I saw my psychiatrist a few weeks ago. Everything seemed fine. Then, I began having symptoms: bouncing around, twirling in circles, increased interest in sex, sleeping only an hour or two every night for about 5 days straight. I told my psychiatrist about my symptoms and she agreed with me that I sounded manic. She increased my Zyprexa and lithium and decreased my Zoloft. A few days went by and the med increase didn't seem to be helping.
Sunday came around and I was hanging out with my eldest son having coffee at Starbucks. For some reason I was having intrusive thoughts. I've had them many times before but always was able to ignore them or redirect my thinking. I began to visualize taking many Benedryl pills. The thought was inviting. It was calling to me. I went home. The first thing I did was get out the bottle of Benedryl. The bottle was half full, swimming with tablets. I turned the top over and filled it with all the little pink invitations.
"One... two... three... four..." I kept count. No thought other than I MUST take them. "Twenty-eight... twenty-nine... thirty." The top was empty. I felt fine. I had called the after-hours help line a few days before to talk. They'd said to call any time. I called. I told the man who answered that I'd just taken the pills. "Hang up and call 911," he said calmly. In a few minutes, the police, ambulance and firetruck were outside my door. The police knocked and came in. Asked me questions. They wanted to put me in the police car but the female officer said there was no air conditioning. The other officer asked if my kids were home and I said my youngest was upstairs. He knocked on my son's door and asked him if he was going to be okay at home alone as they were taking me to the hospital.
We went to the closest hospital in the ambulance as the one I usually go to would've added another 15 minutes to the trip. I stayed in the ER for quite a while. They didn't want me to get out of bed. I had to use a "bedside commode" with people watching. In another room, I sat on the side of a hospital bed. When I stood up, the room started spinning and my head swirled. The feeling overtook me and I suddenly realized, "I'm going to faint!" I sat back down on the bed quickly and felt better.
After not too long, I was admitted to the 4th floor. I was given an IV of fluids that was set on "fastest" in order to flush the drug from my system. I had a heart monitor with lots of wires stuck to my chest. My symptoms began to get worse. My mouth was dry (a sign of a Benedryl overdose). I was starting to not be able to talk. I'd think of something to say, my mouth would start the sentence and half way through I'd forget what I was going to say as my mouth dragged itself through molasses. A friend came to visit but I fell asleep during our conversation. I still had to use the commode. I was a "fall risk". After about 8 bags of fluid, they finally unhooked me and I was sent to the psych floor.
Since this was a new hospital to me, I was unfamiliar with how this psych floor worked. The first day, I slept for hours, trying to make up for the 5 days I hadn't slept. I saw the psychiatrist and nurses. I was brought meds twice a day and fed three times a day. I talked with the other patients about tattoos and jail. I started going to groups and after 2 days they were talking about sending me home already.
Since I've been home, I've felt misunderstood, kind of confused and tired. I also am a bit confused about my meds. However, since I last wrote, I did get my own place and that has been very nice. Oh and one more important thing: I was not depressed when I took the pills. I was manic. I know its counter-intuative but there it is. I have lost one friend over this episode: he said I was lying when I told him why I took the pills. I don't need that type of friend! However, I have also realized who my true friends are. And that has meant the world to me. When you're detoxing off ODing and your friend says sweetly, "I love you'" it gives you the strength to keep going.
