Hospital. Round 2- Monday, February 22, 2016

Well, I didn't even get a month from being released for the hospital. I am back. I had to. There was only one other option. I was lucky enough to see my psychiatrist. She said my reoccurring thoughts about suicide may be an obsessive disorder. Just as well to add another thing to the list. I do not anticipate I will be here for long this time around. I feel safe here. This place puts my frightening thoughts at bay. They are still there, the voices. I feel they cannot hurt me here. It's my safe haven. A place I feel comfortable.

I do not view my return to the hospital as weakness. I see it as courage to seek professional help. It was the right move. I am not ashamed. I am scared. Scared for my life. I need this help. They take away anything that I could possibly kill myself with. I thought coming back would be a bad thing. It is not. It is right. It is smart.

You have no idea what I am capable of. None. I do. I am fearful of it. Returning to the hospital may appear like a setback. Oh well. I don't care. It may be a backward step, but a necessary step. I wrote earlier that I may have to return. I have no shame. I am not embarrassed. I am alive. That's what matters. They all know who I am from my first time here. And they are as nice as ever. If I didn't seek help, something bad would have happened. Mark my words.

I just re-run the visual of running the knife across my arm. It's a recycling thought. I bet the blood would be warm. Oozing down my wrist and into my hand. This thought, this thought will not go away. This thought, it's horrific. But in reality, it is just a 'thought'. Not an action. A thought. Something in my head. Dangerous, indeed, but just a thought. Saddening, but just a thought. Confusing, but just a thought. Nothing triggered this thought. It came. Unwelcome. I wasn't and I am not ready to handle this on my own. Not at this point. This is my road to recovery. A minor relapse.

I am telling the truth, so here is more raw information. I spoke with a doctor this morning. Told him about the consistent suicide thoughts, especially about the knives in my drawer. Quite accessible. He also said it could be some kind of disorder, much like a person with OCD always needs to wash their hands. So, he gave me a pass. Told me to go home for a few hours. Told me to look in my drawer. Face the knife. I did. I picked it up. I analyzed it with my eyes. I tested the sharpness. I know its primary function. I even went so far as placing the cold steel on my wrist. I didn't apply pressure. I tested myself. I pushed my limits. I didn't want to kill myself. I could have, or at least attempted. But I didn't. I made a decision.

Reaction is something that is provoked by an action. Usually, the initial reaction of a human being isn't what we want it to be. Not quite actual. For instance, the circumstance I am currently in. My reaction doesn't impede me from getting the help. Before, I am willing to bet, my initial reaction of returning to the Psychiatric Ward would have been terrible. A negative thought or feeling. The opposite currently holds true. My reaction was positive. Your attitude towards events in life create your reaction to those things. To other events. To experiences. Your attitude is everything. I have to go back to the hospital. That's my event. My situation. My attitude allows me to understand that this is smart. How I cooperate with the nurses is something I control. How I communicate with the other patients is something I can control. My pleasantness. My kindness. My understanding. All stems from my positive attitude towards this setback, adversity, if you will. It's nobody's fault why I am back in the hospital. This is a difficult situation. But my attitude determines how I am going to deal with this.

It would have been a bad thing if I didn't come back. The curiosity was overwhelming. Could have got the better of me. Anyone that knows me, if I set a goal, I accomplish it. I see things through. Motivated. But I didn't give in. I was close. So close, the thought of, "I wonder who would find my dead body on the floor?" came up several times.

My journal entry has two points. One, sometimes a 'setback' or 'failure' is a necessary step. Critical, in every sense of the word, in this case. I was doing well. I hit a dark, brick wall. No one other than professionals were going to help me. I knew that. I done the right thing going back to the hospital. The second thing is this; your attitude is everything. If you're attitude is negative or pessimistic, guess what you will live your life like? Guess who your children model themselves after? You attitude is something you can control and you decide how it is going to be. You can't blame external factors. It is on you, and you only. My attitude is keeping me alive. I decide that. I choose that. Not you. Not anyone else.

"A positive attitude causes a chain reaction of positive thoughts, events and outcomes. It is a catalyst and it sparks extraordinary results."                     

                                                                         - Wade Boggs

"Weakness of attitude becomes weakness of character."

                                                                        - Albert Einstein

Yours Truly,

T.J. Smith