The Mental Health Hospital Experience

Imagine going into the Emergency Room with severe chest pains and being told, "Sorry, we don't offer that specialty, but could we give you a $1000 ambulance ride (which you have to pay for) to another facility?" Or how about, "Sure, we can get you in for that, but it might be a few days." It sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? For many people coming into the hospital for mental health reasons, these are realistic circumstances. Not all hospitals are equipped with a mental health unit. One can wait several days sitting around in a "regular" hospital room waiting for an opening at an in-patient mental health facility. One of my many hospitalizations began with a three day wait before I could get treatment at a different hospital. With each day that passed, my mood spiraled even further down hill. There were no therapists to talk to, either. I felt like I was only taking up space. I felt even more hopeless knowing that getting help was so tricky. One nurse even had the gall to tell me how many other patients in the hospital were also waiting for an opening at a different hospital (it was a lot!). How could there not be enough care for all these people when there is such a huge demand for it?! I immediately fell into a puddle of tears, certain that I would be stuck in my dark hole forever. Thankfully, after three days, the wait was over, and I was transferred to another hospital for treatment.

Another barrier in hospital care occurred to me when I was a teenager, about 15 years ago. Not only was there a shortage of mental health care in hospitals at the time, but being underage made it even more challenging to find a place to go. Even living in an urban area with over two million residents and 3 major hospitals less than a half hour away, I still had to go to a hospital an hour and a half from my home. My family had to make the commute every single day, and it was just one more stressor to add to an already difficult situation.

So what is hidden behind the locked doors of a mental health unit? There are definitely a lot of misconceptions. Take a look at "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," "Girl, Interrupted," or a plethora of different horror movies. It's called the "Looney Bin," the "Funny Farm," the "Madhouse," the "Nuthouse," and countless other nicknames for these places. During my internship at a hospital a few years ago, an employee was poking fun of the mental health unit and calling it "funny" names. How could an employee in a hospital be so insensitive? I wish I had the guts at the time to stand up to her!

A mental health unit needs to be a safe place for patients to stay, which accounts for the many strict rules. Patients often have suicidal thoughts, and some people have already acted upon those thoughts. Others perform self harm on themselves by cutting, burning, or other methods. That is why you will never find plastic bags, shoelaces, sharp objects, dental floss, nail clippers, lighters, dinner knives, or anything else that could potentially cause harm to a patient. Patients are more often than not out to hurt themselves, not to harm other people. I know from experience, people (even myself!) can get creative when usual methods of self harm are not available. I won't tell you how, though, lest I give you bad ideas!

There are lots of things going on in a mental health unit; it's a very busy place! The idea is to get past the "crisis" mode so that the patient is safe enough to go home or to a different in-patient program or has other aftercare lined up. Many people are involved in this process- psychiatrists, social workers, medical doctors, nurses, occupational therapists, and possibly others. People don't get "cured" in the hospital; they get to a more stable place. That process may include medication experimentation, group meetings with other patients to talk about feelings or learn new skills, doing arts and crafts (my favorite!), and doing other activities or games that encourage sharing and interaction. Being in the hospital is probably the only time when this plethora of resources is available at the tip of a finger. Outside of the hospital, it could take 8 weeks of waiting for a patient to see a psychiatrist for the first time. Even though people might not feel up to it, it is so important to ask questions, be honest about your feelings, and generally stand up for yourself to get your needs met; it is not selfish! A patient's support system can help with this as well.

So, how do we change some of the issues involving mental health hospitalization? First of all, stop with the jokes and names. People struggling with mental health issues can feel ashamed, embarrassed, and keep their situation a secret because of the bad connotation hospitalization still has. These patients are already fighting their demons and don't need the added stigma of hospitalization added to their emotional plate. It's totally cool and acceptable to go to the hospital, and that is the message that we need to be spreading. We also need even more mental health resources at hospitals. Every hospital needs to be equipped with a mental health unit, and no one should have to wait several days to get care when they are in crisis mode. One way that you can help make a difference is (if you are brave enough!) to write or call your politicians. Those are the folks with the purse strings and say how much mulla is designated to mental health. You can also donate to or volunteer with NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness). They are hard at work trying to get more funds and better access to mental health treatment.

