notes from the psychiatric hospital

I went in on a Saturday afternoon, after patiently waiting in the emergency room since the Thursday evening before. The few seconds in between bringing me from building to ambulance then ambulance to building, was the only fresh air and sunlight I'd get that week. If you didn't know, the process of getting placed in an in-patient facility goes like this:

first, mental breakdown or suicide attempt or whatever crazy thing you do

second, admitted into the ER

third, wait around to see what hospital has a bed available for you and also takes your insurance

fourth, get transported via ambulance to said hospital

fifth, stay there for 5-7 days or sometimes more

So, now you know. It's important to note it was a full moon when I went. Shit does something to us. I won't go blaming the stars and my Capricorn moon for my depression, but it does add up a little bit you have to admit.

One of the first things they did when I arrived was give me a journal. They're very strict on what you can and can't have while there so if I had tried to bring my own, they probably would've kept it just like they did my coloring pad and markers. The first thing they actually did when I got there was a body scan and vitals. Vitals get taken about 3 times a day going forward and the body scan is to note any cuts, bruises, tattoos, or anything on your body worth noting. Lucky for me I had actually fallen down a flight of stairs recently and had a gnarly bruise on my butt. I mean it was black, no blue. That was a lot of fun showing them my bruised butt.

Once I got situated with the space, I went and sat and journaled at my leisure. Here are some of my notes and comments on my stay at the psychiatric hospital:

DISCLAIMER: all names have been changed for obvious reasons

"Sometimes we're tested not to show our weaknesses, but to discover our strengths" the quote written on the whiteboard behind the nurses station the day I arrived.

It smells bad in my room. Which is certainly unfortunate because there is nothing I'd like to do more than lay in bed right now. I hate to be rude, but it really makes me gag. My roommate is Becky. She is older and she has bathroom problems. They gave her a laxative. She's made a mess in our shared bathroom and I'm not sure how to ask them to clean it. To my surprise, however, with the bathroom issues and all, I don't find myself anxious to be here. It feels right. I feel welcome. Of course with all this down time what else is there to do but think, think about what brought me here. Simply, I wanted to die. Well no, I wanted to kill myself. There's a difference. That's not a new feeling, actually quite the opposite. Do I want that now? No, but I do want things to stop or slow down. I don't want tomorrow to come as quickly as it does.

They teach us about coping skills like I've never heard of them before, like I haven't been in therapy for almost half my life, like this is my first time in the psych ward. The emptiness can never be filled, yet I continue to try. The boys just leave me emptier than when they found me. I go and find them, though, because I know they'll hurt me, haunt me. "Risky behavior" they said, but it's fun. Where's the line? When does it change from enjoying your youth to putting yourself in danger? I was so numb and empty. I would've done whatever he asked me to. That's my thing, I never say no. I'd die for a man I hardly know.

I want to lay down in my bed, but the room smells bad :(.

Update: it smells slightly better

The rest of my first day I just jotted down observations that I made about the other patients or things that happened around me.

Hank was this big guy who talked with a lisp and had a few missing teeth. He was one of the first people to say hi to me as I was still on the stretcher from the ambulance. To be completely honest he scared me a bit. He's been to a few hospitals in his lifetime, 11 to be exact, and was talking about how awful a lot of them are. "There were cockroaches so big you could ride 'em." We all sat in the lounge agreeing we were lucky to be at this one because it could be a lot worse. The topic then shifted to Lara who had just called 911 in hopes they would get her out of there. It was quite comical. Then, Hank mentions how she "just lets them out," talking about farts of course. Earlier that day as she was exiting a room she farted very audibly and that was not the last time she did that. Lara is an 81-year-old woman who speaks with a thick Eastern European accent. She is certainly a large presence on the wing. She farts, she complains, she's been here 16 days and she'll be sure to let you know.

As much as movies and television might make it seem, majority of the people in these places are completely normal, minus the mental health situation. We all feel crazy, but crazy people don't know they're crazy. It's actually these people that become your temporary community and help you get through it. They help make it all a little more bearable. You feel grateful for them in the moment, but especially in retrospect. You worry forever about them and when you hear news of a tragedy it breaks you a bit. I was first admitted when I was 16 and a couple years ago I found out someone I befriended while in there died of an overdose. I felt so sad for them yet strange like I knew them, but I didn't. Am I allowed to mourn them and be sad if I only knew them a week? I think so.

