My Stay in the Mental Ward

In March 2014, I was sent to the mental ward for suicidal thoughts. Here is my experience.

One day, I had an appointment with my doctor, during which we discussed my depression. He asked me if I ever attempted suicide. I said yes, and told him about the previous day, when I had tried to hang myself but was interrupted by my dad. My doctor told me to promise not to try again. My response was, “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” With that, he walked out the room without a word. He was gone for a long time-at least half an hour. Suddenly, the door opened and there were two paramedics with a gurney. They took me downstairs to an ambulance, which took me to the nearest emergency room. I was wheeled into a small, windowless room that had a bed and a single chair. My blood pressure was taken, I changed into a hospital gown, and I took a urine test. My dinner was a tuna sandwich and some juice. I was in that room for at least six hours. My dad was with me most of the time, talking about life. He then left to pick up my mom from work. They returned 45 minutes later. Not long later, the nurse came in and told us that there was an open bed at a nearby psychiatric ward. I said goodbye to my parents, and I was wheeled to the ambulance.

It was almost midnight when I arrived at the hospital. The nurse took away my belongings and locked them up.

My five-day stay was quite a boring one. Breakfast was at 7, lunch at 12, and dinner at 6. The food was okay; not horrible but not that great. Every morning after breakfast, there was a morning meeting that covered the same thing every day- the rules for visiting hours and activities planned for the day.

Attendance at the day’s activities, which ranged from AA meetings to karaoke, was fortunately not enforced strictly. Most of my time there, I lied in bed, wondering how I let my life get to this point. I was assigned a counselor, who I spoke with every day. I was started on an antidepressant regimen, which continued after my stay at the hospital.

Unlike how it is usually portrayed, the psych ward wasn’t full of “crazy people.” There were people there for a variety of reasons, ranging from attempted suicide by cop to alcoholism/addiction. Sure, there were an unfortunate few who were “not all there,” but most of the people I met there were just ordinary people.

They were very cautious; they went through your belongings and removed anything that could be potentially dangerous. And at night, they checked on you every 15 minutes while you were sleeping.

After a few days, I decided that I had enough of it, so I lied to the nurses and said I was no longer considering suicide. Surprisingly, they simply took my word for it, I filled out some paperwork, and I was released.

Overall, my experience there was just plain alright. I felt cared for by the staff, but, evidently, it was not enough to save me, as I am still suicidal to this day.