders, a sports bra, and the teal blue top into the bathroom (still unsure about those windows) and came out feeling so different. I wasn't wearing familiar clothes, but I had chosen them, they were soft, and I was wearing color. I was wearing clean clothes. Even wearing a bra felt good! I put on the cute slippers. Pink plus polka dots? I can be really kind to myself sometimes.

By then, group had ended, and people were filtering back inside. I saw one thin woman in a pretty set of printed pajamas (a pair I might buy), and she had her blanket over her shoulders. I walked by a young man in red and black as I went to the water fountain. The shorter one was disappointing, but the taller one was colder and had better pressure. Good to know. 

I noticed a big clock by the nurse's station--what a relief to know the time! I had probably arrived at the ward around 11 a.m. I asked again to call Josh, and the nurse dialed the number for me. I told Josh where I was and asked him to call Mom for me because it was almost lunch time. Josh still sounded pretty good. I was grateful to him for being okay when I wasn't.

But actually, I was kind of okay. The thoughts were gone. I didn't feel particularly safe...because I didn't need to. I could imagine going home. 

I was hungry, and I didn't know what to expect. The common area was small with three tables and plastic lawn chairs, a plastic-y loveseat, cabinets, a shielded TV, and a white board reminding us to be kind to ourselves. The room wasn't crowded. I noticed one girl with a blond braid and wondered why she got to have a hair tie.  A movie with Robert DeNiro came on the TV, and I half watched it. I love movies, so I gravitated toward the opportunity to watch one. And I was rewarded because Jamie Harrold, on whom I long had an uncomfortable crush (and watched several movies just for his small roles in them), had a part! That just made me laugh to myself. Our food came to us--covered black plastic trays this time. We stood in line at a cart for drinks. I was excited to have ginger ale again.

I was amazed at how much food there was. I had a small salad, cut cantaloupe and honeydew, a grilled chicken sandwich, and large broccoli with garlic. I ate everything. The dressing choices were limited, but I was fine without dressing, and I was especially excited about that one slice of cucumber. The fruit was good though not usually favorites. The sandwich was good, and broccoli is my favorite vegetable. I was showered, dressed, and well-fed--better off than I'd been in two days. 

The girl with the braid was reading a paperback novel. I wondered how on earth she got such a treasure. So I wouldn't seem too isolated, I found two issues of Elle Decor on a cabinet and paged through them in the common room. 

A general doctor arrived and took me to that same tiny, hot room. My blood tests had been fine. After a quick check-up, I think we promptly forgot each other.

I went back to my room, having passed the guy in red and black again on my way to the water fountain. I realized he was pacing the halls, which made a lot of sense. I sat down on my bed and stretched. Then, I lay on my side and just folded the blanket over me. At one point, the nurse came in and asked if I wanted to go outside. I said, "No, thank you," and went back to sleep. I was comfortable.

When I woke up, it was nearly dinner time. I asked for water, and the nurse told me to use the water fountain. He seemed to think better of it and offered me a cup, which I took. I passed the guy pacing again, and I also passed a girl pacing. I filled my cup and drank it three or four times. The pacing girl stopped. 

"Hi, I know you're drinking your water."

"Hi."

"I'm A. How are you?"

"I'm Becky. I'm...I'm okay."

"Just having a rest?"

I paused, thinking about the long nap I'd had in the quiet, partial darkness. "Yes."

"Me too. Well, it was nice to meet you."

"It was nice to meet you too, A."

The nurse told me that my mom had called while I was asleep. He called Josh first by mistake, so I talked to him. Then, I talked to Mom. I told her about A. I wasn't crying.

I got my own little plastic water pitcher with ice. I brought that with me along with a full cup of water fountain water to the common room. A was sitting where I had sat at lunch. Her hair was pulled back (where were they getting these hair ties?), and she was wearing a yellow striped shirt, black capris, and red laceless sneakers. I gestured to the chair across from her. 

"Is anyone sitting here?"

