Why I'm freaking out about inpatient treatment

And what it feels like to stop running when every instinct says to flee.

In two days, I’m going back into inpatient treatment.

I’m afraid. Very afraid.

I don’t know exactly what I’m going to be walking into. I know I’m going to a facility in San Antonio… so… road trip. 😎 I know it’s a 30 to 45-day residential program… so… from the get-go, I can plan on being hospitalized for at least a month. (Last time, I expected to be in the hospital just a few days, maybe a week at the most… and I was there for seven weeks, so, at least this time I know I’ll be there for a while…)

I know the facility I’m going to works with veterans and civilians — and that appeals to me, because my goal is to reintegrate into society, and in order to do that I’m gonna have to learn how to get along with both types. (I don’t know but I have this idea that veteran-only hospitals might have a bit of an echo chamber effect, and if they do, that’s something I personally want to avoid…)

I know that it’s going to be intense… and that I’m going to come out with a different worldview — and hopefully, some better coping skills.

But also, I know that in order to gain that new worldview, and the coping skills I’m after, I’m going to have to face a lot of things I don’t want to look at… things that I would rather die than ever have to explore.

Things that have kept me afraid, in some cases, for more than thirty years.

Things I’ve never talked about, save for a few really frightening therapy sessions.

Things I’ve maybe only told one or two people, ever… that now, I’m going to have to talk about openly, candidly, objectively…

And I don’t know if I’m ready to do it.

I’m so afraid of what I’ll have to uncover.

My mind is urging me to avoid it at all costs.

Which is not a surprise, really; my mind has been avoiding it all this whole time, certain that if I ever do look at these moments from my past, the pain and the fear will be so strong — so all-consuming — it’ll send me into a tailspin I can never recover from.

These moments are why I’ve been running my whole life… so, yeah, I’m terrified.

I know the staff at the facility will tell me (I know any mental health professional will tell me) it’s normal for me to be afraid. And that the treatment plan they’re developing for me is designed to help me navigate all of this safely and securely. And that once we’re done, I will be mentally and emotionally better.

I know it’s what has to be done, if I ever want to escape the pain and the anguish I already live with, every day.

I know these moments still have power over me because I have yet to deal with them.

I want to believe that once I have dealt with them, the power they hold will be less… like, significantly less…

I want to believe that.

But right now, I really don’t.

I’m still convinced that walking into this facility is the most dangerous thing I could ever do. Just thinking about it makes my stomach hurt. My whole body aches, actually. Typing these words is making me tense up. My eyes hurt, and I’m starting to get a headache.

My mind is in full-on panic mode.

I’ve kept every mistake, every heartache, every failure, every disappointment, every wrong choice I’ve ever made — I’ve kept them all secret this whole time. Some of my secrets go all the way back to middle school, to my first clumsy attempts to “get with girls” to the first time I ever truly felt so depressed and insecure that I actually contemplated suicide.

My mind is a prison, filled with all the things I never want anybody to find out about me… and it’s so full, so cluttered, so devoid of meaning… so dark and lonely…

I don’t believe I can ever find my way out.

Suicide looks safer than trying to untangle the mess inside — the mess that is me.

I don’t know any other way to say it. I feel like I would rather die than face the things I’m afraid of. Because some of those things feel so heavy… and because I still feel so alone…

I don’t want people to know I even have secrets.

I don’t want to think about what people will do when they find out.

I’m afraid even my closest friends and family will disown me. I’m afraid strangers will laugh at me, and use my pain and my insecurities to take advantage of me. I’m afraid I will allow people to take advantage of me, because I’m not strong enough to stand up to them — and because even if they’re using me… at least they’re finally paying attention to me.

And I need attention right now the same way I need water.

Probably the biggest reason I have for wanting to commit suicide is that I still feel alone, all of the time, and I don’t know yet how to change this feeling… how to build real friendships, real connections, how to engage with other people and feel like I finally belong.

I hate who I am… and at the end of the day, I’m convinced everybody else must hate me, too. Why else does everybody leave me all the time? Why else do I not get texts, and phone calls, and emails, asking me how I’m doing, or if I need help with anything… or if I’d like anybody to come check on me… spend time with me… take me to the mall, or to lunch, or a movie…

But nobody calls. Nobody visits. Nobody thinks about me enough to think I’m worth reaching out to.

And it’s most likely my fault.

I’ve spent decades shutting everyone out. Withdrawing even from my friends and family. Self-isolating because I’m too afraid of what people will say if they know what a mess I truly am. Hiding behind humor and sarcasm. Learning to make people see the side of me that I want them to see — and pushing away anybody who starts to see through the facade, to the person I actually am underneath it all.

I came home from the war, and I shut people out. I learned to run from everything. I made it my mission to stay numb. To avoid conflict. Avoid pain. Avoid anything that reminded me of how cold, and uncaring, and unfair, this life really is. Because it’s not fair that I survived my deployment, and now have to live with the aftereffects.

I don’t know how to face this all.

I don’t know how to talk about it.

I don’t even know if I’m supposed to talk about it — or if I’m expected to just suck it all up and get on with life, the way everyone else does. (But spoiler: not everyone does get on with life. Some of us live with these challenges every day, and sometimes it just gets to be so exhausting.)

I want connection.

But I want to be able to control the connection.

I want it to go the way I want it to — the way that will make me feel accepted, but still keep me from having to deal with conflict or with people or circumstances that I know won’t always go my way.

I want freedom for me, but compliance from everyone around me. I don’t want people to be able to choose not to be around me… because then who will ever choose me? Who will ever want to be my friend, if they’re allowed to actually see me for who I really am? I’ve ruined far too many relationships to believe that anyone would choose to inject themselves into my life… to subject themselves to the nightmare that is “being friends with Michael Glenn.”

I don’t know how I got here. I wasn’t like this growing up. I mean, yeah, I’ve always wanted other people to adore me… but it wasn’t the end of the world if they didn’t.

I wasn’t afraid of always being alone, unloved, and unwanted. I was hardly even insecure, up until high school… and even then, I didn’t go around pushing people away, isolating and withdrawing from everyone. I had friends — I had a lot of friends! And I enjoyed having them around.

But now, I don’t even trust my friends (the few that I still have…).

I don’t trust anybody with my pain.

I don’t believe these feelings are ever going to go away. It doesn’t matter how much therapy I receive, how many hospital stays I’m approved for, or how many weeks I pour my heart out into this newsletter — I don’t believe I can get rid of the thoughts and feelings that make me think suicide is safer than opening up.

And yet… I’m going into treatment.

I’m committed to at least showing up at the facility. (Which, that in itself is honestly a huge step for me to commit to, considering I’ve been running from everything for literally as long as I can remember!)

And I’m still scared. My mind is still telling me that opening up is dangerous… that it could in fact make things worse for me.

Because right now, and ever since I came home from my last hospital stay… all these moments from my past are already coming back into my awareness. And I can’t just bury them again, and hope they never resurface.

One way or another, I have to face my past. I have to spill my secrets. I have to bring every insecurity out into the light of day.

Because the only thing that scares me more right now than dealing with my mental health… is refusing to deal with my mental health.

I’m terrified of what I’ll be asked to endure, once I enter this facility. I’m terrified that I won’t be strong enough to do my part… that I’ll come out the other end and still feel lost and alone… that my mental health is already so bad, that I’ll never find peace or happiness in this life.

I don’t think I can do the work they’re going to ask me to do.

But I have to find out.

I have to go in.

I’ll never live with myself if I don’t stop running.

I have to try.

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