72 Hour Psychiatric Hold

Okay, let's just let it all out.
"What the H-E-double hockey sticks do I have to lose?"
People say that I am unusually transparent
...I may as well live it to the fullest.

There was a time when my behavior led me through the doors of the Hospital's Emergency Room and then up to the "3rd floor" for a 72 hour hold. 

Yep, 3 days in a pink room with twin beds and bars on the window. My mirror was made of metal and there was a shared shower room with clear plastic shower curtains. Just like camp, but, completely different.

I shared my room with a dark eyed girl whose bra straps seemed to continually be trying to escape from under her shirt, landing on her upper arm. She had dirty hair and she kept all of her things in a brown paper bag and carried it with her the whole weekend. We had meals in a common room with people who were truly struggling. There was a young man in camouflage clothing who insisted on keeping one of his arms up over his head at all times. He made no attempt to talk to anyone, he just walked around looking at what the rest of us were doing.  There was another man that stood all day by the locked doors to exit. Just stood there. All day.

There were others who seemed more like me and we sat together and made paper collages for craft time. For years, my son would keep one of my collages hanging on the bulletin board in his room. I don't know what it meant to him, but it was a constant reminder to me of where I had been. There was a TV in the common room that played music videos and, ironically, one of the videos that played a couple times during my weekend stay was Matchbox Twenty's song, Unwell.

I remember knowing the whole time that I was there, that I didn't belong there and I was fully aware that that I had made many small decisions that had led me to this place.  I remember being incredibly fearful that my being there was going to cost my husband and my children greatly. I remember holding onto the guilt of those 72 hours for a long time.  Even now, I am getting tears in my brown eyes for the pain that I caused.  

My selfish thoughts and behavior led me to a place where my obsessive nature took root. I became completely overwhelmed with my environment and I had a strong, strong sense of needing to accomplish MORE. I felt failure in just being me, I had to be more in order to matter. I longed for a way out of my situation--and a way to find joy.  Peace eluded me even in my sleep.

Pretty ugly, huh?

The good news is...they didn't keep me. 

The other good news is...I don't reside in that place emotionally either. 

The bad news is...I could.

I could go back to that state of emotional crisis in a New York minute. I could become completely drawn into competition and allow that to guide me down the path of obsession. I could fixate on things of the world and not on things of the Cross and become so absorbed with how others are "seeing" me that I wouldn't be able to see anything clearly. 

Even with this outlet of blogging...

I could become driven. 

I could become desirous. 

I could become determined.

I could allow the disappointments in what I lack to dictate how I respond to what I have.

And it could happen in one quick click.

So, how do I avoid another 72 hour hold in a Psychiatric Hospital? I have to keep pulling back from certain things that I naturally am drawn to. I have to pull back on the reigns of competition and self promotion. I have to find JOY in my now. Not, joy in what might happen one day, but, joy in my today as it truly is.

Deciding to see the Beauty in Simple things...

• when a text message, from my daughter, wakes me to say that she has created a blog
• when the conditioner for my hair falls into my palm-- in the shape of a heart
• when my kitten chases a lizard under the patio table {go baby lizard!}
• when the wind walks with us down the street, as we go to buy ice cream
• when a cup of coffee is delivered to me as I write
• when the one delivering the coffee is a son, who has turned into a man

And Deciding to discover Joy through Disciplines...

• with a bible verse to meditate on..read it in my shower, read it on my mirror, engrave it on my heart.
• with a book, written before I was born, that requires me to "think"
• with a walk up the steep hill near my house--to the top? To the top!
• with a friendly timer to call me away from my computer. Enough is enough.

But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. 

We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; 

perplexed, but not in despair; 

persecuted, but not abandoned; 

struck down, but not destroyed.

2 Corinthians 4:7-9 

I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell.  

I know right now you can't tell but stay awhile maybe then you'll see

a different side of me.

I'm not crazy I'm just a little impaired 

I know right now you don't care

But soon enough you're gonna think of me and how I used to be...me.

--Unwell by Matchbox Twenty

An interesting thing happened on the way to the alter...

...and so begins my daughter's new life. The beauty of my daughter's wedding will be treasured in photographs and in the memories we cling to. And while one of those is fairly simple: find a great photographer, mail him a check--PRESTO! Brilliant photographs, with the perfect editing, to seal the day! The second part, the memories we cling to--this part is a little more tricky.

The morning after the "big day", I sat with two of my best friends and my parents in IHOP and we debriefed on the previous night's events. It was interesting to hear the stories of what others had gone through while I was so intently focused on my daughter. One of my favorite stories was hearing about how my dear friend had lost all use of his iphone in route and had no address to the venue (thanks GPS) and no phone numbers (thanks speed dial) and no idea where to go. He had tried a few exits in the general vicinity of our home and had finally stopped at a Starbucks. Sitting in the coffee shop he stared out across the parking lot, when he noticed he was staring at an IHOP. (Yep, it was my IHOP). Knowing that I often walk to breakfast, and knowing that I probably don't walk far--he knew that our home must be near. So, he ventured back out onto the streets and, eventually, found our home (he has only been to it a couple of times prior). He pulled up to our house just as my youngest son, looking amazing in his tuxedo, was walking out the door. Ahhh...the hand of the Lord at work on a special day.
But, the next day, there was the temptation to focus on some of the frustrating things that had happened. There was a temptation to relive some of the things that were painful and disappointing. And, over pancakes, I shared my fears with these dear ones. How do I remember the good and let go of the bad? And, then, my father after hearing my heart said, "The stories you tell are the things you will remember." 
That statement struck me and has stayed with me all week. I have a lifetime of events, good and sorrowful that prove my Dad's theory to be accurate. The things I remember from the wedding where I was the bride--are the stories I have repeated. The memories I cling to from the day my daughter died--are the tales I have told. My mind has the capability of holding onto every moment of every event, but the stories I tell become my reality of the events.

With my daughter's wedding, my desire is to hold onto the beautiful things that happened, not the disappointments. My flesh is battling against my spirit and if I want my spirit, God's Spirit inside me, to reign-- I have to make the choice to tell the stories that will bring Him glory.
Rather than focusing on the lack of something on this momentous day, I have to tell the stories that will remind all, that on this day--God was faithful.

God was faithful when I sent out text messages and emails begging people to help us set up, decorate, shuttle and serve--beautiful servant leaders in our church showered down on us to set up chairs, prepare food and tie table clothes. God was faithful when he provided us with the skills and knowledge of some gifted and talented women to lead me through the planning of such a big event in a backyard venue. God was faithful when the bride, my beautiful daughter, began to have an allergic reaction (just before she was to take pictures) and her left eye began to swell closed and turn red, and as we called out for Benedryl (and no one could find even one pill) He led me, her Mother, to lead them-- her friends and her faithful bridesmaids--to lay hands on her pray. It was one of my favorite moments, sitting on a chair in the bathroom, overlooking those fabulous hills, we bowed before God and praised Him for being the creator of all things, including Benedryl, and we praised Him for stopping the swelling, because we believed that He would.  Within moments of praying--Benedryl appeared. Today, I am so thankful for that allergy induced eye reation. I am so thankful for it, because on the last day that my daughter was merely my daughter, and not yet a wife, when she faced what was quite frightening, God led me to lead her to Him. I am so thankful that in spite of any of the the times I failed at doing this--on this day--I did what pleases Him.
And so it comes to this, as the days pass and my treasure box of memories threatens to be emptied out and replaced with ugly disappointments, I continue to think of the wise words of my Father and I am determined to be more careful with the stories I tell.