Girl, Interrupted

Friday afternoons are supposed to be for cocktails on the back deck, not a trip to the ER to drink cherry flavored charcoal shots.  My cheerleaders, JT and Amy, stood by my side and said "you can do this", "you are doing great!"  Yep, it was totally a piece of cake for me, just as if it were an Athens lemon drop shot covered in sugar from Munchies.  3 bottles later, I was sober.  Sober with the realization that I needed help.  The kind of help that a warm bath, Vitamin B and D and a hug weren’t going to give.  I needed professional help.  I needed a 1015 to save my life.  I waved the white flag and would have done just about anything at that point to feel better and whole again.    

Close to 24 hours wide awake, burning up with lukewarm washcloths on my neck and forehead, a mouth which felt like a desert that couldn’t get enough water to quench the dryness, carrying an IV bag to the restroom every 1/2 hour while a guard watched my every move, a polyester set of scrubs sticking to my hot skin, watching my sweet JT shed tears every hour, finally the time came to leave for Peachford Hospital, my home for the next week.  A bumpy ambulance ride and being wheeled out into the freezing cold into a strange place was not what I had in mind as far as paid rides are concerned.  Give me Uber any day of the week!  

Laying on a plastic covered love seat for 4 more hours in the Peachford waiting area wasn’t what I had in mind either while waiting to check into the “Ritz”.  It is surreal hearing the words, "you are being admitted involuntarily but would you like to fill out paperwork to change your status to voluntary?"  My thoughts, "who cares lady, just start the process of making me well."  The scene was straight from a Lifetime movie set after my intake at Peachford.  I was allowed a hug from JT and then the double doors shut and locked.  I don't think either of us have felt more alone in our entire lives.  The only thing in my favor was my almost catatonic, numb state from not eating or sleeping.  I shudder to think about how strong he had been for me all of those hours at North Fulton and how he must have felt walking in our house alone with no one here to be with him. 

I only thing I remember walking to Unit 4 was the horrid smell of the woman's perfume that did my intake.  That combined with my headache was super fun.  Going through 2 more double doors and walking into what would soon be known to me as the "day room", became a scene out of 28 Days.  Vitals, a strip search and a plastic covered bed...I know, you are thinking I really went to the Fulton County Jail.  

More on "Camp Cupcake" tomorrow.  I am humbled by your sweet comments, emails, tweets and texts.  They mean the world!