Hello, psych ward

I thought today I would write about my experiences going to the psych ward. I have gone to the psych ward for both manic and depressive episodes, and depending on which one, it is a vastly different experience. Almost every time I had a severe manic episode, I was forced to go to the psych ward. I’m talking the police saying I needed to be admitted for at least 72 hours. Almost every time this happened, I didn’t believe I needed to be there. For depressive episodes, I was the one that said I needed to go to the psych ward because I was scared I was going to hurt myself. It was always a last-ditch effort.

Psych ward admission always starts in the emergency room. Once admitted, you are assessed so thoroughly. I would take a drug test, get an EKG and brain scan, and give what felt like extreme volumes of blood. They do this to rule out a physical explanation for the symptoms. There was always at least one doctor that preached it was caused by drugs, but my drug test was always clean. I won’t lie and say that it still didn’t play a part. Once determined to be a mental issue, it’s time to “find a bed” in one of the psych wards. There is some consideration for patients in emergency situations. When I lived in a psych ward for three months completing a PTSD program, the hospital was bougie and hard to get into, but I needed the treatment desperately. When they “find a bed” at either their hospital or another, you get transferred to the psych ward (sometimes on a stretcher).

Imagine an entirely white and bare room with only a bed and a mirror. Think about the most uncomfortable bed you could imagine and sleep in it with nothing but basically a sheet. The intake staff leave you there with nothing to do but think. Sometimes, I would leave the room to wander the ward. Patients sit in a small area with a TV, puzzles, and crayons- the only entertainment. Everyone looks defeated. Every day, there were group sessions that focused on tools to get better. I always thought how am I going to beat psychosis with music therapy? Impossible. Sitting around and doing nothing only made things worse. I would lay in bed just trying to sleep it away. I always wanted to make a purpose out of the experience, but my only writing tool was a crayon. That still didn’t stop me. I thought all about my dreams pacing the hallways of the psych ward.

When you go to the psych ward, you probably don’t have a bag packed for your stay. It’s always the last thought during an emergency. So, you either have to wear the paper scrubs they provide or beg your mom to bring you clothes during visits. There was absolutely no choice when it came to toiletries- you are going to use theirs. The shower was almost always cold, and the water trickled down barely washing you off. I just had to get used to the feeling of being absolutely disgusting. At the psych wards I have been to, you are given a list of meals that are available for you to eat each day. You have to pick breakfast, lunch, and dinner with a tiny pencil. The meals all sucked, and no one talked. It’d be a good day if they gave you an extra apple juice. 

It is so fucking fun to make friends in the psych ward. Sitting around discussing your situation by venting to someone in the same position is so therapeutic. But these friendships don’t usually last when you leave the ward. I even fell in love with a homeless heroin addict (which is fine). We held hands when the nurses weren’t looking. All your other interactions are with the psych ward’s staff. There are general staff like at the front desk, nurses, and doctors. Most of your interaction will be with the nurses who take your vitals every two hours. Sometimes you can see in their eyes they look down on you but there was an equal number of nurses that genuinely cared. Doctors made rounds every day to check on your status. They hold the power and listen when you beg for them to let you leave by lying about your symptoms. The worst part is that they bring medical students along with them that treat you like an experiment. You can also have visitors every night. I always appreciated my family for coming to see me, but I was also embarrassed and hated that they saw me that way.

I feel like I just made the psych ward seem like the worst place on Earth and honestly, it kind of is. I think that programs could do such a better job at taking care of their patients past basic survival needs. I will say the psych wards I’m talking about are for emergencies, and longer stay hospitals (at least in my experience) give you more freedom to grow. It’s just something about those white walls that get blood pressure up.

Let me know about your experience with the psych ward! And I’ll probably do a part two.

xoxo