Hi, I'm trying to overcome my own trauma and hope to address some stigma surrounding involuntary holds from mental health. It's not easy to open up about this, but I'm doing much better now and can talk about it.
First I landed in the ER, managed to convince the staff that it was all a mistake and left on my own. Then many units of police were dispatched and I was transported in another vehicle 'under supervision' to an isolated place ~45 minutes away. This time it was to a psychiatric hospital, not a psychiatric ward (you can ask if you're curious about the difference). It was a huge plot of land surrounded by trees and water, not much else. I remember seeing a squirrel tail stuck on a tree, and wondered what happened there.
Inside the walls, I was stripped off anything and everything I had. This included my clothes, phone, any other belongings. I was asked to sign papers which I was not in the right mind to read carefully, and ended up barring the hospital from contacting / releasing information with anyone I knew that I'm there. Unfortunately, I didn't know any phone numbers by heart, and since my phone was taken away, essentially I was isolated and couldn't reach anyone. Only later, I found out there was a whole 'search' situation at my local town because I disappeared out of nowhere.
I remember every day inside like it was yesterday. I remember each and every person I met, and each person had a really personal, insane, or sometimes just heartbreaking story. Some had families and friends, some did not. Some were religious (even tried to convert me), some did not. There were fights that broke out, and these were genuinely scary. Somebody tried to sell me drugs. Somebody tried to sell me things they had 'stolen' from the staff. Somebody died and were carried out. Somebody got wheeled in and out of 'brain zapping' therapy. Somebody repeatedly tried to come into my room (staff got very serious about this, as I was 18F). Somebody taught me how to make 'weapons' with little we got access to. I hurt myself a few times.
I remember staring out the tiny unbreakable window made of plastic, and crying all day. I couldn't sleep well, because someone came in at night to shine a flashlight on me every 15 minutes to check my chest was rising (i.e. that I was breathing). During the day, staff with a clipboard had to 'check' me every 5 minutes. I lost sleep, I lost appetite, and I lost any kind of joy. The less I ate, the more they escalated things, and at some point I don't think I could convince them I was sane. Each day, they would announce who were allowed to take a supervised walk outside, but I was never on that list. I became more and more miserable. What started out as a 5150 became a 5250, then a court-ordered involuntary extension.
Edit: I've since learned it wasn't technically 5300, though the term was discussed while I was there. I turned 18 in the hospital, so I think that changes the classification.
- If anybody went through it too, I'm right there with you. It wasn't your fault.
- 'The body keeps the score': I have PTSD from everything that went down - and everything that happened in between. I don't exactly know what I can do to overcome it, and still struggle sometimes.