Psychiatric Hospitalization Story

My first hospitalization was brought on by an overdose of Ambien. The fact that I didn’t remember doing it, until I “came to” and saw the empty bottle next to me scared me to death. I was eventually sent to a psychiatric ward. I felt like I was in jail and I was scared. I didn’t want to be there with all those “wackos.” I’m normal, so why are they putting me with these guys? We had to sleep on these “slabs” for beds, as only certain rooms had hospital beds. This was a horror for someone like me with a bad back. Then, hospital staff didn’t even come in to change the sheets. You had to do it yourself. “Why should I have to do their job for them? They get paid to do it, so they should do it!”

We were only allowed to make and receive phone calls during certain times, for short periods of times, and we could only have visitors during the short visiting hours. If we were lucky and could get grounds privileges, we could go outside for walks, escorted, of course. Upon arriving they confiscated your belongings and then asked you millions of questions. Then they brought you to your room and went through your belongings. Mouthwash, not allowed. Anything you could hang yourself with, except shoelaces, not allowed. Cell phones, not allowed. So much like jail it was scary. Luckily the food was much better!

One bad part was that most of the groups focused on addictions, and I wasn’t there for that. I was there for depression and bipolar issues. Why bother paying attention to any of that? I mean, it had nothing to do with me, so why bother? Even if a group wasn’t focused specifically on addictions, it inevitably led to it when we had the discussions. I was a minority, and that definitely didn’t make me feel like I wanted to be there. I wished there was either more one on one or more programs for people not there for addictions. I really wanted out right away.

Because I didn’t want to be there, I rebelled and didn’t get anything out of that visit. I did the mandatory stuff, and got myself out of there when the mandatory three days was up. I was fine. It was a one-time thing. I didn’t even remember doing it. I was so glad to be free, until . . .

I ended back in when I overdosed on Tylenol PM. That was the worst experience, as I almost died. If they hadn’t pumped my stomach, I wouldn’t be here today. That was my wake up call. Even though I again didn’t remember taking the pills, I realized that I desperately needed help, so I wanted to be there. This time was different. I participated in everything and did everything I could do to get better. I didn’t want to be discharged until they felt I was ready to go. It was a good experience, since I wanted to be there.

Luckily, they had an exercise bike and I used that to try to combat the fact that I was overeating because the food was so good. I always participated in the walks for that reason, and just to be off the floor and out in the fresh air, even though it was freezing. I wished that we could get out more, but there wasn’t enough staff for that. My other savior was the use of the Occupational Therapy room, where there were three computers, connected to the internet and the usage of the arts and crafts supplies. I was in the OT room every chance I could get. These were the times when you were free to do what you wanted to do, be who you wanted to be. It was like another taste of freedom, and I loved it.

Looking back on that first hospitalization, I realized that it would have been easier, and less scary if there was a Certified Peer Specialist, so that when I was feeling...