Within twenty minutes, there was a knock on the door, and these two people in regular clothes with clipboards came in. They introduced themselves as the mobile crisis team. They sat down and asked me questions in this really calm way, like we were just having a normal conversation. And I told them about the command hallucinations and the visual distortions I'd been calling auras for months now.
They nodded and wrote things down and explained they were going to transport me to the emergency room for a psychiatric evaluation. And the way they said it made it sound routine and normal instead of scary.
The ride in their van felt completely surreal, like I was watching it happen to someone else. And I felt ashamed that it came to this, but also relieved because for the first time in weeks I wasn't completely alone with the voices.
At the hospital ER, they took me to this small room that was just a desk and two chairs, and a nurse came in with a clipboard full of forms. She asked me really detailed questions about the voices and whether I was planning to hurt myself or anyone else. And I explained that I almost hurt my nephew but I stopped myself and asked for help instead.
She nodded like this was important information and wrote it all down. And then she took me to a different room and told me someone would be sitting with me the whole time to make sure I was safe.
There was this guy already in the room who introduced himself as my safety sitter. And he sat in a chair by the door with a book. And knowing someone was watching me actually helped the voices quiet down a little, like they were less confident with a witness around.
After a few hours, a doctor came in and sat down across from me, and he introduced himself as Dr. Nicholas Ahmad. He had this really calm way about him, like he had all the time in the world and nothing I could say would shock him. And something about that made it easier to talk.
He asked me to describe the voices and the visual experiences from the very beginning. So I walked him through the whole thing, starting with the yellow glow around Isidora at work and ending with the black tentacles and the white light in the nursery.
When I finished, he told me that command hallucinations were a recognized symptom of several treatable conditions, and the fact that I resisted the commands and sought help was a really positive sign.
Hearing him call it "symptoms" instead of some kind of moral failure or proof I was a terrible person made me feel like maybe I wasn't completely broken.
He explained they wanted to start me on an antipsychotic medication right away and keep me overnight for observation. And depending on how I responded, they might recommend a short voluntary admission to the psychiatric unit.
I was so exhausted and scared that I just nodded and agreed to whatever he thought was necessary. And within an hour, a nurse brought me pills in a little cup, and I swallowed them with water.
They moved me to a quieter room with a bed, and Dr. Ahmad mentioned that if I refused voluntary treatment, they might need to pursue an involuntary hold, but he'd rather I choose to accept help.
I told him I was choosing it because I knew I wasn't safe on my own yet, and he nodded and made a note in my chart before leaving me alone with a different safety sitter who settled into a chair with her phone.
The medication made everything feel heavy and slow, like I was moving underwater. A nurse came in every fifteen minutes to check on me, shining a light in my eyes and asking if I was okay. And each time I nodded because I didn't have the energy to explain that "okay" felt like a word from another language right now.
The voices were still there, but they sounded different, like they were calling from down a long hallway instead of right inside my head. And when they tried to tell me about colors or infections, their words got fuzzy and hard to follow.
I slept in short bursts between the nurse checks, dropping off for maybe twenty minutes before someone woke me up again. And each time I woke up, the room looked a little more normal. The colored lights I'd been seeing everywhere for weeks were still there when I looked at the walls or the safety sitter, but they were dimmer now, more like those spots you see after looking at something bright instead of solid glowing halos.
Around 3:00 in the morning, I woke up and the voices were just whispers, and I could actually think my own thoughts without them jumping in to narrate everything.
Dr. Ahmad came back in the morning, looking fresh and rested while I felt like I'd been run over by a truck. He pulled up a chair and explained that they'd like me to agree to a voluntary admission to the psychiatric unit for a few days of intensive treatment and observation.
He was really honest about it, telling me that if I was still having command hallucinations about hurting people, they might need to do an involuntary hold. But he thought I'd do better if I chose to accept help and participate actively in my treatment.
I signed the voluntary admission papers because I got the reality of my situation now, and because some part of me was actually relieved to have other people making decisions while I couldn't trust my own brain.
They moved me to a different floor where everything was quieter and there were more locked doors, and a nurse showed me to a small room with a bed and a desk and a window with bars on it.