I wish psychiatrists sent people with depression home with instructions on when to go to the hospital similar to the ones obstetricians give to pregnant women once they reach 37 weeks of gestation: when your contractions last for a minute each and are five minutes apart, start the ignition!
“How did you know it was time to go to the hospital?” a friend asked me the other day.
“I didn’t,” I replied. “My friends did.”
Each psych ward experience is different. And no doctor judges the decision to enter one in the same way.
In hindsight, I wonder why my therapist didn’t urge me to commit myself months before I did. I talked about wanting to die most of my hour with her. Because it was all I thought about. That idea, alone, gave me relief. But I guess since I had been depressed for so long and hadn’t attempted suicide before, she felt I wasn’t a threat to myself.
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