Finding Hope

The thought of writing about this has been going through my head for a while now. Here I am this afternoon trying to read a good book and this is all I can think about. So I believe that God wants me to tell you guys this story. First let me say I feel that I am taking a great risk sharing this with you all...some people may judge me, other may regard me as fragile and attempt to treat me like glass. Let me assure you I am not made of glass…I am tougher than I look. So with that said…here I go.

When I first started having symptoms of bipolar disorder it was a crazy time in my life. I knew something was wrong but I didn’t really know what was wrong or who to turn to. I began to spiral down deep into depression until I became very suicidal. I was sitting in my room one day and I took out my bottle of migraine medication and counted the pills…I wanted to make sure there were enough in the bottle to kill me. I don’t remember how many were in the bottle now, but I do remember that I was pretty sure that it was enough.

Well I realized that it was time to go to work and that if I took them all right then I wouldn’t have time to die before someone realized I was missing, so I went to work. I took the bottle of pills with me though. I got to work and I realized that I was really going to do it…I was going to swallow all of those pills and kill myself, or so I hoped. And for a brief moment I got scared, I got scared that I was really going to do it, that these were my last few hours of misery and that I would never again experience the joy that can come with life. So in my brief period of fear I emailed my school counselor. It was around 4 in the afternoon and I figured she would be in a session and wouldn’t get it until I had already done it, but I emailed her anyways. Well after I had emailed her I began to panic. My thoughts were racing. I was afraid that she would get it and that she would stop me, and I didn’t want to be stopped. My moment of fear had passed and back was my determination to kill myself.

I told my coworker that I was going upstairs to work and I took the elevator and hid in a closet up there. I sat down in the closet and took out those pills and the bottle of water I had bought on my way to work. I looked at them and I knew it was now or never and I knew that I couldn’t stand this suffering anymore. I felt with every fiber of my being that this was the only way to end my suffering.

About that time my phone began to vibrate. I pulled it out saw it was my counselor. I felt panic…she had gotten my email, she wasn’t in a session, she had gotten that damned email! I ignored her call. Then she called again and I ignored it again. She didn’t call a third time, so I went back to building myself up to the moment of swallowing those pills. I don’t know how long I sat there but my friends started texting me. One was asking me if I was ok, the other asked me where I was at. I told the one that was asking me if I was ok that I was fine and I told the other one I was at work. After that I went back to the pills. I rotated them in my hand sitting there on the floor of that closet in the upstairs of the school’s library, listening to them rattle in the bottle. I knew I had to build myself up to the moment of swallowing them all, and I was trying my best to get there quickly.

Then someone was calling my name. For some God forsaken reason I panicked. Not because I thought I had been discovered, but because I thought that if I was found hiding in a closet that I would get fired from my job for not working. Well this was of course the most ridiculous thought that had occurred to me all afternoon. Feel free to laugh at me here, I know I do. Why in the world would I be worried about losing my job if I was going to kill myself? This was truly an idiotic thought. So in my fear I waited until I didn’t hear my name anymore and I walked around the back way and snuck down the back stairs down to the bottom floor of the library and was just going to walk around and pretend like I had been there the entire time. I didn’t expect what I found.

I found my supervisor and my counselor franticly looking for me both with worried looks on their faces. My supervisor saw me first and said there she is, and then I came around the corner and saw my counselor and I immediately became afraid again. I had been caught and would not be carrying out my plan. She spoke to me briefly in my supervisor’s office and then talked me into walking across campus to her office to speak with me. I gathered my things from my hiding place and told my supervisor that I would be back soon. Boy was I wrong about that last statement.

I sat in her office not making eye contact; I was very anxious and basically refused to say much of anything. She was not too pleased with me herself. She had apparently went to my dorm room looking me when I didn’t answer my phone and then proceeded to call my friends when I wasn’t in my dorm room to see if they knew where I was. She had informed me she had notified the counseling director of the situation and that he would be there shortly.

