Here I am.
Alive and in one piece.
(at least I think so....at last count anyway).
I spent a week and a day in the psych unit of a local hospital. I guess that is no surprise to those of you who caught an eyeful of my last couple of posts.
They kept me intact while they messed with my medications--eliminating the mood stabilizer and tripling the dose of one of my antipsychotic meds. There was an initial debacle while the doctors had to "test the waters" and see whether my problem was psychosis or delirium from my pain medications. They finally saw for themselves that this was not the case (at my expense....the expense of some very painful days while they withheld pain meds).
I would have to say, were I a betting person, that I'm still inclining to the paranoid side. My huge amount of relief today to hear the words, "Would you like to go home?" was largely the consequence of my eagerness to escape the brain games and the huge mind **** that I felt was taking place on that unit. I believe with all my heart that a good number of the nurses hated my guts and that the doctor was not so fond of me either. I couldn't wait to get away from that sense of being watched...that hyper-vigilance that was so necessary to keep my head above water....to avoid drowning in the morass of scowls and whispers to the "aside" that I constantly felt were aimed in my direction.
Enough of that.
Why am I struggling to put a sentence together? Why is English suddenly my second language?? Does it seem that way to you? Maybe it's because I've not sat at a keyboard for over a week and have spoken very little also during that time, so the effort of formulating coherent sentences is suddenly a great difficulty for me.
Please bear with me while I get my equilibrium together again.
Also, here's a promise: I will be re-designing my blog again very soon. WHAT was in my mind to choose an Autumn design when it was mid-July??? Somehow that detail had escaped me. Well, I will make it right soon enough. First I need to open that 6" high stack of bills and EOBs that await me on the kitchen table.
OH, and why the title "the Bin Woman Returns"?? My husband's ex-best-friend in the period of our courtship liked to call me The Bin Woman, with a eye toward my numerous prior psych hospitalizations.
So yep. SHE'S BAAAack!