Being Broken Inside A Broken System

Photo by Jachan DeVol on Unsplash

GUEST WRITER SPOTLIGHT. 

The psychiatric nurse handed me my patient garb, lead me through the laundry policies, and was showing me to the bathroom where I was going to shower. I got into the bathroom where I nervously finicked with the door for a few minutes to make sure it was locked. It made me nervous. The whole room was covered in blue tiles and looked very lived in. 

I stripped down and got into the shower, reflecting on how the day started, and how I ended up here, inside the walls of a mental institution. 

The day started off as most of my days use too, with the shrilling voices of my chaotic mind, telling me I wasn't worth loving, that the people I loved were going to abandon me, accompanied by the symphony of other confusing, negative, and irrational thoughts. I texted my sponsor telling her I was in a real crisis, and she called me. After a few minutes of me sobbing, she drove over as fast as she could so she could take me to the Emergency Room. 

I was having a psychotic break, a significant meltdown, unlike I'd ever had before. 

She came over, held me, and helped me get to her car, and we drove off. I texted my friend who was the floor manager of the fast food place I used to work at, to tell her I couldn't come to work that day. 

She said, "Unless you're on your way to the hospital, you have to come in." I responded, "I am on my way to the hospital."

I texted a couple of other close friends, then waited in the ER with my sponsor holding my hand. We were able to see someone who gave me an evaluation. It was in a small room on a very uncomfortable chair, that I was unraveling in front of both of them. After a couple in-depth discussions about the voices in my head and the suffering I'd had for most of my life, the professional concluded that I needed to get into a local institution. I waited for about an hour and half to get placed and waited for the taxi to take me to the facility. My parents dropped off some clothes, and after almost a full day of talking to professionals, it was time to take a shower. 

After my shower, they brought me the days dinner. Everyone else already had theirs, and they were all gathered around the TV, laughing - chumming - while I sat there by myself. The food was great after not eating all day, and I wasn't really interested in talking to anyone that night. 

I was talked out. 

The facility layout was simple, a drawing/reading area, a living room-type area, the eating area, and my least favorite, the glass box that held multiple professionals who watched us like lab rats. Everything was open face, there were really no walls except for the bathrooms. After I ate, I went to brush my teeth and went to my room. I'd only been in bed for about an hour when someone opened my door and looked in, to which I immediately jumped at. That's when I learned I'd be checked on every hour while I was asleep. This was my first time I truly felt the lack of privacy in there. 

The next day started off nice, but then it started to turn on me. I started to get acquainted with my fellows, us all talking about how we got in there, what our addictions were, and how much we didn't want to go back to our normal lives. I missed my 12-step family - because we had talked more about the solution - and where I was, everyone just wanted to talk about using, drinking, or stirring up trouble. It wasn't healthy. This wasn't for recovery, this was for being monitored, and a place to stay at before you either get sent to rehab, or somewhere else. 

It felt like purgatory. 

We had mandatory meetings every day with psychiatrists, and one night I had one close to midnight because one of the nurses found me sobbing in my bedroom. That was the night I found out that I had Borderline Personality Disorder, and it's a night I'll remember for the rest of my life. 

Things didn't improve after that. 

I became more unstable and angry. I hated my diagnoses, I hated myself, I hated being on constant watch by professionals. I hated being trapped inside those sterile walls without having my friends there. Fortunately, I was able to communicate with them sometimes, and it was a blessing to hear their voices and their encouragement. I wasn't sure what was going to become of my life after I left. Meanwhile, I tried to appear, to everyone else there, like I was doing okay - that I was handling things better then I was. Deep down I knew I was unwell, but this institution was not helping me get any better. 

There was one employee that gave me hope - the nurse. He was on duty most days I was there, and he would spend time with us, as if we were human beings. He would get to know us, tell us stories about his recovery from mental illness, and made us laugh a lot. He just cared about us, saw past our illnesses, and made us feel good, even if it was just for an hour a day. I wished more people could be like him. 

When I got discharged, it was hard to say goodbye to the new friends I had made, but it was also terrifying, because there was so much to resolve when I got back to real life. 

My experiences in the mental institution and my diagnosis revelation lead me to a relapse a couple weeks later, and a month long deep depression. I had completely given up on myself and life. Thankfully, things did turn around - thanks to unconditional love from friends, family, and a 12-step program, I rose from the ashes of that. 

The memories of the institution are still hard, they still send chills through my veins, because I felt like I was treated like a pet project, not like a human. I felt my dignity got stripped down and left me with more questions then answers. It was trauma. It fractured a certain part of me that I'm still healing, and doing work on. What it did give me though, was the motivation to never end up in a place like that again, that's why after I relapsed, I decided to start taking my 12-step program seriously and went to a meeting, because the last thing I wanted was to go to rehab or a sober living facility. I'm grateful for that as it gave me the motivation to move forward. Today, I'm 448 days clean and sober, and living a fully restored life. 

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Disclaimer: Please remember that these are real stories as we remember them. We are not therapists and are NOT qualified to diagnose, treat, or provide counseling. The coping strategies shared in our stories are what we found to be useful and may not work for everyone. Some of the content, as mentioned above, may be triggering. If you need to reach out, please call 911, or go to your local hospital or stress center. Additional resources include the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-(800)-273-TALK (8255); the National Hopline Network: 1-(800)-442-HOPE (4673); the Crisis Test Line - Text "HOME" to 741741 to connect with a crisis counselor; and the National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-(800)-799-SAFE (7233). 

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About the Author: Melissa Hiebert has done multiple things over her life like theatre, animation, and working in childcare, but nothing has been as fulfilling as creating the online community, The Circle. Her journey in recovering from addiction and mental illness has brought her a new appreciation for community, relationships, and staying connected with people. She likes to share her journey with others in hopes it will help them feel more empowered and not alone.