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The Doctor. Part Three.

Finally, Monday. The day the doctor will speak to me and let me out of this cage. That was my thought process. I was awakened by the doctor at my bedside. I sat up as he assessed me. First the infamous questions: Do you want to harm yourself? Do you want to harm anyone else? and more personal questions began about how my father found me in Georgia. He asked me if I used heroin often. I told him "No. I am an alcoholic." He was a smartass. And I was a smartass back. When I say that I literally can get along with anyone, I can; with one exception: the doctor from the nut house unit. He assured me I was not getting out that day. My blood was boiling! I asked him, "what exactly do you need to assess further? I literally told the nurse what medications I take. I will get back in my recovery. What else do you need? This crazy unit is not helping me, maybe you should tell my Daddy that. It is putting me more on edge locked up like an animal."

Doctor: The nurses have been given you a detox medication. You will not be released while being supervised on it.

Me: Stop the medication. I do not need it. I am fine.

Doctor: I will speak to the nurses to access if you need it. If you were fine, you would not be here.

Me: The 72hr hold is over. Can I please call my daddy to come get me? I am an addict who had a relapse. I have never been in a crazy unit before. Two weeks ago, I was working as a psychiatrist assistant. Ask my father...I am telling you the truth! I am going to get back on track.

Doctor: I have already spoken to your father. He is not coming to get you today and you cannot be released until I sign off on it. Have a good day, I will check on you tomorrow.

Me: If I do not take any more detox medication can I leave tomorrow?

Doctor: I do not know. He walked out.

Me: This is fucking great.

A tech opened my door and said, "breakfast."

I am beyond mad. I walked in and sat at the table cursing. My name was called to grab my plate.

This is fucking bullshit. I look around and start to notice the other patients in the room and compare myself to them. I had a gossip fest at my table with my new friends, Katelyn and Justin.

After breakfast I walk straight to the nurses' station. "I need to make a phone call. I have to call my Daddy, right now. I am not okay."

I call my Daddy. The conversation did not go as I planned. I thought he would come to my rescue! He would save me from this hell. I was very inaccurate.

My daddy answered and was not happy. He kindly informs me all the drugs he found while going through my purse.

"You had green baggies full of white powder. You are far worse than I ever imagined. I will not pick you up until the doctor, you and I agree on a plan. You need long-term treatment Jill. I sure as hell will not pick you up to take you back to Atlanta, sweetheart. Those days are long gone. If you want to go back, you really have lost your damn mind. Think about what this is doing to your children. You do not care about your children! If you did, you would not be using drugs. You have had every opportunity. My God, I just paid for an apartment, new vehicle...I am done. You will not get anything else from me. You have pissed everything Cindy and I have done for you down the drain."

I hung up. I was so furious at my dad. I walked straight back to the desk and demanded to take his name off of all my forms. Assuring everyone in the office that if they shared any of my information to anyone it would be a violation of HIPPA.

My outraged had begun...again. I had a "fuck-you" attituded toward everyone. The one I truly hated was myself. I was angry. I let myself get to that point and was unsure if I would ever recover. All I knew, "I would get out of this fucking nut house on my own. And I be damned if I called one of parents! They were hateful and did not understand my pain."

The thing about fighting the system in a psych unit...the doctor will always win. If you are not compliant...he will keep your ass there. Believe me, from firsthand experience, I know.

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