This is a Really Real Mental Health post.

I’m supposed to go back inpatient in a few weeks.

Into a trauma unit that could potentially help me heal from all of the damage that’s been done over the years.

It’s around a 6 week stay, the average being 1-2 months depending on insurance.

And we’re living in Corona times, and that means no visitation.

Daily phone calls with a limited number of people that I love and care about.

But no face to face, no skin to skin, no hugs.

Up to two months on a unit with 25ish other people.

It’s a more restrictive unit than the one I was just on. No tweezers to get rid of the hairs that line my chin (thanks pcos). No razors. No pens or pencils, only markers and crayons.

Up to two months.

I’m supposed to go back in two weeks, give or take.

And I’m ruminating over the decision. It could be life changing, or it could be more traumatizing.

But it’s one of the top trauma treatment programs in the U.S., or at least that’s what I’ve been told.

It makes me want to cry even thinking about it. Holidays without loved ones, my 40th birthday spent on a lockdown unit.

And it isn’t my fault, damnit.

What did I do to have to make a decision like this? Why did this happen to me?

As the tears flow I ask myself, what is easy, or what is right? And I honestly don’t know what is right.

And I don’t even know what is easier.

Dealing with this all on an outpatient basis.

Like I’ve done before.

Where I’ve thought I’ve healed, until something else knocks me off course.

Or locking myself down for 2 months and hoping it works.

Hoping that timed showers with push buttons to keep them running, and shared bathrooms off hallways are worth it.

And months and months without seeing loved ones, even virtually.

Hoping it works, and I’m finally okay again.

I hate that I even have to think about this.

I almost hate that I came home, maybe it would have been easier to just stay there, on a unit without therapy, for weeks waiting for the trauma unit to come off quarantine.

Because even with the restricted visitation, the Corona virus hit the unit and so they let me come home to wait for my turn.

It could be 10 days, it could be a month.

But at some point they’ll contact me and tell me to come back, and I’ll have to know, by then, if I’m going to go or not.

And I don’t want to have to question this. I don’t want to ruminate over it for days and days and days.

I don’t want the life that’s been given to me, because I didn’t do anything to deserve this.

And right now I feel safe. I feel like I could do this with my therapist, or maybe another therapist that specializes in trauma.

I’ve done it before.

But maybe, walking away from my life completely for 2 months will give me a better chance at normality.

Could you do it?

Could you leave everything behind and walk onto a unit where you’re basically in a therapeutic jail?

Where every item you bring with you is scrutinized for how traumatizing it could be for another patient, how dangerous it could be, how it will affect everyone’s healing.

No books with any mention of violence.

No shirts that don’t meet their criteria.

I don’t know if I can.

I don’t know if I want to.

And now it’s consuming every down moment I have, wondering what the right decision is.

Gut turning unsure of what I should do.

And I didn’t do anything to deserve this.