At the age of 15 1/2 I was admitted to a psychiatric hospital for depression. My mother’s psychiatrist told me that he could send me to a place to relax, be happy, and have fun.
Links to previous Resort stories below –
Previously I mentioned the daily review of our symptoms, diagnosis and treatment plan. In my last meeting with Ms. A, we discussed how this may have affected me. Reciting the negative things about yourself twice a day had to have an impact. Until this session, I did not realize just how much.
Even talking about the hospital makes me feel sick. This 4 months of my life may, in fact, be a pivotal changing time in my life. The truth is that the people who were supposed to help me, probably did more harm than good.
I learned how to behave like the rest of the children. I gathered a myriad of diagnosis and behavioral issues from the other children. I was just trying to find myself and my own security, in children who were also searching for the same thing. We would compare our messed up home lives, our abuse, our drugs or alcohol usage, fighting, suicide attempts, etc.
Anyway, as I’m reciting the diagnosis and symptoms, I can’t help but to think how messed up I really am. I thought I was being admitted because I was sad. My symptoms that I recited daily, included; loss of appetite, sleep disturbances, anger, withdrawn, hopeless, helpless, worthless, Irritability, anxious, suicidal idea, suicidal attempts, etc.
To conclude, we would recite our treatment plan, which was the list of things we had to do in order to have visits, passes, etc. Those things were not related to emotions or recovery. They were merely completing a task. For me, I had to eat all meals, interact with others, and complete all activities in the unit.
At the end of my stay, I was a changed person. Not only did I have the trauma of sexual abuse to deal with, but now I had to keep the memories of 4 months of living in a hospital that I called hell.
As I’m sitting in this session, I say to Ms. A how I suddenly realized how much these negative labels affected me. She says, she knew it long ago, but was waiting for me to get to that conclusion on my own. For a minute, I wanted to scream and her and ask her why she didn’t tell me sooner.
For the last three days, I have cried off and on. I just despise those days still haunting my memories. And maybe that’s the problem.
It is MY life. It is MY story. It is MY success. Now I just have to own it.
Until next time – I am being MJ every day.