Last month, I realized I am not me any more a persistent unhappiness has tainted my perspective on life. I cannot sleep, eat, I do not take walks with my dogs,  worse, I have no desire to create.  Lost are the words to comfort me, to rid myself of this intense feeling of irritability.  When thoughts of suicide entered my mind, I panicked, I called the psychiatrist and left a message to call back, but days went by with no word.

Over those days, I battled a stranger within and withdrew from social media. I drank a lot of beer while viewing videos on YouTube about the End of Days, the New World Order, FEMA Camps, and Walmart’s conspiracy to kill millions of people. I was wrong to think things could not get worse.

September 3rd, around 9:00 p.m. the psychiatrist called. He said that he had been ill and had just got my message. I told him how I could not sleep, that I was too anxious, with exhaustion in my voice I said, ” I just want to go home” There must be a prescription that would help me to sleep, something stronger than the Clonazepam I have been using to help settle my anxiety. The psychiatrist answered with an opinion, he said that I needed hospitalization, at which time I said, “No, never mind, I will handle this myself. ” I then ended our conversation.

The stranger inside was not going to take my sanity, I still had the will to fight.  I have battled mental illness for over four decades. These intrusive thoughts of suicide are just thoughts that can be kept at bay with visions of my daughter and consideration of her emotions. I was committed that Suicide, no matter how appealing, was not an option.

Suicide was not an option at that moment, but what occurred in the hors that followed was devastating and traumatic. I  am ashamed that anyone should know, but my unhappiness is compounded by profound emotions of disgust. I cannot stop replaying the images and shutter with each one.

A policewoman was at my front door shortly after I ended the call with the psychiatrist. She said the doctor had asked for a well-check. I told her although I felt miserable I had no intention of harming myself.  The policewoman said there was medication I could get if I was to go with her and speak with someone from mental health. I agreed to go with her and speak with this person. She drove me to a facility that once inside I was not free to leave. I was tricked to leave my home and a hold was placed on me with the intention of hospitalization without my having any say.

An ambulance came to transport me to the medical hospital for clearance before admittance to the Mental Hospital.  When we reached the hospital a nurse in the ER led me to a room and asked for my clothing. I complied and put on the gown provided. Perhaps an hour has passed before the nurse returned. She said a urine sample was needed and handed me a sample cup. I placed it on a chair in the room stating I did not need to go right then. Another hour or so passed when a doctor and a nurse came into the room the nurse wanted a blood sample. The doctor listened to my heart, did a quick once-over, and left the room, the nurse drew some blood and also left the room.

I did not want to lay on the bed, so I stood near the back of the room. After several hours, I used the restroom forgetting about the urine sample. When I returned to the room the nurse came in asking for the sample. I said I was sorry, but I had forgotten and just used the restroom. Her reaction caught me off guard, she was furious and with sarcasm, she said she would use a catheter to get a urine sample. Backing up into the corner of the room I said, “I don’t think so, you are not going to violate my body.” Without looking at me, she said she could and that I had no choice in the matter. I asked for water and why could she not wait fifteen minutes, but she did not respond.

I became furious and impulsively knocked over metal shelving that held supplies. She came back with two male nurses and asked them to restrain me on the bed. Once told to get on the bed I did allow the nurses to tie my wrists to the bed railing. The three nurses left the room but shortly returned with two additional nurses one who was male the nurse had a catheter in her hand. two male nurses moved to the head of the bed. One held my head down over the bed the other held my torso down. The nurse pulled off my underwear as I tried to keep my legs closed, the other two nurses were prying my legs apart. I was screaming in terror, pleading with them to stop. Unable to move against the force they used to hold me down. I was frantic and hyperventilating, screaming you cannot do this.

With my legs spread eagle, I felt the catheter inserted. The nurse started pushing down on my abdomen as no urine was coming out. I was whaling for God to help me. Finally, she finished and put my underwear back on, but left them midway.  They left as I uncontrollably cried repeating the words, Oh, my God. A nurse came in after about fifteen minutes and told me I was making too much noise and bothering those who were there with real medical problems.

I still feel disgusted and humiliated, powerless to prevent what had happened. I cannot even write this without tears and I feel that disgust that is alive in my psyche. The nurses raped me with a catheter and I cannot move forward. After three days, I finally did sleep, but I had a nightmare the theme was what happened in the Emergency Room. Now I fear to sleep and have not slept most nights since. I did call and file a complaint, the manager told me she would get back with me, but she did not follow through. I called again and left a message, but she did not respond.

When I returned to the facility around noon the next day, I was released to go home. The entire event has left me traumatized and was for not. My unhappiness has deepened to where I do not want to leave the house, I feel vulnerable in the shower and hurry so I can put my clothes back on. What they accomplished at the ER was to turn my unhappiness into a deep depression, the kind that one questions for what purpose is there to remain alive? I now hate my life more than I hate this city.

What they accomplished at the ER was to turn my unhappiness into a deep depression, the kind that leads one to question for what purpose is there to remain alive? I now hate my life more than I hate this city. I never felt such disgust as I do when my thoughts, as they mostly have, return to that night, to that room, and to those nurses; the feeling is  sickening.


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