I have never felt as lonely as I was my first night in a psych ward. I knew nobody there. I was in a room the size of a closet. I could touch both side walls at the same time.
I went to bed that night feeling more depressed then I ever was. It took a long time to fall asleep.
I woke up every now and then thanks to “checks”
I felt like I was being punished. For something I couldn’t control. I heard voices that told me to do things. A few weeks prior, I tried to poison a girl. But it wasn’t me who did it. Well it was me, but it was the voices that told me to do it. I had no other choice or I would be cursed.
My Dad brought me a magazine during visiting hours. The staff had to take the staples out of it before I could read it. So nobody would cut themselves with it.
That week dragged on. I got my meds adjusted. Soon I was well enough to be discharged.
I couldn’t wait to go home. I thought that being in a psych ward was a one time only thing.
I never would have thought I would be back in a psych ward a few months later.
Those weeks in psych wards were a waste of my time and energy. I know at the time I “needed” to be there. Maybe its true. At least I was safe there. If anything were to happen, at least there was lots of nice staff who were there when you need them.