[Part 8 of many Introductory posts]

While I was in a catatonic state, paramedics who came into the apartment saw me as a mid-20s woman lying on the floor, almost paralyzed, with eyes barely open. Their duty was to help me live—awake and responsive. They tried their best until I took a huge breath, then transported me to the hospital in an ambulance. If it wasn’t for them, I don’t think I would’ve come out of that state any sooner.

Due to the unfortunate sexual abuse I endured, I experience a trauma episode when approached without notice. And this was more than my mind could handle. While I was in the emergency room and they were coming to take care of me, in my mind, I felt unsafe. It reminded me too much of the past. I was never a difficult patient, except for that one time when I kicked the bed and tried to take off anything they put on me.

Just then, Sonia came in and communicated my PTSD condition and the fact that touch is a huge trigger. They agreed to be sensitive and communicate before approaching me. I calmed down. I’m lucky to have a friend who knew what I needed and was there for me the entire time I was in the emergency room.

After diagnosing me with catatonia, they made me talk to a psychiatrist about my condition. The psychiatrist believed that I could receive better care at the hospital than being alone at home, so they admitted me to their psychiatric facility. Iris was safe with my neighbor, who promised to care for her until I came home healthy. That hospitalization was a very important step in my recovery.

Their facility was very patient-oriented. We lived as if we were in a 3-star hotel. We had our own rooms and could order great food from the menu. The occupational therapists, who are trained in rehabilitating patients unable to perform day-to-day activities, were amazing. We had a routine of different activities and programs that taught us self-care activities and coping skills and introduced us to different therapeutic modalities like CBT and DBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and Dialectical Behavioral Therapy).

The only things that made it seem like a facility were occasional check-ins, and the whole building being designed in a way that prevented patients from hurting themselves or others with nearby objects. Patients were grouped into sections based on the level of care they needed. Some of them were under 5150, California’s law that allows involuntary detention for up to 72 hours for individuals struggling with mental health that deemed harmful to themselves or others. This law has saved many lives, including mine. Some of us were not under 5150 but were there based on doctors’ recommendations.

During this hospitalization, they determined that my happy to sad transitions weren’t due to bipolar disorder, but rather due to my trauma triggers. My diagnosis was officially severe PTSD with depression and anxiety. I stayed there for three weeks, trying to overcome my triggers. My first trigger was ‘looking at myself,’ and with coping skills like ‘talking to myself soothingly’ and ‘starting with one aspect for a short duration and building on it,’ along with constant support from the nurses, I was able to overcome it.

Now came a tough one—touching myself to take a shower. Nurses gave me a foaming lotion that I could use on my body with a towel to start with until I felt comfortable actually taking a shower. I started small with a timer and had a nurse stand outside my door to ensure my safety every time I tried. I remember I came out running and crying with a towel wrapped around me in 20 seconds. As time went on, I became more conscious that this was my hand, my touch, not another person’s, and that I was safe in this space. Eventually, after 2 weeks, I reached 5 minutes. I remember the nurse standing outside yelled, ‘Anika, you’re doing it! You crossed 5 minutes!’ and started clapping for me. I felt proud of myself.

Even though I made a lot of progress, I still had many triggers to overcome. My doctor suggested that I should consider going to a residential treatment facility since I no longer needed hospitalization-level care but going home with a Partial Hospitalization Program (PHP) was too little care for what I needed. It was basically a step down from hospitalization but a step above PHP. If I were to go, I would have to stay away from Iris for a few more weeks. Sonia was confident I would be happier with Iris as a healthier version of myself, and I knew she was right.

I started interviewing for residential programs and finally found the best match in a highly-rated, all-female facility. I had made two good friends during my time at the hospital who cheered me on throughout my hospital stay. We exchanged contact information to stay in touch afterward. Just like that, I was packing to move into a new, unknown place. Sonia brought Iris to send me off as I traveled to my next destination in recovery.