My time in a psychiatric unit

In the middle of one of my worst nervous breakdowns I agreed to be admitted to a psychiatric unit. On entering the ward for the first time I saw lots of patients wondering and just pacing through the corridors with socks and slippers on. It was just like I had seen in films.

My first thought was surely I can be sedated and be put to sleep for my whole stay until I wake up recovered. The reality soon kicked in. I was only 17 then and had little experience in life, anything like this.

 

The first couple couple of days were like a dream as I smoked cigarettes heavily in a smoke clouded room contently staring through the TV in the corner. These wonderful little pills were given to me daily which at first served to numb my confusion, upset and anxiety. Walking around the corridors in the evenings was like walking on clouds being wrapped up in cotton wool. As the days went on those lovely little pills were rapidly reduced. The cold hard reality soon kicked in. Occasionally you would see as a patient just couldn’t cope with their own torment anymore. Dragged and carried in the air kicking and screaming back into their room, tears streaming down, such pain behind their eyes.

I was assigned a key worker through my time there. To help me recover and face my anxiety and depression. Some key workers were good, some were bad, I’m convinced half of them would be a dribbling mess on the floor if they actually experienced our pain. No text book could show them our reality.

My key worker told me to snap an elastic band around my wrist each time I had nasty thoughts or panic attacks. The band snapped after about an hour as I snapped it so hard. I knew I had to get through this and not rely on others. He wasn’t very good and luckily when I moved to another unit I had a key worker who was alot better. She sat with me through my darkest times.

Days then weeks went past as I tried various antidepressants, kept my routine of 3 meals a day, and got used to the diverse range of other people around me with varying degrees of different mental illness. Some kept themselves to themselves, some were friends, we helped each other through.

I still remember to this day the pride I felt at age 19 walking with my friends back to college about a year after leaving the unit and seeing my old key worker walk past and smile at me on the other side of the street. I’m not sure who was more proud, me or her.  I was well again,I was out, I had made it.