Do You Need A Hug?

Ernest Hemingway once said,
In our darkest moments, we don’t need advice.”

And I agree. What we truly need is connection: a quiet presence, a gentle hug, or the smallest gesture that reminds us we’re not alone. Those simple acts of kindness may very well become the anchors that keep us grounded when life feels overwhelming.

Pain is deeply personal.  Each struggle is uniquely ours to face. But even if your presence is silent, it tells me I don’t have to face this stuff alone. It’s a quiet reminder that, no matter how broken I feel, I am still worthy of human connection.

Sometimes, words aren’t necessary. Silent support speaks louder than anything else does. Love and kindness, in its purest form, has the power to help us reclaim and restore ourselves, even when we have lost sight of who we are.

I just wanted to remind you of the importance of simply being there for each other because life is hard and being alone sucks.

There is a suicide epidemic in our country.

So reach out and hug someone, if you can.  Without even realizing it, you could be saving a life. Maybe even be your own.

How I Ended Up In The Psyc Ward

It all started when I went for my regular Ketamine infusion, which is part of my treatment for Complex Regional Pain Syndrome.

Felicia, the head nurse, asked if I was doing ok. She said I wasn’t looking like myself and that I was pale. I said I was good and that was all that was said. 



I remember lying back on the stretcher while they prepped me, putting heart monitoring stickers on my chest, attaching a BP cuff to my arm, oxygen in my nose … I was shivering and could feel tears running down from the corners of my eyes but i had no emotions. It was strange because that doesn’t usually happen. They took my hand to start an IV and I heard a faint voice in my head whispering – don’t touch me.

I remember turning my head to the side and just letting myself drift away. Don’t have any more memories about the treatment than that.

Once the infusion was done they wanted to talk to David. Felicia asked him how I’ve been doing lately. David later told me that he told her I’ve been purging a lot, that I’ve been quite depressed and that he’s been worried. Apparently she told him that I’m not looking well. That I was pale, my eyes were dark, and my lips were almost grey.

I was awake, my eyes were open, but I was non-responsive. My neck and head were spasming and I was staring off with no reaction when someone spoke or touched me. So they decided to keep me an extra hour to give me more fluids and more time to let the meds wear off. David asked if they felt I had taken anything and she said no because my vitals were all good. But they did bloodwork just to be sure. 

An hour later Felicia called David back in and told him that he needs to take me to the ER. Apparently I had been mumbling some things that no one could really pick out but Felicia had heard me say something about this being the end and it was almost time to die …. I don’t remember any of that. I’m just telling what I was told. 

So they put me in a wheelchair and David registered me in the ER, where I sat/slumped for 9 hours. David said I kept falling to the side as if I couldn’t hold myself up. He had to ask for a pillow and blanket to put around me to secure me a bit. He said I was in a completely different world.

Then they called us in to a small room that had nothing but 2 chairs bolted to the floor. And that’s where I spent the next 26 hours. It was nothing short of brutal.

Tears are burning my eyes now as I write that. I think it’s cruel how this was handled. They took me from the OR after having a procedure done and forced me to sit up on hard seats for a total of 36 hours. I was hallucinating. I was in terrible pain and developed a migraine. Had multiple bouts of vomiting. And I started experiencing opiate withdrawal because after I took my meds Thursday morning, I wasn’t given anything until Friday night. By that time I had missed 6 doses of morphine. It was torture.

David had to leave at one point. We had taken our dogs with us that morning. So David spent the entire day going from me in the hospital to the dogs in the car. He’d switch every hour. Take them for a walk, a drink, get them a snack then settle them in the car again before coming back in with me. But they couldn’t do that all night. So around 10pm he spoke to the staff. They assured him that I would be in safe hands and would be looked after so he left to go home with the dogs. Just before he left, he brought me in Zoey’s blanket from the car because he’d been asking for a blanket for me for 2 hrs with no luck. So I just kinda dozed off, sitting up in the chair, with Zoey’s blanket over me.

At one point I started to be more alert and I was really confused. I needed to use the bathroom but there wasn’t one so I left the room and just wandered around a bit. I went to the nurse’s station and asked if there was a bathroom and he said down the hall on the right. I roamed the hospital for a while. Took the elevator a few times, and eventually made my way back to that room. I called David, upset, wanting to know what was going on. When he realized that I was still there in that room – alone, he drove back to Grand Falls again at 4am. In the meantime, while hyperventilating and being trapped in that space with the chairs bolted to the floor, I clawed/scratched/cut my neck. 

David came, and he channeled his anger into fighting for me. He took me outside for some air then went and found a vending machine and got me a sandwich and water. I hadn’t had anything since 7am the previous day. Thankfully there was one nurse there on Friday that had a bit of respect and showed some compassion. She even gave me a little bit of her on personal toothpaste so I could brush my teeth. No one gave me a breakfast tray but she made sure there was one for me by lunch time. And she also contacted the necessary ppl to get my meds ordered. 

Then my psychiatrist came. It was still another long painful day sitting in that chair but by Friday evening I was admitted to the psyc unit.



And I’m still here. I am much more stable than I was over 2 weeks ago but still have a ways to go. Have no idea what is going to come out of this.

Still Here

A lot of us have been close to the point of not being here today. And if you’re reading this right now, I just want to say that you have more strength than you realize. Not everyone who woke up yesterday were here to wake up today. Surviving myself has been one of the biggest battles I’ve ever faced.

The fact that you are st;ll here is an incredible accomplishment and I want to be the one to tell you that I am so freakin proud of you!

Suicide.

Even the word is evocative
And provocative
Charged with such emotion and energy.
Memories and thoughts of what was and what could have been
had I succeeded,
had I been successful.

A ‘Successful’ Suicide
What an oxymoron!
A failed attempt and all it leaves
Behind;
Surrounded by despair
That is now also dressed in anger.

The feelings of failure
‘I can’t even kill myself properly’
Let me die.
Please God
Let me go …….
This hurts so much.

Judgement
Where tenderness is most needed
Coldness
Where warmth and compassion are ached for

Their absence proof that staying is futile
Painful
Pointless!

I want a heart that can hear
Without defensive fear
Impatience and dismissal
Without accusations of selfishness
And attention seeking
Smirks and sneers
That cut deeply into my already fragmented self

Bring me a cup of tea
Sit with me
Don’t look away!
Show me tenderness
Truthfulness
Rawness
Be real

I’ve no interest in talks of helplessness And hopelessness
And ideation
And intention
And plans
And triggers

I need humanity
Not science
Not medical jargon

Hold my hand
Connect with me
Allow me to grieve my past self
Allow me to see myself through your eyes;
Help me see hope in you.
Give me some time and I will do the same for you.