What's it like on the ward? A trip into admission.

It never really occurred to me how many of my group mates had never been admitted to a psych ward. Well, I’ve got two different perspectives on being on the ward: as a nurse and as a patient. It’s definitely eye opening when you know what it’s like on the other side. It’s hard knowing that every staff member on that unit has read into your file and knows what your deepest secrets are, and they casually talk about it during their lunch breaks with comments like, “God I feel bad for her” or “Jeez, I didn’t know she was crazy like that.” It’s definitely painful to know that I’ve worked alongside some of those nurses too. Which is why it was so hard for me to seek help in the first place.

But I’m not here to talk about being a nurse. I’m here to talk about what it’s like being admitted to the unit. First of all, it’s absolutely terrifying. Most of the time, no one voluntarily goes into the psych unit. You’re usually placed there involuntary because you’ve said the magic words, “I want to kill myself… or someone else.” Me telling my OBGYN that I had thoughts of hurting myself and taking my baby with me was what landed me in the psych ward the first time. It’s still hard to admit that because I look at Maverick every day with love, and I couldn’t imagine taking him with me like that…

Stripped, uncomfortable, & cold

I hate the initial part of admission because you always spend so much time in the ER. Both times that I went, I was told to change into patient pajamas, and I couldn’t have anything with me like shoes with shoelaces, my cellphone, my wallet, nothing… I hated it, because as I was sitting there slipping deeper into my denial of what was happening, I couldn’t communicate with my husband - my only support person at the time. This is a problem for me. I hate that when we have suicidal patients, we take away their only means of communication to their support. I also hate that family can’t be the one to stay with you while you wait. They made it uncomfortable for me having a higher ranking officer wait with me, who knew nothing of what was going on with me. Unless the patient states it is a safety hazard for that person, hospitals should let the support person be the patient’s choice. I mean, come on guys.

The first time I was admitted, I waited in the room for almost 6 hours. In the ER, the room for suicidal patients is an empty room with 3 sets of double chairs. It’s a cold room. You have no pillow, no blanket, no call bell. Your safety attendant sits in the room with you, awkwardly staring at the same popcorn ceiling that you look at, because they also can’t have their phones. Also stupid. After a few visits with the ER doctor and your nurse, they all congregate in the back with the psychiatrist who makes the ultimate decision of whether to admit you or not. They wand you down to make sure you’ve got nothing on you that could be used as a weapon, and then take you up to the ward and do the longest admission process ever.

The stigma of the ward

The hard part about being on the unit for me was already explained. I hated being admitted and knowing that people could see that I was there. I begged to go elsewhere because I didn’t want nosey people in my chart. I almost asked to use an alias instead. It almost hurt me more being there than it helped.

In all honesty, the unit wasn’t very helpful to begin with. It was so dark, that you could barely tell the different between night & day. The windows were barricaded with a metal sheet that had holes you could literally peep through. They didn’t allow for much light to get in. So you could only tell the difference because you saw fluorescent lighting in the day time. You’d sleep in a room where there was a plastic bed frame, and foam doors. You weren’t allowed to sleep with the light on because it wouldn’t let you get “restful sleep”. Even if that was the only thing keeping you from thinking there were demons out to get you. The day would start early with vital signs, and you could either go back to sleep until breakfast, or wait in the milieu room. I always went back to sleep.

Breakfast was brought up, and there would be a morning huddle. People would choose who would be a leader, introduce themselves, and then choose “sponsors” for new patients. It was stupid, but it gave the ward some order. I never volunteered, and I rarely spoke. Group sessions were held throughout the day, but when I was there, it was a very poor group setting. Nothing particularly helpful. It was more helpful talking to the doctor, and that’s usually not the case.

I’d rather do outpatient treatment

When I was admitted to partial hospitalization, it helped me out more. I was able to see my family and have their support, while also being with group for most of the day to talk things out. I don’t normally talk to my husband about these things, because a lot of the time, I want to be distracted from them. If you need the help of your family, then opt for outpatient treatment. If you’re having a crisis, opt for inpatient treatment to stabilize before going to PHP.

