Hospitalized at Broadlawns

I was reading a book yesterday morning. I was calm, in the flow of reading, lost in a book, as they say. Then my case manager called me to ask if I wanted to join the PACT Team program through Eyerly Ball. I said that yes, I did, and that I wanted to enroll soon, because I was almost out of medication. Then I said, “On second thought, maybe it’s not worth it. Maybe I shouldn’t get a new prescription for medications, because where does that get me? Whether I take medications or not, it doesn’t matter, because in neither case do I have an education, and without an education, I can have no career, and with no career, I cannot afford a house, and without a house, I cannot house my personal library!” I argued for about an hour that life is not worth living if I cannot accomplish anything, and that if I can’t accomplish anything, then I can’t have anything.

I said that it seemed that I was destined to just die here without nothing, which my case manager apparently took to mean that I was suicidal, as shortly after I hung up the phone and resumed my reading, I heard a buzz from the front door. I answered, “What do you want?”

“Police. Can you let us in?” came the response. I let them in, and they said that my case manager said that I wanted to kill myself, which was decidedly not the case. I wanted to preserve myself! Did she not listen to all of what I had said? Did she take my words out of context? The police said they thought I should go to Broadlawns hospital, and I somewhat reluctantly agreed to go. They took me to the crisis observation center, which wasn’t so bad, because I am on good terms with Leah, the social worker there. She’s seen me a few times.

Leah talked to me for probably longer than she should have, and I was appreciative of that. I explained to her that what I was trying to convey to my case manager was that I need help accomplishing goals, that I cannot do things all on my own, and that it’s natural and healthy for a person to want to feel competent and productive. Leah agreed, but she also thought I should continue to take my psychotropic medications so that I will have a stable mood. Much of the day passed between talking to my case manager, talking to the police, and talking to Leah, and Leah suggested that I just spend the night there at the hospital, and so I did.

I woke up to Tim, whose role I am not quite sure of, although he seems to be one of the higher-ups there, and perhaps some sort of doctor. He asked me what was going on, and I said told him that my case manager had called the police, and I just went along with what the police and Leah suggested. Tim said that I was fascinating to talk to — I’ve talked to him a few times before, too — and talk we did, from topics ranging from politics to particle physics to booksellers to autism, all in a matter for a few minutes. It turns out that he knows a physicist who has written several books, and he printed off a list of them from Amazon for me.

With that list of books and my discharge papers in hand, I caught the bus home.