Psychiatric Facilities/Wards Pt 1.

I had planned on touching upon this subject further along the road, but inspiration has taken hold, and this matter cannot wait.

I am here to tell you why in-patient psychiatric wards do not work.

Of course, that is not to say that they can NEVER work, but they would need a complete transformation and revamp on their current policies and understanding. I have taken a keen interest in the stories that people have made available to me of their seeking for help in a supposed 'safe place' for mentally ill patients, people who enroll themselves into a hospital in order to escape the chaotic world and into the arms of professionals who are supposed to be understanding and helpful, only to face the same stereotypes and judgements in this supposed safe-haven. Except this time, it is worse: you are now isolated, cut off, and in the care of 'professionals' who have the authority to do, essentially, whatever they would like to you, without question. Why? Because they are the ones with the degrees, the masters, and you are the crazy in the crazy house.

I am here to voice my concern and to urge realisation of the poor conditions these psych wards offer and for change in the facilities that are located all over the world. And Canada, although quite lacking in their mental health care compared to the other services readily available, is supposed to be the leader of health in all the world, and their institutions considered some of the top in their efficiency. I cannot even imagine, as someone who has been committed into a psych ward in Canada, what that must mean for the institutions in the rest of the world. London especially, with the local world-renowned University of Western Ontario, is held in especial esteem for their modern-day health care provisions. And the psych ward I was admitted into is in London.

I will not get into too much detail of how I came to be there or other minor things, as this blog will simply consist of the issues that arose. To truly explain what had happened and the circumstances would take quite a while. Basically, all that you, as the reader, need to know is that I came to the hospital as a suicidal teenager finally reaching out and seeking help, at the urging of my friends and family. So here are a few of my memories of this modern-day, highly-esteemed, top-quality hospital that I had the honour of experiencing, and how everything was absolutely wrong with it.

First off: The Lies

You walk into the hospital and you say you are suicidal. You are immediately treated differently. You are not a life-threatening case and they have better things to attend to, physical agonies and injuries that require their immediate attention. You are seen as a nuisance, really. You are seen as a call for attention that they could better direct to those who come to the hospital for REAL emergencies, but they cannot turn you away, so they get around to you in the waiting room eventually and, sure, we'll give you a room we suppose... It's been a few hours that you have just been sitting there, waiting, so I suppose you're SOMEWHAT serious about your claim. Sort of. But we really don't understand anyway. Basically, you're treated as though you just walked up to a surgeon in the middle of surgery with tears rolling down your cheeks and a bruise on your finger.
Here is the mistake I made: goddamn movies and their visuals of 'suicidal watch' and 'in-patient' as you simply relaxing in bed with a nurse hovering over you from time to time to make sure you're not, like, you know, killing yourself or anything. And the occasional visit of the psychiatrist who looks so sympathetic and caring and they make all your problems feel all better and they set you up with some real goddamn help so you can go home with relief in your heart and a smile on your face. Finally, a smile.
Nope. I was asked if I was still suicidal, over a long period of time. 12 hours or thereabouts. When they finally realise that I wasn't going to give up my damned claim of suicidal, they ask me if I'd like to be an in-patient. "Oh, yes." I was young. How was I supposed to know? There were no DETAILS. I was a nuisance, after all. I've used up some of their precious time and so I did not deserve an explanation of what that entailed. And me, too stupid to see through the cinematic haze, I do not offer up any questions.
A couple more hours later and they arrive with paramedics and a stretcher and inform you that you will be moved to a more comfortable location best suited for this type of 'problem'. A little alarmed, I go along.
Fast forward quite a long ways: I am in the office with the head psychiatrist. We'll get to what happened in between a little later on.
Do I still feel suicidal? For the thousandth time, YES. Or, well, no, if you gave me means to kill myself I wouldn't do it in FRONT of you, but I strongly feel that if I was to go back to my house I would probably turn my thoughts back to it.
Alright, well we have a place for you here and we can take you in for the care that you deserve. You walked in here freely, and we are so proud of you for that. You can see for yourself if this type of care is the right thing for you and, if not, we'll make arrangements for you to get out-patient care as soon as possible. You are voluntarily admitted into the hospital, we just want you to understand that, so you are free to leave at any time. Here is a contract just to say you understand this and, oh, don't worry about that part, THAT won't happen, don't worry. We won't extend the right we have to keep you involuntarily. You ARE here voluntary, don't worry.

Just sign here.

Something fucking magical and demonic happens when you sign that paper, I swear. You sign your fucking life away. They begin to explain the rules to you. One of them hits you quite badly. "No cellphones". But.. but my friends are all online, they are my support, I will be completely isolated if I don't have that, please don't take that. I'm sorry, it's policy. Please, if it's your policy, I don't want to be here. I can't have my support system taken away from me. They are part of my healing process. Tears form in your eyes, as you realise that your support system is just TOO important to you to have it removed. You are upset, because you realise that this will not be the help you want after all, and you are disappointed that you had just spent the last 24 hours getting here, only to know that it just won't work after all. The doctor sees the tears and your distress. The doctor quietly takes his leave for a moment while you chat with the nurse in a sad, shy manner. He returns some time later with a frown on his face.
Hmm... I just got off the phone with your father. He is under the impression that you should stay here. He mentioned a painting you had been working on that had... some rather disturbing images on it. Of course, I can't keep you here based on a painting, but hmm.. it sounded quite disturbing indeed, and you must be in a lot of distress to paint such a thing. But we can't use it as a reason. But we will anyway.
No, doctor, I can't stay here. I have to have the support of my friends and my phone is the only method of communication that I have with them right now.
I'm very sorry you feel that way. Are you SURE you won't reconsider?
I can't stay here. I have to leave. I want to go home.
But you SAID you were suicidal.
I know that I said that, but I feel like I will be better off with other forms of help. I believe that I have the strength to hang in there until I find the help I need now that I have gotten the ball rolling.
Unfortunately........ miss...... you seem to be in distress right now.....
I'm just a little upset that this isn't what I expected it to be.
I understand, but, hmmm.... No, you appear to be in near hysterics, actually.
Silence.
I'm afraid I cannot let you leave, yes. I cannot with clear conscience let you walk out the door knowing that you are capable of taking your life. You have been committed to this psych ward for a 72 hour watch, and once that is up, we will determine if you are.... safe enough to leave.

----

I cannot tell you how many stories like my own have been experienced by others such as myself all over the continent. I estimate perhaps 80% of the stories had this exact same bullshit happen to them. The 'voluntary' safety-net that they use against you, until you sign away your rights on that bullshit contract upon admission. I am not the only one this has happened to you. This is a scheme that seems to be a regular practice within the psychiatric wards. I do not actually believe that they actually get many 'involuntary' patients, who are forced from the get-go to endure the '72 hour watch'. From what I have seen, the majority of the patients who opt for the in-care walk in free and voluntary, and are confined against their will once they realise the true isolation they will be confined to should they stay. Their observations and refusals don't matter in the end. Once you sign that paper, and once the doctor deems it so, your word is rather worthless. Who are you, deranged person, to question the word of the head psychiatrist?

You become nothing when you enter the psych ward. You are voiceless. Anything that comes out of your mouth is unnatural and damning. You are now an in-patient to your local psychiatric ward.

Next to come:
-Disregard for Patient
-Isolation and Imprisonment
-Abuse of Sedatives and Drugs
-Lack of Psychiatric Care
-Post-traumatic Stress