…. where T stands for therapeutic intervention. I was admitted to a locked psychiatric unit (certified in the ER, then commited by a judge) in Sept. 2011. I spent about a month in there before figuring out what they wanted me to say and playing their game. It was fairly horrible as all my admissions have been, but i’m still having daily flashbacks, wishing bad things would happen to some of them and feeling trapped and neglected.
Now, 3 months later, i mentally figure out what those poor people are doing (or are expected to be doing) every time i look at a clock.
8:15am – just marching back “single file” from breakfast
11:15am – “line up for lunch”
8pm -“evening meds”
10pm “go to bed”
My mind just does it. I try not to, but it happens.
” Get up and leave your bedroom, come out here”. I thought i could rest here. Asking every time to have the bathroom unlocked. Fucking hell, there isn’t much in here to use (there is SOMETHING, but i’m not telling.) “Leave me alone”, i plead. “Come out or we’re coming in”.
The “O crap, someone is losing it alarm. Horrible, ear splitting shrillness. “Shut it off NOW”. I was in a Walmart or something recently and the door/shoplifter alarm went off and BAM – immediately back there, shaking, heart racing, near tears, i need to run away. Staff running in and standing in menacing groups, nurses with handfuls of loaded syringes, yelling “calm down” – yea right. Why can’t they wear pagers?
I spent probably 10 days never being allowed to go into my room , to lie down, to get away from the craziness, the noise. Forced out of bed @ 7:15 am, forced to sit in the common area, unable to get away from people – until 10pm, then “go to bed” Shear torture. For a while, every night when fucking 10pm would finally come, they would drag my mattress into the common area, placed it on the floor between the chairs, and expect me to sleep. If i wasn’t sleeping before (and i wasn’t), i sure couldn’t sleep there. Some mornings @ 6am i would open my eyes to find a fellow inmate sitting a foot away from me waiting for the TV to get turned on.
If i happened to be in with the doctor when mealtime came – they didn’t always remember to bring back anything for me to eat. It felt more like punishment to me, not therapy.
Some of the staff were OK, decent people – might even talk to you rather than sit there and do -what? -i don’t know. I hated the male evening shift nurses; pompous, indifferent pricks. I hate to say it but the R.N.s were, as a rule, useless twats (i used to be an R.N.). If i was assigned to a nurse for a shift, i would rarely see or speak with them. One of the R.N.s told a roommate of mine (an elderly, depressed, hypertensive lady who refused most nourishment and all her meds) that she “better sit up and take your blood pressure medicine because i don’t want you stroking out on my shift”. Cunt. The old lady politely refused (so would i have). The mental health workers, as a group, at least tried.
The unit shrink – argh- a story for another day.
I gave them a D- on my release survey. Hospital = torture, not treatment.
I know i’m wingeing on, but why can’t i stop thinking about all of it? I want to forget it.