Schizophrenia: How I Woke Up in the Psych Ward

Hearing the door open I was met by a way too happy PA, I realized it was not a nightmare, I had tried to commit suicide and was in the psych ward. Instantly tears came to my eyes thinking about my kids at home and what they must be thinking. I try to remember what happened and suddenly I remembered everything and once again I couldn’t breath. As she left she said, “you look very depressed”. I laid there thinking, how did I get here and more importantly, how do I get out.

In the hallway I could hear a lady chatting it up with the nurses about being the Queen of France and a liaison with God. Another younger gal down from me kept singing, screaming, and asking for Stephan. Yet all these professionals kept coming into my room. The psychiatrist was next to enter my room, stating how he read my chart and proceeded to ask me a bunch of questions. He then starts asking questions in the form of statements about treatment options, relationships, and work. Panic sets in as I immediately thought about how I messaged my now ex boyfriend all about those things the night I tried to commit suicide. Did he go through my phone? Can he read my mind? My ex must have called him and told him everything. The delusions that send me daily into spirals trying to figure out what is real and what is in my head. As he left he was extremely concerned about me, because as he said “you look very depressed”.

I again laid there thinking now I am wondering why both of them said I looked depressed. I know I have Trichotillomania, but I got the sense they weren’t just talking about that. Of course being in the psych ward there are no mirrors in the room. I get up and go to the bathroom, everything is metal, even the mirror. I looked into this shiny piece of metal instead of a mirror and maybe I did look a little rough. Even in the metal I could see how my eyes were black and I was pale except for the red cheeks from crying. I tried to justify to myself they did not know what I looked like normally. At that moment I looked at the shiny metal and thought “I truly am lost, broken, and scared”. But still, why can’t these people bother the other patients claiming to be Queens and screaming for Stephan who is not even in the building. None of them were answering the question of when I could go home and that was all I wanted to know.

I asked if I could use the phone and called my kids. My oldest daughter answered her phone and I cried as I told her how sorry I was and I was going to get help. I asked to speak to the other kids but didn’t realize it was Monday and they were at school. The last time I was aware of things it was Saturday night, Easter was the next morning. I told her I had to go as I realized I had ruined my children’s Easter. I called my now ex, he asked where I was and I told him “the psych ward”. He asked where that was, I told him “ across from Ole’s I can see Ole’s”. Immediately I thought to myself “he is probably cheating on me with someone at the main hospital”. My delusions show up on their own, but always have to do with getting hurt, people being after me, people hacking my stuff to know what I am doing, even others knowing my thoughts. I tell him he can visit from 3:30 to 5:30 but I could tell from his response he was not going to. I knew it was over between us, this was his last time dealing with my breakdowns, my depression, my delusions.

A nurse comes in and tells me I can take a shower and maybe it would be good to go to groups. This lady wanted me to go to groups with other people. I sat there thinking she must have not read my chart or she would know that I died yesterday and wouldn’t be asking me to go to groups. I told her I would take a shower but maybe I would wait to attend groups tomorrow. As I undressed I had bruises on me that I knew weren’t there before. I stood in the metal shower, my heart racing, still confused how I got here. I had a master’s degree, I had once, on my own bought a house in an elite neighborhood, I was once so strong no one could hurt me, anyone who did me wrong only motivated me to do better, be stronger, try harder. I washed my body feeling like a stranger washing myself. I get out, put on my snoopy pajama bottoms that had been dropped off at some point and stand at my window staring at the world passing me by.

I laid down and went back to sleep as I was still exhausted. I wasn’t sure what all I had taken but I knew my bottle of Adderall was gone. “Hello Kyla, my name is Yoak, I am a social worker here, you have had a pretty horrible life.” Way to be blunt Yoak from some place in Europe, but hey I respect blunt. It was during this visit that I knew I was going to be okay. He still did not answer the question of when I would get to go home, “we will keep it as short as possible” he stated to me refusing to get me a number on the days. He tells me how he knows my suicide attempt proves to him how I am a good person. How good people feel the pain from their traumas and are worried their pain is hurting those around them and by ending their life they think they are protecting those they love. I looked at him, the first time making eye contact with someone all day thinking, he gets it. He tells me how for someone who has gone through as much trauma as I have and I have fought to be here this long shows how strong I am. He leaves telling me how I can let the pain consume me or I can let the pain feed my strength. I sat up, picked up my safety pen and started to write myself an apology letter.