Saw Psychiatrist today- wanted to put me in hospital

Saw my psychiatrist today. We talked about the past few weeks and especially few days. She seemed concerned. She upped by Zyprexa by half again what it was, saying it should've worked by upping it by one pill as we did last week and weird that it hasn't helped, and told me to have a friend hold all my meds for a week until I see her again. Its either that or inpatient. So my friend now has all my meds. I get to keep my pill box of my daily meds. Ugh. I really hate this. I want to cry. She said she doesn't think I'm depressed, however. I am at a restaurant with the friend who is taking the meds to his house. He's buying me lunch. Music is playing. Iced tea. Pdoc is pregnant, too, and somehow though I am suicidal I miss having life in me like that. How did I get here? I'm supposed to email pdoc to say my friend has the pills. Oh how I still wish I had them. I could still buy some. I miss the wind. I want to sleep outside in the cold naked against nothing but that cold, bitter wind, until I am one with pain. What is this and how did I get here? I am reminded of the following poem by Anne Boleyn:

O Death! rocke me asleep;

Bringe me to quiet reste;

let pass my weary, guiltles ghost

out of my carefull brest.

Toll on, the passinge-bell;

ring out my dolefull knell;

let thy sounde my death tell.

Death dothe drawe ny;

there is no remedie.

My paynes, who can expres?

Alas! they are so stronge

my dolor will not suffer strength

my lyfe for to prolonge.

Toll on, the passinge-bell;

ring out my dolefull knell;

let thy sounde my death tell.

for I must dye;

there is no remedie.

Alone, in prison stronge,

I wayte my destenye.

Wo worth this cruel hap, that I

should taste this miserie!

Toll on, the passinge-bell;

ring out my dolefull knell;

let thy sounde my death tell.

Death dothe drawe ny;

there is no remedie.

Farewell! my pleasures past;

welcum! my present payne.

I fele my tormentes so increse

that lyfe cannot remayne.

Toll on, the passinge-bell;

rong is my dolefull knell;

for the sound my dethe doth tell.

Death dothe drawe ny;

there is no remedie.

Sound my end dolefully

for now I dye.