Drastic Measures

In my quest to find a doctor to help me I found out how the medical field really views the diagnosis of Fibromyagia. They don't believe you.  "Hypochondriac"," lazy", "exercise more", "eat better", "your just depressed"..on and on it went.  I now had a diagnosis but no one I could turn to.  Every time I had a problem it was difficult to travel to Santa Barbara, so I eventually gave up on seeking help from any doctor. I only went to an acupuncturist at that point along with self medicating myself.
I had plenty of pain pills, anti inflammatories, a tens units and plenty of alcohol. That is the way I made it through the day.  I was in bed, in pain, all day. It was all I could do to drop off and pick up the kid from school.  It was back to my bed  until I had to cook dinner and act like a wife and mother. I would have more then a few drinks to make it through the evening and then I had insomnia so bad that I stayed up all night trying to do some sort of crafts to keep my mind busy.  This was the vicious cycle I had created.  It got to the point where I was not making rash decisions.  My husband had no idea what was going on financially. Between my not working and trying to keep my spot at the salon, we were in trouble financially but I was so far out of it that I did not think to tell him. All the stress of the constant pain and worry over if I was ever going to get better had caused me to lose touch with reality, I was on my way to having a mental breakdown.  In late November I was done, I'd had enough of everything and lost it.  I cried all day.  My son came home to this broken women.  Poor boy he had no idea what to do. All I knew was that I wanted to go away. I did not want to hurt myself I just wanted to disappear. I was confused and feeling helpless. I had to get myself help. The only way I could think to be heard, to get help with my physical pain that was causing me this extreme mental anguish was to be committed. Yes as in "Psych Ward" kind of committed.  I spoke with my friends mom ,who is a nurse on a psychiatric ward, to ask where to go, who to see.  She gave me great advice and really understood how I was feeling.
My husband knew something was going on at home but since he was at work he did not fully understand it when I hold him, "When you get home I need you to take me to the hospital ". I explained when he arrived. Stunned, my husband did as I asked.  After a tearful drive to a local ER, I told the nurse that I felt I was having a breakdown and that I wanted to be admitted for a psychological evaluation. (dramatics have been omitted since this was like an out of body experience for me)
Next would come the walk through the double glass, double doors where I would spend the next 72
 hours...