No joke this time. I actually filled out a form online yesterday and hit "submit" and about an hour later got a call from an intake person at a nearby psych hospital. It's supposed to be very good, and takes my insurance. The woman was nice. She wanted to know what medications I was taking, and I told her. She asked me how long I wanted to stay. I said that I didn't know, that I'd never done this before. She said that I could come right in, do the assessment, and be admitted. Just like that. I'd be assigned a psychiatrist and would have to do one-on-one sessions as well as group therapy. I said that I'd need to get a few things in order with work, and oh right, I'd have to discuss it with my husband. I hadn't mentioned it to him.
She told me to call back when I had a date in mind. I hung up and went out the garage where my husband had been working on my car for the last three hours. I told him about the hospital idea. He wasn't pleased. What about your job, he asked. What are you going to tell ----? I said that I didn't know and started to cry. I cry a lot. It's very frustrating. What I wanted to say was that I didn't give flying fuck about my job. My only concerns are my pets, who are used to being cared for in a specific way. My husband would look after them, but not take really good care of them. There was discussion surrounding my inability to take things in stride--why do I let things stress me out so much? Like that call I got the other morning from that client who wanted to know why I wasn't on a conference call, when I'd sent him two e-mails asking if he wanted me to be on it and he hadn't responded?
I don't know, because I'm a fuck-up?
More discussion ensued about him not understanding how I was feeling. Blah, blah, the upshot was that I should go inside and figure out my calendar, when was the soonest I could go, and then call my boss and explain that I'm having personal problems and need a week off started on the chosen day. But how do we know it would only be a week? I honestly can't imagine how a week of anything could change my life. I think that my husband sees this as some sort of final solution, that if I take this drastic measure I will be completely cured and ready to sail right back into my current life.
He doesn't understand that I hate my current life.