The following article will be pretty heavy, but this is something I feel strongly needs to be shared with the world. I hope that this reaches anyone who has been through this, is currently going through this, or will go through it. I also hope this reaches people who have a stigma about seeking help for their mental issues, getting help is nothing to be ashamed of and is so important, I love each and every person reading this and I hope you all find the healing you need.
This all started about a year ago, I had just gone through my very first breakup and I was left utterly and completely unequipped for it. I have always struggled with self image and identity but this only worsened those issues. I turned to unhealthy methods to cope - I was starving myself, purging, cutting, anything I could do to reiterate to myself how worthless I was. I saw myself as someone who didn't deserve the food I ate, the clothes I wore, or to even have clean, unmarked skin. After a suicide attempt I was admitted to a psych ward. At that point, I weighed about 80 pounds - a far cry from my typical 104. My arms were covered in bandages and scars, and I was pale and scared. I can only imagine how I must have looked to my fellow patients when I timidly crept into the room, but they saw past that and saw the happy, bubbly girl I had once been and embraced me in our little band of misfits. They cared for me, and taught me more than any of the doctors or nurses ever could, and to tell my story I have to tell you a little about theirs.
First was Martin. He was my protector and my guardian. Upon introducing myself, he happily told me he had my name tattooed on his neck, as it was the name of one of his daughters. I stuck by his side for the duration of my stay. He made me laugh when I had long since stopped believing I could, and he did everything he could for me.
Next was Willow. She was like my mom - she made sure I had shampoo and conditioner, taught me how everything worked, and told me story after story about her beautiful son. She had been in there a startling nine days, trying to get her medication for bipolar disorder right so she could be there for her son. My heart broke more than I ever thought possible when, on the day she was to be released, she was told she needed to be kept longer. In this particular ward, our one connection to the outside world was a single phone, and we couldn't call out, but family members could call in. I recall standing there receiving calls from my dad, my mom, and my sister, and telling them all how I had let them down, how I had let myself down, crying profusely.
Later, when my mom and two of my siblings were allowed to see me, it broke my heart to see them standing in my prison, seeing the broken girl who was completely unrecognizable as their daughter, their sister. I held their hands and begged them to take me home. I was ready, not because of the medicine or the doctors or the group therapies, but because I realized how insignificant my problems were in the face of this hell.
The next day was even more trying. Call after call came in and I became more and more discouraged as I continued to hand the phone off. Finally I broke down, thinking my family had forgotten me. Martin immediately came to the rescue, since crying in a psych ward is not a healthy release as it should be - it's a sign you need to stay longer. He convinced one of the nurses to call my family, and I found that they were being barred from seeing me. I was even forced to listen as one of the "social workers" screamed at my mom on the phone. She marched down and parked herself in the waiting room and insisted that I be released, and after a talk with a doctor, I was free to go.
What my experience taught me was this - no matter how far you sink, no matter what you do, no matter how bad it gets, redemption is possible. A psych ward does not mean a death sentence but based on my experience, it is always a good idea to get help before that is necessary. The right counseling could have prevented this whole experience, but it is my hope that those of you reading this will be encouraged by my story to do what is best for you.
