Some things i remember about the mental hospital

I remember the restlessness. I remember the excruciating boredom. I remember the tumultuous feeling of insanity. The panic that ran through me as my doctor described my dissociative episode that i couldn’t remember. I remember counting my breaths just to have something to do. I remember the excitement i would feel when it was time to pee, or get more water, or ask the nurse a question, just for something to do. I remember the maddening fog of circling the patio during outdoors time. I remember my hospital bracelet being put on incorrectly and it bothering me every time i had to wash my hands without soap. I remember having no freedom, and how horrific it was to be stripped of my free will. I remember craving that freedom peerlessly. I remember telling god himself that i would give anything to acquire that freedom once more, and meaning it. I remember the names and the faces of those who surrounded me. I remember wanting to hurt them and worship them both, only because it was still a possible thing to do. I remember the most penetrating psychological torment i have ever endured, and i remember having no choice but to survive through it.
It was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. The longest few days of my life.
I have a whole new ptsd from it.
What was your experience in the hospital like. Is it possible to have a good one?

For me it was like a holiday, which I have not had in over 20 years, I thought it was all set up to fool me, oddly the people I met I liked, One gal I would go out with for smokes and we took a walk to a book store and hung out there for awhile.
The food was good,
I thought they were watching me all the time, so stayed dressed in my shirt and jeans, even to sleep, showering was odd as I thought they watched the whole thing, but overall it was ok

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if a psych ward allowed me to have walks to a book store, I would escape.

just kidding…

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I can’t believe you were allowed to smoke and leave. That would have made it so much better.

That’s beautiful the way you wrote that, I feel the same way. I remember…

The Alcoholics,

the Cherokee Indian drying out, trying to land a Salvation Army santa job for when he was released

The postal worker, woman home alone drunk, left the stove on, her home caught fire. She landed in the psych ward for it.

The drunk man who toasted his brains on the booze, could barely speak anymore, his daughter always visited

The drug addicts:

The nurse addicted to her sleeping and pain killers screaming at family on the hall phone everyday

The hells angel woman addicted to pills who lived in a group home, police came for her statement, going to charge her doctor with a crime

The man who stabbed himself with a pencil at group, slammed the thing into his leg

The suicidal

My roommate for weeks, swallowed her elderly mothers pain meds intent to kill herself, always telling us tat, yet screaming at the family and doctors because she wanted to go home again and they said no. She had been close enough to require regular hospital for a week or more before landing in the psych ward.

The schizophrenic

The woman who always mumbled to herself, wrote a suicide note, played dice all night keeping me awake

The young men who were obnoxious in group who were regulars, friends of the nurses, flirting with the occupational therapists

The gay man, bald, transvestite , been there 3 months already, but had a private room because he was a man wanting a sex change, behaved more like a woman.

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Think they stopped the smoking now, but you can still go for a walk unless you are a danger of some sort, so you could smoke off the property.

There was the same where I was one woman restrained and screaming all day, some other woman came up to me and kept repeating something, had no idea what she was talking about, I just avoided most of them

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People came into my room all hours of the night, with no explanation, sometimes wanting to give me an injection or take my blood. I usually thought they wanted it to frame me for a crime. They would come in at all hours and shine a flashlight in my face. I would put cups under my door because I was scared of them and wanted to be awake when they came in. I would usually pretend I was asleep and they would leave. I always hid my shoes by my bed uncase I had to run away. Some nights I slept under the bed so the people looking for me couldn’t find me. I remember staff dragging people kicking and screaming past my room in the middle of the night. An alarm would sound and lights would go off sometimes at night ,I wondered if those people after me infiltrated the hospital. Some times people would barge into my room and I would jump onto my bed to protect myself. I thought most of the patients were planted by the FBI to harm me. Glad I’m never going back.

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there was a person in one facility who would walk around with no clothes on. nobody really cared but I’m lucky I hadn’t seen that person. I stayed in my room most of the time.

I had given up smoking by the time time hit hospital, but took it up again when I was there because everyone else was doing it and I was pretty much out of my mind.

