Surviving a psych hospital pt. 2

6/24/21

22:53

J Balvin- “Gris”

Frank ocean- “Godspeed”

On the train 

In 2017 I had a manic episode. A very severe one. It lasted for about three months and it was followed by a severe depressive episode. My oldest sister made the difficult decision of having me hospitalized the hard way. I wouldn’t go to a hospital because I believed nothing was wrong with me. I was so angry because I didn’t want to be hospitalized. I felt like I was a child again. Like someone was controlling my life because of my stupid illness. This time I was a little traumatized. About 4 cops and 2 paramedics came to the home of the Pastor of the church I used to attend. I just remember that I looked over to the Pastor and asked him if it was a test of my faith. I think he answered yes but there’s a possibility I could’ve imagined that. Or maybe it did happen and he agreed with me so that I would go peacefully.

Hey so before I continue I want to just say this. I had so much support from family and friends. I had a few aunts, a few cousins and friends visit me when I was hospitalized. I’m not sure if I ever thanked them for doing that. The days when I had visitors filled me with so much joy. I felt like I wasn’t forgotten. Even though I was going through something so difficult, I had support. I wanted to take this time to thank them. Thank you for the food, thank you for coming to just see how I was doing. Even though she might not see this gracias por los jugos y por todo los mangús Mami 💚. And to my friends for the Popeyes. Thank you to my sisters for bringing me clothing and food. Thank you for picking up my phone calls when I would go on rants. Thank you so much. Without these people I wouldn’t be here today. I would not be writing this. I wouldn’t have made it. The visits are what kept my hopes and spirits high. I appreciate each and everyone one of you so much. I love y’all. Ok now let’s continue.

I flipped out. I yelled at my sisters and agreed to go (well it’s not like I had a choice anyway so there’s that too.) When I got to North Central Hospital in the Bronx , they had me downstairs. I was transferred to either the 11th or 12th floor. I was heavily sedated. I don’t remember the first few days much. I remember one of my friends asking me if I remembered them coming to visit me and I said I didn’t. They would come give me medication while I was having a visit and fall asleep at the table while my visitors were there. I had conversations I didn’t remember which is really scary to say the least. 

My first roommate in the hospital was a sweetheart. We would go to the “music room” which was just a room with some chairs and the radio station playing. I journaled a lot and read the bible because it was one of the only ways I could cope. The art therapist would only come once a week which was terrible for me. The music therapist came once a week as well. Besides that, I had nothing but time while I was there. Friends and family were only allowed to visit for only a few hours. I felt like I was incarcerated. The doctor that was assigned to me barely saw me. I had to beg the nurses to tell her to see me. She had me on so much medication. I was convinced that I was going to die or that they were trying to kill me. I was convinced that the food had things in it to knock us out. I slept so much during the day that I wouldn’t sleep at night. I would pace back and forth in the hallways, well, in the area that they allowed me to be in. At some point the medication was causing me to bruise badly! The doctor finally came to see and at that point I think she put me on lithium. All of the medication and sedatives wouldn’t bring down the mania. We had to sleep with the door open and I know it’s silly but I can’t sleep with the door open. I was yelling one day that I wanted to go home and then of course security and the nurses came and sedated me with my favorite, the stupid injection. Not only did it hurt like a bitch, they practically stabbed me with the thing. After that, for months the injection site hurt. They even gave me one on the buttocks. Same thing, hurt for months.

Some other scary things for me were the threats from some patients. Some patients were hallucinating and would threaten to kill me. I was terrified! Fights erupted everyday amongst patients. It was all so scary.  When I was finally discharged after two weeks of hell, I felt strange. Like I had been locked away from the world. Like I had to reintegrate into society. The side effects from the medication hurt my fingers and joints. I could barely hold a pen. I couldn’t text or use my phone for a few days. It was a very traumatizing experience.   

You can’t get better in these places. Their way of solving all of the problems is to simply keep patients knocked out. So knocked out that they would be drooling. So sedated that it causes memory loss. 

So this is my advice to you all. If you ever have to have your friend or family member admitted for whatever mental health issue, do your research. DON’T take them to a city hospital. They’re horrible. 

Part 3 coming soon…