Wednesday, April 25, 2018

Tales From the Psych Ward, Part I

“Suicidal thoughts” was a phrase that was never really at the forefront of my mind. Until it was. Suddenly, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I had been depressed for a few weeks at the time, not realizing just how depressed I had become. I had stopped taking antidepressants a few weeks prior after running into trouble with my health insurance and not being able to afford my prescription. As I began my downward spiral, I took a quick trip to NYC. While I was struggling to get out of bed and get to school each day, I knew that I had to be present that Friday night as my best friend became installed as the cantor of his synagogue.
    After an incredibly moving service in which the community celebrated my best friend, I lay wide awake in bed just feet away from someone who loved me like a sibling, feeling utterly alone, and not wanting to be alive. As my soul lay there aching, my mind began to wander, thinking about how best to end my life. When I woke up the next morning, I sadly said goodbye to my friend before heading back to Boston.
    While I physically made it back to Boston after a nauseating bus ride in time to sleep a few hours and teach religious school, I called in to work sick. My boss urged me to find a psychiatrist quickly. Realizing how difficult this task would prove to be, I had a friend bring me to the local ER to keep my safe and get me the help I needed. I had no idea that this was the very beginning of the long and winding road toward mental health wellness.
    I was quickly admitted to the ER and settled into a room where there was 24 hour supervision right outside my window. I got my blood drawn, spoke to several different health professionals, struggled to remember what year it was and worried about what would happen next. As the day progressed and it became evening, my teacher showed up to be with me, bringing me some sense of comfort that I was being taken care of. While I tried to stay calm during my dean’s visit, a man was brought in by the police, clearly agitated and screaming as he was put in the room adjacent to mine. As I settled in for the night, he was involuntarily sedated.
    The next morning another friend came to sit with me as I waited to be moved to the inpatient psych unit. When I finally got settled in to the place I’d spend the next week and a half, I was alone with my thoughts and anxious about what lay ahead. The following day, after attending some groups and adjusting to the daily schedule of the unit, another patient approached me and, after noticing my clothing had some hebrew on it, told me he too was Jewish. And then, he asked me to pray for him. I internally panicked. I was only a second year rabbinical student. I obviously was going through my own stuff. What could I offer him? I offered him the only thing I could- words that I wanted to hear someone tell me. After I ran out of things to ask him, he told me a little bit about his jail time and what else brought him to the hospital. And then he asked me about birthright…
And then I was done talking for the night.