She grinned. "Yes! You!"

I smiled and sat down. Then, I looked at the TV. Deep Blue Sea was already in progress. 

"I love this movie!" I said to no one in particular, and I watched it.

The main dish was some kind of meatloaf that did not look or smell appetizing. So I ate mashed potatoes, a side salad, and a great many canned peaches. Two people offered me their peaches, but we weren't supposed to share. I drank Sierra Mist, which just isn't the same as Sprite. 

The girl with the braid and an older man played chess. The girl with the braid (I should have asked her name) invited A to play. A said she didn't know how but agreed to learn. The girl with the braid said it helped pass the time. I was still watching the shark movie. The nurse asked me to fill out a meal sheet, making selections. I did so for the next day, and he said, "Did you need help with this?" I didn't realize he wanted me to do it for the whole week. So I did, even though the thought made me a little sick.

When the movie ended, I was already tired again. I brushed my teeth, filled up my pitcher and cup at the water fountain, and unmade my bed. I made a mental note to wake in time for breakfast. I think I only got up once for more water.

When I woke up, I walked into the hall and checked the time. I didn't have time to shower, but I was up in time for breakfast. I went back to my room and stretched. 

In the common room, I sat in the same seat and looked for A but didn't see her. It was strange--I didn't see her at lunch, and I didn't see her at breakfast. Part of me wondered if she had been real. Maybe I just really needed someone to be nice to me. 

I saw the man from the ED, the one who had been disruptive and refused to wash his hands. He was totally silent. I wonder if someone threatened him with Level 2. 

A nurse came around with drinks. I had my water, but I asked for a milk and two apple juices, and I got them! I drank happily and ate my oatmeal and banana (the nurse couldn't believe that was all I'd asked for, but I'm not used to eating breakfast). 

A social worker with curly hair and a navy T-shirt dress took me back to that tiny room. Questions. I asked her what would happen next. Today was Sunday, so I'd been hoping I'd get released on Monday. She said a psychiatrist would come see me. 

I waited around and stretched for a while. I had a little time before group, which I was not looking forward to. I didn't want to talk, and I didn't want much more to listen. I didn't know what I'd hear. But I needed to fill the time. I'd decided on the fuchsia top and was just about to take a shower when the psychiatrist walked in. 

He asked me why I hadn't seen a psychiatrist the day before; I explained that I'd seen one  in the ED. He asked why I was in the ED for two nights; I said they were short-staffed. He said, "It's not great here, but it's better than the ED." I nodded. He, too, said that I was on a good set of medication, and he didn't want to change it. I thought, I'm out of danger, so if you're not going to adjust my meds, what are you doing for me?

I asked, "What happens next?"

Surprisingly, he asked me what I thought. I said I felt better, I felt safe, and I had a lot of family support. 

He said, "I don't want to keep you here for no reason. Let me talk to the rest of the team."

I was surprised but tried not to get too excited. What would the social worker and the nurses say about me?

I went back to stretching. Then, I went to the common room and watched some rotten sitcom. I didn't see anyone else. 

Then, the psychiatrist said, "Rebecca."

I looked up.

"You're all set."

"For today?"

"Today. You can talk to the nurses about a more specific timeline."

I thanked him. A day earlier than I'd hoped! 

The nurse who'd first checked me in went over my wallet and the record of its contents, right down to 77 cents. I signed some discharge papers, and she gave me a list of resources. 

The other nurse said, "It's time,"

I was shocked. "I should call my husband?" I'd expected the process to take hours.

I called Josh, who didn't sound so okay. I didn't know if he'd feel better or worse when I said, "Can you come get me?"

But he immediately said yes, no question. 

The check-in nurse unlocked a closet, and we brought out my bags. We consolidated them, and I brought out the rest of my clothes. I striped my bed, brought out the laundry, and threw away everything else. I had no desire to keep that flimsy toothbrush. 

The nurse stopped me and looked at me. "Do you want to go?"

"Yes."

