Certifiable Mermaid

My first ambulance ride felt like a dream, probably because I was high on Xanax and without sleep for days. I’m not going to lie, I was kind of excited to ride in an ambulance from the ER over to the psychiatric hospital. I think I knew it would be my last bit of “fun” for a while. I had to wait all night in the ER before the ambulance was ready, and I was running on anxiety, adrenaline, and delirium. When the ambulance pulled up, I hobbled into my new sweet ride with the help of the kindest EMTS. But I’ll rewind a little bit before I detail the ride and the transfer to the psych ward.

The day I checked into the ER, my therapist sat down with my parents and said it was time to go to the hospital. I knew it was the only option, but the notion of checking myself in scared me. I had voices in my head telling me my time was up. I remember hearing a robotic voice saying “game over,” over and over again. I sat on the floor in the living room because I thought if I got up I would run out of the house, away from my family, and do something I couldn’t take back. So I rocked back and forth and asked my parents to help me pack a bag so we could get to the ER before I hurt myself. My parents helped pack my stuffed animals, pajamas, and I insisted they pack my makeup. I might have been losing my mind, but I insisted to do so with winged eyeliner and mauve eye shadow. When everything was ready to go my mom and my brother were sobbing in a way I had never seen. My dad stayed strong and stoic, and helped me get in the car.

On the ride over, my dad who is always cool and composed, played my favorite music. The only thing that had been helping me cope since my mental breakdown on the airplane was watching live music on YouTube with my dad, preferably Mariah Carey’s Emancipation of Mimi tour. I don’t know many dads who would watch Mariah Carey videos on repeat with their daughters, but thats what my dad did for me during my emotional break, on the car ride to the ER, and later in the psych ward when he was able to come visit. But even with the music of my favorite artist, I was somber and scared.

The drive felt too short and too long at the same time. I was ready but not. We listened to music and talked about a really important person in my life who had passed away from neuroblastoma, a really rare form of brain cancer the month before. His death broke my soul and made me question the meaning of life, definitely adding to my existential crisis. I wondered how the universe could take such a good young soul. It seemed like the universe was a hollow, empty, heartless entity and it would be better for me to just disappear than to wait for the next great pain.

When we pulled up to the ER I mustered all my strength and walked in. The nurse at check in asked me what was wrong and I whispered “I’m thinking about suicide.” It seemed like the ER prioritized this issue because while there were a lot of people waiting, they brought me into a room, checked me for potential self harm weapons, went through my bag, and took my vitals. The room was “bleak dahhhhling,” as my favorite singer Mariah Carey would say. It was sterile, and “safe,” because I was on suicide watch. There were no cords, just white walls, a bed, and a blanket. A nurse would occasionally check on me and bring me medicine to calm my nerves. My dad sat in the room with me the whole time, knowing that soon he would be forced to leave me.

My dad is known as the “hospital accomplice.” When my brother had brain surgery, he slept in the uncomfortable ICU chair for a week to make sure he was okay. My Aunt is currently undergoing a rough chemo treatment, and my dad resumed his role of the overnight hospital companion. This time it was my turn for my dad to sit in the ER with me. I texted my boyfriend to let him know where I was. I remember being embarrassed and thinking he would leave me. I know he was shocked and scared for me, but texting him helped me make light of it. I sent him pictures of my Eevee stuffed animal (the cutest Pokémon ever) and told him I would keep him posted. My dad knocked out in the chair eventually but I never got sleep. I was up all night, until about 6 am when several nurses said it was time to transfer. It was time for the ambulance ride.

Two young, patient EMTs helped me into the ambulance while my dad watched. He got in his car and said he was going to follow us to the psychiatric hospital. He knew I wasn’t ready for him to leave me yet. I could see him following us the whole way. I noticed that the young man driving the ambulance had an aux cord and I asked him if I could please play a song. I told him Mariah Carey was my favorite singer and that it would be amazing if I could listen to her on the way over to the unknown. He said We Belong Together was one of his favorites so I plugged my phone in and we sang it together loudly and off key. It was a glamorous mental breakdown moment. I think my idol would’ve approved and been happy that her voice comforted me during such a difficult moment. But the song ended and we pulled up to Stone Spring Hospital. It was time to face my reality.

My dad and I met in the lobby of Stone Spring with the EMTs. They said I had to hug him goodbye, which was one of the hardest things for me to do. I was distraught but I made the choice to check myself in. The alternative might have meant saying goodbye to my dad forever, so I had to suck it up and let him go. I was escorted up to the fifth flight of the hospital where my vitals were checked again in a tiny room. Next, it was time to enter the ward. My phone and bag were confiscated, and though I was upset I was too tired to question it. It was 7 am and I was walked into a room with two beds, a bathroom, and some shelves on the wall. I fell into the bed nearest to the window and drifted to sleep, not knowing what the next eleven days would entail. I was in for the ride of my life.

My next post will get into the gritty details of life as a psych ward patient. I hope you’re ready for drama, the reality with living in one hallway with other mentally ill patients, and the way I forced myself to get through each long day and night. Thanks for taking this journey along with me and helping me process my trauma, wildest adventure, and the tiny joys I still found within the cracks of depression and psychosis. I still am living my existential crisis, but now I am even more sure that this life must be a dream.