Return to the Cuckoo's Nest Part IV

Safely ensconced in the ambulance I was taken to another local hospital to drink more charcoal and be put in their version of isolation.  Why the drivers took me Club Dread instead of back to the Cuckoo's Nest is beyond me.  I was given a private room that wasn't really private.  The room was encased in case, locked and I had a commode to accommodate my pressing needs but absolutely no privacy.  I was feeling pretty stupid about what I had done and just wanted to go home to my cats and resume therapy and not drink ever again.  The staff psychiatrist visited me after two days and told me I had to commit myself again because of the suicide attempt.  I was less than happy.  Actually, I had a shit fit and was calling the beautifully dressed and coiffed psychiatrist a variety of names and they sedated me and gave me a phone so I could make arrangements to get some clothes and have the cats cared for in my absence.  I did not call my father at this point.

So, another ambulance ride later I was at Saint One Flew for what turned out to be a short term commitment.  Their psychiatrist, seeing how absolutely contrite I was, and how unlike the other inmates I was, recommended outpatient treatment for a week and I was sent home with more drugs and a hardy hi ho silver.  Of course they sent me home in a cab that dropped me at a pharmacy not to be named by my home.  And, of course, they were out of the medication so I had another hissy fit, this time with the pharmacist who was a former companion of my Ex.  My God, they were all over the place.  The Good, The Bad and the downright Ugly.

Come the following Monday, bright and early, I got a cab and went to the outpatient unit for the day.  Unlike the inpatient unit, this unit actually functioned well.  I met my current psychiatrist, Dave, and he immediately took me off the Lithium and put me on another mood stabilizer.  We also met in group in the morning, had a lunch break, did various forms of therapy in the afternoon.  One common element is most of the people in that unit were recovering alcoholics, like myself now, and much of the group focused on drinking and the problems it caused in our lives.  I did outpatient for a week and felt well enough to go back to work.

I did, however, have to talk to my dad as the hospital had notified him of my mistake.  He came up that following Monday after I was released from outpatient and came to take me to lunch.  He was amazed I was depressed enough to consider suicide and for a not too religious man gave me numerous religious reasons for me not to kill myself.  Thus was lunch and he went back to Detroit thereafter.

I did try to go to AA meetings.  I tried.  It didn't take.  I felt the groundwork was too christian in orientation, generic christian, and I didn't feel like I was getting the message.  And much like when I quit smoking, I just set my mind to the task and haven't had a drink since January 6, 1997.  I initially felt like I had failed in AA, but I realized it just wasn't the right path for me.  I have sought out other sobriety agencies and books but the religious tenor always put me off.  Even the Jewish Twelve Step programs didn't fit my needs.  But I have remained sober.

This is not to say  that I haven't been depressed since and felt mildly or acutely suicidal; I have.  But with the help of first Pat and then Hyphen I have pulled back from the brink many times.  I have used this blog as a sort of journal to work some issues out and have been grateful for the feedback.  I can't seem to find the energy to keep a journal but blogging seems to suit my needs better.

Thank you for following me through this process.

And now for something completely different:

Me and my new buddy Donna Duck.  Yes, My Duck returned today and much to my surprise came up onto the loading dock and let me feed her again.  Actually, while I was running to get more bread sticks, Gastric coaxed Donna with her duck whisperer voice and up she came.  And she waited while I opened the package and calmly took the food right out of my hand.

This is Donna and me.  Ain't she a cutie?