Since walking out on Gamestop I've applied for and interviewed for more jobs than I can even begin to count. After awhile one starts to feel rather unwanted. The more time that stretched between my last real job the more unstable I became emotionally. Eventually I did land a job at a coffee shop that was about to open up right near my house. Now, considering my brother has spent the last five+ years working as a barista (a person who makes coffee drinks) it seemed logical that I should attempt to enter the industry as well. Things went alright for a little while but then a few days before opening I began to fray.
It was about this point that I began to realize that normal people don't daily consider how to kill themselves. I had a loaded .44 that I kept in my underwear drawer; originally it went there while children were over visiting so I needed to put it somewhere they wouldn't find it (my room has a lot of dangerous flammable objects and sharp pointy things so its off limits to everyone!). I never returned it to its place on top of the fridge (you know, in case the cheese gets too moldy or someone breaks in, sentient cheese being equally likely given my house) since its presence began to give me morbid comfort. Finally I called my health insurance in an effort to find myself some help. Considering the things I said they quickly suggested I go to a hospital and check myself in.
A week later I found myself in St. Lukes hospital. My father was pretty upset by this, upset because he was worried for me and despite how comforting he was trying to be I could see how unhinged he was getting. After all its a fathers duty to protect their children, but how do you protect them from themselves?
In the end I spent only a week in the hospital mental ward. My doctor barely spoke to me and in fact I chose my own brand of medication which had been suggested to me by a friend. Real skill there Mr. Doc. Oh well. The whole thing was really stressful. On the first day all my books were taken from me, save for a pair of bibles. This infuriated me like you wouldn't believe. Reading has been one of my major distractions and a primary way for me to distress. So there I was in a stressful situation without my usual method of dealing. The second day when my mother visited she drove me so batty I ended up screaming at her and crawling under a table that I then refused to come out from under till they offered me anti-anxiety drugs.
Thankfully the next day they moved me from one ward to another. This one was upstairs, had more comfortable seating and was much less stressful. Not only that but a close friend of my brother worked there! He was a great guy and helped me out a lot. My brother visited me daily as well bringing me treats from the cafe next door to where he worked on various books to keep me occupied. I'd tear through several books a day so it was a much needed addition to my small collection (which I'd managed to get back half of what I'd brought. The rest were deemed too 'riske' for my condition. Pffft, books about murder don't alter my state of mind one bit).
For all the insanity I suffered for that week in a mental ward I got very little out of it. I discovered I was more crazy than some, less crazy than others, that a decent number of doctors could care less about their patients (I was forgotten by my primary doctor for TWO DAYS) and that my brother is a wonderfully supportive guy ^_^
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