To make a long story short they ended up hauling my butt to the emergency room to be assessed. I was going from being depressed and suicidal, to being depressed, suicidal, pissed off, humiliated, and a little homicidal toward all of these people. I was mortified. I cried in the waiting room. I cried through all of those stupid questions that they ask you, I cried when they took my blood, I cried when they called my parents, I cried when they told me I was being involuntarily committed, and then I cried at little more. I was hysterical. My day had gone from horrible to indescribable misery.

I waited for what seemed like an eternity to be transported to a facility that was about an hour away. I calmed down a little bit while I was waiting and actually managed to carry on some semblance of a conversation with my counselor and the director.

Then they told me my transportation was here. It was a Sherriff’s car! I was to be transported an hour away in the back of a cop car! What they hell! I started crying again. I felt as though I was being treated as nothing more than a lowly criminal, and in a lot of ways I was being treated as such, minus the handcuffs (THANK GOD).

I cried the entire way. The cop driving was very nice and tried to reassure me that everything was going to be ok and his brother who was accompanying him was a minister and wanted to know where I went to school and where I went to church and all those sort of things. It took awhile but their efforts to calm me down did eventually have some success…I still cried on and off for that hour of a trip but I did manage to talk to them a little bit through my tears.

Once we got to the place I was ushered in a side door where the sheriff handed off an envelope to a nurse and the left me with her.

The building was a newer building, I could tell by its design and it had a funny smell about it. It smelled like some high grade disinfectant. We walked down a long hallway were she punched some code into a door and the lead me inside. The tears were back now. I felt like I was in some sort of prison, I knew that I was trapped behind those doors. I was terrified because I had no idea what was going to happen next. They took my picture for their files and then lead me into a room and informed me that I had to take off my clothes to be searched. What the hell!? Now I really did feel like a criminal! I cried and cried and cried that night but I did everything they told me to do. They couldn’t give me back my clothes yet until they were thoroughly searched, so they gave me a sort of hospital gown to wait in. I demanded the use of a phone, I knew I needed to call mom and dad and let them know I was ok. I spoke to them briefly and tried to hide the fact that I was on the verge of hysterics. I attempted to reassure them that I was ok. They wanted to come down there, but I begged them not to and told them that there was nothing to gain from them coming down there.

After I got off the phone with my parents a nurse showed me to my room were this lady, who was my roommate, was asleep in the other bed and the nurse told me I could wait there. It was after midnight by this time and I was exhausted but there was no way in heaven or hell that I was going to be able to sleep, and I didn’t want to wake up my roommate. So I went back to what she had called the day room and proceeded to sit in a chair, rock back and forth and cry. I remember sitting there in tears asking God why? Why was I here? What had I done to deserve this? Why couldn’t he just take away my pain? What hadn’t He have just let me kill myself? I asked all of my why questions and then fell silent and went back to crying. But over the sound of my tears I remember hearing God gently whisper in my ear that He was there. I do not know how long I sat there crying, but the nurses left me alone. I eventually got back up when they were done searching my clothes (they had removed all the strings from my hoodies, pajama pants, and sneakers which left me feeling like even more of a criminal) and I went and changed my clothes and attempted to try and sleep.

I woke up early the next morning and my roommate was nowhere to be seen. So I went into the day room and smelled coffee. That was the best smell that I had smelled in the past however many hours it had been since that library closet. I poured myself a cup and while I did the other people in the day room informed me that I had missed the first pot of coffee, and that the first pot was the only caffeinated coffee they made the entire day, so if I wanted the caffeine then I would have to get up earlier. This was just yet another reason for me to feel like I was in a prison. So I nodded to them, and sat down at a table by myself.

Well these people were curious about me and had no intention of letting me have my cup of coffee alone and they gathered around and begin to ask me questions? They wanted to know my name, why I was there, where was I from, was I in school, where was I in school, what did I study in school, was I a Christian and a number of other questions that I don’t remember. The woman that was closest to me was my roommate and told me that she was in there for substance abuse, as where most of the other people there. The few people that were there for suicidal reasons were also there for substance abuse reasons along with the suicidal reasons. They informed me that the unit I was on was called the Substance Abuse and Mood Disorder Unit. I tried to take it all in but it was just too much without my morning caffeinated coffee. Basically I was still in shock.

