What am I doing?

What am I doing? I can't stop crying...I really feel like a crazy person.  Here I am in a small office waiting for them to admit me to the Psychiatric wing of the hospital. Seriously I should be in the the regular part of the hospital with a doctor who will listen to me about all the pain I am experiencing.  But instead I have to go through my bag of clothes and  take out the strings from my sweat pants and shirt and have my toiletries looked through for anything sharp. Now for the interview: why am I here, am I going to hurt myself, have I ever tried to hurt myself...the questions were endless. I just wanted to go in a dark room and go to sleep.  Thank goodness they gave me something to calm me down so I could sleep. During my stay I was required to see a Psychiatrist. Little did I know that this would be the first person who actually believed me that I was in pain and  was having a hard time dealing with it. I just needed some help.  Dr R. was the doctor who put me on Cymbalta.  It took a few weeks but it was what I needed to control the pain.  He wondered why the doctor in Santa Barbara did not put me on it, I wondered too.
My time spent in there is kind of a blur but it was a relief to not have to put on a show that I was fine when I really wasn't.  I  saw the psychiatrist a couple times a day and also went therapy groups to learn how to deal with the emotions that had piled up.  My family was very supportive and came to see me everyday, twice a day over that weekend. It was really like a long needed vacation. Don't get me wrong it is something that I would never want to experience again. Sometime you have to scream out for help instead as asking politely.
It was so unfair that I had to get brought down so low in my struggle with fibromyalgia that it resulted in a breakdown.
I left the hospital with a small sense of hope.  Someone was actually going to help me with my pain. I love Dr. R ...I felt he saved me in my time of despair.