Story Time- Being Hospitalized For Major Depression

"I think you need to go away for a while and get some help. You are in so much pain and I am worried about you" My doctor said with compassion in his eyes and a thick African accent on his tongue.

I felt myself sinking into the cushions of the off white couch as I sat across from him, twirling a soggy piece of tissue between my fingers.

"What do you mean go away? Like to a mental hospital?" I managed to whisper as the room continued to spin around me.

I knew that I was sad, and I knew that I needed some help, but I had no idea it was this bad. When I'd made the appointment to see a psychiatrist I figured I'd get to cry on his couch, tell him how overwhlemed I felt, get a prescription for some antidepressants and be out in time to pick my son up from daycare.

Instead, I was being told that he didn't trust me to go home, and that if I didn't agree to go to the hospital, he would have to have me forcibly admitted. 

In retrospect I understand why he was so concerned. I had after all just explained to him in great detail my plans to end my life. I told him exactly when and where I would do it. I listed off plans to get rid of my belongings and leave letters and pictures for my son. I described the relief I felt every time I fantasized about dying and how although I knew my family would miss me, that they would all get over it eventually. I was in danger, the depression had taken over, and he was trying to save my life.

"You want me to go today? Like right now? But what about work? What about my son? I have to pick him up from school" I asked him as the tears defiantly streamed down my face.

"Is there anyone in your family that can take care of your son?"

"I guess my mom can" I sniffled as my chest grew heavier.

"You should call her."

"And what about work? I can't just not go to work"

"Ms. Carroll, this is what sick leave is for. You need some time to get well. You are not ok."

He was right. I was not ok, but I also was not interested in going to a mental hospital. I just wanted him to give me some pills and let me go home, but instead I found myself in the back of a police car being escorted to the hospital. 

I will never forget the words that the officer said to me when she dropped me off at the access center where I would be evaluated and later admitted. 

"Don't cry" she said gently "You are too beautiful to cry. You are strong and you will get through this"

She was right.