It Begins With Step One

I am mentally ill. No, I take that back. I am living with mental illness. What does that mean, you might ask? Well, I ugly cry a lot. I have panic attacks. I hyperventilate and choke on air. I'm afraid of social situations and people I don't know. I see the world in black and white; all or nothing. It's hard to make friends, and I feel like I don't fit in with "normal" people. I self soothe with triple chocolate chunk cookies, marshmallows, pop tarts, ice cream; basically anything classified as a carb or is doused in sugar. When my husband isn't looking, I sneak two bowls of cereal in the morning. If I walk to Dairy Queen, then there is no harm in getting a Blizzard; I practically worked it off dragging it home with me! My favorite part about going to church every Sunday morning is the three gooey cream cheesy oozing cherry filled donuts I will eat and hope no one notices. I might sneak another one on the way out as well. I sleep 12 hours a day and am convinced I can't survive a day without a nap. I am most afraid that having children would interrupt my very important sleeping time; not to mention the hours of getting lost in books every day.  I have very little idea of who I am and what I want. Except chocolate. I will always want chocolate. I pick incessantly at the imperfections in my skin and desperately try to hide it with concealer multiple times a day. I yell and swear and insult the people closest to me. I've broken up with my husband so many times, he doesn't believe me anymore. He calmly picks up my wedding and engagement rings that I have undoubtedly thrown across the room at him, places them on the bookshelf, and replaces them on my finger the following day after I've calmed down. I confess we have not been able to find my engagement ring after the last "episode." I've broken a clock, a chair, and an address book. I've flipped a kitchen table over. I storm off into bedrooms and slam and lock the doors in juvenile defiance and frustration. Some days I feel so ashamed and sad and hopeless. Some days I want to die. I don't think of the people I would leave behind. I only think of the excruciating pain in my head and in my heart. It's a pain that radiates into my whole being. I feel it in my chest, in my stomach, in my eyes, in my muscles. An emotional pain so great that I would do anything to escape it. Sometimes it lasts for days; sometimes it lasts for years. I know it will always come back, but I have to remind myself that it always subsides too.

Like in everyone, mental illness doesn't define me. It often feels like a huge road block in my life controlling everything, but I have to give myself credit for the things I've accomplished in spite of these challenges. I have family and friends and a church who love me and (God forbid) when I am hospitalized, I always get the award for the most visitors. I have a job that I love that has miraculously hung onto me since I started in 2004. I've managed to keep my pets alive (for the most part) over the years. I thought I would make a career out of being a college student, floating around not knowing what the heck I wanted to be, year after year. One day it's an entrepreneur, the next a veterinarian. Oh, how about an actress? No, definitely a stay-at-home mom barefoot and pregnant with a loaded husband. Somewhere in the midst of that chaos I managed to earn myself two college degrees, make straight A's, and give a graduation speech. I somehow failed a gym class, though, but I digress. I started playing the double bass again recently after quitting when I was a very depressed 16 year old. Let's not talk about how many years ago that was! I own a car and have a mortgage. I have a pretty awesome credit rating, thank you very much!. This is nuts! I'm really quite competent! It's like I'm a bona fide adult! Or so you might think. I would rather give an original speech or star in a play in front of hundreds of people than fold laundry. After all, why fold the laundry crumpled up on the bed when you can simply sleep in another room of the house for several weeks. I would rather skip a meal than face the anxiety of planning and preparing it. I would rather go back to sleep than decide what to do next with my time.

As you can see, I'm pretty messed up, but I'm pretty blessed as well. Today, I'm beginning a new journey to recovery involving intense individual and group therapy. Sure, I've done all this before on and off for years with small improvements, but this time I really want to fight this beast and claim my life back. Maybe by opening up and writing what it's like to live with mental illness and to heal from it, someone else out in this great world might also find solidarity and comfort. I hope it will be a cathartic experience for me as well.