My 1-month stay in a Psychiatric Facility Stories - Part 1

I've always been a timid person. Even when I was faced with the decision to die and end it all, I was a coward. And ever since I started my antidepressants shy of 2 months ago, my suicidal thoughts have been contradictorily flaring up. I just haven't acted on it, even though I have been actively planning my solid way out for weeks now. I guess, like any other Filipinos raised as God-fearing, I was afraid of hell.

One thing you need to know about antidepressants is that the first two months (when your brain is assimilating to the sudden Serotonin intakes) of taking the medication is a bitch. Unmonitored like I was, your suicidal tendency will be ten times stronger than usual. However, the effect on your anxiety is real-time. To the point that you wouldn't be anxious at all as though you were a robot, unfeeling. Well, except for certain moments when you can easily be irritated towards random insensitive people.

I had to battle these symptoms for weeks, and honestly, I was defenseless against them. I was like a rag doll tossed to and fro by my intense suicidal emotions and apathy to life.

I knew that if I finally faced the end of the final rope I was holding to, I could have done it. I even wrote what it would vividly be like when I finally shot the proverbial gun. It felt so real. Well, there were no guns... My plan was simply to jump from a building. A cliche... yet the feelings of actually doing it can never be duplicated. It is your own heart's regrets of leaving or lack thereof; and a huge fear - one you can't almost feel - festering through your brain. It was beyond scary and sad.

Today, though, I was given a different way out. My employer was like, "Hey, if you want to live, try this psychiatric facility. It is the only way I can help you."

Shocking! For all the years of battling this pain, I've never thought that I would go to a psychiatric institution; No matter how they say it isn't your usual demonized image of these types of hospitals. It was private and should be able to help me through the crucial part of my medication since I would be monitored as I needed to be.

So I went. It wasn't like I had any other choice. I swallowed my reservations against such a place and went despondently.

It was a Sunday, and there were several people in the hospital. After all the hoops of self-admitting - where I had to suffer the sympathetic looks of the admins because I was all alone and without a guardian for the most part - I finally entered the facility.

It was like entering a prison, not that I knew what that felt like. But the mere fact I didn't have access to my phone - which was my connection to the outside world, that I was only bringing with me what I was wearing (my stuff had to be inspected beforehand), and that my room had a door that was hollowed and with a lock which could only be accessed from the outside; it was a prison, all right!

My first impression of the 4th-floor ward was a picture of yellow-shirted people hanging out at a dining table while watching TV and that of a young medical attendant smiling at me.

She ushered me to my room and asked me to change my clothes. She also perfunctorily said, "Don't cry, you will be alright here," even though I wasn't crying.

After I changed to the yellow uniform, I was ready to retire for the night, but a fight outside broke out. It was very loud, as though there was a whole orchestra welcoming me to the facility. The funny thing was that that much noise was only coming from two patients quarreling about a lost towel. The ruckus lasted for thirty long illogical minutes. I had to ask for night meds just to be able to go to sleep.

In the morning, I was fully knocked out. A lot of people came in and out of my room for lots of things, but I continued to sleep until noon despite the interruptions.

When I woke, I ate my second meal for the day and washed up. I was blankly looking outside my window when K approached and asked to hang out in the room she was sharing with G. She started the conversation with how crazy the fight last night was.

These two are my kind of people. Unlike the elderlies in the ward, they speak my language and express themselves like I do. I was grateful for that. One of my fears about entering the facility is that I would be all by myself, bored. Not that boredom didn't happen later on.

In here, people talk about their afflictions as though it is the newest celebrity happening. Believe it or not, no matter how dark one's story is, someone would resonate with them; even though no two people have the same exact illnesses.

I found out that K is suffering from hereditary schizophrenia. She has been alright all her life until she got bullied at school, and someone tinged her drinks with pure meth. She was down in the observation rooms for weeks because the meth in her system caused her to break down and hurt herself and others, too. On top of that, she was possibly raped by a fraternity and is now pregnant with a baby that's possibly not her boyfriend's.

Thanking my robotic tendency so my empathic nature isn't easily disturbed, I listened to her story. She is now bubbly and all, but I can see in her eyes the pain she had to go through. I can't imagine what that had been like, but one thing is for sure: she is a very strong person for her age.

Next, I learned about her roommate. G is a transgender on regular hormone pills. She is very nice and has the same MBTI as mine, an INFJ. G holds her cards close to her chest, and only by bits and pieces that I get to connect her story. She came here due to an uncontrollable drug addiction. Her afflictions are Bipolar 1, ADHD, and substance abuse. Like all INFJs, she is warm and kind. But because of her afflictions, she has a limited attention span and is easy to set off.

I shared with them my side of the story, how I was diagnosed with major depression and general anxiety disorder. They were astonished by the fact that I didn't have a mom or just about anyone to take care of me and that I was admitted by myself. Both of them were forced into the facility by their parents.

And then came the talk about what life is like here. They are both nearing or past their 1-month stay and have a lot to share.

Firstly, the food. We all agreed that it could be a hit-or-miss thing, like any other hospital out there. It always leaves one hungry for more. Thus, one should always bring their snack stocks when in a facility. We talked about the medical attendants. There is this one M.A. (Medical Attendant) who stays close to us, and she is well and nice; she could be intimidating at first, but that's just it. But then, as they say, no one is perfect. This lady makes sure that she always has a cut from everyone's stocks - may it be toiletries or food. And I mean, like always.

We all missed our usage of a phone. Although for me, since I'm self-admitted, I had the privilege of phone time, albeit very limited. Nurses are also very understaffed and usually irritable if you ask them questions when they are very busy. And above all, the full boredom of doing nothing at all but eat, take meds, bathe, watch TV, rinse, and repeat.

And soon, all these things they shared have truly become part of my life. To fight boredom, K always stays in my room to talk. It may be just my low self-esteem, but I had a feeling that she wanted to talk to me from day to night because of her pregnancy. She has taken a sudden liking to me because of it. In Tagalog "pinaglilihian ako." It is a belief in the Philippines that pregnant women take a liking to anything or anyone during the period of their pregnancy just because. Later on, they say the baby takes a certain trait or semblance to those the mother likes.

K and I would talk about anything under the sun. We discovered that we like the same Korean boy group, so we bonded more on that and a lot of other things we have in common. During siesta (a 2-hour mandatory sleep time in the afternoon), we would quietly draw stuff on a sketchbook and talk some more. K is talkative. She can talk from the moment she gets her energy in the morning until she looks so haggardly in the evening. She can go on for straight 4 hours non-stop. I swear my inner introvert had a lot of adjusting to do in the beginning, but staying in a facility can make one so extroverted just to keep boredom at bay.

Arts and crafts worked for my anti-boredom agenda. I am not good at drawing, but doodling helps me relieve stress out of doing and being nothing.

Soon enough, we already formed a pattern for our days. G, as an introvert like me, would seldom join us. But having her over is always fun. Our favorite M.A. (the one who likes stuff) calls it meeting de avance. Because we would talk for hours about anything and everything.

But alas, fun times never last. In one siesta where the three of us are gathering, a radio prompts "4th floor, 4th floor... please prepare K for discharge. "

We were all ecstatic for K for sure. We hugged and helped her prepare stuff, all the while promising to stay connected and have a meetup once we were all out of the facility.

Of course, our favorite M.A. didn't miss her chance to get a lot of stuff from the departing K. And somehow, that distracts me from my thoughts.

Soon, K was done dressing up. With last goodbyes, the elevator doors closed in the face of K wistfully smiling at me and G.

And the thought I needed distraction to came back... 'Will I ever hear my name that way on the radio too?'