The Funny Thing about Psych Wards
One time, I spent three nights in a psych ward voluntarily.
Details: I have depression. On its own, it's pretty manageable. But when combined with the early 2000's, months of sleep deprivation, poor drug and alcohol consumption choices, and a short-lived, terrifying, but lovely, 7 month marriage.... even drugs weren't helping. I mentioned some specific plans to a friend, and baddah boom: we're in the ER.
The weird thing is: you can't UNvolunteer for the psych ward. The psych ward is a very safe place. They make sure you don't have any shoelaces, or cigarettes, or phones, or lotion. They sit outside the shower if you want to get pretend-clean. They order your meals for you, but none of them can include coffee or soda. Whatever brought you in there, caffeine isn't one of the safe things.
The funny thing about the psych ward is that you're never in there by yourself. The other people in the psych ward are amazing. They are so amazing, they kinda make you forget for a while why you even signed that carbon paper form.
But here's the part that helps you get better in the psych ward: You're NEVER the weirdest person there. "I want to die" is so much more normal than, "I want to bless you with these ping pong paddles" or "I can't stop putting lotion on my belly button" or even, "I would like to scratch some drywall off of the wall and snort it because I miss snorting things."
They put all of these people in a room together and make us have group therapy. And when it comes to my turn to say something about myself and I start to explain my pain, the ping-pong paddle lady looks me right in the eye and says, "No honey. You're fine. Your life is the crazy one right now. Go home and take care of your business." And then we are dismissed to watch The Ellen Show.
The attending physician did not accept "the ping pong lady told me I was ok" as a reason for me to check myself out. So it took a few more days of medication tweaks and meetings with social workers to break me out of there. And in the 15+ years since I was driven away from that hospital I am occasionally reminded that the ping-pong priestess thinks I should just handle my business. So I keep handling it.
Details: I have depression. On its own, it's pretty manageable. But when combined with the early 2000's, months of sleep deprivation, poor drug and alcohol consumption choices, and a short-lived, terrifying, but lovely, 7 month marriage.... even drugs weren't helping. I mentioned some specific plans to a friend, and baddah boom: we're in the ER.
The weird thing is: you can't UNvolunteer for the psych ward. The psych ward is a very safe place. They make sure you don't have any shoelaces, or cigarettes, or phones, or lotion. They sit outside the shower if you want to get pretend-clean. They order your meals for you, but none of them can include coffee or soda. Whatever brought you in there, caffeine isn't one of the safe things.
The funny thing about the psych ward is that you're never in there by yourself. The other people in the psych ward are amazing. They are so amazing, they kinda make you forget for a while why you even signed that carbon paper form.
But here's the part that helps you get better in the psych ward: You're NEVER the weirdest person there. "I want to die" is so much more normal than, "I want to bless you with these ping pong paddles" or "I can't stop putting lotion on my belly button" or even, "I would like to scratch some drywall off of the wall and snort it because I miss snorting things."
They put all of these people in a room together and make us have group therapy. And when it comes to my turn to say something about myself and I start to explain my pain, the ping-pong paddle lady looks me right in the eye and says, "No honey. You're fine. Your life is the crazy one right now. Go home and take care of your business." And then we are dismissed to watch The Ellen Show.
The attending physician did not accept "the ping pong lady told me I was ok" as a reason for me to check myself out. So it took a few more days of medication tweaks and meetings with social workers to break me out of there. And in the 15+ years since I was driven away from that hospital I am occasionally reminded that the ping-pong priestess thinks I should just handle my business. So I keep handling it.
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