High-functioning from Esme Weijun Wang's book "The Collected Schizophrenias"

“… I find myself uncomfortable around those who are visibly psychotic and audibly disorganized. I’m uncomfortable because I don’t want to be lumped in with the screaming man on the bus, or the woman who claims that she’s the reincarnation of God. I’m uncomfortably uncomfortable because I know that these are my people in ways that those who have never experienced psychosis can’t understand, and to shun them is to shun a large part of myself.”

When I first started going to therapy and wanting to uncover what was truly going on in my head, I spent a lot of time in denial with the thought of “but I’m not like them, I’m not crazy like that.” I have a college degree, a BSN at that! I graduated with a high GPA in high school and with honors in college. I would say most people think that I am highly determined and focused and I’m not crazy... Until you ask me if I hear voices throughout the day that tell me to do things I shouldn’t do. Until I say that there are shadows of people moving around my house that aren’t really there or that my house is infested with ants that don’t exist. Until that time that I wanted to take my life and take my baby with me. Until I have days where I can’t get up because my body doesn’t feel like it’s my own. Maybe I am a little short of insanity, but does that mean that it should become my identity?

She mentions that when someone is diagnosed with illnesses such as diabetes or cancer, that person is usually described as, “Mrs. X has been diagnosed with cancer” rather than, “Mrs. X is a cancer patient.” But for people with mental illnesses that have experienced a period of psychosis, it’s usually the other way around. “Mr. Z is a schizophrenic” and not, “Mr. Z has schizophrenia.” Kind of like it suggests that there isn’t a normal person under the diagnosis, which makes it really hard to not be in denial of a mental-health diagnosis.

So does it really make it any better if you’re classified as a “high-functioning schizo"? I don’t really think so. Or any other kind of mental illness for that matter. Personally, I feel like I have to make it known that I do suffer from mental health illnesses and exaggerate how normal I actually am. Because in reality, I think I’m a pretty normal person until I experience a volume of hallucinations and dissociate from my body because of reliving a trauma or being paranoid. I’m a normal mom, who needs time away from her kid when my senses are overloaded. I’m a normal wife, who loves her husband but sits a couple feet away when I need my space. I’m a normal nurse (not at this time though because medication stability), and I’m a very strong advocate for maternal mental health. I’m a good friend, who slightly obsesses over whether I’m giving enough of my time to make sure they know they’re cared for.

I don’t know where I’m going with this anymore. I just want people to know that people with mental illness are still people, and that they should be care for… Whether they’re going through psychosis or they’re having a better-than-most-days kind of day… Whether they’re yelling on a bus or they’re in the office doing award-winning work. People are people whether they’re crazy or not.

Wow, that was embarrassing.

So, I got a wee drunk the other day, went on Instagram Live for the first time in my life, bawled my eyes out, probably spilled so many dark thoughts and feelings in the process… I can’t even remember what I said on Live, but I’m not sure that I want to. So if you listened, please don’t remind me. I already struggle making small talk with people, the last thing I want is to know the depth of embarrassment I had on Instagram. Thankful that I have a husband that deleted everything before even more people viewed it.

With that being said though, those who did end up viewing my feed and reaching out to me to make sure I was okay, I appreciate the fuck out of you. Those of you who reached out to my husband, I appreciate you. I mean, in the end, the cops got called to my house, my boss showed up, they made me go to the ER to do a psych evaluation and an alcohol blood level, but I ended up getting released home. I was safe, I am safe, we’re all good.

That would have honestly sucked though, because the psych unit here doesn’t discharge on four day weekends, meaning I would’ve been stuck there for 5 days hating myself for drinking that much. That place is like jail. There is no happiness that looms in those hallways. It’s just dread and misery that seeps through those cracks.