I learned quickly that there really wasn’t any such thing as down time. There was a morning session, then breakfast, then group session, then a little down time and during this downtime you were expected to be working on things that had been assigned to you during group, then lunch, then an afternoon group session, then an art session, then dinner, then an evening session and then a group activity before bedtime. It was a busy day but a lot happened in that day.

Word got around that I was a student who studied Communication and was a Psychology minor. Word also got around that I attended a small private Christian college an hour away and that I was a Christian. Another thing that got around was that I made good grades (my roommate had asked me how my grades were and I told her that I had made all A’s the previous semester). So in every group session someone had something to say about me. These people that I didn’t know where talking about how smart I was and that I was a Christian. A lot of these people were going through withdraws and had massive headaches. I showed my roommate where a pressure point is in your hand that can briefly relieve headache pain, and several of the other patients came to me so that I could show them were that pressure point  was on their hand too. They had questions about my beliefs in God, and I answered them to the best of my ability. People wanted to share their stories too, all kinds of stories. A young man came in that day that was the only person there even remotely close to my age and wanted to know about me, so I told him and he shared his story with me. He was there for substance abuse problems. He seemed glued to my side and told me at one time that he like that I was a very positive person. My roommate was doing a sort of Bible study and wanted to talk to me about what I thought of certain scriptures. I spoke with her about my view and she said things like “I had never thought if it that way,” and “that makes sense now.” That night before bed my she was telling me about how horrible of a time she had been having with trying to sleep, she asked me if I would pray with her for a good night’s rest. I said sure and I held her hands and prayed with her.

Somewhere along that journey my life changed forever. I realized the power I had to speak into people’s lives. These people who were so much older than me seemed to want to gather around me and hear what I had to say. They seemed to really value my thoughts and opinions. And I grew to care for them. When I saw them hurting I asked if there was anything I could do. I became an ear for them to speak to. And I realized that in the 24 hours I was there that I would never be happy working in the Communication field.

I had always had an interest in psychology, in fact I had wanted to go into that field when I left high school, but I decided to go into communication because my parents had told me that I would not be allowed to be a student for life, so I took that to mean that they didn’t want me to go past a bachelors degree. So I chose something that I thought would be easy that I could make a living in. But those 24 hours changed my life. I found hope in that place. Sure my journey there was from hell, but being there and being with those people and seeing how even though I was suffering and going through my own pain I still had the ability to reach out and help someone else. That was what gave me the courage to change my major and chase after my dream of becoming a therapist.

I wish I could say that that was the end of my suffering and that I made a radical recovery and my life became whole again, but that would be a lie. In fact that was just the beginning of my journey through mental illness. But I did gain a lot from that experience. As much as I suffered and hated being there, I became a better person through that journey.

But my main purpose in writing this is to show you guys that God can use you even in your darkest hour. I have been through a lot since the onset of bipolar disorder but in a way I am finding myself through the pain. I found courage to change my major, I discovered the power I have to reach out to people, I found God’s voice in the middle of my crisis and I found that in my weakness God is made strong.

So do not give up in your pain my friends. Keep pushing forward. You never know what God has in store for you. If I can make it through my journey, so can you. We will never be given more than we can handle. There is going to be good, there is going to be bad and there is going to be ugly in life. It is what you choose to do with the hand you are dealt that can truly make the difference. And even though you may feel like you are in your darkest hour something beautiful can come out of it if you let God in.

And just in case you were wondering, my roommate said that that was the best night of sleep she could remember having in a long time. I love you all,

Love, Randi

Thank you mom and dad, I know that, that particular part of my life was hard on you guys, and I could not have asked for better support during that time. Thank you Katie, Sarah, and Christina for being there for me. Thanks Dolan for helping me have the courage to share (the heart of a lioness I do believe you said). And thank you Cindy and Sean, in a lot of ways I owe you both my life.