My phone still had a little charge. The nurse took me outside with my bags and wished me well. I thanked her for being so kind to me when I needed it so much. I texted Bruce, "I'm on the outside." The psychiatrist waved to me as he walked to his car.

Then, my little Honda pulled up, and there were Josh and Oliver and the rest of the world.

Three Nights in Purgatory: Night Two.

I wished I had a yo-yo, some physical skill I could practice and master. I thought about doing ab exercises, but that seemed like a bad idea in my gown. So I sat on the bed and started stretching. My neck, bit by bit. My arms. My back. I rolled my shoulders. I stood and reached my feet. I pulled up to my tiptoes and down repeatedly, feeling a burn up the back of me. I paced. Anything that wouldn't look too bizarre on camera, the red light blinking from the ceiling. I stretched and stretched. The headache started to fade.

I saw a woman walk by with a security guard. Her fancy sci-fi mask and confident stride told me she was a doctor. I smiled. My psychiatrist had said "overnight." It was Friday, and Josh lets me sleep in on Saturdays. Maybe I wouldn't miss sleep-in day (how could I miss sleep-in day?). I could walk back into my life on the weekend and recover before Monday. It would be fine.

It wasn't fine. She was nice but direct, and I couldn't help the tears and the strained voice. I was also shaking. I felt a little embarrassed talking about my son's having autism and about my stress over his school work, but she seemed to think that was a lot to handle.

"I think you need to stay here for a couple of days. You look too anxious and too sad. I don't want to send you right back to that situation. You'll end up worse. You'll end up back here. Do you agree to stay here for a couple of days?"

"Okay." She was determined; I'd be staying whether I agreed or not.

"I'll work on the admission. Do you have any questions for me?"

"Yes. What was my lithium level?" A therapeutic lithium level is as close to 1 as possible. Too low means ineffective dosing, and too high is toxic. My body metabolizes lithium inconsistently, so my test results vary, and I've been on a range of doses.

"That's a great question." She took out her cell phone. ".54. You've missed some doses."

"That low? I've maybe missed one."

"You're on a good regimen of medication. I don't want to change anything right now. We'll get you back on your meds."

She left. I was frustrated; she thought I'd stopped taking my meds. I don't want to feel bad; I'm not going to stop taking my meds. I have no illusions that I'm better off without my medication. At this point, the disease has certainly progressed, and I don't really want to know who I am without meds. I definitely don't want to expose those I love to that person. 

But my mother says I'm the most compliant bipolar person on the planet, and the blood test went against my word.  At the same time, I now had a pretty good idea of why I'd started feeling so very bad. Lithium is a mood stabilizer; it regulates the brain, and it especially helps curb suicidal thoughts. 

My defenses were down. Way down. And right now, no one was going to build them back up.

And I wasn't going home.

The boredom and loneliness wrapped thickly around me. I didn't know what to hope for. I kept stretching. My body continued to unclench a little. 

Lunch came in another Styrofoam box. A nurse came in holding three small cups. Without thinking, I took two of them, and he let me. It looked like iced tea, which I've never liked, but I wasn't complaining. But no, it was ginger ale! Never my favorite, but sweet and bubbly...I couldn't believe my luck. 

I didn't expect much from the food. I found cut carrots (which I love cold but not cooked--yes, I'm picky) and mashed potatoes and a thick slice of turkey, both smothered in gravy. I've always avoided gravy. but it and the turkey were totally edible. I slowly cut the meat with the edge of my plastic spoon. I ate all of the turkey and potatoes and as many spoonfuls of the carrots as I could. Breakfast had been inedible, and dinner might be too. 

I had more bloodwork, this time to check my thyroid. Everyone always wants to check my thyroid, and it's always fine. It was fine this time too. 

A transfer nurse came in. "I already have a room number for you and everything, so we should be leaving soon." I knew that, if nothing else, the psych ward would be different from the psych ED.  She gave me a brochure and a list of rights and responsibilities. Written at the top was 5221, my code. Anyone who wanted to contact me would need that code.

