Be very careful of psychiatrists and the drugs they love to dish out at every opportunity. I think most of them are on power trips acting like God with people’s lives. A few years ago when my father died I was inconsolable and my doctor decided it would be a great idea to refer me to a psychiatrist (as if you are insane when grieving). After a short consultation the idiot decided I need to be in hospital for sleep therapy and promptly gave me some drugs to get me in the mood.
I don’t remember much about that time, apart from a guy walking around in his theater gown with blood running out of his ears and nose after Electro Convulsive Shock treatment. The psychiatrist was thinking about giving me that treatment as well, but thankfully he didn't or dear knows what I would have looked like now. Obviously the sleep therapy didn't work, I lost my father and my heart was broken. What makes doctors think that drugs can heal a broken heart is beyond me.
He then decided I needed some anti-psychotic drugs to take the pain away. This took me on a roller coaster ride that nearly destroyed my life. I don’t remember 4 months of my life and I am glad to be alive and writing about it at all. I drove around aimlessly like a person obsessed visiting people and aggravating the hell out of them with my erratic behavior This I was told after I came out of my drug stupor. Most of the time I didn't even know I was driving anywhere, I only remember moments during this horrendous period of my life.
During this time I decided death was the answer and I cut my wrists to the bone, you could actually see the bone and tendons in my wrists, I do remember this part of it. My friend told me I fought like a demon when my husband and she took me to the emergency room for stitches. I heard afterwards that you can’t bleed to death cutting your wrists horizontally. During one of my insane joyrides I drove off an embankment and wrote my car off. The car couldn't be seen from the road and as luck would have it the guy who witnessed my accident flagged down an ambulance which passed by impromptu. When the paramedics reached me my heart wasn't beating and I wasn't breathing. They came just in time to resuscitate me. That in itself was a miracle because usually they are never there when you need them.
I don’t have any memory of this only the scars on my face when I flew out of the windscreen when my car landed at the bottom of a ditch. At the hospital a friend of my husband’s was standing next to my bed and I felt terrified not knowing what happened to me. I asked him to hold my hand and from then my mind lost me again. My friend told me that I tried to buy drugs at the hospital pharmacy walking around in the hospital gown with my bum sticking out and my face and hair full of blood. I made a huge arse of myself and I wasn't even present, how sad is that? After huge amounts of anti psychotic drugs didn't help the psychiatrist decided I was certifiable and committed me to a mental asylum locked up with the criminally insane. While there they stopped his treatment and I came to myself. Can you imagine what a shock it was to wake up and realize where I was?
It was as if I was thrown in hell and there was nothing I could do about it. I feared for my life the whole time and it was only because of a huge old black woman that everyone called Mama, who protected me from the really vicious inmates that I stayed alive. My husband called the psychiatrist and threatened to go and kill him in his consulting rooms if he didn't get me out of that place. I remember the Monday I was sitting on the cold cement floor and thinking if I didn't get out of that place I would break a window with the cast on my arm and slit my own throat with a piece of the glass.
Death was a better option than staying there in that godforsaken place and not sleeping for fear the insane creatures will molest me in my sleep or worse. After I was interviewed by the resident psychiatrist, who found me sane just heartbroken, I was released. Thank the dear lord I came through it with my sanity intact and no scars other than on my face (which by some miracle healed perfect) to prove the crazy road I traveled.
Whatever happens to you, please explore other avenues before resorting to psychiatric help. I am sure there are good ones out there, but the one I saw was using me as an experiment for drugs and almost destroyed my life in the process.