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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2288427-A-kid-in-psychiatric-hospital
Rated: E · Other · Personal · #2288427
True story of when I was sent to psychiatric hospital for a month at the age of 13.
I'm not really a great writer even though I've been writing for 4 years so don't expect much. This is still in development.

First week

I remember the mixed feelings I had when I first arrived. I mean it wasn't like I had a choice. It was either volunteer or be forced to go into mental hospital. If I volunteered I'd be able to leave when I wanted if I didn't like it. Later I knew I didn't have a chance to leave. "Just think of it like a holiday" my parents said. When I visited for a tour they spoke about the wide and diverse range of activities that they had on offer.

First, they had to search my luggage to see if I had anything harmful. They spent ages as I watched them look at every pocket and run their hand over every t-shirt, trouser and hoodie. To be honest it seemed a bit excessive at that point. Finally after some form-signing I was taken into the ward. I remember the ugly bright orange colour of the walls in the hallway that lead up to the main lounge. The lounge was just as you'd expect it. Sofas and a TV. To my right and left branching off from the lounge were the 2 wards for male and female. In the top right corner of the lounge was another door which happened to be my first room where I would spend the first 3 days in isolation to make sure I didn't have Covid. My first room had a simple layout: a bed, a cupboard and a desk. The window had a lock which meant I needed a member of staff to open and close it. I could hear the builders making noise all the time in some way or another. I later concluded that they were just banging a hammer against the wall to make it sound like they were doing work.
A nurse started with a consultation about what I wanted to accomplish ect. I didn't really plan on accomplishing anything or getting anywhere, I was just here for their tests. I got to know some of the nurses and they all seemed nice. The food was alright and at the end of the day I got to meet the psychologist on the ward. She said that she wanted to keep me on the ward for an extra 2 weeks so that my anxiety wouldn't affect their assessments. The rest of the week was really tedious. I wasn't allowed to leave my room so I just played video games on my Nintendo Switch the whole time. I couldn't sleep at night with all the noise and brightness. Every 15 minutes I was woken up by the staff checking on me to see if I was still alive. It was pretty much like this everyday until the weekend. The weekend was when I got to go home.

Second week

After the weekend I returned and was finally let out of isolation. I moved to the boys ward. There was only one other boy in the hospital and the rest were girls. I was the youngest in the hospital. This room was pretty much the same. The last week was tedious, not horrific more tedious. I had my first "morning meeting". It was like form time at school except it was much more upbeat and energetic. I finally got to see some of the other kids on the psychiatric ward. All the girls were tall and thin like they never ate anything. Some of the patents were quiet and kept to themselves contrasting to others that were really talkative and lively.
I was taken to the school on the ward straight after. But this school was very different compared to normal school. The school was in a separate building opposite reception. Everything was locked. Every door in and out of the building was locked. The door to my room was locked, the door to the kitchen was locked, to do pretty much anything you needed to ask a member of staff. This school was much more relaxed than mainstream school since there wasn't many people on the ward and not many of them went to school. The work wasn't stressful or strenuous. School was only 3 hours long compared to the 6 hours at normal school. I wasn't used to the food and most of it was shop bought and pre-made meals.
Further into the week I got used to the routine of not being able to sleep well at night and having to wake up early in the morning, so I felt really tired and groggy all the time. Then going to school every day. I was still waiting for them to do their assessments and tests. I wasn't really enjoying my time. I felt numb all the time and having not much for me to do was tiresome. I didn't complain since I didn't expect to stay for a long time.
Finally as the end of the week neared they have a meeting about my progress and behavior on the ward with all the psychologists. I was surprised as I read their report about how much detail they paid attention to: not just my behavior, but every hand gesture and interaction with other people. They mentioned that they would start their "tests" next week. I was finally relieved to be going home again. Eventually I would look forward to this feeling at the end of every week.

Third week
I had now gotten completely used to daily life on the ward. I kept reminding myself: the sooner the tests are done, the sooner I can get outta here. Every day seemed the same. Different day, same problems. A few days later in the week they finally started their tests. I only had to wait 2 more weeks. I kept to myself and continued to stay in my room rather than interact with people, not that there was much I could say. I eventually decided to take part in one of their clubs, it was a baking club that pretty much everyone else went to. I didn't eat the final result, after all the night staff eat all our personal snacks anyway even though the fridge says "patients' personal food". I found out the hard way when I realized that the snacks that I took in were gone. I avoided eating anyway.
There were some enjoyable moments. I always enjoyed playing uno at the end of lessons. It was surprisingly fun. School was much more relaxed than mainstream School, with a thousand of noisy students. But the work became repetitive but I just went along with whatever I had to do, I hated schoolwork anyway. Despite me being in a mental hospital I received no therapy or help at all. I just had to endure each day and deal with my feelings myself.
I always attended the Friday meetings with my parents and school. I didn't want to, I don't think anyone did. But, if I tried to partake in activities and put on a fa├žade where I went along with everything I'd get out sooner. I remember reading every report seeing how they monitored every movement. I looked at their conclusions and they would always come up with something or another, that I has symptoms of social anxiety, something about mild conduct disorder whatever that is and so on. I wonder what else they would've diagnosed me with if I hadn't refused their plan of 6 months. Little did I know how much more they'd analyze me with their next tests. All I cared about was going home for the weekend.

Fourth week


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