A few times, someone would ask if I wanted the TV on. I said no; I couldn't control the channel or volume, and having those wrong would be miserable. Normally, I'd expect my mind to entertain itself. But my mind was a bare, chilly place. Except for those corners.

I slept a little to pass the time. I had no dreams, no treasured thoughts, no comforting images. 

"Please, Momma. Please, just let me come home. MOMMA. Don't be like that, Momma. Just let me come HOME. She's gonna call you to make sure I have someplace safe to stay. I swear to Jesus, Momma, I'm gonna change my LIFE. I gotta daughter, Momma. I gotta girlfriend, and she's pregnant. I've been here all night and all day just layin' in the bed, Momma. I'm not even suicidal, Momma. I don't know why I said that. She's gonna be back in a minute! Can I come home or not? MOMMA--"

This went on. And on. People told him he had to be quiet, but the desperation and volume increased. He was probably about my age. I felt for his parents. I kind of felt for him too. I could hear the anguished boredom in his voice. 

The transfer nurse never came back.

Dinner appeared to be exactly the same as lunch, which was okay with me. But the meat was actually chicken, which was tough and tasteless. I ate the potatoes and some of the carrots. I had politely taken only one cup of ginger ale, and I drank it slowly.

I was lying down when I heard a voice from the nurse's station. "If she's here, I'll have her call you." For some reason, I perked up.

A security guard appeared at my door, holding a phone and a cord. "Your husband wants you to call him."

The guard plugged in the phone in the hallway. I padded in my gray hospital socks and called the only number I have memorized besides my own. I've heard Josh's voice so many times when one of us was in distress. We've been together almost fifteen years. He was brave and positive, never making me feel guilty for being where I was. I was crying again. I told him what little I knew and gave him the phone number and code. I said I'd try to call him as soon as I moved. 

After we hung up, I went back to my room for that yellow sticky note that had somehow passed the inspection when I arrived. The guard was unplugging the phone, but I asked if I could call my mom. 

Mom answered after one ring. I was already back to crying. She asked how I was, and I said I'd never been more bored or lonely. I felt ashamed when I said, "I don't want to be here, but I don't really want to go home either." But Mom said that made a lot of sense. I gave her the code, phone number, and address for where I'd eventually be. She said, "I'm so sorry that this has to be part of your story." But she made me feel like I'd been good and responsible. 

I saw the "Momma" guy in his doorway, dressed and ready to go home.

Someone turned my TV on, so I had the low drone of football in the background. I realized that I'd been lying in the wrong direction on the bed the whole time, but I wasn't going to change. I wished for a shower and easy access to water. I asked for water, and a nurse brought me the big plastic cup again. I was so excited. 

A nurse with a familiar name told me that they were short-staffed, which was why I hadn't moved. I didn't have the energy to be upset about it. 

I went to sleep early (at least I think I did). Mom had said that I'd been in the hospital for over 24 hours. I was on my side facing the door when I heard someone in the bathroom and could tell that the door wasn't closed. I told myself to keep my eyes shut.

"You need to close the door," a security guard said. 

"You can't make me close the door," the man said. I thought he was the patient who threatened to "piss on the door." 

"Wash your hands."

"I don't want to wash my hands."

"It's for our safety and yours."

"Yeah? What about my ---- ain't dirty?"

I heard a struggle but was able to go back to sleep. 

I checked once and didn't see anything by the sink, but when I woke up again, breakfast was there. I saw two packets of ketchup and got excited--could that mean hashbrowns? I quickly drank the apple juice again. I found the same scrambled eggs and sausage but also something like chunky mashed potatoes. I put ketchup on the hybrid potatoes and ate them all. 

The nurse with the familiar name stopped in. "How did you sleep?"

"Better, I think."

"You were asleep every time I checked." I loved him for having a kind voice and a name I loved. 

I was still tired, deep-marrow tired but also light, pillow-headed sleepy. Who would care if I slept more? So I did.

