#psychiatric hospitals

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Hello, valiant readers! Aunt Scripty here. This post was submitted by a lovely anon who wanted to share their story with all of you. Nonny, thanks so much for being willing to share this with all of us.

Hello, Aunty Scripty. (Hello anon!!)

I noticed that you had multiple submissions from people describing their experiences after having attempted suicide. I didn’t see anything that was exactly like my experience; I don’t know if this will be helpful to anyone, but I figured it couldn’t hurt.

I have attempted suicide twice, both times using SSRIs. The first time, I had a gap in my memory beginning about an hour after taking the pills until the next morning, with the exception of a few flashes of things that may or may not have happened (pulling out an IV, having a catheter removed). According to what I heard later, I was oriented to person but not to place or time, I was having trouble retaining information, and I was repeatedly not cooperative with nurses. I was held in the ER all night while I was treated (I believe it was just supportive care – I had nausea/vomiting/diarrhea for hours but no other symptoms other than the change in mental status). I was then transferred to an inpatient unit early in the morning. I remember that I was on one-to-one observation for the entirety of my stay there. My clothes had been taken and I was wearing a hospital gown; I had bandages all over my arms because I’d removed at least 2 IVs. I was held in that unit for about a day, while being given IV fluids for hydration, until a specialist (I believe it was a psychologist) was able to evaluate me. I was basically told that either I could consent to a stay in the hospital’s psych ward, or I would be remanded against my will.

I consented because I was scared of being forced to undergo an extended stay against my will. I was held in a psych ward for about four days. We had scheduled meals and group/individual therapy, but were otherwise allowed to do as we pleased – which was not much. There was one TV in the main room there and a few magazines and books. I was able to get permission for a small pencil after two days, and was allowed my one clothes after one.

The food was terrible. The patients housed in the ward ranged from people struggling with addictions to patients undergoing psychotic breaks to patients with severe depression and anxiety. There were a range of ages. To be honest, I think it hurt the effectiveness of the ward to have us all doing group therapy together like that, because it was scary for newcomers or patients with less severe problems to be housed with patients who were aggressive and violent. Visiting hours were for an hour in the evening, but special arrangements were made for my parents because it was Ramadan. My parents were also allowed to bring me food, which was nice.

I was very leery about taking any psychiatric medication after my overdose and because nothing had worked so far, but the mental health provider on the ward pressured me to accept the meds and implied I wouldn’t be released unless I took them. To be honest, I didn’t really feel safe going home, but I also felt that staying in that environment was not doing me any favors, so I did whatever they suggested until I was released. I definitely feel that my concerns and needs were not taken seriously there and that the pressure was on me to accept responsibility and promise not to hurt myself again so that they could discharge me and focus on other patients.

After my second attempt, I drove myself to the ER. I had no symptoms at all except for some nausea, and I was held overnight until a social worker could evaluate me. She was extremely kind and understood my concerns about being admitted again, so she agreed that I could go home that evening provided I followed up immediately with my regular therapist and agreed to see a psychiatrist (at that time, my medications were being managed by an NP in my therapist’s practice).

So there you have it! Thanks again for your submission, Nonny!

And my dearest writer-friends, if you have a story of a brush with critical illness, an admission, an injury that writers commonly get wrong, I’m always taking submissions with personal stories!