I am sad though. I constantly feel alone. I have the biggest case of FOMO, but I’m also the most anti-social person with FOMO… Which really doesn’t help. I hate feeling like I burden people with my depression. I think I’m actually pretty funny, I have a lot of dark humor, and I’m pretty apathetic to things that happen to me, but I’m really empathetic towards others. Which I guess just means, I feel like no one will ever understand me, but I’m pretty good at understanding others. I don’t think I’m super worthy of love, but I will love the fuck out of my friends.

I wish I had an easier time connecting with people. I wish people took the time to get to know me in a deeper sense. I always feel like I come in at the wrong time when I move. People are already super close to each other, they all have inside jokes and hang out on the weekends. I mean, just moving to El Paso, I literally put physical distance between me and almost everyone I know by living on the other side of the mountain. In Korea, I literally was the only officer that lived in Seoul while everyone else stayed 64 kilometers away. Geographic locations have never been on my side either, so I guess that also doesn’t help.

Maybe I just need to try harder at making friends, but honestly… and we’re being absolutely honest…

No one likes hanging out with depressed, anxious, and “crazy” people.

I think that’s the biggest reason why I distance myself. Because I’ve heard people talk about patients that come in with Suicidal Ideation, and I’ve heard people talk about people who get admitted to the psych unit, and those conversations are never 1) welcoming and 2) supportive.

So honestly… Maybe it’s okay that I’m anti-social, cause I’d rather have no friends than have fake friends.

"You don't have to earn the right to get help."

It’s not unusual to think that you need to be in combat to be diagnosed with something like PTSD. Being brought up in the military community and entering the force myself, it was common to think that PTSD = Combat. End of story. You can’t be hurt because you’ve never seen war. You can’t be hurt because you’ve never seen someone die. You can’t be hurt because you’re doing so well.

Today, a lot of people opened up about feeling ashamed at first for seeking help. They felt as if they didn’t deserve it. I was in this boat for the longest time, and I think that’s something that I opened up about recently. For the last 17 years, I felt like I didn’t deserve help. I was always told that “things happen for a reason.” Pushing my trauma aside like it was meant to happen to make me who I am today. It’s so far from the truth though. Anything that caused you trauma, anything that you relive over and over that hurts you, that’s valid. You woke up today, you’re human, you deserve help. That’s it. Point blank.

You being you means you deserve help, no matter what your story is. It took me a really long time to finally seek help and pretty much demand getting help from the Army for all the shit it’s caused me to relive. It hurts me to know that so many other people are feeling ashamed just like me for seeking help just because we compare our trauma to other’s trauma. Especially those who have experienced combat trauma. “We don’t deserve help, they deserve help.” No man. You deserve help because you need help.

Today was that gentle reminder that I’m really not alone in what I’m going through. It’s sad that it takes a group of broken people to feel like you’re capable of healing. We’ll all heal together.

One of my grandmother's died today.

I don’t think I was really ready for that kind of news so early in the morning prior to starting my day. I was so caught off guard that it affected my morning pretty significantly. Usually when I’m encountered with someone’s passing I’m met with shock first. The disbelief that someone who was breathing is now a person waiting to be buried or cremated. I usually don’t have any emotions attached to that shock. I’m normally numb and it takes awhile for it to really hit me.

Today was a little different… well, very different. It hurt instantly. I could feel my heart drop, my body become heavy, weakness seep into every muscle fiber… But I overcame that feeling with becoming angry. I was angry this morning. Mad at everyone and everything that wasn’t going my way. Because anger is an easier emotion to deal with than sadness. It’s easier to yell and scream than it is to sit and cry and feel hurt. So I was angry. I was aggressive.

I’m thankful for people in my group and my extremely patient therapist that helped talk me through a lot of what was going on in my head. Because today I did have a craving to drink and I did have a craving to smoke, and instead, I went to group.

I guess that’s growth.