A few hours later, four people blocked the light from from the hall. "Wake up, sleepy head. We're moving."

Three Nights in Purgatory: Night One.

The thoughts came hard and sharp. Not intent but intrusive. It was Thursday afternoon. I'd been crying for a while. Usually, I can't cry if I want to. Josh was doing worksheets with Oliver, but they seemed far away and fogged. Josh's help did not relieve the pressure on my chest.

What if these thoughts started to seem like a good idea?

What if something else took over?

"I don't want to tell the truth because it might be really bad for you guys," I said. He asked if I needed to stop doing Oliver's school work. He asked if I needed to go somewhere. I didn't want to go anywhere. I didn't want to make life harder or sadder for Josh or Oliver or anyone else. But my head ached from the sharpness of those thoughts.

I texted Mom. "May be going to hosp. Not so safe."

I took out a yellow sticky pad and pink pen and wrote down numbers from my cell phone. A crisis triage line, my mom, Bruce, my therapist, Oliver's teacher and therapists. Josh took a picture of the page with his phone. He went into the guest room to call my therapist, and I took Oliver to his room for bed.

My eyes were wide open.

I texted Bruce, "I may need your help. Not feeling very safe."

He asked questions that I sort of answered. He said, "I love you. No matter what."

When Oliver was asleep, I went back to the living room. Josh had talked to the therapist, who had called my psychiatrist. Josh was waiting to hear back. I sat in my chair.

"Yes, sir," I heard Josh say into his phone as he went back to the guest room. He came back, holding the phone out to me. I took a deep breath but didn't try to disguise my voice. Tears continued to seep from the corners of my eyes.

"...how are you doing?"

"Not so good."

"Your husband said you were having these thoughts. You thought about...but you didn't do it?"

"I didn't do it."

"Tell me about how you feel."

"I don't feel so safe."

"Would you feel safer if you stayed overnight in a hospital?"

"I don't know. I guess."

"Maybe that would be good. Or at least a few hours, so they could assess you. Because it sounds like these thoughts are powerful."

Yes. They still weren't intent, but they were powerful. They were scary. "Okay."

"Let's do that. Can I talk to your husband?"

He asked Josh if he needed to call an ambulance, if he thought I'd try to get out of the moving car. Josh said he didn't see that happening.

Josh called Bruce. "Can you come sit with Oliver? He's asleep, but I need to take Becky to the emergency department."

I changed into leggings, a purple Sleeping Beauty T-shirt, a peach-pink hoodie without a string, and a pair of dark blue slip-on sneakers. Though I'd never been a patient before, I'd been to psych wards, and as my mom would say, it wasn't my first rodeo. I went into the closet and took out the blue bag I packed several years ago when we first moved into this apartment over seven years ago. I just decided one day that I needed to go to Target and prepare for...well, today.

"Cut the straps off," I said to Josh. "They won't let me have it with the straps." Josh cut the straps off the bag.

Then, Bruce was there. Josh let him into the building. We hugged, and I said, "I just had to see you."

"This is a little elaborate," he said. "You could have just come by."

"If Oliver wakes up, remind him that you're Bruce."

I had my purse, knowing I wouldn't keep it, and my 40-ounce pink water bottle. The bag was awkward without the straps. I decided I should call my mom. I managed to get out that I was going to the hospital. She did great--loving and supportive without making me cry more. She told me she was proud of me. I tried to put that right in my heart.

We got to the ED. Everything was blocked off, and the two employees were wearing elaborate masks and were covered in plastic. It was like a sci-fi movie. Josh and I were wearing the masks my mom made us.

"There are no visitors," the man said.

I turned to Josh and leaned into him awkwardly. I didn't know when I'd see him again. Hours? A week? It was too late to think about it.

The man checked my temperature and waved me toward a security guard who checked my bags. A strap of a sports bra fell out; he asked me to push it back, so he wouldn't have to touch it with his gloves. I couldn't see his mouth, but I knew he was smiling at me, trying to be kind.

