The last morning ...

Monday. The last morning I spent at the pych unit. Because it was the day before Christmas we were allowed to sleep in. I was awake early though. All I wanted was to meet the psychiatrist so I could finally leave the unit. I packed my bags, took a shower, got my meds, had a cup of tea and smoked plenty of cigarettes. I wasn't home yet and I was afraid that something might go wrong.

I was fetched right before lunch. J told me that the intern psychiatrist, T, was going to hold the meeting. T is a really young and innocent looking doctor. He can't be older than maybe 25. And he had been following around J all week I was at the unit. He asked the usual questions: if I was suicidal, what my plans were, if I had any impulses. I told him that I wanted to be at home for Christmas and that I basically didn't want to be at the hospital anymore. It was kind of cute to see how he kept looking at J, for affirmation. They promised me once again that they had contacted a neurologist and that I'll most probably hear from that person after the holidays. Then they told me that I was always welcome back if I was getting any worse. Well, one thing is for sure, I will not get back to THAT unit. I felt so unwelcome there. The staff there was cold and didn't seem to care at all. There was no warmth at all and everyone was just minding their own business. More than once, when I asked for help, I was told to go and bother someone else. If I ever get to the point where I feel the need to be safe at a hospital, I will refuse to be admitted to that unit.. But let's hope that I'll never have to spent some time at a psych unit again.

I grabbed my bags, hugged my room-mate and went down and waited for my husband to fetch me. Such a relief! I came back home, sat on the bed and cried tears of relief. Being at a psych-unit is not a holiday. It often worsens your problems. And just because there is "professional" staff doesn't mean that you will always get help when you need it. Honestly, I am not even sure if it is a safe place. I found pins on the bathroom floor that I was able to self-harm with. I managed to almost strangle myself with a cable in the middle of the day, on my bed. But: you might be lucky to get to a place with one good soul, one person that loves their job, one person that you feel you can trust. That can make all the difference. And in whatever situation you are: don't ever trust professionals blindly or you might end up with ECT or bad side-effects from meds. I wish there were more good souls working at mental hospitals and psych wards. Sometimes it just feels like the perfect meeting-place for sadistic idiots.. But as I said: as long as there is one good person, you might get the warmth you need!