But bored is something I never was… my mind provided all the entertainment I could ask for while I was there.

I wish I had such a mind as yours.

It’s hard to think when your roommate is sitting on his bed edge while staring at you.

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I remember at the time hating it. Hanging out in the smoking room wasn’t too bad. That was like our social room. Sometimes sociopaths spoilt it but there was a sense of community in the smoking room.

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I remember being medicated for the first time and so sedated I couldn’t lift my head from the pillow of my bed behind a yellow curtain in a shared dorm. Being so scared because I didn’t believe I belonged in a mental hospital with sick people because I wasn’t one of them.

I remember being on constant observation, the humiliation when I was not even allowed to go to the bathroom unsupervised because I had tried in several imaginative ways to end my life.

Meeting people who, despite their own terrible suffering, showed me the utmost kindness and understanding.

Being terrified of a violent man who came in covered in blood and cowering behind a sofa as 5 or 6 nurses tried to restrain him.

The horror and desperate sadness on hearing of the deaths by suicide of several people I met in hospital.

Nurses who had all the time in the world for me, who comforted me and tried their utmost to help.

Nurses who were tired and cynical and made me feel like a piece of crap.

Terrible food!

Walking around the ward wearing a tinfoil hat just to freak out the staff because I was manic and needed something to do for entertainment.

Sitting in the smoking room (back in the day) for hours on end, chain smoking cigarettes because the people in there were interesting to talk to.

Breaking out of the ward, once with a credit card, and once with a teaspoon.

Being brought back.

Sometimes, I was so depressed I would stay in my room for days on end. When they realised I hadn’t washed for a month I was put on a hygiene programme, a nurse would force me to shower and clean my teeth.

I remember being suicidal, being completely manic, being floridly psychotic, being sectioned and held for nearly 6 months against my will and doped up with so many pills and injections I lost my entire personality.

I’ve been in and out of various hospitals so many times, they have kept me alive and they have taken over my life. I never want to go back, but despite the boredom, the terrible state I must be in to be there, and the horrible effects of all the meds, mostly I remember that it was my first time on the ward that I met my best friend in the world, and I have been privileged to meet many of the wonderful people that I have met in these places, who have inspired and encouraged me, and who I will never forget.

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I HATE HOSPITALS and I never want to be on a hold again. If I do I honestly think I mentally could handle the pain and I would kill myself.

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I was locked up in one for 8 months in the 1980’s. I can still remember a lot of the people who were there. It was a horrible experience from the day I was admitted to the day I left. It’s almost impossible explain what my sickness entailed. I have never heard voices or seen things that weren’t there.

I was paranoid and delusional but my delusions were not the textbook cases of thinking the C.I.A. was filming me or the FBI had hidden bugs in my house or aliens were talking to me. I never did any of those things.

Yeah, the hospital was boring. I spent a LOT of time sleeping or walking around the perimeter the grounds. We had to get up at 8:00 a.m. for breakfast. To get your food you had to stand in line with 30 other people. I hate lines.

After breakfast the noise started. All my fellow patients would start arguing, screaming , cussing threatening each other. I was as loner so I didn’t get involved in all that stuff. The noise lasted most of the day until dinner time. Anyways, some strange stuff went on in there.

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I remember the colors. So white and grey, so cold and sad.

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I’ve been in about six or seven different mental hospitals, maybe more. I’ve probably been committed more than twenty times. Some hospitals were better than others. Some were drab and bleak. Others were newer and pleasanter to be in. I never had any problem with fights, or anything like that. When I was in a hospital in Western Tennessee it was mostly black. There were over twenty black patients on every ward, and only about two or three whites. We didn’t get hostility from the blacks, though. Everybody got along. One time I was in the hospital with this really rugged looking man, the quintessential Marlboro man. One day he was looking at me, and he said, “This has been coming for a long time,” and he tried to kiss me. For me, what determined how much I liked the hospital I was in was what kind of antipsychotic med they put me on.

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