Okay, I’ve brought this conceit as far as it will go. Time to finish the story of my time in the mental hospital. After a frustrating weekend, I finally got some traction on Monday regarding my recovery and release.
[A note before reading: “Cecelia’s meeting” is the monthly transgender support group I first attended in March. “Erica” is the real name of the woman I was referring to as “Erin” previously; I’ve decided to drop the pseudonym and use her real name.]
I finally got to talk to someone who might say something to someone who can do something about my discharge. Fingers crossed!
I tried to use Cecelia’s monthly group therapy session as leverage for my release. I hope that I don’t miss it. That meeting was the first time I finally admitted that, yes, I was transgendered. The experiences were just too similar. That session was the reason I contacted [the local university health service gender program]. Especially after this, I really don’t want to miss that meeting.
Squeaky wheel gets the grease! I finally talked to the right person. The “team” (the psychiatrist, practitioners, and assistants that actually oversee my case) heard about my desire to attend Cecelia’s group meeting, and the plan is to discharge me tomorrow in time to attend. This is the most positive thing to happen to me the whole time in here. I only hope they stick to their word.
I think I will call Erica tonight and ask if she will drive. I don’t want to make the drive out to AA alone.
Erica is willing to drive me to Cecelia’s meeting tomorrow so I don’t have to make the trip alone. Things are aligning! My first meeting was a turning point for me. This one can be, too. A new start post-crisis. Resetting my continuity.
Had a conversation with one of the mental health aides. He asked me if I’d been here before, because I looked familiar. I responded, “Nope, this is my first time and, gods willing, my last time.”
He frowned a bit. “Ain’t we treated you well here?”
“Oh, yes, you’ve all been great!” I responded, because they have. “I mean, I never want to go through what I went through to land here ever again.”
And that’s the honest truth. At the end of the day, I do not want to hit the emotional low that I hit last Thursday ever again. Robin is absolutely right about all the pain and fear I’ve caused those I love over this. Never again.
It’s official! I’m being discharged today. Happy day! Though what awaits me is far from happy, I’m more prepared to deal with it.
So I’m at breakfast, eating my last meal here. For the sake of recording, here’s my final hospital meal: scrambled eggs, breakfast ham, breakfast biscuit, soy milk, coffee. Breakfast of mental patients.
Now I just have to suffer through morning group and social sessions. Neither one fills me with enthusiasm, but I don’t care. I’m going home!
That was my last entry. I would like to say that my time at the mental hospital “cured” me, but that’s far from true. However, it did begin a long process of healing for me. In the weeks since I got out, I have had to face some ugly truths about myself, let go of some things I had no right to hold onto, and begin to accept that my life would never be the same again. I am in a better place now than I was on the day I left. So in the end, maybe my time in the asylum was for the best.