The first man buzzed me through a door. I didn't see a single patient anywhere. I sat in a blue metal wheelchair and gave my name and date of birth to two nurses. All my records were there; I didn't even have to show ID. Questions. I used the word ideation. One of the nurses gave me a standard hospital bracelet and another that was neon pink with reflective gold. She called someone to ask where to take me.

We walked through the ED and then into something like a vault. I saw a woman in a hospital gown poised like a child in the hallway. A security guard in blue and a nurse with a leopard-print headwrap took me to a nearby room. "Have you been here before?" the nurse asked. Her face seemed to soften when I said no. The guard wanded me and then left.

The nurse closed the door and held up a hospital gown while I undressed. She helped me put on two gowns, one in front and one in back, and hospital socks. She took my rings and the purple and blush hair ties on my wrists. We put everything in paper bags, and the security guard came back for them. I went to the lockless restroom across the hall to give a urine sample for drug screenings and a pregnancy test.

Then it was just me, in a cell with a rounded plastic platform under a sarcophagus-shaped mattress with a fitted sheet and top sheet, and an automatic sink. I drank room-temperature water from my hands. Lithium makes me wildly thirsty all the time.

I was totally alone, and everything was gone. I wished I had tattoos, something to trace, to see, to remember, some evidence of my personality. I sat up on the bed as long as I could, and then, I lay on my side, facing the open door. A nurse pointed out something like a pillow next to the sink, and I thanked him. I was grateful that I was across from the bathroom; I always knew if it were open. I prepared myself for walk-ins since the door had no lock, but it didn't happen (not to me, anyway). I held my hands under the warm water of the automatic sink for a few extra seconds.

A GP doctor saw me briefly and asked about my medications.

The nurse with the leopard-print headwrap stopped and looked at me. "Do you need anything?"

I didn't know what I could ask for. "Can I have some water?"

"Sure. You want anything else? Crackers? Applesauce? Sandwich?"

"No thank you."

She came back with a 32-ounce triangular measuring cup (probably for measuring urine) with plenty of ice. "This was the closest I could find to your water bottle. I remember how big it is." I nearly burst into tears from the kindness. "If you need anything else, and you see me walk by, just let me know." I prayed her shifts would correspond with my stay.

The ice was small and crunchy, almost like Sonic's. But I saved it and quickly refilled the cup from the sink. I felt calm. I had enough cool water to last another hour or so.

A psych nurse talked to me. I knew I should get used to saying the same things over and over. He took notes on his blue glove. He said he would order a lithium level. I would see the psychiatrist, but he didn't know if it would be that night or in the morning. Yes, I was okay with staying overnight (as if I had a choice at that point). I kept lying back down but popped up every time someone seemed to be stopping for me.

Another nurse came in with a security guard and drew my blood. She said my veins were deep, but she got one on the first try.

I felt...safe. Even if those thoughts came back full force, even if they hypnotized me, I could not hurt myself if I wanted to. The traitor part of my brain argued, but I reasoned that nothing would work. I was bored and lonely but safe. I worried about Josh, Oliver, and Bruce. Had Josh gone home? Was he still waiting? Had Bruce gotten home? How would Oliver react to my being gone? But those thoughts faded because I could do nothing for any of them. I couldn't even do anything for myself. They would have to figure it out without me.

I fell asleep but woke often. One of the security guards right outside my door told loud stories well into the night. At one point, I heard a man arguing loudly with a nurse.

"You're going to kick me out when I haven't even seen the doctor yet?"

"I'll lock you in your room."

"I'll piss on the door."

"If you do that, sir, you will clean it up. I promise you, you will clean it up."

I heard a struggle, then quiet, then an explosion of nervous laughter from the staff. I was so cold that I took my arm out of my gown and huddled under it. Since I had a cup, I drank water from the sink. I only asked for water once or twice in the night, and I was bummed to get two small Styrofoam cups instead of a big plastic one. But I relished the ice and refilled my cups before it all melted. I wished for a clock.