Some of the people who I will always think of and wish well were Gabriel, Dana, Cathy, and Josie. Gabriel was this small and spunky American Italian man. He had the Jersey accent and always said what he was thinking. We became friends and he made me laugh. I'm grateful for him. Dana was an older lady who was probably manic, but she always made me smile. She was sweet and gave out a good energy. She's another one who was a strong presence and had been there for almost a month, the longest of anyone I knew on the floor. She left a few days after I got there and I was so happy for her. She told me I have a beautiful smile that brightens her day. Cathy was a mother of three and had made me feel so welcome when I first came. She never let me feel alone and asked me to play cards with her. Josie was a very energetic person. She worried me more than anyone there. She was an addict who constantly joked about relapsing. She probably had the hardest upbringing of anyone I know. Came from an uber-religious family in middle America and was in the process of transitioning. She told me I remind her of the girl from Bridge to Terabithia. She left the hospital the same day as me, but against the advisory of the doctors. She didn't say goodbye.

My second day there I woke up with an unreal migraine. I later realized it was the higher dose of Trazodone, a sleep aid, they gave me. The worst part was they were only able to give me Tylenol for it, which didn't help, and it lasted the entire day. So, I spent most of my time in bed sleeping.

My roommate finally talked to me. She's really very sweet and had been a substitute teacher for 15 years.

My dad came to visit. He talked mostly. Went on about how I need to set goals and direct my focus onto something. He said it worked for him. He told me he's sad things are the way they are between us, how we don't talk to him. I'm sad he can't see why.

I felt human again the third day. My migraine had subsided. I spent sometime trying to reflect on the incident that brought me to the ER in the first place. I was home alone. I couldn't stop crying and did not feel safe being by myself. I texted my mom and I went with her to her doctors appointment. While there, I had a phone call with my therapist. Behind tears, I told her I kept seeing myself dead and I didn't want to see tomorrow. She told me I needed a psych evaluation. So, I went.

"Nobody cares, because nobody knows" the nurse on shift talking about learning to open up.

Nothing in that place feels real, but still is intensely real. The woman in the wheelchair never stops crying. "I want to get out of here." "I don't feel good." "I want to go home." Seriously, she never stopped. :(

They said you can't stop the negative thoughts from coming, but you can stop them from staying. COGNITIVE REFRAMING.

It was Dan's birthday so we all sang for him. Dan is this hyper-anxious man who spent a lot of his time pacing the unit and mumbling under his breath. He told me he wish he had my laugh. Of course once we stopped singing Lara wanted to keep going, so she started up 'God Bless America'.

There's a lot of talk of God in here. Dan was reading from the Bible in the hallway and I could hear it in my room. I believe in a god, but not a religious one. Not a god that is all good. Why would so many suffer if God loved us all? Why would he answer your prayers, but not mine? What is sin? Why must I repent? Have I sinned so much so as not to be sent to heaven?

Day four and Josie told me she refuses vitals to become a liability for the hospital. She wants to get kicked out.

The only mirror is morphed. I can't see myself clearly. They make it more difficult to take care of yourself here. They hide your things so you have to ask for them. They lock the showers, have limited food options. It would be so easy to slip away like my roommate who lays in bed all day. I could fall behind from everyone on the outside. It's a little too tempting.

We talked a lot about trying to remain present. One of the counselors compared being present to driving a car. You have to look forward, but everyone once in a while you look back too. I wish I could erase a boy from my memory, or change the memories like in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I can't, though so I just have to keep driving.

It feels strange when I think too hard about where I am. The singular hallway that has been my life for the past few days. The walls in my room: bare. Outside "stay hopeful" painted in black letters atop two overlapping purple triangles.

My fifth day I was given my diagnosis and the sixth day I went home. To quote my discharge papers my diagnosis is "MDD [major depressive disorder], generalized anxiety, obsessive compulsive personality disorder, borderline personality disorder". I'm not gonna sit here and explain what that all means because it's not important. Essentially, I'm constantly screaming internally. So, wish me luck with the rest of my life. Peace and love.