This is a poetry/journal book about my experience in the Psych Ward.
It's all true accounts with names changed for privacy. I wrote this while in the ward, except for the last day.
Please take care in reading. If topics of suicide, depression, rap...
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On this day, I had probably the worst day since day one. I'd only been on my new medication for about three days and they hadn't kicked in or made anything better. In fact, I felt much worse. I was itchy during groups. I didn't feel much like coloring. And I wanted to stay in my room, but of course Rose kept me trucking along.
My brother finally brought me new clothes so I wouldn't have to wear the gown any longer. However, as I was told, everything happened in the Psych Ward in six hour periods. Want to use the phone? Could take six hours. Need to look up a phone number? Six hours. Want to get your clothes that you can see right in front of you? Six. Hours.
And that is how long it took for me to get my clothes. By the time I'd gotten them, I was a hot mess of anxiety and rage. So in this chapter, I'll speak about the patient named Caitlin. She came in here on suicidal thoughts and planning. She'd been depressed for years and was put on Zoloft, which only made her more depressed.
Turns out, she was misdiagnosed. She isn't just depressed; she's bipolar. Zoloft isn't going to work in this case. Instead, she was put on antipsychotics and mood stabilizers. However, until they worked, she still had to deal with anxiety, depression, and the rage. And by she, of course, I mean me.
I think I got my rage from my father. He's one of the angriest men I've ever met. But I digress.
So after it took ages to get my clothes, I tried to sleep. And I just could not sleep! I had been given a sleeping pill at about 9pm, but 2am was right around the corner and I was going out of my mind in turmoil of emotions.
I asked for another sleeping pill because I figured five hours would been a decent time period, but I was promptly rejected. At this point, I'm convinced the nurses are all conspiring to make me insane. And if they want insane, I gave it to them. I'm ashamed to say I lost my shit.
I threw my bedsheets, yelled at them, and then even clawed at my own skin furiously among other dubious actions I'd rather not mention. It wasn't pretty. After I was able to calm down, one of the nurses had a nice long talk with me where I confessed I still felt extremely suicidal and out of control. This would result in an adjustment in my medication and an extended stay at the Psych Ward. And that was how I ended Day Five.
