A few days ago, after my last post, my boyfriend overdosed. He left me a note on the bedroom door and took a bunch of pills, went to the bedroom, and locked it. I came home to find this situation, and ever since have been preoccupied with getting him the help he needs. Also, I have managed to be confident enough in myself that I was able to tell him he cannot live here unless he gets treatment for drug abuse and sees a psychiatrist for his bipolar disorder. He has agreed to do these things, so he'll be coming home tomorrow.
I have a lot of experience with suicidality and with hospitals. The particular hospital he is in now is one where I have been on more than one occassion and stayed, the last time, for quite a while for being very suicidal (and very psychotic) myself. So I get it, and while I know that in part this was a manipulative act done to make sure that he was not really kicked out of the apartment (and in that sense it worked), in part it was also the desperate act of someone severely depressed and in need of help who does not know how or want to ask for it directly. So now he is getting help, which is a beneficial outcome of all of this.
It has been interesting visiting him in the hospital ward where I was once captive myself, and being able, this time, to come and go freely, having the doors unlocked to let me out after visitation time is over. I've never been the "visitor" before; I've always been the "patient". It has been a bit empowering, I think, to experience the entering, sitting in, and leaving this unit where I was sure I was being tortured and raped during my psychotic episodes when I was there a couple of years ago. It is, actually, a good unit as far as psychiatric units go, and I'm glad he has been there for a few days.
He'll be coming home tomorrow. We'll see how it goes.
In the meantime, I've started taking Invega, a new antipsychotic, and we'll see how that goes too.