This will be the first in a series of posts about what it’s like to be put into a psych ward. My goal is to provide detailed information about my experience so that if you are ever hospitalized, you will know what to expect (this post might trigger an episode, so please proceed with caution).
I was hospitalized about two weeks ago. At the time I was attending a partial hospitalization program (PHP) that specialized in bipolar disorder and addiction (I had just dropped out of graduate school and I was feeling like shit. My mind was unstable and my self-confidence was at an all time). I had been in the program about a week. Everything seemed to be going well, but I guess my mind had other plans for me (mental side note: this is a hard topic for me to discuss. Also I had a horrible week. I was put down and made fun of by multiple people. Further, someone I know told me I should just get over my issues completely disregarding the fact that I suffer from manic-depressive illness. As a result, my self-confidence is at an all time low causing me to think my writing is complete shit. It’s frustrating because I love to write-so I apologize if this post makes no sense).
I woke up the morning of my hospitalization feeling overly happy. I was energetic, awake and content with life. This might sound crazy, but I was scared shitless. I was too happy, too energetic and way too content about life. Something was wrong. About an hour later I left the apartment, entered my car and turned on the radio. Before I knew it I was on the freeway. It was at that point I realized I was very manic. I was driving extremely fast, darting in and out of traffic, hoping that I might crash (it’s a fucked up feeling, but when I get extremely manic I tend to not care about my life). Eventually I made it to the hospital.
My manic episode continued to grow. I was scared. My thoughts started racing (the word “fuck” circled around in my head over and over again, until it was the only thing I could think of), I couldn’t sit still, my jaw was clenching, sweat poured down my face, and I had this nagging feeling someone wanted to kill me. The manic episode continued to grow. I was so fucking paranoid, so unstable, so scared that I didn’t know what to do. How could I stop myself from thinking like this, how could stop my mind from racing, why is everyone looking at me, why am I going insane???? Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, what the fuck am I going to do??
At that p0int I was beyond desperate. I excused myself from the group and went looking for a nurse. Eventually I found one and told her how I felt. She called my doctor and they both agreed that I should be transferred to the in-patient psychiatric unit. I was scared (my first thought was that I was going to be locked up in a loony bin, quite like the fucked up mental hospitals seen on TV or the movies). I started to become really depressed which made things even worse. Now my manic episode morphed into a mixed episode….
I can’t write anymore. As I stated above, this topic is still hard for me to think about.
I hope you are all doing well.