It’s really hard to get psychiatric and substance abuse help in NYC, or at least I found it really difficult over the course of the past 3 months. I have a lengthy medical history chart that speaks for me before I can speak for myself.
i have been in more psych wards, detoxes and rehabs than I can even count. The fact that I was homeless didn’t help. When I would try to get help a few things would happen.
I’d be sent back onto the street with a list of phone numbers (I had be robbed of my phone In may, so there wasn’t much I could do with the list), the walk in places required ID (which I do not have). Other times the ER doc would take pity on me give me Attivan and a sandwich and let me sleep, discharging me in a few hours. At least all the hospitals would clean all the wounds I had.
At one point, in June, I was admitted medically because my ribs were broken and I had Covid. The cough mixed with the broken ribs was brutal, but i left after a few days against medical advice, since my cravings to use drugs took over.
I knew how bad my life was going, and I tried to get help fairly often but it never landed me in a situation that was going to help me, or I lost patience and succumb to the cravings I had. I think my chart was saying that I was just another homeless person looking to get off the street. In some ways I was, but I was also really, really desperate for change .
It felt like the whole system had given up on me and I was alone with my suffering, I think that’s a big part of why I started trying to fatally overdose on heroin.
I feel lucky to have finally made it back in to treatment, where I sit today as I write this. It helps me stay put when I have urges to leave, I remember all it took to get me here. If I don’t take advantage of the chance I’ve been given I may not get another one. Good Luck has got to run out eventually, right
I’m grateful for 2nd chances and 36,000th chances.
Originally published at https://www.tumblr.com.
