***TRIGGER WARNING (PTSD, OCD, SI) ***
I was brought down to the unit from the ER. I can only describe the feeling I had like a ‘walk of shame’. I felt the stares glued to the back of my head as I made my way to the elevator. I was wearing the infamous terracotta colored scrubs with the matching bright yellow hospital socks. The hardest part of it all was making eye contact with my coworkers as I made my way from the triage room to the elevators. I was accompanied by a crisis nurse and a security guard. I wanted to make excuses for myself so that they wouldn’t take pity on me. Regardless of how I felt, I knew I needed the help, so I swallowed my pride and let the professionals take over.
DAY 1- I was stripped of my personal items. No phone, lip balm, wallet, or even drawstrings allowed. My bed was a wooden box with a small mattress dressed with thin hospital linen. There was a desk with rounded edges and a what it looked like a robust plastic chair with no legs. There was a window but it was sealed shut. I felt ashamed of being there. Was I making it all up for attention? Deep down I knew I wasn’t but the thought was still there. I met with the psychiatrist that morning and was officially diagnosed with PTSD, ODC, and severe sleep deprivation. I was given medication that morning to help me sleep and to battle my PTSD. For once since Lilly’s birth my mind was quiet. I had lunch and fell asleep.
DAY 2- I had no idea that psych wards had a scheduled program or any type of structure whatsoever. In my uneducated mind, I was convinced crazy people just let their minds wander in a zombie-like manner, and occasionally lashed out in a manic state. I was so very wrong about it all. I had already missed the morning vital signs, the check in group, breakfast, the free hour, the counseling/meditation group, and the creative time. I slept for nearly 24 hours.
I woke up to natural light and the sound of the nurse coming in to check on me as it was already almost night time. I was introduced to the other patients there and the rest of the staff for the day. They were so heartwarming and welcoming. I attended the night time check in group, had dinner, my meds, a shower, and fell back asleep for the night. I didn’t dream once.
DAY 3- I got up with a little pep in my step, it was a refreshing change. I got ready for the day, attended all my groups and even had a chance to play the piano for some of the patients ( I have no idea how to play but i can figure out simple chords). We had a movie night and I got to paint and meditate. Before the end of the day I met with my treatment team and decided that I was fit to go back home the following day.
DAY 4- It was dishcarge day and I was so excited to see Lilly and Spencer. At the same time, I was a little sad to leave such a healing place, knowing I would have to go back to the regular day to day tasks. It felt terrifying. As the time approached, I got more and more anxious. Once I was able to exit the building and I saw my family, all the worries melted away. She had grown so much in four days! Her little ankles had the smallest chub and her cheeks had grown to the size of two juicy peaches. My husband’s face was that of relief and concern for me. I am thankful for the amazing man I picked to be my partner. His support and love have always been unconditional.
I can’t say that I don’t get excited when someone makes a comment on the topic of mental health institutions, especially after my experience. It has become a chance to educate people, share my truth, break the stigma that comes from talking about seeking mental health help, and also a chance to change the actual image of what people imagine when they hear the words psych ward. This very lenghty story might not ever reach the people that have the ability to change the culture around this topic, but I hope it helps someone in need to make the decision to seek help.
Diana's Dailies 