I visited the psychiatric ward tonight. It's the first time i have been to the 'over 18' floor before. The room is bare and lifeless. A bed some sheets and a camera in a ball watching you. The room is at least bigger than a prison cell. (not speaking from personal experience, just observation.) You have to sign a confidentiality agreement and it is seriously locked down. 72 hours. I sat on the bed talking with this person and was (sadly enough) not surprised by what i heard. Just more of the same stressers. Just this time it broke the camel's back.
I know what it feels like to want to die. and not the "i-wish-i-was-dead-so-that-people-can-remind-me-what-is-worth-living-for", but to truly think that there is nothing left worth living for. I hated people talking to me as if they knew what i felt and that they could change my feelings. I have tried hard to never do that to anyone i have visited or supported through this. This time it is different.
I forgot my jacket. I'm not exactly thinking clearly. As i walked from the car to the hospital i really regretted not grabbing my mitts at least. And as i sat talking about what needs to be picked up and brought in, the gift to buy for a baby on their behalf, the book to be grabbed, where things are, i reminded the person that i was glad that i was getting these instruction from them and not having to figure out this stuff on my own. I dont feel sad or angry or even hurt.
When i left the hospital while waiting for the light to change i stared up at the snow falling gently through the soft glow and felt comforted and gratitude. What a beautiful night.