I knew it was morning because I sat up, and a staff member pointed out my breakfast next to the sink. I was thrilled to see a tiny 4-ounce peel-back cup of apple juice with it. I drank that all at once. Inside the Styrofoam box were scrambled eggs, a sausage patty, and a puddle of white gravy. Everything was rubbery, and I gave up after a few bites.

My hair was in need of a wash, and it was tangled. I tried to part it and braided it into two tight braids. I've never been good at anything involving hair. I didn't have my hair ties, so I let the braids slowly unravel. But my hair stayed mostly in place for a while. My head still ached.

One night down.

Compression.

My world is narrowing. I'm increasingly aware of what I cannot do, what I will never do or can never do again. I've broken my left foot and sprained my left ankle. Most days, I have some pain from that. I'll never really dance again. I know which movements would splinter me.

I used to believe that I could do anything. I'm different now. I've failed tremendously at a vocation that was right for me. Forget ED doctor and airline pilot.

I'm also realizing that sometimes, no answers exist for me to find. The people who, the books that, the websites that should know don't know. It's a dark and floorless feeling.

Oliver is sick with strep and won't take his regular medication. I've prayed and prayed. Still, he won't swallow the pills he swallowed so easily just days ago. He's throwing up everything, probably from withdrawal. This is the most doubt I have ever felt.

My eyes burn and ache. I press a cold, damp washcloth to them. This happens most days now. Tears aren't enough. The wet cloth fell on my notebook and feathered a list I don't remember making.

I feel pressure in my jaw, in my ears, in my shoulders, and under my collarbone. I don't know if I'm getting sick or just deep-sea diving into despair. This morning, I laughed great bubbling laughter at absurd Facebook posts. Now, that seems like a different person.

I'm not starving myself. I stuffed crisp leaves of romaine in my mouth some hours ago. I'm considering one of the eggs I boiled yesterday and the bit of spaghetti Josh left in the pot. A bone-deep tremor may signal that I need to take benztropine again. My breath seems to travel though a network of straws jammed into my throat and lungs.

I am sick in one way or the other.

I'll Feel Better When....

I've lived much of my life in a state of almost perpetual dread. I didn't think anything else was possible for me. Every class, shift, table, drive, test, visit, restaurant, discussion, new outing...nearly everything, even what I loved, set my heart wild and twisted me in chains, sometimes days in advance. Some days, it was like someone pouring hot gravel into my abdomen.

Recently, I was preparing for a parent-teacher conference. I felt fine talking to Oliver's teacher every morning, but the relative formality along with the difficult news I was expecting brought on the dread. But for perhaps the first time, I forced myself to look past the meeting. How would I feel when it was over? I might feel sad, worried, or overwhelmed, but I'd also feel relief, and I'd have some time to myself in sight. Now, I tell myself, "I'll feel better when this is over," or some such hopeful thought.

Sometimes, too much comes at me at once, and I can't see a path. My inner voice is silent, and I know I'm alone. But I can seek out companionship. I can write my way through. I'm not wired for dread alone.

What Trauma Has Taught Me.

• I have no idea what people are capable of doing.
• I don't know much more about what I'm capable of doing.
• I needed to add to my relationships because it's healthy and so I won't be alone if one or two people leave.
• I'm stronger than I could have thought possible.
• I need to cry regularly, even though my ability to cry has diminished.
• I easily forget to eat when I'm under stress.
• Josh doesn't necessarily need my help.
• People can be incredibly generous if they know what one needs.
• Varying degrees of forgiveness exist.
• My brain is not trustworthy during or soon after a trauma.
• Memory is full of holes.
• "Some hurts never heal" (Next to Normal).
• Wearing my own clothes steadies me during a crisis.
• I need something to reach for, something that is familiar, at all times.
• Sometimes, I can do my best or even get everything right, and it's not good enough.
• I have to stay alive how ever I can.